Maggie Shifts Her Gent

by Linda Hubalek

  “Thank you so much, both of you.”

  Why was the woman pale? Did she have an injury too?

  “Robert, how about you and I raid the hotel kitchen for cookies while your mother and Mr. Peter talk a minute?” Maggie walked around the table and held her hand out to the boy.

  “I'll take him, Maggie,” Helen said from the doorway. “We have oatmeal raisin and gingersnaps, young man. Which do you like best?”

  Maggie went back into the room to help Peter again.

  “Mrs. Lang, do you need a wound looked at?” Peter asked, noting her pallor too.

  “No, I'm just shaken up. What about the women and the children who were directly hit by the limb? Did they survive?”

  “Actually, the two children must have been playing on the floor, and they were under the bench seat when we found them. They are okay. The baby has a bump on the side of her head and seems slow to respond.”

  “And the women? I didn't know if they survived,” her words wobbled from the trauma.

  “The older lady did, but she was unconscious last I saw her. Besides bruises on her face, I think both arms might be broken.

  “And the other woman didn't make it. Looks like the limb hit her across her back and broke it. Was she leaning over, perhaps talking to the children? And do you know who they are?”

  Mrs. Lang's hand shook as she rubbed her hand across her forehead.

  “Yes, I've gotten to know both women as we've been on the same trains for two days. It was Miss Rita Markle's first trip with a group of children from a New York City orphanage. She still had three orphans, from the same family, left to place because of their physical problems.”

  Maggie’s heart nearly stopped with that news. She glanced at Peter, knowing this had to be hard on him since he’d been an orphan on a train years ago.

  “The older woman is Miss Ann Beasley. This was her last trip to place orphans. When all the children had homes, she was going on to Denver to retire there.”

  Now who was going to be in charge of the orphans? Maybe Miss Beasley could tell them when she recovered, if she did.

  Mrs. Lang rose from her chair, anxious to keep an eye on her son. “Thank you for your aid, but I know there are more people waiting to see you.”

  “I'm glad we could assist Robert. I hope he won't have a bad scar. It would be best if your doctor looks at the cut when you return home.”

  She reached for Peter's hand and shook it, then Maggie's hand to give it a squeeze before leaving.

  They stood together, watching the woman leave. “That will be one tired woman before she arrives home. She won't sleep a wink on the train,” Peter commented.

  “Good thing she's staying the night then,” Maggie replied as she cleaned the table for the next person.

  *

  Three hours passed before Maggie and Peter left the hotel in the waning hours of the day. Except for the first boy, most people's cuts were minor, needing only a stitch or two. What took time was listening to everyone talk about their experience and ask about the two women in the direct path of the tree limb.

  “How did it go at the hotel?” Doctor Pansy asked when Maggie and Peter walked into the doctor's office. The doctor came out of the first exam room as soon as she heard the office door open.

  “Peter's stitching will leave minimal scars. I was impressed by his pitching in to help others,” Maggie said first to ease both their minds.

  “Thank you, Peter. Your stepping up to help meant people were taken care of right away. Any problems I need to check on?” Doctor Pansy asked.

  “There was one boy who had a two-inch gash on his forehead. Robert Lang. I suggested to his mother that you'd look at it tomorrow before they leave town.”

  “I'll do that.”

  “How are your two patients?” Maggie asked, wanting to know about the woman, but she was worried about the man too.

  “Mr. Ellis had a large glass shard pierce the tip of his shoulder. I pulled out the piece and cleaned the wound before stitching him up. I pray I didn't miss any tiny slivers,” Doctor Pansy said as she shook her head.

  “He was lucid before I gave him pain medicine. After hearing Mr. Ellis' son lives in Hays, Angus sent the son a telegram to let him know what happened to his father. The son will travel here tomorrow and escort his father home.”

  “And how is the woman?” Peter inquired.

  “Two broken arms that I could see and set. Other than a concussion, I don’t know about any internal injuries at this time. She's bruised all over. I gave her laudanum first thing to keep her oblivious of her painful situation.”

  “Several people who Peter worked on mentioned the two women and the children traveling with them.”

  “Were they the mother and grandmother of the children? Avalee and I haven't talked to anyone yet as we are just finishing up.”

  “The young woman, a Miss Rita Markle, worked for a New York City orphanage, and the children were part of a group she was in charge of placing in homes,” Maggie passed on the information she'd heard.

  “Oh, my word. Orphans, and now displaced again,” Doctor Pansy said sadly.

  “The older woman is Miss Beasley, retiring from the Children’s Aid Society after this last trip of placing orphans. She was on her way to live in Denver while helping Miss Markel with her first group of children.”

  “I’m sure Angus heard the women’s names and removed their belongings from both the baggage and passenger cars. The marshal needs to find contact information for both of them,” the doctor replied as she rubbed the back of her neck. Doctor Pansy looked exhausted.

  One family to notify about a death and ask what to do with her body. The other family needed to know their loved one would be in Clear Creek indefinitely because of her serious injuries.

  “What about the children then?” Peter asked, deeply concerned judging by the worry in his voice.

  “Hopefully, Miss Markle's luggage will reveal if the children have already been adopted or not.”

  “From my experience, you get adopted when you stop at a town, and if not, you keep being displayed at the next depot stops until you are,” Peter said with an edge to his voice this time.

  “Marshal Wilerson will need to telegraph the orphanage then and ask what to do if that's the case.”

  Maggie's heart missed a beat, thinking about the poor children stranded in town. She'd only spent a few minutes with them, but she wanted to help them any way she could.

  A thought struck Maggie, and she’d find a way to do it. She could take care of the children until the agency replied back about the situation. Until moving into town, Maggie sometimes stayed with area ranch women to help them after childbirth. Usually, the women already had several young children, and Maggie helped with their care besides cooking and cleaning for the family.

  Maggie’s reason for being in town was now clear. Those children needed her.

  Chapter 7

  Peter was drained from the emotional afternoon. And it wasn’t all from seeing the injured people, then cleaning and stitching up their cuts. It was seeing those orphaned children, paralyzed with fear staring up at him from under that bench. And then the boy clinging to him, needing the strength of a man to protect him.

  Had he acted like that when he was on the orphan train twenty years ago? How had the orphanage agents handled thirty or forty children in their group? That’s probably why Barton tried to corral his brothers and three other little boys to help the agents.

  “Let’s go. The children need us,” Maggie urged Peter to walk down the boardwalk after leaving the doctor’s office.

  Peter nodded, although the thought of collapsing in his own bed to think and sleep off the stress would have been his first choice. But he was anxious to see the children too.

  “I hope their bags were found and delivered to our apartment. I need to borrow a baby cradle to put in my room. The children can sleep with me at first. After that, Molly or Maisie can give up their bedroom and move in with the othe
r. That will free up a bed for the children,” Maggie said as if she was mentally thinking out loud.

  “Maggie? Wait? Are you thinking of taking care of the children?”

  “Yes. I need something to do besides help Maisie, and we have space also.”

  “But there are three traumatized children. Can you handle that?”

  “Molly will help. Besides, our mother adopted eight children at the same time. I was the oldest and grew up helping her,” Maggie replied as she deftly trotted up the staircase to her apartment.

  “Won’t the authorities assign someone to take care of them?” Peter asked as he hurriedly followed behind Maggie.

  “Authorities? As in ‘Uncle Marshal,’ or Pastor Reagan?” Maggie turned to question Peter at the top of the stairs.

  “Uh, I guess I was thinking more like the Peashooter Society since they seem to be in charge of what goes on in town,” Peter sheepishly replied.

  Maggie rolled her eyes at Peter before opening the door to a somber group filling the dress shop apartment’s living room. Besides her sisters and aunt and uncle, Pastor and Kaitlyn Reagan were in the room with the children.

  As soon as the young boy saw Peter, he tore across the room and tried to climb up Peter’s tall frame. “Hey, it’s all right,” Peter tried to soothe the boy as he picked him up and held him against his chest. He felt the wetness of the boy’s silent tears against his neck, but not a peep of sound came through his lips. And Peter noticed the boy’s hands were no longer wrapped.

  “His hands were wrapped in gauze before. Are they all right?”

  “The palms were red like he’d grabbed something hot, but there were no blisters. His hands will be fine,” Kaitlyn assured them.

  What a relief. Peter didn’t want the boy to have burns on his hands as Peter had suffered at that age.

  “His name is Christian Gatti, just turned age four recently,” Pastor Reagan said from his seat in the settee beside his wife. A journal of some kind rested on his lap. Peter guessed it was the orphan agent’s list of the children with them.

  Gatti? Peter had heard that name before, but where, and why?

  “And the girls’ names?” Maggie asked as she rubbed the back of Christian. The boy tightened his hold on Peter as if not sure, he wanted to be touched by someone else.

  Molly held the sleeping toddler on her lap and the baby, still not moving, lay across Maisie’s lap.

  “They are his siblings. Bonita, almost three, and the baby is Alice, five and a half months old,” Pastor continued. “These three were the only ones of thirty-two children on the Children’s Aid Society list who had not been adopted yet.”

  “The baby is almost six months? By her size, I was guessing more like three or four months old,” Maggie stated.

  “I believe she’s malnourished and probably didn’t get enough attention for her development. I doubt the orphanage had enough staff to give an infant constant care as a mother would,” Aunt Millie suggested.

  “What happens now, Uncle Adam? I assume you’ve sent a telegram to the agency?” Maggie asked her uncle.

  “Yes. Both about the Gatti’s and the agents,” Marshal answered without saying more to upset the children.

  “I’d like to take care of the children until you receive word from the agency, Uncle Adam,” Maggie announced in a firm voice.

  Both Millie and Kaitlyn started to speak, but Maggie held up her hand to stop them. “I’m capable and have time. There is space in this apartment and—”

  “And I’ll help too,” Molly interjected.

  Peter noticed the silent exchange between the older women, but then they both nodded their consent.

  “Thank you for volunteering,” Kaitlyn looked to all three Brenner sisters since Maisie would be helping too.

  “Now that you’re back, we will leave,” Kaitlyn said as she rose from the settee and reached for Pastor’s hand. “The children don’t need all of us hovering over them. They need a quiet rest.”

  “I should hear something tomorrow,” the marshal told Maggie as he gave her a quick hug and walked out the door.

  “Come over if you need anything,” Millie offered before following her husband. “But I know you’ll be fine.”

  The three sisters looked at each other and nodded, all in on this plan of temporary care for the three children.

  “I’ll give you the boy back and let you take over,” Peter awkwardly said as he tried to pull Christian off his chest again. For only being four years old, his strength was surprising.

  “Sit down for a few minutes, Peter,” Maisie said as she nodded to the empty settee. Peter gratefully sank down on the upholstered seat and moved the boy’s legs so he would sit on his lap. Peter’s neck was getting tired of the strain the boy was causing.

  “Let go of my neck, Christian. I’m still holding you,” Peter said as he wrapped his long arms protectively around the boy.

  Bonita’s eyes opened and blinked, where she sat against Molly’s chest. She stared at Peter holding her brother, possibly trying to figure out why Christian was on a man’s lap when they had been traveling with two women.

  Molly let the girl slide off her lap, and everyone watched she climbed up on the settee and launched onto Peter, trying to sit on his lap beside Christian.

  “Papa!” Bonita cried, and Peter opened one arm to include her in his embrace.

  “Well, that explains Christian’s attention to you, Peter,” Maggie said as she shook her head.

  Peter watched Maggie study the children now openly weeping on his lap.

  “Actually, they resemble you. I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve seen their father.”

  Molly was studying the journal, running her finger down the list until she found the children’s names again.

  “Looks like they were brought to the orphanage two months ago. They have more information by their names than most of the children, including their birth dates and parent’s names. Charles and Hannah Gatti.”

  Peter looked down at the children on his lap. “Do I look like your papa, Christian?”

  Christian nodded and sank into Peter’s chest again.

  Poor kids. Peter wondered if he did the same thing to his adopted father when meeting him for the first time at this same age. George Gehring said looking at Peter was the same as looking at his much younger brother, who stayed behind in Italy with his parents. What he thought was family resemblance was why he picked Peter in the first place.

  Only Peter was so tall compared to the Gehring couple’s short statures that they thought Peter was seven or eight years old instead of four at the time. Peter towered over the man by the time he was twelve.

  “Papa! Home!” Bonita sobbed as she pushed at Christian to be flat against his chest.

  “Hey, now. My arms are big enough to hold both of you,” Peter murmured to calm the child.

  He looked up to see Maggie watching, a look of contemplating, or planning showing in her eyes.

  “Peter, would you like to eat supper with us tonight? I don’t think you’ll get out of the door anytime soon,” Maggie suggested.

  “Sure,” Peter answered Maggie before looking down at the children. “Is that all right with you two?”

  “Yes,” Bonita said after wiping her snotty nose on his shirt sleeve.

  Christian nodded his opinion without saying a word. So, the boy could hear, but maybe not talk?

  Between stitching up bloody cuts and crying children, his white starched shirt of this morning was a mess. Peter hoped he could save it from going into his rag pile.

  Or maybe he could cut it down for a shirt or two for Christian.

  “Did the children have a carpetbag of possessions with them?”

  “Yes. It was with the women’s things. We haven’t looked through the bag yet, just used the diapers packed on top,” Molly answered as she brought the bag over to Maggie, as she sank down into the upholstered chair by the settee.

  “Molly and I will get the meal ready while you
rest with the children,” Maisie called from the door of the kitchen. For being the youngest sister, Maisie knew how to give commands.

  “Let’s see what all is in here.” Maggie pulled out each item, carefully making a pile on her lap. Diapers were on top, and the main item the little family needed. Bonita’s bottom resting against his hand felt padded too, so two were using diapers.

  “Just a little clothing for each. They had on their coats and bonnets on the train since it was a cool fall day. There’s something wrapped in the bottom,” Maggie said as she pulled a small package from the bag.

  The brown paper wrapped package looked like it held a small book.

  Maggie turned the package over in her hand until she stopped to stare at one side. “It says ‘to the people who adopt my children.’ Oh, my word! Did someone leave this with their children at the orphanage?”

  “It is possible, Maggie. Someone was in a desperate situation,” Peter shrugged, knowing there were all kinds of reasons there were orphans. He had wondered about why he was in an orphanage for years, but he’d never know the story behind the fire which killed his parents. The Gatti children were lucky to have a bit of their past sent with them.

  “Should I open it? It feels like there’s a carboard photograph in it, besides a book. Or maybe it’s a family Bible.”

  Peter hated to open something that wasn’t theirs, but at the same time, if it could help the children.

  Maggie was already carefully opening the package, making up her own mind before Peter got a chance to voice his opinion.

  She pulled out a five-by-seven-inch photograph from the package first and looked at the bottom right corner for the studio name and city.

  “Hudson Studio, New York City.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened as she looked at the photograph and then at Peter.

  “Look,” was all she said as she held the photo out for Peter to look at it.

  Peter scanned the children’s faces first. Christian and Bonita were standing by a bed. Alice, as a newborn was lying in the arms of their obviously dead mother. Oh, Lord. That’s what happened to their first parent.