Together Forever

by Jody Hedlund

  Whatever the case, he liked Marianne Neumann. Probably a great deal more than he should. Although he knew he should be more careful in the future to make sure he guarded both of their hearts from attachment, he inwardly shoved away the concerns.

  He didn’t want to worry about it. In fact, he made it a policy not to worry whenever possible. Not about the future, and most definitely not about the past. He liked to live in the moment, taking one day at a time.

  There was no sense in worrying about what might or might not happen with his feelings toward Marianne. After all, even if she showed interest in him, once she found Reinhold, she’d run back to him and forget Drew ever existed.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn came too soon. The sun had barely begun to lighten the sky when the children woke up. Soon their excited chattering rang in the air. Before Marianne could stop them, they were running off the train platform in all directions to explore the town. She attempted to corral them, especially the youngest, but Drew shrugged off her concern with one of his easy grins and “Everything will be just fine” responses.

  “Don’t worry, they won’t wander far,” he said. “Their rumbling stomachs will bring them back soon enough.”

  At the very least, she tried to make sure the youngest were paired with the older children. She ambled hand in hand down Main Street with Dorothea and another little girl, hushing groups of children whenever they became too rambunctious.

  “Remember, we want to make a good first impression on your new mommies and daddies,” she said. “We don’t want them thinking you’re obnoxious street ruffians, do we?”

  Mrs. Trott had instructed her on the importance of making sure the children were clean and in their best clothing before the meeting. If the orphans looked proper like all the other children, then families would take greater interest. Marianne understood, but still didn’t like the idea, that people couldn’t accept the children in their ragged state, that they must be cleaned and polished to be made acceptable.

  Mrs. Trott had also told Marianne the children must be on their best behavior, that she would need to teach some of them to say please and thank you because they’d never learned any manners.

  As Marianne walked around town and tried to keep a semblance of order among the children, Drew headed for a spacious two-story parsonage that sat next to the church. He’d informed her that Reverend Smith was in charge of the Emigration Committee for Benton and that he needed to speak to the reverend to discover the arrangements for their food and lodging.

  Marianne kept peering in the direction of the home where Drew had gone, willing him back outside to help her keep track of the children. The sun was fully visible by the time he exited the parsonage. At the sight of Drew, the children came running back. Marianne realized Drew had been right, that their hunger had spurred them to return.

  He led them across the street to a tavern and hotel called the American House. There weren’t enough tables and benches to seat all the children, so they had to take turns eating breakfast comprised of eggs, bacon, and thick slices of warm bread. Marianne ate standing up, trying to hide how much she was enjoying the hot meal after the endless jelly sandwiches. The twinkle in Drew’s eyes told her he’d noticed and was amused.

  When they finished eating, the hotel proprietor showed them to the rooms where they could wash up and change into their spare outfits, the second set of new clothing they’d been given by the Children’s Aid Society. Marianne supervised the washing of hands and faces and the combing of hair, doing her best to make sure the children looked their best.

  “Try to keep yourself absolutely clean,” she admonished as they walked down the street toward the church. The children were mostly silent now, their faces reflecting the uncertainty and fear over what was about to happen.

  “When are the new mommies and daddies coming to get us?” Jethro asked, falling into step next to Marianne and Dorothea. Strands of his red hair stood on end, unwilling to submit in spite of her vigorous combing.

  “I think they’ll all arrive sometime this morning,” she replied, noting the town had come alive during their reprieve inside the hotel. The clomp and clatter of horses and wagons and the greetings of tradesmen opening their shops echoed in the crisp morning. The yeasty scent of baking bread wafted from a nearby bakery, reminding her of Vater, of family, and that she had neither anymore. In some ways she was every bit as much an orphan as the children she was helping. And so was Sophie.

  Her inquiries around Benton about Sophie had been met with the same responses she’d had so far all along the way. Among the many immigrants who’d passed through over recent months, no one remembered seeing a blond-haired young girl of about sixteen.

  Though disheartened, Marianne told herself she’d only just begun. If she didn’t find any clues regarding Sophie’s whereabouts on this placing-out trip along the Central Illinois Railroad, perhaps she would on the next journey along a different railroad with other towns. She’d ride all the railroads if she had to until she found Sophie.

  Their large group drew the curious stares of everyone they passed. People clustered around windows of businesses to watch them walk by while others stood in their doorways. Marianne didn’t see any hostile expressions, but neither did she see any that were particularly enthusiastic.

  What were the people thinking? Were they happy to have the orphans? Or did they resent having the homeless children brought to their town? Marianne knew people had mixed opinions about the Emigration Program. Some were willing to participate and believed it their God-given duty to show charity. Others thought Reverend Brace was dumping New York City’s trouble onto their doorsteps. Marianne prayed the citizens of Benton were the charitable kind.

  “Will they take me home in one of their wagons?” Jethro watched a wagon rolling into town, a man and his wife on the bench with several small children in the back.

  “Yes.” At the thought of parting ways with Jethro, she had to speak past a constricting throat. “I suppose they will.” Even though she’d only known the boy for three days, she couldn’t bear the thought of handing him over to complete strangers. Apparently this was why the other agents had cautioned her against getting too close to the children, because they’d known how hard it would be to watch them ride away.

  “Will I get to go out and work in the farm fields today?” Jethro asked with his adorable lisp.

  “Your new family will want to get to know you first.” At least she prayed they wouldn’t be inclined to send a seven-year-old into the fields like a slave boy. But who would stop them if they did?

  At the thought, a shudder skimmed up Marianne’s backbone. Dorothea looked up at her with frightened eyes as if sensing Marianne’s growing trepidation.

  Stop worrying, Marianne. Try to be positive like Drew. He was walking at the rear of the group, and his voice was cheerful and encouraging.

  She smiled down at Dorothea and squeezed the little girl’s hand. But Dorothea didn’t smile in return. She rarely did. With an enormous bow tied in blond hair and silky natural ringlets hanging to her shoulders, Dorothea had an angelic aura. She was a pretty girl, and any family would be lucky to have her.

  But would the new family be sensitive to the girl’s homesickness? Would they be tender and sweet to her while she adjusted? Maybe Marianne would have to give Dorothea’s new parents a few instructions about how to comfort her if she cried again.

  Marianne could only imagine the little girl in a strange new place, alone, frightened, and crying. What if her new parents were too busy to comfort her? Or didn’t care? Or worse yet, grew frustrated by it? Marianne sensed any amount of frustration would only send Dorothea further into despair.

  Once again, Marianne’s throat tightened as tears burned the back of her eyes. This was awful. If just the thought of parting ways with these precious children was hard, how would she handle giving them up when it really happened?

  “Maybe my new home will have cows and pigs and sheep.” Jethro’s steady stream
of chatter continued. “I might like a dog, especially if he was a puppy. I might like a few cats too. Do you think my new home will have chickens?”

  Several other boys joined in the litany of what farm life might be like, which was a welcome distraction. But as soon as they stepped through the doors of the church into the stillness of the empty sanctuary, the children became silent and somber. Even the three older boys seemed subdued, as if they finally realized the gravity of what was about to happen.

  They filed to the front pews to sit until the townspeople arrived. After Reverend Smith gave his opening address, Drew announced a few brief instructions about what they were to do. When people began to arrive, Drew squeezed into the spot next to Marianne. His arm pressed against hers, as did his thigh. She tried to make more room for him, but the children on the other side of her were already packed tightly together.

  Drew didn’t seem to notice he was practically sitting on her lap, so she decided to pretend she hadn’t noticed either, although it was hard for her to ignore the delectable pooling of warmth in her stomach that seemed to come all too quickly whenever she was near him.

  He held out a black book that was about an inch thick, similar to the ones that had been in Reverend Brace’s desk drawer. “I think you’d be better suited to keeping the record book than me. You’re more organized.”

  “True.” The plain cover was worn and tattered in one corner, the pages appearing well used and nearly full.

  “Since I’m more experienced, Brace thought I should handle the book on this trip,” he explained in a low whisper. “But if you’re willing to do the job, I’d be more than happy to hand it over to you.”

  She took the book hesitantly. While she could read and write, she wasn’t proficient at it since she’d had to quit school and work in the sweatshop after Vater had died. “What do I need to record?”

  “You don’t need to write much.” He dug in his coat and as he did so, his body pressed against hers even more. He withdrew a pen and offered it to her. She took it, careful not to let her fingers brush against his, but his grazed hers nonetheless.

  She could feel herself flush at the intimacy of it, and she quickly opened the book to divert her thoughts away from Drew, though that was becoming harder to do with every passing day.

  The book fell open to the last page that had been written upon near the end. The handwriting was in scrawled cursive, hardly legible. It read, John Dublin, American, Protestant, thirteen years, orphan, parents died in Maine, a snoozer for four years, most of the time in New York, intelligent, brown eyes, hopeful. Placed in Iowa City.

  “What’s a snoozer?”

  “Street name for a thief that robs someone while they’re sleeping.”

  She studied the entry and then paged through older entries. The handwriting varied, some neat and clear, others too difficult to read. Overall, however, none of the information about each child was very long. “The details are so sparse.”

  “Not much is needed.”

  “Don’t you think we should record as much as we can? What about families searching for their children . . .” Her pulse came to a crashing halt, and her hands froze on the book.

  What if these pages contained the information about Sophie or Olivia and Nicholas that she’d been looking for that day she’d snuck into Reverend Brace’s office? She didn’t know how many record books the Children’s Aid Society had, yet if this particular book had the names and descriptions of children placed over the past year, then there was a good chance Sophie’s name could be there.

  Marianne’s fingers trembled at the thought. She clutched the book tighter to keep Drew from sensing her sudden excitement. She certainly didn’t want him taking the book away from her until she’d had the chance to read through it more carefully.

  “The most important thing in charity is the personal relationships we establish,” Drew was saying in answer to her question. “Besides, there really is no way to keep track of everything. Last year we placed out over seven hundred children. Since the founding of the Children’s Aid Society four years ago, we’ve placed nearly three thousand. If we decided to record more details, we’d have to hire someone full time to do so.”

  “Even so, surely we can do better,” she whispered, attempting to keep their conversation private, although she was sure the children around them were hearing every word. She bit back the need to argue with Drew, especially because some of the residents were filing into the church in anticipation of the meeting.

  Drew rose and began to make his way around the church, introducing himself and making his acquaintance with families. She wondered if she ought to do the same. But with the thick record book in her hands, she couldn’t make herself get up. She could only sit and stare at it, and tremble at the realization that her months of searching might end today.

  “Miss Neumann,” called one of the boys in the pew in front of her. It was Peter, a young boy of about ten who had been one of the quieter children on the trip. He hadn’t yet spoken to her directly, although his younger brother, George, was more outgoing and had told her that since their mother had lost her job, they’d been living on the streets. They’d found refuge for a while in a grocer’s coal box and then for some time on a ferry, where a kind deckhand had let them sleep in the engine room.

  Peter and George’s story of survival was like many other children in the group, so sad and desperate. Surely any new life here in the West was better than what they’d been accustomed to. She had to remember that. She had to keep telling herself the children would be better now.

  “What do you need, Peter?” she asked.

  “I c-c-can’t,” Peter stuttered, and his face flamed with embarrassment.

  She tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed his stuttering, and she waited patiently for him to continue.

  He opened his mouth and attempted to formulate a word, but nothing came out.

  “It’s all right,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. Inwardly, however, her heart ached for the boy. No wonder he hadn’t spoken much during the trip and had let George do most of the talking for him.

  The boy on the other side of Peter finally turned with an exasperated frown. “What Pete’s trying to say is that he can’t find George.”

  “Can’t find George?” Marianne scanned the pews of orphans, looking for the brown-headed boy who resembled Peter. “Where could he be?”

  “Pete ain’t seen him since before breakfast,” the boy offered before turning back around.

  The words sank into Marianne and filled her with dread. When she met Pete’s gaze this time, she could sense the dread and worry in his eyes too. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

  Peter nodded vigorously.

  Marianne stood, her heartbeat tapping at double speed. She surveyed the sanctuary and found Drew at the back speaking with an older couple. She wound her way around the pews toward him. As she approached, his gaze swerved to her as though he’d sensed her urgency—or perhaps read it on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, turning away from the couple.

  “It appears we’ve lost a child,” she whispered in return.

  “Lost?”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, George. Peter’s little brother.”

  “Are you sure he’s not just hiding for the fun of it?” Drew ducked to look under the pews.

  “Peter said George didn’t come back for breakfast this morning.”

  Drew straightened, his expression grave. She’d learned Drew was rarely without a smile. So she knew the situation was serious.

  His body had gone from relaxed to tense and alert in an instant. He bolted into action, gathering the group of boys Peter and George normally played with. He drilled them with questions before he finally sought the reverend.

  “We’re forming search parties,” Drew said as he returned to where she stood near the pews trying to control the children who were fidgeting and growing anxious.

  Drew’s eye
s were the most serious she’d ever seen. Any hint of humor was gone, replaced by a gravity that made her insides quaver.

  “The boys said the last place they saw George was at daybreak when he was heading out of town across a bridge.”

  Marianne’s blood ran cold. It only grew colder—in spite of the warm June sunshine—as the day progressed. One man after another swam into the deep and murky part of the creek under the bridge and attempted to locate the boy’s body. Other search parties scoured the surrounding woods, and still others walked rural roads, hoping to find the young boy and praying he’d merely strayed too far from town and lost his way.

  By nightfall, the search was called off, most believing George had drowned in the creek and had been swept far downstream. Dripping wet and exhausted, Drew only shook his head when Marianne begged him to stop for the evening. She was afraid he’d grow so faint that he’d drown too, but he dove under the water again regardless of her pleas.

  Marianne finally led the rest of the children back to the American House for dinner. Their faces were sunburned and sad as they sat silently around the tavern tables and ate. Peter was inconsolable and had gone up to the boys’ room, curled in a tight ball in a corner and wouldn’t speak to anyone.

  After the long day and with the heavy weight of the loss upon them, the orphans were soon all asleep, some of the youngest sharing beds, the rest asleep on the floor. As much as Marianne longed to fall into bed herself, her worry over Drew kept her awake.

  Deep into the night, when she heard the front door of the hotel creak open, she tiptoed downstairs. The tavern was shrouded in shadows.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, she found Drew sitting at the table closest to the door, his body slumped in a chair, his head resting on his arms on the table. The dejection oozed from his body as surely as the water dripping from his clothes into puddles on the floor.