by Alice Addy
TRACKS TO LOVE
Eve’s Story
By:
Alice Addy
Copyright 2011 by Alice Addy
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
I wish to dedicate this book to those strong individuals who have managed to overcome the trials and tribulations of their youth.
Children can be the unseen victims in our society and, all too often, the most precious among us are left to fend for themselves.
But there is good news. We are a resilient people, and can overcome great odds. These orphans succeeded more often than not, and went on to become leaders in government, outstanding teachers, doctors and compassionate citizens.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
PROLOGUE
1862 – New York City
“I tell you he was vicious! He grabbed my bag and almost knocked me off my feet!” The prim lady was red in the face with fury, not fear. She was livid at the attack upon her person that very afternoon. “I was afraid for my very life. You’ve got to do something, officer. That’s what you get paid for, isn’t it?” She was spitting now, as she made her point—spitting mad.
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Grundell. I know we have a problem with the children on the streets, but I am most confident that the lad didn’t intend to inflict physical harm upon your person; he just intended to snatch your purse.” The old officer tried to placate the irate woman. He’d been through all of this so many times before.
New York City had more than its fair share of homeless and vagrant children—adults too, for that matter. Immigration was exploding its population and there were few jobs to be found, especially for those whom English was not their first language. In some instances, the parents had either died under desperate circumstances, or they had simply turned their children out to fend for themselves. Some merely got lost in the melee.
Since the beginning of the war, a large number of men had enlisted to fight, so they could send their pay back to their families. Their absence left many of their children unsupervised, undisciplined, and uncared for. In a few cases, they were nothing more than an unwanted nuisance. Some of the children had simply become a financial burden too large for their parent to handle.
Turned out onto the street, these children were forced to steal if they were to survive. They formed gangs and their victims, like this poor lady, were set upon in broad daylight, right in the middle of the city. The officer hated to admit it, but the poor little things were out of control and something needed to be done for their welfare and the safety of the citizenry.
“These brats are running amuck,” the woman, continued to yell. “They’re dangerous and liable to kill good people just out for a stroll. I’ve heard they carry knives. They shouldn’t be allowed to run free. They should be in jail.”
Just then, a tall and friendly looking officer escorted a dirty, skinny, little boy into the room. The child never looked up at the lady, but fixed his eyes on the policeman. Perhaps it was the man’s calloused and hard working hands that instilled trust in the boy. They were much like his pa’s hands. It might have been the officer’s big, shaggy mustache, so much like his grandfather’s. Muddy trails from the tears he’d already shed, streaked his grimy face. The kindly policeman noticed his feet were bare.
Before the boy could say anything in his defense, the lady started screaming and pointing her well-manicured finger. “Oh, my Lord! That’s him . . . that’s him! Thank God, you’ve caught him. Now I shall be able to sleep tonight. Take him directly to jail! Where’s my bag, you little criminal?” She shouted at the top of her lungs.
“This is your assailant, Mrs. Grundell?” The older officer was incredulous. “This little boy? He’s seven years old, if he’s a day. Hardly a dangerous criminal.”
“Are you deaf? I told you, that’s him. And I want my purse and everything in it. Lock him up. I demand you do as I say. I know some very influential people in this town—people who pay your salary.”
The officer growled to himself. Sometimes he hated his job. He hated being nice to people that didn’t deserve it. “Well, ma’am, it seems your purse is intact and is on the sergeant’s desk. You can go claim it now, and be on your way. I’ll take care of everything else. But before you go, I think this young man wants to apologize to you, for what he’s done.”
Turning to the little fellow, he asked, “Isn’t that so, Butch?”
Before the boy could nod or say yes, the lady turned on him, poking his stomach with the sharp tip of her parasol. Her face contorted with anger and the spittle escaped her mouth as she leaned menacingly over the child. “You are nothing but a little thief and I want no apology from you. I want you locked up in jail or in an asylum, and I’ll see to it, too!”
The officer swiftly put himself between the woman and the child, to protect him from her attack. “I said, I’ll take care of him, ma’am, but I want to say one thing, first. I want you to think about this child when you sit down to your supper tonight. Think about him when you lay your head down on your soft, clean pillow, with a roof over your head to keep you warm and dry. See his bare feet when you dress in the morning—then—tell me to punish him further by locking him away.”
The kind man looked over at the terrified child and noticed he had wet himself. The officer could barely control his temper long enough to keep from throwing the rude woman out of the room. He sighed. “Then, see if you can tell me to do that.” His body went rigid with unspent rage.
Mrs. Grundell quieted and looked directly at the trembling child. Her lip curled back in disgust. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you to do with him, officer. And all those like him.” She stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
The policeman offered his handkerchief to the little boy, knowing it would be forever ruined, but perhaps the child would like to keep it. His tired, blue eyes softened as the child smiled for the first time, that day. “I’m sure happy she’s gone. How about you?” he asked. He looked down at the dirty little urchin with the big, sorrowful eyes—eyes that did not exactly match in color—eyes that had seen too much for just seven years.
The boy simply nodded.
“Now don’t you worry yourself about her. I’m not going to arrest you or send you to any asylum, either. There are good places for little boys with no home—and I don’t mean that den of thieves where you come from. I know what they do to young boys there, and I promise you, you’re not going back.”
The lad smiled broadly, revealing a large toothless gap.
“How would you like to take a train ride?” The officer watched for the child’s reaction before continuing.
The boy looked as if he didn’t understand and was puzzled by his question.
“You can get some new clothes, all the warm food you can eat, and take a long train ride out of New York City. There’s people living on farms out West, that are eager to have children come and live with them and help them with their farms. Some of them just want children to adopt into their
own families. Would you want to give it a try? I hear that you can always leave, if you choose. What do you say?”
The little boy’s eyes grew wide with wonder. It sounded too good to be true. He nodded and trustingly placed his grubby little hand in the hand of the big officer.
“Th-th-thank you,” he whispered.
CHAPTER ONE
1863 – New York City
Jenny loved brushing her daughter’s hair, making it crackle and gleam like a shiny new penny. The bouncy, red-blonde curls softly framed the most beautiful face Jenny had ever seen on any child; of course there was the chance that she was a wee bit prejudice. With cornflower blue eyes, her daughter was a vision, perfect in every detail, except . . . but that wasn’t important to Jenny. She didn’t like to think about that. She and her husband thought their four-year-old daughter was perfect.
Evie giggled and wriggled about, making it all a game. She loved playing with her mama. She didn’t have any other children to play with, but she didn’t miss what she’d never known.
“Make it thnap, mama. I like it.” Evie had a slight lisp, and while it sounded sweet, it was sometimes difficult for people to understand her.
“Ssnap, dear. Ssss sound,” Jenny stressed to her child. “Try again, sweetie.”
Wrinkling her brow and trying very hard, Evie said loudly, “Ssthnap!”
“Almost darling.” Jenny laughed good-naturedly at her adorable child, but soon suffered from a fit of coughing.
The coughing was getting more frequent now, and more violent. Jenny knew what was wrong, but there was nothing to be done. Evie’s papa had joined the Union Army and they hadn’t heard from him in some time. How long had it been, Jenny wondered, three months or four?
She felt a small hand on her back. Evie was lightly tapping her mama between her shoulders to help with the coughing. Jenny saw the worry and compassion for her, reflected in her little girl’s eyes, and knew it was imperative that she make plans for someone to take care of Evie, when she was no longer able—just in case her husband had not yet returned. Evie was the most precious thing in both their lives, and it was necessary to prepare for the inevitable.
Jenny’s condition worsened by the day, and their money was almost gone. She didn’t know where to turn. Neither she nor her husband had any family to help them. It was getting colder and the rent was overdue. She had been pleading for more time, but the landlord was losing his patience. He kept a close eye on her, always watching, making certain she didn’t move out in the middle of the night and leave owing him.
As her condition rapidly deteriorated, she was aware of the effects it was having on her daughter. Evie had grown quieter, and Jenny would catch her staring up at her with wide-eyed concern. The little girl’s cherubic cheeks were not quite as pink as before, but she could still light up the room with one of her dimpled smiles.
One evening, as they were cuddled up in the big bed Jenny had shared with her husband, Evie cheerfully announced it was almost her birthday. This surprised her mother, as she hadn’t mentioned it to her daughter, fearing it would be a meager celebration. However, not wanting to sadden the child, she forced herself to smile.
“You’re correct, darling. How smart you are to have guessed without being told. Did you see the pumpkins at the market? Is that how you knew?”
Evie nodded her head with excitement. “Yeth, Mama. I know when I thee the punkinth in the market, my birthday ith coming thoon.”
“How old will you be, sweetie?”
Evie fidgeted with her fingers and chewed on her bottom lip. That was her way, when she was trying to solve a riddle. “I’m going to be FIBE!” she happily shrieked. Pleased with herself, she fairly beamed.
Jenny gave her a hug and tickled her tummy. After the laughter had subsided, she gently tried to correct her daughter’s speech. “Yes, sweetheart, you are once again correct, and that’s very smart of you, however, don’t forget to pronounce your v’s. They’re not the same as b’s. It’s Evie, not Ebbie. Understand?”
Evie nodded her head and rolled her eyes. “Yeth, Mama. I know. You tell me all the time. I’m thtill going to be fibe, right?”
“Yes, pet. You’re growing up so fast. I . . . I shall miss you . . .my baby girl.” Jenny could not stop the errant tear that escaped from her eye and trailed down her cheek.
Evie tried to cuddle closer. “Don’t cry, Mama. I’m thtill your baby. I’m jutht growing up. I’ll take care of you when I’m big, Mama. Won’t Papa be thurprithed?”
“He certainly will be surprised, Evie. You’re growing so big and you’re so very beautiful.”
It was a long and difficult night for Jenny. The violent spasms continued to wrack her frail body, throughout the night, making it impossible rest. During those lonely and painful hours, just before dawn, Jenny fretted about her daughter’s future. She prayed continually, for a miracle. Who would find it in their heart to care for a five-year-old girl . . . especially one that was different? With her mind made up, Jenny planned to go out again, the very next morning, and see if she could find some work, or perhaps she would meet that special person willing to raise a sweet, little girl. For weeks on end, she had tried to find help, but it seemed everyone had his own problems to deal with, and no one was eager to assume more. What else was she to do?
Unfortunately, the next morning brought with it new and more immediate concerns. Jenny could not leave her bed, even to prepare food for her daughter. Blood streaked her pillow. She didn’t possess enough strength to lift her head, but her mind was still sharp. Silently, she screamed, Not now! It’s too soon. I’m not prepared. “Oh, Evie, I’m sorry. So sorry,” she muttered softly. She had let her child down. She’d waited too long, and now she had run out of time. Surreptitiously, she turned over her pillow, in an effort to hide the red marks from Evie, and closed her eyes. Maybe tomorrow—.
Evie crawled out of the big bed and slowly made her way to the kitchen table. It was hard for her to lift herself up onto the big chair, but she did, and she waited patiently for her mama to wake up and fix her breakfast. To pass the time, Evie practiced her numbers by counting the flowers embroidered on the curtains. However, there were more flowers than she had numbers, so she counted them backwards. She waited a long time for her mother to awaken. She quietly sang all her favorite songs, so as not to disturb her mama. She loved to sing, and it always made her mama happy.
Evie waited past lunch. She tried to remember all her colors and find them on the tablecloth, but she was getting tired and scared and she had to go potty. The small child sat obediently, while the tears began to fill her eyes. The shadows, in the small room, were lengthening and still her mama was sleeping.
Evie found the bread and the cheese, but remembered her mama didn’t want her to use the knife, so she just chewed it off. She hoped her mama wouldn’t get mad. There was no milk, but she could reach the water bucket. She pulled off a hunk of bread and a bit of cheese and put it in her pocket, then slowly went into the bedroom to see to her mama.
“Mama. Mama, aren’t you hungry?” she whispered. “I brought you cheeth and bread. Mama?”
Her mama would not wake up and her lips were blue. She must be cold, Evie thought, so the little girl crawled up beside her mama, to help keep her warm. It was good that the coughing had stopped, she thought. She stayed there, with her mama, all night.
Evie fell asleep early, knowing there was something dreadfully wrong, but not knowing what to do about it. In her dreams, her mama and her papa were playing with her and she was performing . . . singing and dancing for them. They clapped for her. “You’re the best dancer,” they exclaimed.
Suddenly, Evie was awakened as strong hands grabbed her, plucking her out of the bed and away from her mama. It was still dark and she couldn’t see who was in the room or why they were hurting her. She started to scream.
“Take the child out of here, now,” a man ordered the woman who had hold of Evie’s shoulders. Evie fought like a wildcat, but she was too
small; her struggles made no difference. A wool blanket was tossed over her head and wrapped tightly about her thin frame.
“No, no!” she screamed. “Mama, help me!”
The lady took her out of the building and into the light drizzle that was falling from the night sky. She forced her into a carriage and then wrapped her big, comforting arms around the small, frightened child.
“Now, now child. You just go ahead and cry, darlin’. It’s nature’s medicine, don’t ‘cha know? You’ve had a hard time of it, lately. Your mama got very sick, and she’s gone to live with the angels. Did you know that?”
Evie was sobbing because she knew what the lady said was true. Her mama had been sick for such a long time.
“The nice man, the one who owns this buildin’, has been watchin’ o’er your mama, and he told us he was worried about you. It’s lucky that we stopped by this evenin’. You look like you need some food in that tummy o’ yours. Everythin’ will be all right now, darlin’. You’ll see.”
* * *
Everything now, was so different from what Evie had known before. She was living in a big building with lots and lots of children. Most were orphans, but a few children were given away by their parents, too poor to feed them. In the evenings, she could hear the children crying out for their mothers and fathers, but when dawn broke through the gloom of night, the children were more hopeful that they would soon find a better life. Most were hungry, ragged, and some were sick. Many spoke in languages that Evie didn’t understand. However, the one thing that all the children seemed to have in common was their desire to make fun of Evie. They enjoyed teasing the small, quiet child, because she was different.
Evie soon realized how different she really was. Some of the children simply stared at her, but others laughed and called her names. Her mama and papa told she was pretty and she always tried to be good, but it made no difference to these children. They pointed at her and called her a cripple. They didn’t want to play with her or even talk to her. One little girl came up to Evie and asked if she would share her meal. Evie nodded, happy to have someone to talk to, but the little girl pushed her down and stole her apple. Evie didn’t cry. She decided then and there, that she never would again. After all, hadn’t her mama asked her not to cry?