Circle of Love (6 page)

"I'm sorry that someone hurt you," Frances said. She took one of Aggie's hands, sliding soothing fingers across her palm, but Aggie jerked her hand away.

"No need to feel sorry for me," Aggie said. "I learned my lesson. Miss Marchlander taught me not to let people hurt me. I'U never, never let anyone hurt me again. That's what I told her, and that's why she sent me away."

"Oh, Aggie," Frances began, and stretched out a hand again.

But Aggie stiffened. "She said I was a waif—somebody no one wants. But someone wiU want me. I'm going to have a real family. I'm going to live with people who love me and are good to me, until ..."

Frances waited a moment, then asked, "Until what?"

Aggie shook her head, murmuring, "Never mind."

"You'll make someone a fine daughter," Frances

said, tiying to smile reassuringly. Aggie looked as though she had something to tell her. Maybe she could be encouraged to confide her problem later.

In a small voice Aggie said, "Fm not a cute baby. And Tm not pretty like Mary Beth and Nicola But somecHie will want me, won't they?"

'"Of course they will," Frances said firmly, but she unhappily remembered some of the farm wives who only wanted foster daughters strong enough to handle the household chores. Aggie deserv^ed a much better life than that

Miss Hunter s voice carried throughout the roont "Bedtime, children. Well arise early, because well have to travel to New Jersey to get the train."

There was a sudden hush, as if each child was afraid to breathe or even think. Frances knew what they were feeling. Tomorrow they'd begin a very different kind of life. Frances had been in their shoes. And Frances remembered.

"Come along now," Miss Hunter said. "Off to bed with you."

As the children filed out of the room, Miss Hunter spoke quietly to Frances. "You got along with them nicely. I knew you would, you being a teacher."

"I know how they feel," Frances said.

*These poor little foundlings and waifs? Well, as best you can, I suppose."

Frances didn't try to explain. She listened politely to Miss Hunter's advice about how to handle troublemakers, and how to arrange orderly visits to the small necessity in the railway car and to the privies at depot stops, and how to keep the boys from hanging out the train windows or climbing over the other passengers in the railway car.

But Frances s mind went from child to child. No

r

matter whether there'd been tears or smiles, each of them was facing a difficxilt journey.

"m be fine, and so will the children," Frances assured Miss Hunter. She meant what she said with all her heart and tried to push away the doubts that kept repeating, Don't be so sure. You know as well as you know your own name, Frances Mary Kellyy that on this trip anything can happen.

The platform around the depot was bustling with travelers and well-wishers; salesmen lugging heavy cases; a few nicely dressed children—^two of whom stuck out their tongues at the orphan train riders, then hid behind their mother's skirts; gentlemen in stiff collars and tall hats; and uniformed policemen who roamed through the crowd, their eyes constantly searching faces. Here and there were a few ex-soldiers with shabby clothes, and a few beggars, who disappeared when they saw the policemen approaching.

Miss Hunter and a burly conductor helped Frances and the young orphan train riders squeeze through the crowd.

Caroline clung to Frances's skirts, burrowing into them as though trying to hide.

"Don't be frightened, Caroline,*' Frances said. She remembered that Caroline was afraid her father would come looking for her. "You're safe with me."

But Caroline continued to hide, warily peeping out to scan the faces of the people on the platform.

Frances checked her list. She read each name aloud, and made sure the child climbed the steps and got into the coach car—Caroline first, of course. It was a difficult task. Lizzie Schultz had been fussing too much for Mary Beth Lansdown to hold her, so Frances offered to carry the baby herself. Lizzie's plump little arms were wrapped tightly around Frances's neck, and she refused to let go.

Suddenly, to Frances's siuprise, Lizzie was plucked from her arms. A deep voice said, "All the other children seem to be aboard. I'll help you with this one, ma'am."

Before Frances could react, a strong hand gripped her elbow. She was firmly and quickly escorted up the steps and into the coach car, where the children had already claimed their places.

Frances turned to the tall, handsome stranger who had helped her. He was probably not much older than she was. His chin and jawline were lighter than the rest of his sun-browned face, so Frances realized that until very recently he must have worn a beard. His eyes were a deep blue, and his curly hair was thick and dark. He was dressed in black and wore a flat, black, broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

He removed his hat as he bowed and said, "Reverend Oscar Diller, ma'am." As he waited for Frances to answer, his eyes shifted to the children, then back to Frances.

Surprised that so young a man could be a

preacher, Frances smiled and politely answered, 'Thank you for your help, Reverend Diller. Tm Miss Kelly, and Tm escorting these children to foster homes in Missouri for the Children's Aid Society."

"A highly commendable occupation. Miss KeUy," he answered. "If Imay assist you in any way, please don't hesitate to request my services."

Frances wanted to laugh at his formality. Surely he was putting on airs. This couldn't be the way he always spoke. It didn't seem to fit And there was a familiar, telltale softness in his q>eech that Frances had caught "Are you bound for Missouri? Do you come from there?" she asked.

Reverend Diller answered, "I grew up in Missouri but came east to study."

With a parting nod he left Frances and sat with some of the children. Pulling down his hat brim to shade his forehead, he held little Philip up so that he could look out the window.

Frances was kept busy while the train was in the station. Some of the children wanted to change places. Some kept bouncing into the- aisle. Harriet suddenly cried out and pointed to a man on the platform. "Look, Emily! There's Papa!"

Frances looked, too, and saw a man leaning against a support, his head in his hands as he wept

"1 told you Papa would come!" Harriet said.

Elmily strugged to get free. "1 want to see Papa," she insisted.

"No!" Harriet held her tightly. "Papa's crying. He doesn't want us to see him crying."

Tears ran down Emily's cheeks. "Why doesn't Papa come and get us?"

"Because he can't," Harriet said. "Remember? He told us that he loves us and wants to keep us, but he

can't He has no money to take care of us." Harriet burst into sobs. "He didn't want to give us away. Really, he didn't"

Frances fought back tears. Memories of when Ma had given them to Reverend Brace to send west tore into her heart in a burning pain.

"I know how much it hurts," she told Harriet and Elmily. "When I was an orphan train rider, I had to leave my mother."

But they didn't even glance at Frances. Their gaze was riveted on their father, and they seemed to want nothing more than to look at him for what could be the last time.

A police officer entered the car and walked directly to Frances. "I was told these are orphans being taken to homes in Missouri. Is that right?"

"Yes," Frances said. "We're with the Children's Aid Society, the group organized by Reverend Charles Loring Brace."

The policeman touched the brim of his helmet *Thank you, miss. Have a pleasant journey." His eyes quickly swept over the group of children as he moved to the back rows of seats, some of which had been filled by other passengers.

As he bent to question them, Frances realized that the policeman had completely ignored Reverend Diller. Did the officer think the preacher is with us? Frances wondered. She shrugged. Well, what if he did? What difference does it make?

Outside, the conductor shouted, "AD aboard!" The police officer had already left through the connecting door at the back of the car, and Frances could see the cluster of policemen who had come together on the platform. None looked pleased, and Frances wondered what they were looking for.

The engineer gave a blast with a train whistle that frightened Nelly and Lizzie into shrieks. The lurch of the train into motion nearly threw Frances off her feet, but she regained her balance and hurried to soothe the little girls. She held Lizzie as the train began to move fa^t^r and faster.

"Hooray!" Eddie yeUed. "We're off to the West!"

"And horses!" Sam shouted.

Amid the shouts and cheers from some of the children, Frances could hear Harriet's sobs. "Oh, Papa! When will we ever see you again?"

The rows of tightly packed houses disappeared, and the landscape changed to low, rolling hills. For a short while the passing scenery of small farms and animals kept the children's attention, but soon there were demands of "I'm hungry!" and "Please, miss, could I have a drink of water?"

"Aggie! I need you," Frances called, and Aggie stepped forward quickly, pouring water into tin cups for each of the thirsty ones.

"Thank you, Aggie," Frances said. "What would I do without you?"

Aggie didn't respond, but her chin lifted in pride. She looked down at Walter and Philip, who were jostling each other to be next, and fixed them in place with a frown. "Any more pushing, and you won't get water," she said. She handed the cup to a wide-eyed, obedient Walter and added, "And don't dribble!"

Although Aggie was being a little too stem, in Frances's opinion, she left Aggie without comment and went to soothe Margaret, who had burst into loud sobs. Thirty children? Frances asked herself. It seems more like one hundred and thirty.

Margaret grabbed Frances and held her tightly as she said through her tears, "Jessie told me there are

Indians in the West, and they're probably going to kill us."

"Well, there are," Jessie said. "Mrs. Spitz, down at the butcher shop, told us what the Indians do to the people they capture. She said . . ."

It was all Frances could do not to clap a hand over Jessie's mouth. There were people in every town who had to be the first to spread whatever terrible story they had heard, and unless Jessie was guided into another direction, she'd end up like Mrs. Garrett and Mrs. St. John.

"We'll have no more frightening talk like that, Jessie," she said. "It's true that our Union soldiers are fighting with some of the Indian tribes, but the battles are farther west. There are no battles where we will be going."

Margaret had stopped crying to listen. "Why are they fighting?" she asked.

"For the most part, they're fighting over who owns the land," Frances answered. "The Indians want to keep their land the way it was, so they want settlers and wagon trains and railroads to stay out. But there are many people in our government who feel we must expand our borders and settle the land coast to coast."

Margaret was curious. "Who's right?"

Frances thought a moment. "I don't know which side is right, and I don't know how to make right out of what could happen. I only know that every day many immigrants are coming into the United States. As they look for land on which they can farm and graze sheep and cattle, they move farther and farther west."

"Where they run into Indians!" Jessie added.

Frances took Jessie by the hand and led her to

another seat "Fm going to let you sit with Nicola," Frances said, counting on Nicola's tough good nature to keep her from succumbing to any of Jessie's doomsday tales. "Belle, why don't you come with me? Margaret needs a seat partner."

She had no sooner resettled the girls when Reverend Diller joined her in the aisle. He smiled and said, "I overheard what you told the little girls. It's obvious that you're an intelligent woman. But you didn't give them the whole story about Manifest Destiny. Why not?"

Frances tried to ignore his smile. She had enough to handle without adding a political discussion. "Reverend Diller, Margaret and Jessie are two frightened little girls, only eight and nine years old. I was not about to explain the theory of Manifest Destiny. I simply told them what they needed to hear," she said.

"You need to tell them more about the expansion west Otherwise they might think that the Indians have some kind of right to those lands."

Surprised, Frances looked directly into his eyes. "Perhaps they do," she said.

"Settlers are bound to move west and take over the land."

"I know," Frances said. "And they will. But can't it be done without bloodshed?"

Jack and Alexander, shouting and punching at each other, rolled into the aisle at Frances's feet, and she bent to separate them. When she finally cleared up the boys' misunderstanding. Reverend Diller had left and was slimiped in a back seat, long legs stretched out before him, with his hat over his face, as though he was snoozing.

Frances smiled. She was intrigued by the reverend's strong opinions. If things hadn't been so hectic,

she would have eiyoyed having a long, uninterrupted political discussion with him.

The noise was rising, and Frances knew it was time the children settled down. The train would soon be stopping at a depot, and she needed to make sure there were orderly lines as they visited the privy. She decided to count noses.

With her list in hand, Frances checked on each child. Then she checked again. There weren't thirty children in the car. There were only twenty-nine.

"Sam! Marcus!" she called to the boys who had been sitting near Eddie. "Where is Eddie?"

"Don't know, miss," Sam said.

Marcus shrugged. "We haven't seen Eddie for a long time."

"Did he tell you where he was going?" Frances's heart began to thump faster. Surely Eddie wouldn't have jumped from the train.

"No, miss," Sam said, but he didn't meet her eyes.

Marcus squirmed and finally blurted out, "He said not to tell."

"You must teU me," Frances said. "I'm responsible for Eddie's welfare."

"Oh, you needn't fear, miss," Sam told her. "Eddie's always been one for takin' care of himself."