Folly

by Marthe Jocelyn

I began where I'd left off before meeting Miss Kaye, seeking refuge in churches, no matter which saint were on the door. I now were clearly fallen, however, as I had you in my arms, and a woman's folly allows for little kindness even from God. Details will not enhance the tale, and remembering won't change the end. All my fears were laid out true before me. You were sickly, I were sicker. One morning I awoke to utter silence, worse by far than hungry whimpering. I shook the blanket in alarm and only then did you startle faintly....

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  My choice were finally this: Go to the workhouse, taking you with me, where death were likely, and, according to Nut, horrors were certain. Or forsake you, my only precious boy, at the Foundling Hospital, where you might be raised up not knowing how your mother tried, nor how she loved you enough to say goodbye.

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  JAMES 1888 The Byrd House

  James worried, would he recognize the Byrd house? And then there it was, birds all over it, just as everyone said, looking ready to burst into song. With Mama being right inside, James was ready to burst into song himself. He could almost hear the organ in the chapel with a swelling "Hallelujah" as he climbed the steps in front.

  Knocking on the door would be the only way in. Pray that Mr. Byrd was elsewhere, be ready to start running if he answered. Or it might be a servant, who would care about his grubbiness. James glanced down. No help for it. He could use his smile on a servant.

  It was the loony Miss Byrd, though, who replied to the taps of the bird-shaped knocker. A woodpecker, James was pretty certain. Miss Byrd, who'd made all the carvings. She leaned on her cane, head crooked as if asking why?

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  "I like your birds," said James.

  "Well, now," she said.

  "I'm James. I've come to see my mother."

  "They've been searching for you," said Miss Byrd. She looked along the street and back at him, noticing the shabby state of his clothing. "Oh, dear me. Come inside. You'll want a bit of a visit before they find you."

  Mama Peevey sat on a chesterfield that was covered in blue flowered fabric, so that she seemed to be resting in a garden. Her feet were tucked up under a blanket but she didn't look poorly otherwise. Her smile was as wide as her arms. James sank into her, kneeling on the floor.

  "Mama."

  "Oh, my dear lovey. Wherever have you been?"

  "They locked me up, Mama. That horrible Mr. Byrd, he put me--"

  "Shhh! Jamie!"

  Miss Byrd was watching in the doorway, and he'd said a bad thing about her brother. But a true bad thing! She shook her head a little and shrugged.

  "He used to lock me in the closet when we were children," said Miss Byrd. "Only when I was naughty, of course." She limped to the window and peered into the street. "I'll leave you to have a little visit, but those gents from the hospital will be back, I just know it. Or else the cart will come to take your foster mother home." She crossed the room again. "I'll bring you in some tea."

  "Now!" said Mama, taking James's hands. "Tell me everything. You've run away!"

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  "That's not ... I haven't actually ... I only came to see you," said James. He patted her and realized there was a bump in front. She saw him realizing and smiled some more.

  "Yes, Jamie, I'm going to have another baby. In just a few weeks, Lord willing. Lizzy won't have to wait long for company. And I'll have another foundling, to go with this one." She pointed to her belly. "Lizzy will be a big sister again. It was terrible hard on her, saying goodbye to Rose."

  "So ... so you're not sick?"

  "No, just all done in from the journey, and the upset of you"--she glanced toward the door and finished in a whisper--"of you being dragged off without even a minute together with Rose."

  James whispered too. "He's the meanest one. We call him ... Byrd the Turd."

  "Oh, Jamie!" She put her hand over his mouth, but he knew she wasn't angry. She was so familiar, even her hand felt the way it should. He blinked against the sting of tears.

  "Is it a terrible place?" Her voice soft, worried.

  "The food is disgusting," said James. "But ... not so bad in other ways. I like the music. I'll be in the choir next year, and if I keep up with my lessons, I'll be in the band. Mr. Chester says--Mr. Chester is the history master and he was a foundling too--he says he played the clarinet, so that's what I'm going to try. He says I have long fingers, and that's the best for clarinet."

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  Mama looked at him with eyes full of ... of sugar. "Rose was sad as sad to leave Lizzy, but she knew she'd have you, we told her that."

  Worry rustled in James's head. That's not true , he nearly said. I'll hardly see Rose. She's a girl. You shouldn't have made things up . Life is harder if you have expectations. That was something he knew from coming here. Rose would learn it too. Mama and Mister would never understand.

  "What about Mister?" said James. "Does he miss me?"

  "Well, he did, of course, in the beginning," said Mama. "But now he's got used to being just with girls. Oh, he sent you something!" She fussed about under the blanket till she'd found her pocket and pulled out a whistle, cut from a stick.

  "That's a fine one!" said James. "Tell him thanks." He played a couple of notes, a tiny memory tootling through. "I miss ... I miss you, Mama. I miss the shop, and Toby, and Mister. I miss Martin. Do you ever see Martin?"

  "Oh, he's a wild boy, that Martin!" said Mama. "Last week he stole Lizzy's knickers right off the line and turned them into a flag, of all things!"

  Miss Byrd came in, pushing a tea trolley. "If I carry a tray," she said, "we get more tea on the floor than in the cups."

  The wheels of the trolley squeaked and wouldn't turn properly. James tried to help but there was a knock on the door and Miss Byrd scuttled out.

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  James's stomach whooshed. Not Mr. Byrd, please not!

  "It won't be your Mr. Byrd," said Mama. "He wouldn't knock on his own door, would he?"

  "It's the fellow with the cart." Miss Byrd came in. "I've told him to wait right out front. I'll just fetch your shawl and basket."

  James helped Mama to unwrap from the blanket.

  "I'm nearly as tall as you are, Mama!"

  She whispered again. "You could come home with me, Jamie. You've got this far, you could pop right into the cart with me and come home. They'll chase you down eventually, but wouldn't that be a surprise for Lizzy!"

  Oh, wouldn't it? He nearly thought so.

  "But what about Rose?" And what about Walter? And Mr. Chester? And Full-of-Snot, and the nice new nurse?

  "Rose needs you," said Mama. "That's true."

  "Do you think ... when I'm big, Mama, could I come to visit you then?"

  "I'd be living with a broken heart if you didn't, Jamie."

  "Boy! My brother is coming!" Miss Byrd flung open the door. "Go, now! You can leave through the kitchen, but you must go straight back to the Foundling, you promise me? No shilly-shallying!"

  "Yes, miss." James hugged Mama one more time, smelling his childhood. Then he ran.

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  MARY 1878 Telling About Leaving Him

  The Petition of Mary Finn of Wayburn Humbly Sheweth--

  That your petitioner is a spinster , 16 years of age, and was on the 3rd day of August delivered of a male child, which is wholly dependent on your petitioner for its support, being deserted by the father. That Caden Tucker is the father of the said child, and was, when your petitioner became acquainted with him, a groom's boy , at barracks of Coventry Guard , 236 London , and your petitioner last saw him on the 12th day of January , and believes he is now posted to Afghanistan with no intention of responsibility . Your petitioner therefore humbly prays that you will be pleased to receive the said child into the aforesaid hospital .

  The gentleman at the desk wore ribbed white stockings that I noticed because I were looking groundward, not into his face. How did he keep white stockings so white, I wondered. All that mud out there and not even a splash on him! Perhaps he s
aved a clean pair in a basket under his desk and removed the soiled ones when he arrived each day? Or perhaps he didn't arrive , perhaps he lived there and never exposed his legs to the mucky streets of London, the narrow sloshing gutters on Lamb's Conduit Street.

  "Miss Finn?"

  "Uh, yes, sir?" I were that distracted that I wondered if I'd mentioned his hose aloud. My arms were squeezing Johnny so tight he woke and struggled.

  "Shh," I whispered, and quick glanced at the waiting man. A woman stood quietly behind him, wearing a uniform of sorts, with a broad white apron, also very clean.

  "I have your letter here," he said, tapping a paper that I supposed to be mine.

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  "And I wrote it myself, sir. I've learned my letters, and it took some time, but I put all the words down there myself."

  "Good for you."

  What did I go telling him that for? It made me sound stupid, not clever.

  "Nurse Aldercott will take the child now. You may have a minute to say goodbye, but no longer. There are others waiting. He'll be baptized here in the chapel and taken off to a country foster home in the morning, where he will be nursed and cared for until he is ready to return here for his education. You may rest assured that he is in the best of hands."

  He tipped his head at me, like a bow were intended but I were too inconsiderable for him to take the trouble to bend at the waist.

  "Good day," he said, and went away through the door. The woman with the apron stepped forward and I stepped backward.

  "Just a little moment, ma'am." I were croaky already and turned away quick. I stood by the draperies at the window, holding my cheek to Johnny's cheek.

  "All the things you'll know," I whispered. "All what I don't know. You'll be eating, and with sturdy clothes on you. You'll have lessons, and be reading before you're grown. You'll meet dozens of boys ... friends ... maybe they'll feel like brothers...." A picture of Thomas and Davy blinked in my mind and a terrible flash of Small John

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  when I last saw him, with his cap on backward and his teeth knocked out from falling off the fence.

  "You'll knock somebody's teeth out one day," I told my boy. "He'll call you a ... a motherless brat, and you'll squint those blue eyes and say 'What did you call me?' And you'll push up your sleeves and give him a sock in the eye, won't you, Johnny? You tell him you've got a mother and she loves you ... she loves you ... I love you...."

  I tucked Caden's silver button between the folds of the blanket. I kissed him. And that were goodbye.

  The matron took him, turning his face to her shoulder, pulling the blanket up to cover his head so I couldn't see him anymore.

  "I wonder, ma'am, could I ask you, please? I'm a very good worker, harder than anything. I've been in service over two years now. I helped at an inn, with all that cooking, and linens changed every day in all those rooms. I worked in a big house, too, so I can haul up and down stairs with no complaints, I've done my share of laundry--"

  She put a hand on my arm, firm but not harsh, and shook her head.

  "No, dear. The mothers are not permitted to work here, we're to shoo you off at once."

  "Oh, but it's not to do with my ... my boy ..." The word caught in my throat as if I'd swallowed a plum and it sat, whole, wrapped around that word boy , and I knew I'd never breathe right again. "I need work."

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  "You'll forget this trouble in a year or two," she said. "We all forget who's come and who's gone."

  She took me gently to the door and that were that.

  Wandering down that Foundling Hospital drive, I were unsteady of foot and foggy of mind. Putting a boot down, moving the other one to join it, putting a boot down again--it seemed beyond me. Finally I were outside the gates and stood a-swaying till a gent in a black coat came out of the little guardhouse and said to "move along, miss, there'll be no loitering here."

  How many girls had already been on this spot, loitering? All those children behind the big gate, they'd all got mothers somewhere, hadn't they? And every one of those mothers likely felt as I did, numb and spooked and sorrowful. And there were no one to tell, no person I could look in the face to say, I've delivered my baby to strangers . To save his life or mine?

  I pressed my hand against the wall, needing that wall for a moment, wondering if they'd built it for this very purpose to hold the mothers up. I made my way, one wee step after another, one hand always pushing against the gritty stones. Some time later, though it were no distance really, I got myself to St. George's cemetery, tucked behind the hospital grounds.

  I wished it were St. Bartholomew's churchyard, with Mam nearby, but then I thought of Margaret Huckle's children, frolicking about on a Sunday. That made me laugh

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  to myself, though I were prickle-eyed already. It were laughing that recalled me, an itch that life weren't over, even as I were headed to a burial place with the dreadest of intents.

  Once I landed there, I ambled around for a bit, walking steadier now, being in the right place for my intentions. I were looking for the little stones, knowing they always keep a corner special for babies and children taken before their time. Sure enough, there it were, under a weeping willow, wouldn't you know, most of the markers no higher than my knee.

  I took my time, reading slow and careful as Eliza showed me, so I understood every word, devoted to choosing the very one.

  Sophia Giller

  Little Angel

  July 14, 1859-August 12, 1859

  There were a real little angel carved into the top of the marble, but I wanted a boy.

  Roddy Bowman

  Oct 1862-April 1863

  Lies with God

  I weren't trusting God as a guardian right then, hoping the place I'd found would be more practical.

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  And then I saw it, a gray stone about the size of a coal bucket, poking its way through brambles and with a wild rose even, though not tended in a long while.

  Felix Kenner

  Our son

  1822-1824

  Not dead but only sleeping

  That seemed right. Not dead, I liked that. I knelt most fervently, and with my hands clipped the too-grown, too-green grass away from the face of the gravestone, tears finally burning across my cheeks. I could come to Felix Kenner whenever I wanted a quiet spot. That matron saying We all forget who's come and who's gone ... Not likely!

  I hesitate to tell how much I carried on, cloaked in mournfulness so heavy I were kneeling there the longest time. I suppose it's the same for all of us in sorrowful hours, has been always, and forever will be, especially a parent saying goodbye to a child, the worst hour of any. Even knowing that better is to come.

  The cold finally seeped through to my bones. My knees were drenched in icy mud so standing up were miserable. Lordy, and nowhere to sleep.

  Hard to imagine that without you there might now be a place somewhere for me.

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  OLIVER 1888 When James Came In

  Oliver's relief was an embarrassing rash, best kept hidden. If anyone suspected that this dear, odd little boy mattered to him more than the others ... There were too many children to let oneself care for a single one, that was how the masters were instructed, and that was what he knew from having been amongst them. No one should care overmuch for a nobody. That was what they said.

  Seeing James unharmed, and even cheeky ... Oliver couldn't speak, his mouth being so dry, and likely better that way. Nothing would slip out that he'd feel foolish about later. He squeezed the boy's pale, dirty wrist and whispered, "Good chap." That new nurse was hovering closer than he'd like. Oliver blinked in the dark hallway, hands clamped inside his pockets to stop from looking as

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  though there was anything to wipe away behind the blink.

  A surprise the next minute; the nurse herself was crying, or pretending not to. She'd better toughen up if she hoped to work here for any length of time. You couldn't go around shedding tears over boy
s you knew nothing about.

  "Welcome home, James!" Her voice was cheery despite the wobble, so she knew what was expected even if she couldn't pull it off just yet.

  "Hello," said James.

  "You've stirred up a fury of worry," said Oliver. "You'll be doing extra chores for weeks."

  "Do you suppose I'll be flogged?" said James.

  "Flogged? Do you think you live in Roman times?" Oliver thanked the boy silently for banishing the anguish from his heart. "Just a light whipping," he said.

  "He'll be whipped ?" said the nurse.

  Oliver winked at James, who solemnly winked back.

  "That's all right," said James. "I'm used to it. Usually only forty lashes."

  "Ah," said the nurse, catching on. "And I've heard they sprinkle the wounds with salt and lemon juice between strokes."

  "I see you know boys," said Oliver. "We met another time, a while ago. I'm Mr. Chester. Oliver Chester." He put out his hand.

  "Yes," she said, taking it. "I'm Nurse Finn."

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  Her hand trembled slightly, as light as a leaf, for the moment Oliver held it.

  "You do pong something awful," Oliver said to James. "Did you sleep on a rubbish heap?"

  "I think so." James grinned, so pleased with himself. "I am sorry if I caused any trouble. But I did terribly want to see my mama."

  "Of course you did," said the nurse. "And she wanted to see you too. You'll both feel better now, going onward."

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  MARY 1893 Not Telling

  I'd be richer than Lady Allyn if I'd got sixpence every time I imagined telling you your own beginnings. Your eyes'd light up, you'd toss your arms about me like a favorite puppy, and we'd have a right old reunion.