A Child Lost

by Michelle Cox

  “I’m Petr Lasik,” he said, holding out his hand to Elsie, which she shyly grasped.

  They make a terrific couple, thought Elsie, despite the fact that they were not at all whom she had expected to be running an old folks’ home and an orphanage. She wondered how they had come to be installed here, what had led them to this position.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear what you’ve told Jo,” he said to Gunther. “It’s wonderful that you might have located Anna’s mother.”

  Gunther nodded.

  “Don’t worry too much about her being in Dunning,” Mr. Lasik went on kindly. “People are sent there all the time that don’t belong. Perhaps she suffers from the same fits as Anna and found herself there because of them.”

  “Yes, but this is not such a good thing, is it?” Gunther asked anxiously.

  “Better that than being there for some other reason,” Mr. Lasik said encouragingly. “But we will hope for the best, won’t we, my dear?” He looked over at Mrs. Lasik.

  “Yes, of course,” she said with a smile. “Anything’s better than not knowing, though, isn’t it? At least then you know where you stand,” she added, looking back at Mr. Lasik in such a knowing way that Elsie could not help but think there was a story there.

  Gunther merely nodded.

  “You know,” Mr. Lasik said gently, “if you do find her, there’s an epileptic colony downstate in Dixon. It might be a good place for her. And for Anna. They would get the care they need.”

  “A colony?” Gunther asked.

  “Yes, the Dixon State Hospital. But it’s more of a farm, really, than a hospital. Good clean air. Might be just the thing.”

  Gunther stared at him as if he were trying to absorb this information. “Yes,” he finally said absently.

  “We’d better go, Gunther,” Elsie had said quietly, not wanting to interrupt them, but she knew they were in danger of being late. “Henrietta and Clive will be waiting.”

  They took another bus to Dunning, then, riding along in silent hope, only to have eventually discovered the awful truth that Liesel Klinkhammer was, in fact, dead, and had been for some time, rendering all of their private and collective thoughts regarding what to do next as essentially useless.

  All the way back to Mundelein in Clive and Henrietta’s car, Elsie tried to process the limited information they had been given. How could Anna’s mother be dead? Every so often, Elsie had glanced at the back of Gunther’s head, wishing they were sitting beside each other in the back seat of the Daimler or that he would at least look back at her from time to time, but he did not. She couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling, his long quest to find Liesel Klinkhammer now suddenly at an end, and certainly not in the way he had expected. He and his mother had been burdened with this little girl for nearly five years, and what was he to do with her now? That was the real question that Elsie (and Ma, for that matter) had thought the most relevant from the very beginning. She had never thought that finding Liesel Klinkhammer would solve much, but it had seemed the obvious first step. Now they needed to face what had always been there, staring them in the face: the fact that Anna was still a sick child and apparently needed some sort of specialized care. The poor thing, Elsie thought, her mind shifting gears and her heart nearly breaking for this motherless girl. But then again, she tried to remind herself, Anna had never even known Liesel and therefore surely wouldn’t mourn her. As Gunther had rightly pointed out, the girl was instead mourning the death of his own mother.

  Elsie desperately wanted to talk to Gunther about it all, how he was feeling, what his next action would be—but he had abruptly left her standing at the foot of Philomena. Well, she didn’t really blame him. He had said he needed to think, and she could understand that, not to mention the fact that he needed to get back to work. It wouldn’t help matters at all if he lost his job on top of everything else, and, yet, she couldn’t really see Sr. Bernard being that cruel.

  As she climbed the steps to Philomena, Elsie had a quick thought that maybe they should confide in Sr. Bernard and seek her advice, but, really, what advice was there for her to give? After all, she had already given her advice in pointing Gunther to the orphanage.

  As Elsie entered the grand foyer of Philomena Hall with its old, dark wood and cool tiled floor, she felt the usual feeling of peace she got from this place. She was pleased to see that Sr. Joseph, one of her favorites, was on desk duty today.

  “Hello, Sister,” Elsie said politely as she made her way past the desk toward the beautiful staircase. The Tiffany window on the landing, which Elsie had instantly loved upon her first visit to the school, was currently dark, the sun already beginning its descent.

  “Just a moment, Elsie,” Sr. Joseph called to her. “You have a visitor waiting for you in the front parlor.”

  “A visitor?” Elsie asked nervously, suddenly filled with dread that it might be Lloyd Aston, trying again for her hand per his father’s and her grandfather’s wishes. Would he never give up? How could this day possibly get any worse? She was already exhausted from the extreme emotions of the day—first the scene at the orphanage with Anna and then the appalling state of Dunning and the discovery of Liesel Klinkhammer’s death. She didn’t know how much more she could endure. “Who is it?” Elsie whispered.

  “She announced herself as your aunt,” Sr. Joseph said quietly, accompanied by a sympathetic smile.

  Her aunt? Oh, no! It must be Aunt Agatha! Elsie let out a little moan.

  Aunt Agatha was the wife of one of Ma’s brothers—John, to be exact—and had become the unfortunate pawn in assisting her own father-in-law, Oldrich Exley, in his attempts to see Elsie strategically married, so as to either increase the amount of money in his coffers or to increase their rank on the social ladder—preferably both. Lately, a scheme had formed between himself and one Granville Aston, which consisted of Aston demanding that his son, the playboy Lloyd, propose marriage to the innocent Elsie Von Harmon. Lloyd, for his part, had begrudgingly played his hand as instructed, but only after a threat to cut off his monthly allowance. No one had expected that it would be Elsie herself who foiled the plan, which she did by out-and-out refusing Lloyd, much to Oldrich’s wrath and to Agatha’s despair.

  But why would Agatha Exley have come all this way? It was true that Elsie had been ignoring Aunt Agatha’s letters of late—not only because she hoped that in doing so, Aunt Agatha might somehow leave her in peace (which, logically, she knew, was impossible given her grandfather’s ruthless determination). But also because, in truth, she had been busy with her new classes, helping Gunther, and even with trying to appease Melody by going out on frivolous outings. A visit seemed an extreme reaction to a couple of unanswered letters. She had thought that Aunt Agatha understood the Lloyd Aston affair, if it could even be termed “an affair,” to be well and truly over. So why would she come here? Elsie wondered nervously. Something must be dreadfully wrong!

  Elsie smoothed down her skirt and patted her hair into place. She felt dirty and soiled from being in Dunning, and she had been craving a bath since the moment they stepped foot out of the dingy asylum and back into the fresh air—but she supposed she shouldn’t keep her aunt waiting any longer.

  “Has she been here long?” she whispered to Sr. Joseph, who gave her a slow nod.

  Elsie sighed. Well, there was nothing for it but to face her. She knew Aunt Agatha would be horrified by what she was wearing—a simple black skirt and a white, cotton top. It was at least a Lavin skirt, but she wasn’t sure Aunt Agatha would be able to tell.

  Slowly she slid open the pocket doors to reveal Aunt Agatha, sitting very primly on the divan upon which Melody herself so often sat to hold court. Indeed, it caused Elsie to look twice, as if Melody had been transformed into the plump, oldish woman before her now.

  “Elsie! Where have you been?” exclaimed Aunt Agatha in a wounded way. “Do you know how long I’ve been sitting here? And that Sister What’s-Her-Name out there could not even account for your whereabouts!
How do you explain that?”

  “Well, we’re not prisoners, Aunt Agatha,” Elsie offered weakly. “We can come and go as we please. After all, we are grown women.”

  “Barely,” Aunt Agatha sniffed. “Be that as it may, this is very irregular. And what are you wearing? Oh, Elsie, I despair! I simply despair,” she said, as Elsie tentatively sat in the chair across from her.

  “Is . . . is there anything wrong, Aunt?” Elsie asked hesitantly.

  “Wrong?” Agatha said sharply. “Besides the obvious, you mean?”

  “I thought we’d been through this all before, Aunt. The whole business with Lloyd Aston, that is.”

  “Indeed, we have,” Agatha said archly. “I still don’t understand it, Elsie. Why you would reject such an eligible young man.” She gave a deep sigh. “However, what’s done is done.”

  Elsie felt a deep breath escape her.

  “But why you choose to spend your days here,” Aunt Agatha continued, looking around the room distastefully, “is beyond me. I will say, though, that in the time I have been delayed here, I have carefully observed several of the girls walk through, and they seem well-dressed, I’ll give them that. But surely you must see how difficult you make things for me, Elsie. Especially when you don’t return my letters.”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Agatha, really I am. I . . . I’ve just been so busy, you see, getting used to my classes, and, well, other things—”

  “Well, never mind. What I was so urgently trying to communicate to you is that you are to come with us to Miami. It was Father Exley’s idea, actually, and I must say it’s not a bad one,” she said, leaning toward Elsie with an excited sort of smile. “We’re to stay at the Flamingo,” she rushed on. “Very posh. John and I haven’t been there for years, but it definitely attracts a better crowd. In fact, we’ve had it on good authority that the Armours, the Fields, and perhaps even the McCormicks will be vacationing there at the same time. So you see, it could very well work to our advantage, which is what Father Exley surely had in mind,” she twittered. “It will be ever so much nicer to take up our little quest somewhere sunny and bright, don’t you think?” she said cheerfully, her buck teeth poking out only just a little between her large, chipmunk cheeks.

  Elsie paled. Miami? She couldn’t go to Miami right now! What would she do about Gunther, not to mention her studies? “But . . . Aunt Agatha, I . . . I couldn’t possibly go to Miami just at the moment. I can’t leave school. I’ve only just begun . . .” she pleaded.

  “Tut, tut, child. I’m speaking of your spring break, of course. I’ve already ascertained the dates from Sister What’s-Her-Name out there. Surely you can spare ten days at least, perhaps more,” Aunt Agatha cajoled. “It’s not as if this was really all that important anyway, Elsie. You must realize that. Father Exley is indulging you in this folly, I daresay because of your sister’s influence, but you can’t really be serious about finishing. I understand you wanted to get away, a distraction, as it were, after the scandal with that reprobate, Barnes-Smith, but surely you don’t mean to actually come away with a degree, do you?”

  Elsie gritted her teeth. Why did no one ever take her seriously? And why did Aunt Agatha insist on calling her grandfather “Father Exley”? It made him sound like some sort of priest—and a corrupted one at that! Elsie let out a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, I do want to come away with a degree, Aunt Agatha.”

  “Surely not,” Aunt Agatha exclaimed, as if chiding a child. “In what, pray tell? Possibly artistic studies? That may enhance your conversational skills,” she conceded. “I’ll give you that. But, Elsie, if you’ll only be led by me in these matters, you’ll find yourself before too long, hopefully, in a grand house full of servants. Employment is certainly out of the question. All you need to be able to do is to orchestrate amusing parties.”

  Elsie hesitated, wondering if now was the right time to share her desire to become a teacher, thinking it might be a good first step in breaking free of the larger web she currently found herself in. Perhaps Aunt Agatha, herself a pawn of the very same powers, might in actuality be sympathetic.

  “I . . .” Elsie began tentatively. “I thought I might become a teacher, Aunt.”

  “A teacher? Ridiculous!” Aunt Agatha said with a limp wave of her hand.

  Elsie, her sensitivities already strained by the events of the day, felt a little flame of anger well up at her aunt’s quick rejection, and before she could completely think it through, Elsie reached for the next available weapon and awkwardly launched it at the unsuspecting Agatha. “Actually, Aunt Agatha, I . . . I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap. “I suppose that’s why I’ve been putting off writing to you recently. It’s just that I . . . I think I . . . well, I think I might want to become a nun,” she finally blurted out, somehow managing to look Aunt Agatha directly in the eye as she said it.

  Poor Aunt Agatha looked so startled—like she had perhaps seen a ghost—that Elsie squirmed in discomfort and almost regretted the fib. After all, it wasn’t Aunt Agatha who was her enemy or even the real source of all of her problems. If only she had written to her grandfather when the idea of taking Holy Orders had first presented itself, back when it was a quite honest desire, she might have avoided all of this. But each time she had tried, her courage failed her, and she crumpled up the start of her letter, tossing it into the little wicker wastebasket that stood beside her desk. And then things progressed so very quickly, and in desperation she found herself using the nun excuse on Lloyd Aston as the ultimate reason for rejecting his proposal when he had pressed past her initial voiced misgivings. She had assumed, perhaps even hoped (just a little) that Lloyd would have repeated this information to the powers that be, therefore putting a stop to any further schemes while also saving her the burden of having to do so herself, but apparently not. Or, if her grandfather had been told, it was quite clear by Aunt Agatha’s current reaction that he had not related this to his minion.

  Elsie almost felt sorry for her aunt now, still sitting there in a state of shock, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. But, Elsie argued with herself, she had had to say something! She couldn’t possibly leave for Miami at this critical time!

  “So . . . so, you see,” Elsie bravely went on, “there’s really no point in trying to introduce me to any more young men so that . . . so that I can marry well. I . . . I plan to be a teacher for the poor, you see,” she said, deciding to emphasize that particular detail of the plan. “So it is rather important that I study. And I do mean to try to come away with a degree—”

  “You can’t be serious!” Aunt Agatha interrupted, finally finding her voice. “Certainly, you are deluded, poor child. Brainwashed!” she declared, almost quivering. “Yes, that must be it,” she said, almost to herself. “I told John that nothing good could possibly come from you being here. That you would be corrupted somehow! And now I’ve been proved right! This is folly in the extreme. A nun, for God’s sake! Elsie, whatever are you thinking?”

  “I . . . I’m quite in earnest, Aunt Agatha,” Elsie tried to say. “I’ve . . . I’ve already spoken to Sister Bernard about it. So, you see—”

  “Impossible!” Agatha interrupted. “You’ll just have to unspeak whatever it was you said.”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can, you silly girl. No vows have been taken! Have they?” she asked nervously, raising her eyebrows.

  “No, of course not. But I am in earnest, Aunt Agatha.”

  “Doubtless you don’t know your own mind. Don’t misunderstand me—it’s a noble calling, but not for the likes of you,” she said stiffly. “You’ve had a trying time with men, I’ll grant you that. But we all of us have our little heartaches before we put all of that behind us and settle down. That’s the way of things. You didn’t like the look of Lloyd Aston. Very well. There are other fish in the sea, my girl.”

  Elsie felt so tired, so weary from the day that she wasn’t sure how much more
she could endure. Telling Aunt Agatha that she wished to become a nun had failed to elicit the response she had hoped for, and she couldn’t think what else to use in her defense. Perhaps she should have just blurted out that she was in love with a poor German immigrant, she mused, and a small delirious sort of smile formed on her lips as she imagined the hysteria that such an announcement would cause.

  “Yes, chin up,” Agatha said now with a nod, misunderstanding the cause of her smile. “You’ll see. We’ll go to Miami and get a change of scenery. It will do you the world of good. You look dreadfully pale. And no wonder, shut up in what one might just as well call a nunnery.

  “I say,” she said abruptly, looking around, “is there not even a porter or a footman who could at least bring us some tea?”

  Chapter 12

  “Good afternoon, sir, madame,” Billings said crisply as he opened the front doorway of Highbury to Clive and Henrietta. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant afternoon.” He gave a slight bow as he stepped aside to allow them inside.

  “Tolerable, Billings. Thank you,” Clive answered tersely, handing him his hat and coat.

  The short drive home from Crow Island had been fraught with a variety of emotions—first tears on Henrietta’s part and then excitement as she began to enthusiastically chatter about Madame Pavlovsky’s “extraordinary” clairvoyance. For his part, Clive had said little, allowing Henrietta to ramble on, all the while trying to decide how to proceed in this delicate situation.

  He looked over at Henrietta now as she removed her hat and could see that her eyes were still slightly puffy and red. If Billings noticed, as he took her things, he had the discretion not to say anything.