by Hannah Ross
"Why do we have to go to Madam Hart's office? I don't want to go there."
That was understandable, as every child in the orphanage was keen to avoid setting foot in Madam Hart's office. Now, though, there was no choice, and Elisa took hold of Cora's hand and firmly marched her downstairs.
The Forresters were already waiting inside when the little girl reluctantly walked through the door. They were a respectable-looking middle-aged couple, both wearing business suits and rectangular glasses. Upon seeing Cora, Mrs. Forrester clutched her chest and sank into a chair, too overpowered by emotion for speech. Mr. Forrester, though rather pale, was more composed. He gave Cora a long, intent look before he turned to Madam Hart.
"This is incredible! When we saw her picture, we were amazed, but actually seeing her is beyond description."
His wife could not tear her eyes away from the child. Her voice weak with emotion, she said, "She looks just like her. If I didn't know otherwise, I could almost believe this is her, our Maisie."
"May I offer you a glass of water?" asked Madam Hart in a poor attempt at kindness. Thin and upright, she was dressed in a pencil skirt and a snowy-white blouse.
Breathless, Mrs. Forrester muttered, "No, thank you," as she rose from her chair, approached Cora, and asked, "How old are you, little one?"
Unable to meet the woman's eye, Cora replied, "Seven," in a voice just above a whisper.
Incredulous, Mrs. Forrester shook her head and said, "Just like Maisie was," in a matching whisper.
"Am I correct that you lost your daughter in a road accident two years ago?" asked Madam Hart with affected sympathy.
Mr. Forrester nodded. "A school bus crash. It was one of the few times when we didn't take Maisie to school ourselves. Our reproduction permit was renewed, of course, but by then it was much too late for us. We weren't young when we started a family, and…" He turned to the girl. "…what is your name, child?"
"Cora."
"Will you mind very much, my dear," said Mrs. Forrester in a tremulous voice, "if we call you Maisie from now on?"
"Whatever suits you," said Madam Hart before anyone else could speak. "The children's names aren't of much consequence. I usually leave the task of coming up with names to Mrs. Stocking, our matron."
"My name is Cora," she insisted, speaking louder now.
Mr. and Mrs. Forrester exchanged a quick glance and a nod.
"It doesn't matter right now," Mr. Forrester assured Madam Hart. "We will have plenty of time to settle all that at home. Where do we sign?" He pulled an elegant-looking pen out of the pocket of his suit.
"Before you do, I must remind you of what I told you before. The child has a congenital heart defect. Nothing life-threatening, but she isn't strong, and can't be allowed much exercise. You see how pale she is. She has always been rather sickly, even as a baby. That's why her biological family decided to give her up."
Cora's big blue eyes widened. Nobody ever told her why she ended up in the orphanage.
"A heart defect," repeated Mr. Forrester. "But can't it be corrected?"
"Of course," said Madam Hart. "A rather simple surgery, as far as I understand, but it is quite out of our scope. Our budget doesn't cover such treatments."
"Money is of no concern," Mrs. Forrester assured her. "We can afford good doctors, surgery, the best care. She turned to Cora and took her hand. "You will be quite well, my dear."
The child did not pull back, but seemed unsure of how to react and made herself stand very still.
"You will live with us, and will have your own bedroom, a nice bedroom with a plush carpet and a cozy bed and a big bookcase, and a playroom with as many toys as you can wish for."
Cora's face clouded. "Go to live with you?" She shook her blonde head. "I don't want to leave Mr. Paws."
Mrs. Forrester appeared puzzled. "Who is Mr. Paws?"
Madam Hart made an impatient noise. "Just a stray cat that wanders around our yard. I've told Mrs. Stocking to stop feeding it."
Mrs. Forrester brightened. "Would you like to have a cat, dear? We'll get one. We can choose a kitten together. What do you say?"
For the first time, Cora's pale, thin face became animated. "Can I really have a cat? A cat of my own?"
"Of course," Mr. Forrester assured her, sounding oddly choked up. "You can have three cats, if it makes you happy. Madam Hart, can we sign the papers now?"
"Certainly." She pushed a stack of legal documents toward the husband and wife. After reading through them, they signed, and after they signed, Mrs. Forrester took Cora by the hand, preparing to leave.
As they walked out of the office, Cora turned her head and looked at Elisa, uncertain about what to say or do. The older girl stood outside the principal's office, leaning on the dingy greyish wall. The Forresters did not pay her the slightest bit of attention. Cora looked again, and then raised her free hand in a timid farewell.
Elisa returned the gesture, blinking back tears. She would miss Cora. The girl was like a little sister to her, yet she knew she must be happy for her. Cora was walking out to a kinder fate and a better life than most of the children in the orphanage would ever know.
There was not much time left until class, and though the sensible thing would be to go to the dining hall and have breakfast, Elisa made her way to the courtyard. Being late to class was apt to draw the wrath of Madam Hart, but this time she would risk it. She needed a few minutes of quiet reflection, of time to think and breathe. Her heart was torn between the joy of realizing there are some happy endings in the world and the pain of knowing how rare they are.
She knew she could count on finding at least one other person in the courtyard, and there he was, a tall boy about twelve years old, standing under one of the few trees in the yard, his hands in his pockets.
"Benjamin!"
He had a lean, slight build and a head of brown hair which, despite the customary close-cropped haircut of the orphanage boys, gave a full, lush appearance. His lively blue eyes appeared very light in the sunshine-diffused morning as he turned to see who called.
Surprised, he said, "Elisa! I thought you are in class already. You'll be late for Mr. Bradley."
"So will you. It's almost half past eight. We really should go in, Ben."
He studied her face for a moment. "What happened?"
"It's Cora Wood. She's just been adopted."
"Oh." Benjamin knew her by sight, but not much else about her. "Well, that's good for her, I suppose." He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and rocked on his heels, forward and back, as though he wanted to say something else but was not sure what.
Elisa could not hide her sadness. "Yes. It's good to know that at least for someone, there was more than one way out of here."
"Cheer up." He made an involuntary motion, as if to pat her shoulder, then thought better of it and left his hands in his pockets. "We'll be gone soon, too. I don't know what to expect, but it can't be worse than Madam Hart."
Elisa gave a very shaky laugh. "You're only trying to seem brave. Trust me, Ben, after we leave the orphanage we'll very soon wish we could come back here."
He shook his head with disbelief, but decided not to press the point as the bell rang. "Let's go. Maybe Bradley will teach us something useful for a change."
They set off together across the courtyard, walking at the same pace. But while Benjamin's walk was firm, upright, and springy, Elisa carried herself with a slight limp caused by one of her legs being a trifle shorter than the other. It was not enough to be debilitating, but it was noticeable. It was also the reason why she was cast off as a baby twelve years ago.
Reproductive permits were not to be wasted on imperfect children, or so felt the family to which she was born. Nor had they the resources to spend on surgery which would correct her leg. It was easier to give up their baby, pretend she was never born, and hope for better luck next time.
When Benjamin and Elisa entered the classroom, Mr. Bradley was standing with his back to them, writing someth
ing on the blackboard. When he heard the door open, he turned around and surveyed them with a look of cool displeasure.
"Benjamin Grey and Elisa Wood. You are late again."
The habit of surnames was too much culturally ingrained to be set aside, but the names thus given to the children had nothing to do with family ties. The source of Grey was in the color of the orphanage uniform. Wood originated in the scratched and dented wood paneling of the girls' wing. Naturally, many of the children carried the same surname, but they seldom objected. It gave them a feeling of unity, an illusion of being all related to one another.
"We're really sorry, Mr. Bradley," Elisa said with as humble a tone as she could manage. "We hurried as much as we could, as soon as we heard the bell."
Bradley was a reasonable man, and not unkind. His eyes flicked down, as he recalled Elisa's slight handicap. He was fond of this quiet, pretty girl who kept her head down so much and worked so diligently, though he feared in the future that awaited these children, diligence alone would not be enough.
"Well, never mind that now. Take a seat." He pointed toward an empty desk at the back of the classroom. Benjamin and Elisa hurried there and took out their things. Elisa began taking notes, while Benjamin pretended to do the same.
Mr. Bradley turned back to the board. There, the words Wild Edible Plants were written in large, bold letters.
"As I was saying before we were interrupted, for many generations, the diet of mankind heavily relied on edible plants found in the wild. The varieties of such plants, naturally, depend on the region and season in question. Today we will go through the list of the ones most commonly found in our area."
Elisa perked up. This was a subject she found interesting, much better than last week, when he talked to them about hunting. She could barely stomach the talk of killing something in order to eat it, though the boys all seemed pretty excited. She felt like such a ninny for wanting to bury her face in the notebook and cover her ears with her hands.
"I would listen rather more attentively if I were you," Bradley said, looking at one of the back tables, where two girls were giggling and whispering to each other, heads bent closely together. "I don't care if you take notes. I don't care about your homework assignments, except for the fact that the school administration expects you to hand them in. There will be no end-of-term examination. That would be absolutely pointless. Paying attention to what I tell you is in your best interest. Of all the lessons you receive in school, mine are the only ones that will give you a chance at survival."
The background buzz died down as if switched off. Everyone was listening now. Every eye followed the neat, handsome figure who paced back and forth in front of the board until, satisfied he had everyone's attention, he nodded once and continued to speak.
"I will not attempt to deny that your lot is hard. Your birth has placed you in an unfortunate situation, by no fault of your own. It isn't right. It isn't fair. But unfortunately, few things in life are fair. I cannot change the law. I cannot change your legal status. I can, however, try to give you the tools to make the best of what you have."
"It doesn't seem we have very much," a bitter Benjamin muttered in the quiet classroom. Heads turned to look at him as Elisa kicked him under the desk, and his best friend, Tom White, who was sitting a few desks across, made a half-approving, half-exasperated face.
Mr. Bradley, however, seemed unperturbed. "You are quite right, Mr. Grey. You don't have much. I will be the first to admit this. But you will have something. Equipment, information, knowledge of what to expect. Courage, I hope, to face it." His eyes swept the classroom. "You are all twelve years old. According to the norms of our culture, you are children, fit only to be kept in the neat, well-controlled, strictly scheduled environment of middle school. You will, however, have to rise above these standards. In certain areas of the world, young people in their early teens are treated like adults. They work for a living, build their own homes, and start families. This is what you have to keep in mind when you pass through the school gates. Unfortunately, there is no place for you in the Islands. Industry and agriculture are saturated with labor such as you can provide, and the government can't afford to keep you beyond this age. The gates of the Islands are, therefore, closed to you. But you have all the resources of the open country at your disposal."
"Have you ever lived in the open country, Mr. Bradley?" asked Benjamin with cool politeness, his piercing blue eyes never leaving the teacher's dark brown ones.
"I have. I trekked through woods and down rivers, and visited the ruins of destroyed cities. I did not stay for extended periods, of course, and I wouldn't go as far as to say that we all ought to leave the safety of the Islands and scatter over the empty land, but I firmly believe it is possible to survive, and even thrive in the open country if one knows how to obtain food, find shelter, and avoid polluted areas."
Elisa Wood raised her hand. After receiving an encouraging nod, she asked, "Mr. Bradley, is it true that some people have chosen to leave the Islands and go out into the country?"
For a moment, Mr. Bradley looked a bit unsettled. "I have heard such rumors, but I confess, Elisa, that I find them extremely hard to believe."
The lingering silence that followed was broken by a knock on the door. Bradley's surprised "come in" was answered by the entrance of Mrs. Stocking, who appeared flushed and out of breath. "Mr. Bradley," she said in a low voice that, nevertheless, was heard by almost the entire classroom. "You are expected in Madam Hart's office. The inspector. Have you forgotten?"
"Oh!" Mr. Bradley glanced at his watch. "Is it now? Slipped my mind entirely. Well, I suppose I had better go down with you at once, Mrs. Stocking. Class dismissed." His words were followed by a deafening scrape of chairs as students rose from their places, eager for an unexpected break. There were still twenty minutes to go until the next class.
The sky was clear now, the weather pleasant, and most of the boys and girls poured out into the corridor with the intention of going down to the courtyard, but three lingered – Benjamin, Elisa, and Tom, who was one of the three children of a drug-addicted teenage mother who, at the tender age of nineteen, got a legal warrant for tubal ligation. Each of her children was sent to a different orphanage.
"Want to go out?" he asked Ben and Elisa.
"I thought I'd go through this writing assignment we're supposed to hand in," said Elisa.
"What's the point?" snapped Benjamin. "You heard what Mr. Bradley said. They don't give a damn about us. We have until spring, and then we'll be kicked out, and nobody cares if we live or die."
Eliza sighed. "I know it's silly, but somehow, I keep hoping for…I don't know what. Something. Perhaps that a place will be found for us after all. That it will all work out."
Tom nodded. "I know. But that's just how things are. You grow up hoping you'll be adopted, or that you'll be discovered as some amazing talent and snatched away from here, or that somehow it turns out your birth papers were messed up and you were never meant to be here at all, you know? But it never happens. There isn't really any hope for any of us."
Benjamin drew himself up. His fists were clenched, his jaw set.
"What's up, Ben?" asked Tom.
"No," said Benjamin.
"What do you mean, no?" Elisa's brow furrowed.
"I mean I don't want to believe there isn't any hope. I don't care how small our chances are. I don't care what's really waiting for us out there. I don't care that even Bradley has hardly any clue about what he's trying to teach us. I don't care about any of it. We are going to live. I don't know where or how, but we are going to live."
Tom slapped his shoulder. "That's the spirit, mate."
Ben sighed and went on, somewhat more calmly. "We're still going to be together, right? They aren't going to separate us. If they did, then I'd say yeah, we're probably goners, all of us. Alone, we wouldn't last a day. But together, we stand a chance. And we are going to stick together."
Eliza nodded. "Always. No matt
er what happens."
As Mr. Bradley and Mrs. Stocking stood outside the door to Madam Hart's office, they heard two voices talking from within. When Bradley raised his hand and knocked, the voices stopped, and Madam Hart's sharp little heels clicked across the tiled floor in brisk steps.
"Ah, Mr. Bradley, there you are. And Mrs. Stocking, I see you're back, too, which is just as well. I think we can all profit from a short conference. She gestured toward a small thin man in a well-cut grey suit, "This is Mr. Turner, the inspector."
"You can call me George," he said, expecting but receiving no reply.
Madam Hart, never one for informality like first names, pressed her lips in disapproval.
"You work for the Department of Excess Population Management?" Mr. Bradley asked.
Mr. Turner nodded.
"Here on a routine visit?"
"Oh yes, nothing out of the ordinary. All the excess population centers are inspected once a year, though the committee members usually vary. This is the first time I get to visit here, and I must tell you, Madam Hart, I'm very impressed with how you run this establishment. I've never seen one managed better. Everything seems in excellent order, and I'm going to mention you most favorably in my report."
"I am merely doing my job," Madam Hart said, looking very pleased.
Turner turned to Mr. Bradley. "I understand you instruct those who are soon going to be… sent out?"
"That's right. And I must say that the longer I teach, the longer I observe these children, the more I feel that we, as a society, have failed them. There is something deeply wrong about sending twelve-year-old children into conditions we would never choose for ourselves, or our children, or anyone we know."
"And twelve is such a young age," Mrs. Stocking added as a deep blush colored her face. She was not accustomed to speaking her own mind. "What harm would there be in letting them stay just another year? I don't think we would exceed the school budget, and the children would be able to grow, become more prepared."