Circle of Love (7 page)

"Tell me," Frances said firmly. "Right now. Where is Eddie?"

Marcus gulped. "I wasn't lyin' when I told you I don't know. He just said to us, Tm off for a while, chums. I'm goin' explorin'.' "

"Exploring? On a train filled with strangers?"

Frances glanced in desperation at Reverend Diller's sleeping form. He had offered to help, hadn't he? He'd insisted that she call on him if she needed any kind of assistance. She couldn't desert the group

of children to go in search of one straying child, so— much as she hesitated to wake Reverend DiUer—she decided there was nothing else she could do.

Frances bent over him, saying softly, "Reverend Diller. Please wake up, Reverend Diller."

He didn't moye, so Frances touched his shoulder, lightly shaking it. "Reverend Diller—" she began.

Suddenly he let out a low, guttural cry, threw himself forward, and grasped Frances's wrist so hard that she yelped in pain. She was shocked at the dark terror and anger in his eyes.

"Sir! You're hurting me!" Frances said, and tried to pull away.

Breathing hard, as though waking from a nightmare, he let go so abruptly that Frances staggered back, off balance.

His face twisted in concern. "I—rm sorry, Miss Kelly," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. 1 didn't realize . . ."

Frances rubbed the wrist that still felt the pain of his grip. "It's all right. 1 shouldn't have awakened yoa I hoped you would . . . that is, you said . . ." She blurted out, "I need your help. One of my children is missing."

Frances perched on the edge of her seat, waiting and wondering. Would Reverend Diller be able to find Eddie? There was no doubt in Frances's mind that Eddie was used to taking care of himself. What if he was hiding somewhere on the train? What if he got off at the next stop and ran off on his own? How could she even hope to find him and bring him back? Frances keenly felt the heavy responsibility she had taken on. It was up to her to deliver these children safely.

Her wrist ached, and she absently rubbed it. She couldn't help wondering why Reverend Diller had awakened so frightened. Well, she had no time to worry about that now. Where was Eddie?

Finally, just as the train began to slow for the stop

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at the depot, the reverend returned with Eddie in tow.

Frances hoped that Eddie had been firmly spoken to, but she doubted it because the boy was still jaunty and greeted her wjth a wide smile.

"Fm sorry, miss, that you was worried about me," he said. "I didn't think I'd be missed. I had to go explorin'. I like to see where I am and what's going on around me."

"I understand your curiosity, Eddie, but you must not leave the car," Frances told him.

"According to the conductors, Eddie explored the train from one end to the other," Reverend Diller said. Frances caught a twinkle of merriment in the reverend's eyes.

"And a mighty fine train it is, too," Eddie put in. "Oh, miss, can you believe it? There's a car that's got velvet curtains with gold fringe and thick paddin' on the seats that would make you think you were sittin' on somethin' as soft as a duck's bottom."

"A private car?" Reverend Diller asked.

"Yeah. Private. That's what they safd before they threw me out," Eddie answered.

*Threw you out?" Frances was indignant.

"It's okay with me, miss," Eddie said cheerfully. "I had a right to go explorin', and they had a right to throw me out It's nobody's loss. Give me half a chance, and I'd do it again."

"How many people were travelin' in this car?" Reverend Diller asked.

Eddie shrugged. "All I could see was a man and his wife—oh, and the feller workin' for them."

The train was slowing, and Frances had no more time to spend on idle chatter. *Thank you, Reverend Diller, for your help," she said, and led Eddie to join

the other children, who were already bouncing in their seats, waiting for the train to come to a complete stop.

From the car's windows Frances could see the small wooden depot next to the tracks. She knew from her experience as an orphan train rider that the large water tank next to the depot would be used to replenish the train's water supply. Some of the firewood, in the huge pile near the water tank, would be transferred to the train. Only sparse, dusty clumps of grass grew in the yellowed dirt around the depot, and there were no passengers in sight, but a row of privies stood back by a small grove of trees.

"We'll form two lines to the privies," Frances told the children as the conductor opened the door. "Aggie will take the boys; I'll take the girls. We won't have much time before the train leaves, so no dawdling."

As she left the train, Frances saw Eddie glance at her right wrist, where her sleeve had fallen back.

"What happened to you, miss?" he asked, pointing toward the red marks on her skin. "How'd you hurt yourself?"

"It was an accident," Frances said, and pulled her cuff into place. "No harm was done."

Eddie ran to join the rest of the line, but Frances paused, placing the fingers of her left hand over the marks. Once again she wondered what had frightened Reverend Diller so.

There was no time to think more about it, Frances had to shepherd the children back onto the train, count them, and make sure no one had strayed into the small depot or the grove of trees beyond.

Finally each child was seated and the train made its jerking, swaying start. As it picked up speed, Frances opened her journal and began to write:

How greatly I am reminded of my own journey west Riding an orphan train again, even though in a different capacity, makes mefeel that I have come fuM circle. I think of the happy years I had with the Cummingses — a highly successful journey — and I hope that I can guide these little ones in my care into journeys that will be as happy as mine.

Eddie slid into the seat beside Frances, and she closed the journal.

"Sam and Marcus said I was in big trouble with you because of my goin' off to explore the train," he told her.

Frances smiled at him. "You're not in trouble with me, Eddie."

"You sure?"

"Of course Fm sure."

Eddie glanced up at Frances and grinned sheepishly. ^Trouble and me—well, we sort of stick together, I guess."

"Maybe if you thought first—" Frances began.

Eddie interrupted. "1 know, but I don't think first. Never have." He sighed again. "YouVe never been in trouble, or you'd know what I mean."

The train swayed around a curve, throwing Eddie and Frances off balance. As soon as they had righted themselves, Frances smiled and asked, "Where did you live in New York City?"

"Nowhere," Eddie said. "I mean, just anywhere I could sell a few newspapers, shine a few shoes, and earn enough to buy some food and stay alive."

"When 1 was your age 1 lived near Sixteenth Street and Ninth Avenue," Frances said. "Do you know that place?"

"Do I ever!" Eddie looked up at Frances in surprise.

"After my father died, I scrubbed office floors at night with my mother and sewed piecework during the day. My brothers Mike and Danny shined shoes."

"Like me," Eddie said.

"Like you. Only Mike turned to copper stealing and got caught. He wasn't a bad boy. He was a hungry boy and forgot the difference between right and wrong. He used the money to buy meat for our fam-Uy's table."

Eddie's eyes were wide. "Did he go to prison?"

"No. He would have, but the judge let Reverend Brace send Mike west to a new home. He gave Mike a second chance to make a good life for himself."

Eddie leaned into the crook of Frances's arm. In a quiet voice he asked, "Did anybody want Mike? After what he done, I mean?"

Frances decided not to mention the terrible time Mike had with the Friedrichs. Eddie didn't need that. He needed reassurance. "An army captain and his wife eventually became Mike's foster parents," she said. "They're good to him, and he loves them very much."

Eddie thought a moment. "They didn't know Mike had been in trouble with the law?"

"They knew, but they still wanted Mike. In fact, it was Captain Taylor who told Mike that the West was a place for new beginnings and what counted most was what Mike would make of his future."

"His future? I never gave any thought to a future," Eddie said. "It seems to be enough trouble just tryin' to stay alive."

Frances hugged him. "You'll soon have a family who'll see to it that you have a good future."

Eddie turned to look up at Frances. 'They won't hold what I did s^ainst me?"

'They won't even know about it"

She thought that would satisfy Eddie, but he said, "Sam told us that ^me lads aren't chosen, that they have to go back.**

*That happens to only a very few. You'll be chosen," Frances promised. Please, she thought. Please let my promises com£ true!

Eddie grinned, and Frances smiled back. Eddie wasn't the kind to be down for long, no matter how bad things might look. "I'll change my ways," he said. "Matter of fact, I started changin' them back in New York City."

"Like going exploring?" Frances teased.

"I said I started changin' them. It's hard to do all that changin' at once."

"Captain Taylor said Mike was a fine young man, and you are too, Eddie. There'll be lots of good things in life for you," Frances said.

Aggie suddenly appeared at Frances's side. "Miss Kelly, some of the little children are getting hungry. Like Lizzie. Mary Beth said I didn't know what I was talking about, but I know when a baby gets fussy because she's hungry. I know a lot more than Mary Beth knows. And you did say I was sort of in charge. When are we going to feed the little ones?"

Frances pulled out her pocket watch and glanced at it. "It's not yet noon, but I think we're all getting hungry," she told Aggie. "Ill open the hamper, and if you'd like, since you're my special assistant, you can give everyone an apple—except Lizzie and Nelly, of course. I'll peel and chop their s^ples."

"We get apples?" Aggie's eyes lit in anticipation.

"Along with bread and cheese," Frances said.

She and Aggie set to work giving the food to the children. Some of the adults at the back of the car brought out food they'd brought with them, but Frances noticed that Reverend Diller had nothing to eat.

Frances motioned to him, and he came to the front of the car. "Please join us. We have plenty to share," she said.

He looked away in embarrassment. "I—I was in a hurry to leave. I didn't think about packin' food."

"Then please share with us," Frances said.

Daisy Gordon piped up. "Miss Kelly, David's already started to eat, and we didn't say a blessing."

Jessie nodded. "At the asylum we always said a blessing."

Frances turned to Reverend Diller. "Will you lead the children in a prayer, please?"

She folded her hands and prepared to pray, but he nodded toward Daisy and said, "I'd like to hear this little girl lead the prayer. She'd be happier with the prayer she's used to than the long blessin' that preachers say."

Daisy didn't need prompting. In a loud, singsong voice she recited, "Bless us, O Lord, for thy bounty which we are about to receive." She smiled, shouted "Amen," and bit with a crunch into her apple.

Reverend DiDer took the food Frances had given him back to his seat, while Frances sat by the window, ei\joying the bread and cheese and the sceneiy of softly rolling hills. But a cry from deep within her heart shattered this moment of peace. Oh, Johnny — how much I miss you!

It wasn't until long after nightfall that quiet settled on the railway car.

Frances had told all the stories and poems she could remember from her classroom readers to the thirty sleepy children. She'd helped make them comfortable on the hard coach seats. After the lantern had been extinguished and the railway car was Ut only by the light of a full moon, she wandered among them singing some of the soft Irish songs that Ma had always sung to ease her children into sleep.

When most of the children had fallen asleep, some of them pillowing their heads on their seatmates' laps or shoulders, and no more lonely sniffles were to be heard, Frances removed her hat and relaxed in the front seat. She retrieved her carpetbag from under the seat and pulled out a pencil and the journal

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Johnny had given her. There was enough moonlight so that she could see to write. She desperately wanted to put her thoughts about the children on paper to keep.

She stroked the blank page of the journal before she found herself writing about Johnny and how much she missed him. Had she been wrong to leave without talking it over with him? Had she hurt him too much to ever make things right between them? Frances sighed as she wondered if her questions even mattered. Johnny had turned away from her. He'd turned inward, obsessed with anger at those who had iiyured him. Johnny couldn't come to her with an open heart because his heart was filled with bitterness. She wrote:

When I return to Kansas^ will I see Johnny ever again? What will my life be without him? Perhaps I should move to St, Joseph and live near Ma. Maybe it would be better to

She jumped as Reverend Diller slid into the seat next to her. Flustered, Frances closed her journal with a snap.

"First off, I want to apologize for grabbin' your arm like I did," Reverend Diller said. "Sometimes I have bad dreams, and when you touched me I thought . . . Well, there was someone in my dream, and 1 was fightin' back. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right," Frances said. "It was my fault. I didn't mean to startle you."

Reverend Diller glanced at the blue book on Frances's la^. "What were you writing?" he asked.

"I keep a journal," Frances said. "I was about to write about some of the children."

'They're a handful. They've given you a hard day,'' he said.

Frances smiled. "No, they haven't," she said. 'They're all very good children."

He slowly shook his head and smiled back. "One gives you a fright l)y runnin' off through the train. Others squabble or fight The babies cry. They demand your attention the entire time. You call that good:>''

'They're children. Reverend Diller. Why be siu*-prised when they behave like children? If they all sat quietly, I'd be quite worried about them."