by Al Lacy
The twins put on their coats, caps, and mittens, and headed toward the apartment’s door, with Deena carrying the cloth bag.
Delia and the children were waiting for them. Their baby brother was in Delia’s arms. Tears were streaming down the mother’s thin, sallow cheeks. She laid the baby down on the worn-out sofa and gathered the twins in her arms. “I’m so sorry, girls. So very, very sorry. I love you.”
“We love you too, Mama,” said Donna. “It isn’t your fault. We will come by and check on you if we ever can. Try not to worry about us. Just take care of yourself and that new baby.”
The other children stood by. When Delia let go of the twins, they gathered close, clung to them, and wept.
As Donna started to open the door, Delia reached into her dress pocket and took out two one-dollar bills. Handing one to each, she said, “I took these from our grocery money. They will help you get started on the streets.”
The twins thanked their mother in unison, and while tears streamed down their cheeks, they stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind them. As they started down the hall, they heard their mother burst into loud sobs. Their brothers and sisters were also crying as if their hearts would break.
Chapter Three
Monday, March 13, was a blustery day in Manhattan, and the wind whistled over the ice and snow on the ground, cutting its way mercilessly along the streets and between buildings. People walking and crossing the streets had their collars pulled up and their heads bent against the wind as they held on to their hats.
Officer Justin Smith was walking his beat on 30th Street, greeting folks along the way. Those who spoke back complained about the cold wind, and Smith agreed. As Smith stopped on one corner, he talked with the owner of a nearby clothing store for a few seconds, then moved on down the block. The howling wind was at his back, and seemed determined to freeze his ears off.
Suddenly the wind’s howl rose in pitch and volume. He shuddered as it sharpened itself on his spine. He looked down the street a few doors past the Manhattan Bank and fixed his eyes on the sign that read: Welch’s Delicatessen and Coffee Shop.
Justin told himself that when he reached Welch’s place, he would go inside out of the cold and get himself a nice steaming cup of coffee. That would warm his bones.
As he drew near the bank, he saw a man open the door and start to enter, then stiffen and back away, letting the wind blow the door closed. The man hastened toward the door of the department store, which was the next building after the bank.
Suddenly two masked men bolted out the bank door, carrying revolvers and stuffed cloth moneybags with the bank’s name printed on them.
Smith whipped out his gun and aimed it at them. His voice sounded like flint on steel. “Halt! Drop those guns!”
Both of them instantly turned their guns on him and fired. A slug chewed into a light pole beside Smith as he returned fire. One of the robbers went down and hit the sidewalk like a broken doll. People on the street were scattering for cover. Smith saw two women just the other side of the remaining robber, frozen in their tracks. He hesitated to fire for fear of hitting one of the women.
The robber blasted away, and Smith felt a powerful blow as one of the bullets hit his chest. He staggered, but managed to keep his balance. The two women had now darted into the doorway of a shop. Smith saw another flash from the robber’s gun and felt the hot breath of the bullet as it hissed passed his right ear. The robber was pulling back the hammer again. Steadying his weakening legs, Smith took careful aim and fired. The slug hit the robber dead center in the heart.
Justin Smith’s knees gave way and he collapsed to the sidewalk. He was aware of people gathering around him and one man examining his wound when a black curtain seemed to descend over his brain. He tried to shake it off, but it was impossible.
He could still hear the howling wind around him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
On Thursday morning, March 16, it was another cold, blustery day. Charles Loring Brace, executive secretary of the Children’s Aid Society, was at Manhattan’s Grand Central Station to send off another orphan train. His adult sponsors had the sixty-four children boarding the two coaches that were designated by the railroad company to be occupied by the Society’s orphans only. Four other coaches were boarding regular passengers.
The orphan coaches were behind the others, with the boys’ coach just ahead of the caboose.
Brace, a small, thin man of fifty, thanked the three wagon drivers who had transported the children to the station from the Society’s headquarters, and they drove away.
Brace turned and looked back toward the orphan coaches. The last few children were climbing aboard under the directions of the sponsors. When he saw that the girls were all in their coach, he moved toward it and up the platform steps. Upon entering the coach, Brace saw the two women sponsors and the nurse who traveled with them smile at him. The girls, ranging from five years old to sixteen, were chatting among themselves about what lay before them on the western frontier. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, yet there was also a hint of fear.
The chatting began to wane when they saw Mr. Brace enter. All eyes were fixed on him, then one of the sponsors said, “All right, girls, let’s everyone get quiet. Mr. Brace wants to talk to you.”
The woodstove had a crackling fire in it, but had not yet warmed up to make the coach comfortable. The girls stayed in their coats and kept their knit caps and mittens on. They huddled close together on the seats.
There was admiration in the eyes of the girls toward the man who had taken them off the streets of New York City, or from the crowded discomfort of the city’s orphanages.
Smiling warmly at the curious faces, Brace said, “Young ladies, I usually have this talk with all the orphans in the auditorium at the Society’s headquarters on the morning of the day they are to be put on a train, but circumstances kept me from doing it this morning. I want to make sure all of you understand that there will be several stops between here and Kansas City, Missouri. There will not be prospective foster parents waiting to choose orphans until we cross the Missouri River. The first stop where you will have opportunity to be chosen is in Overland Park, Kansas, just across the Missouri-Kansas border.
“I want to caution you not to be discouraged, even if you haven’t been chosen after many stops out West. This train is going to San Francisco, and there will be many stops between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean. Very few children have had to be returned to New York because they were not chosen by the time they had arrived at the last stop on the west coast. So don’t get discouraged if you’re not chosen right away, all right?”
Many of the girls were nodding.
“That’s good! I’m praying that all of you will be taken into good homes out there and have happy lives. Well, I’ll say goodbye now.”
A fourteen-year-old girl lifted her hand.
Brace smiled. “Yes, Daisy?”
Daisy stood up. “Mr. Brace, I want to thank you for establishing the Children’s Aid Society. Could I thank you with a hug?”
Brace’s face beamed. “Of course, honey.”
When Daisy left her seat to hug the man who was giving her a new lease on life, the rest of the girls left their seats and got in line. The women sponsors and the nurse looked on with tears in their eyes as the orphan girls hugged the slender little man and thanked him for what he had done for them.
When the last girl had hugged him, Brace wished them all the best, then went to the boys’ coach to make the same speech. This was done quickly, for the train was getting ready to pull out.
As the engine hissed steam, the whistle blew and the train began to move out. Charles Loring Brace stood beside the two coaches and waved with a smile as the children looked at him through the windows and waved good-bye.
Many of the faces in the windows were alive with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Take care of each one of them, Lord,” he said in a low voice. “They have been through so much hea
rtache and sorrow. They deserve to have happy lives.”
Brace turned away and headed for the parking lot where he had left his horse and buggy. “Thank You, Lord, for the thousands of homeless boys and girls the Society has been able to send out West over these many years. And thank You that for the most part, they have found good homes.”
It was quiet inside the girls’ coach as the train pulled out of Grand Central Station. The girls sat quietly, each one lost in her own thoughts and daydreams. Minutes later, they all started talking at once, going over Mr. Brace’s explanations, and the encouraging words he had spoken.
On a seat where a five-year-old sat beside a ten-year-old, little Molly Ann looked up at the older girl with tears shining in her eyes. “Abigail, I’m scared. What if nobody wants a girl as young as me? I’m sort of small for my age, but even though I’m only five, I can be a big help to someone if they’ll only take me. I helped my mama a lot before she died.”
Abigail took hold of her small hand. “Now don’t you worry, little bit. You’ll probably be the very first one to be chosen. Any woman would love to have you for her very own little girl. If I was a woman and looking for a girl to choose, I’d take you just for those big brown eyes!”
“Really?” Molly Ann’s brown eyes were wide with unshed tears and wonder.
Abigail put her arm around Molly Ann’s shoulder and squeezed her tight. “Really!”
“Well, okay, if you say so.”
“I say so.”
The sponsors stood at the front of the coach and watched as similar incidents took place. When they looked at each other, one of them said, “What more rewarding work could be found than ours?”
The other smiled. “It doesn’t exist.”
Forty minutes after he had driven away from the railroad station, Charles Loring Brace pulled his buggy into the Society’s parking lot behind the large building on the corner of Astor Place and Lafayette Street in downtown Manhattan, which formerly had accommodated the Italian Opera House.
He released the gelding from his harness and led him past the three wagons that had earlier transported the children to Grand Central Station, put him in the small barn with the other horses, and headed for the back door.
When Brace entered his secretary’s office, he smiled at Ivy Daniels. “Well, another precious group of children are on their way west.”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Amen to that.”
“Mr. Brace, there is someone here to see you—Mr. Wayne Stanfill, superintendent of the Thirty-second Street Orphanage.”
“Oh, all right.”
“He’s in your office.”
“Fine. You’re new here, Ivy, and you probably don’t know that Mr. Stanfill and I are good friends.”
“No, sir. I wasn’t aware of that.”
“I have put many an orphan on our trains from the Thirty-second Street Orphanage. How long has he been here?”
“Nearly two hours. He said it was urgent that he see you, but he was willing to wait. I gave him some coffee.”
“Good,” said Brace, heading for his office door. “I’m sure he needs more orphans sent west.”
When Brace entered his office, Wayne Stanfill jumped to his feet from the chair he was sitting in, and the two men shook hands. “Good to see you, Wayne. I have a feeling this urgent meeting has to do with your crowded quarters at the orphanage.”
Stanfill ran fingers through his mustache. “Now, what would make you think that?”
Brace laughed and pointed to the chair where Stanfill had been sitting. “Sit down.”
Stanfill settled onto the chair while Brace pulled another one up close and sat down.
Brace smiled. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, I need you to take another group on one of your trains as soon as you can. We’re really cramped tight.”
“I guess Ivy told you I just put a load of orphans on a train this morning.”
“Yes.”
“There will be another train going in a week, but with the number of children already in our temporary quarters, that train will be full. I think I explained to you that the railroad companies will only donate the use of two coaches on any one train, didn’t I?”
“Yes. One for the boys, and one for the girls.”
“Right. The next train will go in two weeks: Thursday, March 30. There is still plenty of room on that one as yet. How many do you want to send?”
“I have six boys and eight girls, at the minimum, who need to be on that train. There may be more to schedule on it within a few more days.”
“As it stands now, I can easily accommodate that many on the March 30 train. I’ll make a note to hold space for six boys and eight girls, and if you have more within a few days, I’m sure I’ll have room for them. Tell you what—”
Stanfill raised his eyebrows. “Mm-hmm?”
“Since we just sent sixty-four westward, the Society has some extra room for more children at this moment. You can bring those fourteen over right away if you wish.”
Relief showed on Wayne Stanfill’s face. “Oh, bless you! I’ll have all fourteen brought over tomorrow morning.”
“Fine. We’ll be expecting them.”
When Wayne Stanfill arrived back at the orphanage, he found two police officers sitting beside the receptionist’s desk with a dark-headed boy between them. He heard her say, “Here’s Mr. Stanfill now, gentlemen.”
Both uniformed men rose to their feet and one of them took a step toward him. “Mr. Stanfill, I’m Officer Dan McNally and this is Officer Vince Paddock.”
Stanfill shook hands with both men, then set his gaze on the boy, who rose from his chair. “And who is this young man?”
“His name is Johnny Smith, sir,” said McNally. “He’s twelve years old.”
Stanfill shook hands with Johnny, whose eyes were red and swollen. He looked at the officers. “He’s been weeping. What’s wrong?”
“My dad was killed on Monday, sir,” Johnny said. “I know you were acquainted with him. He brought a boy named Teddy Hansen to you recently.”
Wayne Stanfill felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “Y-your father was killed?”
Johnny choked up. “Yes, sir.”
Stanfill turned to the officers. “How?”
McNally drew a suffering breath. “The Manhattan Bank was on his beat. He came upon a bank robbery in progress. There was a shootout. Officer Smith killed both bank robbers, but took a bullet in the chest. He died on the way to the hospital. It was in the newspapers Tuesday.”
“I’ve been so busy the past few days, I haven’t had time to read a newspaper.”
“Officer Smith was buried this morning at the Thirty-eighth Street Cemetery,” said Paddock. “We brought Johnny here after the graveside service. He has no one else to take him. Chief Masterson and his wife have had Johnny in their home the past three nights, and because he is Officer Justin Smith’s son they would like to keep him, but they aren’t able to do it.”
Stanfill nodded, then turned to the boy and looked into his eyes, recalling that Officer Smith’s wife had died just a year ago. In those eyes, Stanfill saw the same panic and desperation that he had found in so many homeless, parentless children ever since he opened the orphanage many years ago.
Stanfill laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gave him a reassuring smile. “Johnny, I know what it’s like to be left alone in this big world. I was orphaned when I was nine years old. I was put in an orphanage in Boston and stayed there until I was seventeen. I got wonderful care, and the people who ran the orphanage showed me love and kindness all those years. This is why I chose this business for my life’s work.”
“We know the kind of care the children get here, Mr. Stanfill,” said Dan McNally, “that’s why we brought Johnny to you. We’ve heard you’re overcrowded, but we felt sure you would make a place for him.”
One hand was still on Johnny’s shoulder. Stanfill looked at the officers. “Tell you what, gentlemen.
I’ve just returned from the Children’s Aid Society. I made arrangements with Charles Loring Brace to take fourteen of our children on his next available orphan train west, which will be March 30. However, I’m sending them to the Society’s headquarters tomorrow morning. They’ve got room for them, and for a few more, if needed. If Johnny wants to, I can send him and he can go out West and be taken into a foster home.”
Johnny looked up at him. “Really? I could go on an orphan train?”
“You sure can. I think it would prove out to be a very good opportunity for you. It will give you far more advantages in life than staying around here. The Wild West sounds really adventurous, don’t you think?”
Johnny pondered Stanfill’s words for a few seconds, then a smile crossed his face and his eyes lit up. “It sure does!”
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stanfill! I know I would like the West a lot!”
“Good. That’s settled, then. I’ll send you to the Children’s Aid Society along with the fourteen others in the morning. Mr. Brace will put you on the train with them.”
Dan McNally—who had been a close friend of Officer Justin Smith—said, “Johnny, your dad talked a lot about you and your desire to be a policeman when you grow up. He was so proud that you wanted to follow in his footsteps and wear a badge. Hey, if you go out West, someday you can become a town marshal or a county sheriff or a deputy United States marshal.”
Johnny bit his lip. “I … ah … well, ah … since Dad got killed Monday, I’ve been thinking maybe I wouldn’t wear a badge someday after all.”
Dan nodded. “Well, I can understand why you’d feel that way. But maybe you’ll feel differently once you’re over the shock of your father being killed. Don’t rule it out completely. Your father was so proud that his son wanted to be a law officer.”
Johnny managed a grin. “I won’t rule it out completely, sir.”
“Good. Justin Smith was an excellent law officer, and I know you would be just like him.”