Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider

by Julie Dewey

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember some old biddy was shooing me out of the hallway with her broom. The sunlight hurt my eyes; I looked around to get my bearings but was in unfamiliar territory. I walked for a while and finally recognized a street corner that would lead me back to Pauli. Only Pauli wasn’t at the Brewery. No one was. Everyone had scattered and there was no known meeting place. I bet Pauli and Candy used this opportunity to take off and make their run out of New York City.

  I sauntered around the building before entering it from behind. Once inside I found my way to the training room, everything looked exactly like it did yesterday, except no one was around. There was always someone in the gym lifting or shadow boxing, but not today. I checked Pauli’s office hoping to find a note or something, anything that might guide me to where they were now. Everyone simply vacated the premises and if there was a secret meeting place I didn’t know about it.

  I was alone again.

  I spent the day walking around the city, trying to decide what to do now. The Brewery had been abandoned, that was clear to me. I could go back to the stoop with Karen and Tommy, but then what? I would figure that out later I supposed.

  That night I stole food from a restaurant, just some bread and cheese, and then ran a few miles until I reached Mulberry Street and the stoop I shared with my old friends.

  “Where the hell have you been, Scotty?” Tommy shook my hand and pulled me in for an embrace as did Karen.

  “Oh man you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I shook my head, it had been months since I had seen these two.

  I told them what happened the day I was found hiding in the Brewery and how I was forced to spy on the Rabbits. Karen cried when I told them how I was nearly beaten to death and they both listened intently when I talked about my training. When I relived my fight they sat in silent awe. I had been through hell and back they said, and they both agreed they were glad I was back with them, especially now that I had fighting skills.

  The following night after a long day of searching for work and food, scoping out the Brewery and trying to find any news I could about the bust, I settled into the stoop. I was startled to find a skinny little girl already there, knees pulled up to her chest and fear in her eyes.

  “IIIII’m Tabitha,” she stuttered.

  Chapter 7 Edmund 1869

  I was fourteen years old and had been living with the Whitmoore’s for nearly ten years when I almost met my maker. It was the holiday season, my favorite time of year. Christmas trees decorated with tinsel and mercury glass ornaments filled the house with a fresh pine scent. The pine mingled with but did not over power the aromas emanating from the kitchen, cinnamon, peppermint, nutmeg, and vanilla. I favored the snicker doodles over any other confection of which my mom and Aunt Edna made dozens of batches for our eating pleasure as well as to package and give as gifts. Stockings hung from our mantle that was decorated for the occasion with greenery and sprigs of holly. Gifts in glorious wrappings lay under the tree in the hearth room beckoning me to touch and shake each package to try to guess what was inside.

  Our family had little downtime during the Christmas holiday. We dashed from one tree trimming to another for weeks on end, and then the holiday house parties began. Invitations for galas and fundraisers had been coming in for months along with dressmakers and tailors. It was inevitable then that one of us should fall ill from exhaustion and exposure. My mother, Sarah, was the first hit with the flu. She lay in bed with a high fever for a week, tended to by Edna and Mary. The ladies alternated caring for her but by the fourth day of her illness my dad began feeling sour. His limbs ached and grew tired, forcing him take off work at the bank and lie in bed next to my mother. Together they slept for hours on end, only waking when it was insisted upon that they take fluids. I thought I escaped the nasty virus but just as my folks were feeling well, I fell grievously ill. The flu not only brought my fever to a body shivering one hundred and six degrees, causing dehydration, but it also riddled my frail lungs with phlegm. I coughed from my toes; the deep burning pain that accompanied it was felt directly in the center of my chest. Sarah and Mary applied a eucalyptus tincture to my chest hoping the vapors would open my passages but there was too much mucus. I felt as if I was drowning but I didn’t have the energy to care. I was placed in a tub of ice that produced shivers enough to rouse me but not enough to decrease my temperature substantially; I was too ill to stay home and was admitted to the hospital.

  I developed pneumonia as a complication to the flu and was treated with opium and quinine to no avail. It was decided that I must be bled; the doctor lacerated my skin on the underside of my forearms and let it drip. For eight weeks I lay in my thin hospital bed, my breath barely audible, and my loose skin falling off my bones. Mary never relented in taking my health and well-being upon her shoulders. She stayed with me daily and throughout many nights, pounding my back with cupped hands, catching my green mucus in a tin pan, which she dumped and cleaned herself. She bathed me with comfrey to bring down my fever and whispered into my ear that I must live.

  I believe I left the world for a moment, however brief. I recall being lulled by a feeling of peace and serenity, it washed over me, pulling me towards a bright yellow light. It was Mary who pulled me back to this world, crying, “Eddie! Don’t leave me!” Her cry the only sound I heard.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of Mary, leaning over me her face blotchy and eyes tear stained from grief. She thought she’d lost me. I never saw a more pitiful or beautiful sight and knew I must find the will to live. The weeks of bloodletting continued and miraculously by the sixty-fourth day I felt hunger pains. My wheeze was less taxing and my lungs clearing of junk. My fever hovered in the ninety-nine degree range but with Mary and Sarah’s dedication to my health and well-being I was released and allowed to go home at long last. I would regain my strength over the next several weeks, beginning with short walks to the front hall, then around the yard, and finally up and down the tree lined street.

  I owed Mary a debt of gratitude. She was the love of my life; she did not know it and I doubted she thought of me the same way. I couldn’t help my feelings any more than I could have helped contracting the flu.

  Because of the asthma I suffered as a child I spent the majority of my youth indoors learning to master chess while other boys my age were playing stick-ball and enjoying the great outdoors. While they went fishing, I went to the library. When they swam in the ponds I studied law books and trial cases.

  It is hence my greatest desire to become a lawyer and then when the time is right to ask Mary to be my wife. Edna and Pap, and my folks, might balk at first, but eventually it will all make sense. Mary and I are destined to be together. I don’t remember any time before Mary nor would I want to. It was fate that brought us together ten years ago and fate that encouraged and guided two sisters to adopt us so we could be near each other.

  I vaguely remember the train; most of my images are rendered from Mary’s retelling. She laughed when she told me how I would pretend to be the conductor, yelling “all aboard” and then bring cupped fists to my mouth to blow a loud whistle sound that mimicked the great engine. She tells how I was taken from her for a spell, adopted by a family from Ohio, but by the time our train hit Iowa I was back, the mother was overwhelmed and made anxious by my constant blubbering and longing for Mary. Mary was loyal to me as well, when Edna first addressed her and discussed adoption she refused on account of me. That is how I came to live with Sarah and Samuel, a wonderful set of nurturing parents. Mary was then and is now my savior.

  The only stumbling block in my way is Scotty. He is Mary’s ‘friend’ from before the train; they met in New York City and were reacquainted in Binghamton. I detested Scotty from the first moment I laid eyes on him, his filthy fingernails and farm smell made me nauseous. He took Mary away from me. In years past whenever he came around she indulged him instead of me. As children they would let me tag along and win at games but I knew when I wa
s unwanted. None of that mattered now; soon enough Mary would see the reason that I was the better choice for her. I would be a lawyer with my own firm. I would have great wealth and would build her a home of brick anywhere she chose. Scotty could offer her nothing in comparison.

  After my illness I had a fresh outlook on things. Mary needed me as much as I needed her. I had no cause to worry about Scotty.

  Years ago I went to great lengths to set Scotty up, I did such elementary things as steal chalk from the teacher’s desk, swipe lunch pails from their hooks, and scratch profanity in the desks.

  When the teacher asked the class who was to blame and Scotty was reproached I admit I felt a tad guilty. Mary was full of spit and vinegar knowing full well Scotty was not responsible for the shenanigans; however, no one would listen to her reasoning. Instead the teacher and school board cast out the disheveled farm hand as opposed to any other respectable student from the town’s prominent families. Scotty and Mary stayed after school sanding the desks to their virgin state and wondered out loud who the real culprit was.

  I played along with the game saying things like, “We’ll just have to watch out for anyone being sneaky,” or “Golly, I hate seeing you get your knuckles whacked, that must sting like the devil.”

  Before long Edna and Pap, along with my folks, the Whitmoore’s, got wind of what was happening at school with Matthew/Scotty and called a family meeting.

  Mary and I sat on the couch in Edna’s parlor, all the adults sat before us, but it was Pap that spoke up first. “Children, we have heard that Scotty is in trouble at school and we are worried about the influence he has on you. You are both exceptional students and we worry about your association with him.”

  The other adults nodded in agreement.

  I was internally thrilled at this development, but for Mary I had to act just as defensive of Scotty. What I didn’t want to see was Mary’s tears.

  “It’s not true! I can’t imagine Scotty would steal, well not anymore anyways.” Mary was growing mad in defense of her friend, barely containing her self composure.

  “Mom, Pop, Scotty would never do such a thing! You can’t take us away from him!” I blubbered into my handkerchief and stole a glance at Mary who was doing the same.

  Edna stood up, cleared her throat and spoke.

  “Dears, until this case is settled and we know who is causing all of this havoc at school you will not be having Scotty over here for Sundays anymore, and Mary you are no longer permitted to help him on Mondays at the farm.” Edna looked distressed.

  Mary cried into her kerchief and yelled.

  “That’s not fair!” Mary, to whom justice was important, stomped away to her room where she slammed the door loud enough for Pap to flinch.

  I dried my eyes, it was amazing I could force myself to cry, and went to sit on Mom’s lap.

  “I’ll do what you want Mom and Pop,” and then I laid my head against her ample bosom. Mom stroked my curls and said, “That’s my good boy.” Before standing up to go back home.

  Edna and Pap were pillars of society and they would never allow their daughter to commune with a mere farm boy who was lacking in a higher education. My plan worked, or so I thought.

  Mary and Scotty rarely spent time together anymore, she was not allowed at the farm and he was too busy with his work to come to town. What I didn’t know was they had been sneaking out for years at night and it was I that caught them red-handed.

  I made extra cash by delivering Sunday morning’s paper across town; it had been months since my illness and I was finally up to the task once more. I missed my early mornings, and looked forward to the stillness that came with the dark pre-dawn sky twinkling with stars. Watching the sunrise was another perk I had missed.

  I was delivering Edna’s paper when I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye. I investigated the motion and found Scotty and Mary involved in a familiar tryst behind the knuckled oak. Scott was cupping Mary’s breasts and she was rubbing between his legs, both of them were enmeshed in the moment and did not see me.

  That night I did what all men do, after the dinner hour I poured myself a brandy and swallowed it down. Then I poured another, and another. My folks were out at a dinner engagement so I allowed myself this opportunity to wallow. I became drunk and felt as if I could take on the world. I had bounds of energy and ran through town, singing and sloshing about. It began raining and the torrent came at such an angle as to wet my collar straight through so I began to strip. A girl, about my age, watching me undress in the middle of the town pulled me by the hand, running through the rain and its puddles, past the tavern and up a back stair case. She opened the door to her room and at least momentarily Mary was forgotten.

  Chapter 8 Gert

  I spent my childhood chewing my hair to keep quiet. I sucked the salty ends and chewed at them, twirling the wad into circles and making nests in my mouth, never swallowing, just chewing and sucking. From behind the closet doors I could hear the men talking with my mother at first, then there were zippers and hushed sounds of laughter, bed squeaks, and my mother’s groaning and grunting. I soon realized I could watch from between the slats if I angled myself just right and from then on this is what I did.

  Mother told me to get in the closet as soon as we heard a rap on the door. Once she knew I was settled, she fluffed her hair and the satin pillows, pinched color into her cheeks, and then opened the door and welcomed her client. The clients varied, some were rugged outdoors type men, and others were men who barely spoke English but who were always respectful. Some were older and wealthy, as apparent by their shoes. The wealthy men had shiny shoes with pretty tassels on them, the farmers and laborers, had boots. If the boots had mud or muck on them, mother gently asked the men to take them off at the door until they were regular customers and this was routine.

  She often caught my eye between the slats and motioned with one finger to her lips for me to shush and be quiet. No one knew I existed in this room, in this room it was only my mother and her many men.

  For thirteen years I observed and learned the ways of a man by watching my mother entertain them as she called it. It provided us with a room and board and I rarely remember feeling hungry. Her work was a means to an end, nothing more.

  Mother was a self-possessed beauty; she had dark almond shaped eyes with long come-hither lashes. Her skin was soft and supple because she bathed regularly with rose water, the remains of which she put in her black silky hair and mine so we would smell enticing. She cared very much about her beauty and keeping her appearance youthful. We often went on long walks around the city to take fresh air and stay healthy and trim. Mother handed out note cards on these occasions and I determined this was how she developed her clientele. Her card read “Sarah’s Sweet Delights” on the first line, followed by, “no appointment needed”, then she penciled in our address below. It looked to me like she ran a bakery and that’s what she wanted any non-interested parties to think. Some men were just too dense she said.

  Men came at all hours of the day and night, my mother lounged in her silken robes all afternoon waiting for a client. I couldn’t tell whether she liked what she did, the way she moaned underneath a man made me believe she was happy, but sometimes her face looked as if it were in pain. During those times I wanted to burst out of the closet and help her out from under the lunk of flesh crushing her, but she said that meant she was enjoying herself. Why then didn’t she moan all the time, I asked? She explained that different clients liked different things. Some liked her loud, some liked her quiet and still, others had to know she was taking pleasure in the encounter before they could find their own release. These were the ‘real’ men she said, the ones who gave a damn.

  I had even seen my mother take a colored man to bed on occasion. With him she really seemed to be enjoying herself, I wondered if it was real or if it was a show for him so he would finish sooner. I asked her when he left and she said “Child, if you are ever so lucky to have a black man wanting
after you….take him in. You won’t be sorry.”

  One particular evening a man we didn’t know came knocking at her door. He was not a regular and my mother didn’t remember giving him an invitation. He smelled of drink, always an alarming stench. She told him he must be at the wrong address for her husband would be right home. He bolted through the door anyways and said he knew he was in the right place, he had been watching men come and go all week and wanted to see what was so special it had the men whistling when they left.

  The man caught sight of me as I hadn’t quite hidden myself all the way in the closet on account of his abrupt entry. My foot was still caught in the door jam and I hoped to quietly bring it in with the rest of me once they began. He walked towards me and opened the closet door all the way.

  “Ha” he laughed an ugly scratchy laugh that got caught in his throat on the way out and forced him to cough.

  “Now I see what the men are whistling about, come here little darling. Don’t you play coy with me.” His grin showed he was missing several teeth and the rest were so yellow I could hardly imagine what he smelled like up close. He motioned me towards him but quickly my mother stepped right in between us.

  “She is not part of the bargain, but I promise, if you’ll let me, I will show you a fine time and have you whistling to your favorite tune all through the week.” Mother was as demure as I had ever seen her, sweet talking this poor excuse for a man.

  She never scrunched her face at his vile smell although I could barely breathe it was so rotten. He unclothed right in front of us presenting a repulsive body that gagged me. Mother on the other hand walked towards him like she was impressed and made a huge fuss over his muscles. All I saw was a huge fat smelly rotten man with hairy balls and a poker that went off to the side.