Searching for You

by Jody Hedlund

  Sophie looked toward the remainder of the orphans who were only two dozen paces away. With all the sights and sounds of a new city, the children weren’t paying them any attention. She had to sneak away now before anyone noticed them wandering off.

  “Please, Olivia,” she whispered, not caring that her voice was threaded with desperation. “You knew this was our plan all along. Don’t give me trouble now.”

  Olivia lifted her pert nose in the air and jutted out her chin with a defiance that had been showing itself more often. “They’re your plans. Not mine or Nicholas’s.”

  “I like candy. Don’t you like it, Ollie?” Nicholas asked, coming to stand in front of his sister and peering at her with a serious expression that would have been comical had their situation not been so dire.

  “We have to go now.” Sophie reached for Olivia’s hands and began to loosen her hold. “Stop being so stubborn.”

  “No!” Olivia cried out. Her outburst drew the attention of several orphans.

  Frustration flooded Sophie. Why was Olivia making this so difficult? She tried to lift Olivia away from the bench, intending to fling her across her shoulder and carry her away if necessary. “Olivia, you need to come with me this instant.”

  Olivia refused to release her grasp on the bench. “You’re not my mother. So stop acting like you are.”

  The words were a fist punch into Sophie’s stomach. The air left her lungs, and she stared at Olivia, speechless and hurt. She’d been the only mother Olivia and Nicholas could remember. She’d loved them better than their real mother, who’d never cared about them even before she’d abandoned them.

  The little girl clamped her lips shut and glared at her.

  “What’s wrong, Ollie?” Nicholas asked, putting a palm to his sister’s cheek.

  Sophie shook her head, warning Olivia not to say anything. But Olivia ignored her and focused instead on Nicholas.

  “Sophie doesn’t want us to find a home on a farm with a nice mommy and daddy. She wants us to stay here in Chicago and live on the streets.”

  At Olivia’s declaration, Nicholas spun to face Sophie, his expression crushed, his joy ebbing away. “But I wanna live on a farm with a mommy and daddy. And a puppy and chickens.”

  Sophie released Olivia and let her hands fall to her sides in defeat. She met Anna’s gaze over the children’s heads. Anna only shrugged and silently seemed to say, I warned you. What did you expect?

  “I wanna eat lots of apples and melons and blackberries,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping with each word he spoke. When his bottom lip began to wobble and tears welled in his eyes, Sophie sighed.

  “We want a real home,” Olivia stated, plunging a blade into Sophie’s heart.

  Sophie clutched her chest and tried to breathe through the pain. What could she say now? It was clear neither of them wanted to be with her. Apparently she wasn’t good enough, nor was her love sufficient.

  Although she’d come to the same conclusion during the long hours of sleeplessness last night, it was one thing to admit her own inadequacies and another to have others point them out.

  Didn’t they understand she’d done the very best she could? Didn’t they realize how much she loved them and all she’d sacrificed to keep them together?

  Well, if this was how they felt about her, then she wouldn’t force them to live with her, not when they didn’t love and appreciate her in return.

  She turned toward the street that ran in front of the depot. It was teeming with horses pulling carriages and wagons, as well as pedestrians hurrying among the businesses that lined the other side of the street.

  The ache in her heart told her to lose herself in the crowd, to start a new life without the children. She’d be free to do anything she wanted. In fact, without the two holding her back, she’d have more opportunities at finding work, particularly as a domestic. Her life would be better and easier.

  But even as she tried to convince herself to walk away from them and lose herself in the swarming metropolis of Chicago, she couldn’t make her feet move. Maybe Nicholas and Olivia weren’t her real children, born of her body, but she loved them as if they were. And the thought of leaving them at the mercy of strangers and an unknown fate was too difficult to imagine.

  “Reverend and Mrs. Poole will be back any second,” Anna said with a nervous glance at the depot door. “What do you want to do, Sophie?”

  “You can go if you want.” Olivia jumped up from the bench. “But I’m staying and so is Nicholas.” She grabbed her brother’s hand and began to march him back to the group.

  Nicholas stumbled along without resisting. He looked at Sophie over his shoulder, his brown eyes wide with confusion and the beginnings of fear.

  As much as Sophie’s heart ached at their rejection, as much as she wanted to stomp off and let Olivia have exactly what she desired, she couldn’t leave the children. Not yet, not without ensuring they were placed in a good and loving home.

  If that was what they truly wanted more than being with her, then she could do nothing less than make it happen.

  Nicholas struggled against Olivia, reaching a hand backward toward Sophie. “I don’t wanna go without Sophie.”

  A lump rose in Sophie’s throat.

  “Sophie?” Nicholas asked, his voice ringing with anxiety. He twisted and freed himself. Before Olivia could stop him, he spun and ran back to Sophie.

  She caught him in her arms, and for a minute she hugged him tightly, burying her nose into his silky hair and breathing him in. She let his sweet embrace soothe the sting of rejection.

  He pulled back so he could look into her face. “Don’t you wanna have a nice home and mommy and daddy too? With me and Ollie?”

  Did Nicholas still want her? Maybe he assumed she would get to live with him at his new home. Maybe he believed they would stay together and be able to share the benefits of a new life. Sophie didn’t know if such a placement was possible. Was there a family who might be willing to take in all three of them, possibly even Anna? Could she ask the Pooles to try to keep them together?

  “What about chickens and apples?” he persisted. “I bet you’ll like ’em real much.”

  Sophie nodded and attempted a smile. “I’m sure I will.”

  “Then let’s go.” He intertwined his hand with hers.

  She let him lead her back to the group. For better or worse, she would stay with Olivia and Nicholas, and they would find a family together. She just hoped she hadn’t made her worst mistake yet.

  Chapter 6

  Reinhold chanced another glance at the western horizon. The mounds of dark clouds were creeping nearer, like a coyote getting ready to pounce upon its prey. He guessed he had an hour before the storm caught them in its grip.

  His attention shifted to the windrow that ran the length of the field in front of him. He and Jakob might have time to rake up and haul one final row to the barn before the rain came. Yet there were still three more to be brought in after that.

  Maybe if they worked faster, and the storm held off a bit longer, they’d get to the others. He could only hope. For if they didn’t get all the hay into the barn, then all the labor of the past week, particularly the spreading and drying of the hay, would come to nothing.

  “We need to work faster,” he called to Jakob with a nod toward the angry sky.

  Jakob dug his pitchfork into the windrow and tossed more hay into the back of the wagon. Reinhold did likewise, driving himself harder, although he’d already been shoveling frantically and had been since before dawn.

  “Jakob! Reinhold!”

  The two paused to see Alastair and Fergus Duff running toward them, pitchforks in hand. At their approach, a flock of bobwhites flew up out of the long overgrown grass, their masked faces startled and their loud whistles perturbed.

  “Da sent us,” Fergus said breathlessly when he reached the windrow. Without waiting for Reinhold’s permission, he stuck his fork into the pile and began pitching hay into the back of the wag
on with a swift and easy motion that showed his expertise at haying. “When he saw the red in the sky this mornin’ he knew we were in for a storm.”

  Alastair joined them, just as out of breath as his brother, likely having raced each other the mile or so from the Duff farm. Their sun-browned faces were flecked with sweat and bits of hay, their shirts stuck to their perspiring bodies, and their suspenders lifted the waists of their trousers high over their hips.

  “Is your dad done with his own haying?” Reinhold asked, intending to send the boys right back home if Barclay was helping him at the expense of his own crop.

  “We just got the last of it in the wagon,” Fergus replied. At twelve, he was several inches shorter than Alastair. But what he lacked in height and muscle he made up for in determination. “Da, Lyle, and Gavin are putting it up in the loft right now. Said if you started to blether, to tell you to ‘button up.’”

  Reinhold could hear the words in Barclay’s thick burr tinged with fatherly concern. His own father had never looked after him, had never cared about his needs. Rather, Reinhold had always been the one to take care of everyone else. Even if he didn’t like to accept help because it reminded him of his shortcomings, Barclay’s concern warmed him.

  The boys threw their entire weight and all their energy into the task, even though they’d likely been haying since daybreak—after milking their large herd of dairy cows, which they had to do every morning and evening.

  Like Barclay, his sons were talkative. And with their blethering, the time passed quickly, and as usual Jakob came out of his silent shell. They finished hauling a load of hay into the barn and were heading out for another when a raindrop splattered his hand.

  “Get a move on, Daisy.” Reinhold urged his chestnut Morgan faster. The crops could use a watering. But he needed the rain to hold off until he had the rest of the hay in the barn. Once the cut alfalfa in the fields got wet, he would have to leave it out until it dried again—that is, if it didn’t get moldy first.

  “Da told me to remind you that the orphans are coming through Mayfield today,” Alastair said as they bumped along in the wagon.

  As the rain became steadier, Reinhold suspected the rest of his hay was lost. They might be able to get more of it into the wagon bed, but even if they did, the hay would be soaked by the time they reached the barn.

  Alastair shifted on the wagon bench next to him. “Said to tell you if you don’t have the time to go to town, Mum is going to the meeting and can pick out a couple of boys for you.”

  Reinhold knew he should agree. Ever since Barclay had brought up the possibility of getting the orphans earlier in the week, Reinhold hadn’t stopped mulling it over. If he’d had the extra hands this week, he would have gotten the hay in on time, and he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation.

  Still, he couldn’t help but think that his taking in orphans would be akin to slavery. With the slavery debate growing more heated every time Reinhold went into town and heard the news, he was convinced that getting a couple of boys to do his work without paying them fair wages was hardly different from what was going on in the South with the Negroes being made to labor without compensation.

  Reinhold hadn’t ever experienced slavery, but the work he’d done in New York City had come close. With too many immigrants and not enough jobs, men and women alike fought over menial positions that paid pennies for labor that was worth so much more.

  Even if the toil here in Illinois was unending and tiring, at least the farm was his. No one was taking advantage of him. How, then, could he turn around and take advantage of someone else, namely boys who were no older than Jakob and Fergus?

  “Mum said she wants to get a young lady orphan,” Fergus chimed in from where he rode in the back with Jakob. “Said she needs help harvesting and preserving her garden this fall. Told Da if she doesn’t get the help, she won’t be able to put away enough food to feed her army of men through the winter, since each and every one of us eats more than a horse.”

  Reinhold could hear Euphemia’s voice speaking the words, just as boisterous and cheerful as Barclay’s.

  “’Course,” Fergus continued, “Da claims Mum wants a young lady orphan so she can find a wife for Lyle.”

  At nineteen, Lyle was the closest of the Duff boys to Reinhold’s twenty-one years. Lyle was a friendly young man and had done his best to welcome Reinhold during the months he’d lived with the Duffs. Gavin, at seventeen, had also become a good friend.

  “Lyle said he doesn’t need Mum meddling and finding him a wife.” Fergus rattled on, raising his voice above the rumble of thunder and the growing patter of the rain. “Said he can have his pick of any of the young ladies in Mayfield he wants. So Mum told him to get a-picking.”

  Reinhold couldn’t contain a grin as he imagined the conversation playing out between the mother and son at the dinner table—Lyle’s loud, boastful comments, his chest puffing out, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and then Euphemia’s no-nonsense, practical response that put Lyle right back in his place.

  The laughter, the conversations, and the love around the Duff table was something Reinhold had never experienced before. While growing up, his home had always been full of tension and anger. And last year at the Turners’, the dinner conversations had consisted mostly of Mrs. Turner complaining about one thing or another.

  “So you want me to tell Mum to get you the orphan boys?” Fergus asked.

  Thunder exploded overhead, and the sky opened up and released its torrent. Reinhold pulled on the reins and brought the wagon to a halt. The haying was done for the day, maybe even for the season. He didn’t need the orphans now. Of course, there was still the rest of the harvest to bring in. But deep inside, he knew he had to do so honorably or not at all.

  “Tell your mum and da I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but Jakob and I are getting along just fine.”

  It was a lie. But it was the best excuse he could find.

  Sophie sat in the second pew with Nicholas on one side and Olivia on the other. As the church filled behind her with townspeople, Sophie had the overwhelming urge to drag the children out of the building and flee. The hard bench pressed against her as if to agree, prodding her to leave before it was too late.

  Over the past couple of days since leaving Chicago, she’d come to the conclusion they’d made a huge mistake. She should have forced Olivia and Nicholas to sneak away from the group while they still had the chance, even if she’d earned their wrath. They would have eventually calmed down and realized the wisdom of her plan.

  As it was, they were stuck. They had no place to run or hide, not out in the middle of nowhere. The farther south they’d ridden on the Illinois Central Railroad, the fewer farms and houses she’d seen. Sometimes miles passed with open plains the only scenery. The vastness of the prairie grass and fields spreading out endlessly was different from the woodlands, rolling hills, and even some rocky areas they’d seen while traveling through western New York and Ohio.

  And the towns they’d passed through had gradually grown smaller and fewer in number. The Pooles had explained that, on this particular trip, they were revisiting two towns where the Children’s Aid Society had already placed some orphans, but they were also venturing farther south to settlements more recently built so as to accommodate the newer farms along the railroad.

  Mayfield. That was what the Pooles had called this particular town. Their train had arrived in the afternoon during a thunderstorm. They’d run through the rain and muddy Main Street to the Mayfield Inn. They’d been ushered to rooms where they’d been able to change into dry clothing, their second new outfit. Mrs. Poole had overseen the girls, helping them to wash up as well as fix their hair, while Reverend Poole supervised the boys.

  Afterward they’d eaten a hot meal in the hotel’s dining room. For most of them, Sophie included, the experience was the first time being in a hotel and the first time eating in a dining room. The pork loin with mashed potatoes and gravy, along with green
beans and apple dumplings, was one of the best meals she’d had in a very long time.

  She had vague recollections of enjoying delicious meals when her father was alive. He’d been an excellent baker and cook—at least that was what her sister Elise always claimed. Like their father, Elise had loved cooking.

  With each bite of the fine meal, Sophie couldn’t keep from conjuring Elise and Marianne’s faces, even though she didn’t want to. Most of the time she was adept at pushing aside memories and thoughts of her sisters. Thinking about them left her second-guessing everything she’d done and made her heart ache.

  She’d learned it was easier to cope if she didn’t allow herself to feel anything for her sisters, if she cut them out of her life completely.

  After the meal, they’d walked over to the church. She and Anna had been tasked with the job of making sure the little boys, among them Nicholas, didn’t jump in puddles during the short stroll. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and they arrived dry, even if their new shoes were muddy.

  A kindly older minister had greeted them and ushered them inside, instructing the children to sit in the front pews. Sophie shivered in the dark, damp interior, sitting between Olivia and Nicholas and praying no one would want them at this stop, that they’d be able to sleep together in the hotel. She needed to come up with a new escape plan.

  Anna sat on the other side of Nicholas, her tanned face pale. She was fingering her rosary, a sure sign that she was nervous. Most of the time Anna kept the rosary hidden, along with the fact that she was Catholic. She’d even gone so far as poking fun at other Catholics when she’d been with Mugs and the other Bowery Boys, who were especially anti-Catholic.

  Sophie didn’t understand why it mattered whether a person was a Protestant or Catholic, any more than why it mattered whether a person was German or Irish. But she’d learned long ago on the streets that Catholics and Irish were despised by most Protestants, especially someone who was both Catholic and Irish.