Rory's Promise (4 page)

“Y
OU LIED TO
M
E
!”
T
HE WORDS FLEW OUT OF
R
ORY'S MOUTH. She clapped her hands over her mouth; after three years at the Foundling she knew there are certain things you never say to a nun.

Sister Anna stared at Rory, her gray eyes flinty and hard. “That is quite enough, young lady.” She was seated at her desk. Sister Anna and the desk suited each other: square and imposing. There were two wooden armchairs in front of Sister Anna's desk and a small leather-covered sofa against the wall under the high windows. There were cracks in the leather but the room was spotlessly clean.

“But you promised that Violet and I would stay together. You promised!” Rory's body shook with anger, and she had to clasp her hands tight to keep from trembling. She had declined Sister Anna's invitation to sit down, preferring to face trouble on her feet.

“You and she have been sheltered at the Foundling for
three years,” Sister Anna said. “You know our mission, to find our foundlings a suitable family. We have found a good family for Violet.”

“Violet has a family. Me! Ma sent us here so we wouldn't be separated.” Rory began to pace around the room, remem-bering her first night at the Foundling. The Sisters had tried to separate Rory from her sister. Rory had screamed and held on to Violet as though their lives depended on staying together. Finally Sister Anna had agreed that Rory could stay with Violet for the time being. Rory had stretched that brief reprieve into three years.

Sister Anna glanced down at a piece of paper on the desk. Rory recognized it as the form for every new orphan at the Foundling Hospital. The ink on little Joseph's paper was still wet. But it was the first time Rory had ever seen Violet's or her own.

“We need to make room for new orphans,” Sister Anna said. “Violet will have a very good home.”

“But where are you sending her, Sister?” Rory asked, stunned. She had just explained the rules to Joseph's mother but somehow she had never dreamed they would affect her and Violet. How could she have been so shortsighted? Her mother had expected more of her.

“It doesn't matter. Just know that it is a good home,” Sister Anna replied.

“It's the
only
thing that matters. Where are you sending her?”

“Watch your tone, young lady.” Sister Anna's voice was
icy. “I'm trying to make allowances because I know you are upset, but I won't tolerate rudeness.”

It took an effort—the habit of obeying Sister Anna was bone-deep—but Rory put her hands on the back of the chair in front of the desk and looked her squarely in the eyes. “Will she be close? Will I still be able to see her?”

Sister Anna's gaze dropped.

“Where is Violet going?” Rory could be as stubborn as she needed to be.

“Out west.”

“How far west?” Rory's voice was small. The only thing she knew about the West was her favorite issue of
Wild West Weekly
. A visitor to the Foundling had left it behind and Rory had claimed it for her own. She'd read it a dozen times and she had serious doubts that a suitable home for Violet lay between those pages. There were Indians, coyotes, and rattlesnakes in the West.

“A week's journey by train.”

“A week away!” Rory shoved the chair aside and clenched her fists at her side. “I'll never see her again!”

Sister Anna stood up from behind her desk and came around to Rory. She stooped to put her arm around Rory's shoulders. Rory could feel the nun's crucifix pressing into her back.

“No, Rory,” she said. Her manner was matter-of-fact, but Rory thought she heard a little bit of pity in Sister Anna's voice. “You won't see her again. She'll have a new family. We have found it best for the children we place to sever all ties
with their former lives. It is easier for them. And for you.” She fell silent, as if waiting for Rory to speak, but Rory was staring straight ahead, thinking more quickly than she ever had in her life.

“Violet's new parents are good Catholics,” Sister Anna went on. “And they are eager to have her; they especially asked for a redheaded girl.”

Rory grabbed the end of her own red braid and shoved it toward Sister Anna's face. “If that's what they want, let's give them two!”

“They only asked for one girl, I'm afraid. And you're twelve. We want them to have a younger girl.” Sister Anna's voice was resolute and Rory had to fight to keep down the panic in her stomach. “You know our policy—we send younger children so we're sure they will be loved and part of a family, not put to work.”

“Send another orphan! Lord knows you have plenty!”

“The Lord's name is not to be used lightly, Rory.”

“Then He should take better care of his children!” She grabbed at Sister Anna's hand. “I told my mother I would look after Violet.
I promised
.”

Sister Anna stroked Rory's palm. “Rory, you've done exceptionally well with Violet. She's healthy and bright as a new button. But at five years old, she's the ideal age to be placed. She needs parents. You should make this easier for her, not harder.”

Sister Anna's gentle voice washed over her while her calloused hands tried to soothe Rory's. Rory kept her eyes
on Sister Anna's hands. How strange that the nun in charge of so much at the Foundling had calluses. But that was Sister Anna—she wasn't afraid of hard work.

“Rory, you know it would be best for Violet if you let her go,” Sister Anna said smoothly. “If you love her …”

“No!” Rory shouted, shoving herself away from Sister Anna. “You're a nun. What do you know about love?”

“Rory!” Sister Anna stepped back as if she had been slapped. Her thin face had red spots high on her cheeks.

“No, I'm not listening to you anymore. You're trying to trick me.” Rory reached for the door and threw it open. Pausing in the doorway, she cried, “You're a liar and a baby thief! I won't let you take Violet away from me!” She slammed the door before Sister Anna could say another word.

Standing in the hall was a younger orphan, staring at Rory, her mouth open like a hole in the middle of a doughnut.

“What are you looking at?” Rory demanded.

“No one talks to Sister Anna that way,” the girl whispered with a panicked look at the door. She pulled out a rosary and ran it through her fingers as though she could rub away Rory's sins.

“It's about time someone told the Sisters what's what!” Rory said, defiance in her voice. But as she got her breath back, she began to wonder how much trouble she was in. What would happen if Sister Anna turned against her? Rory might lose any chance to be with Violet.

Sister Anna's doorknob began to turn. Rory couldn't face her. She flew down the hallway, ran down two flights of stairs
to the main hall. It was suppertime and the entryway was deserted.

The wide double doors to the outdoors beckoned. Rory had never gone out by herself—the Sisters frightened the orphans with stories of truants being snatched off the street by the police. With a toss of her head, Rory pushed open the door. If something terrible happened, it would serve Sister Anna right.

R
ORY P
A
USED
A
T THE TOP OF THE STEPS.
T
HE L
A
TE-AFTERNOON sun was bright and for a moment she stopped, blinded. Sixty-Ninth Street in front of the Foundling was busy with people walking home after work. Shaking off caution, Rory marched out alone, leaving the Foundling behind.

Two Sisters in their outdoor habits were coming up the wide steps. Rory pushed her way past them. One of them, Rory wasn't sure who, called, “Rory! Where are you going? You can't go out now. The truancy police …”

Rory ran down to the corner and then up Third Avenue as fast as she could, leaving the Sisters' rules and warnings far behind. Dodging walkers as the sun went down, she hardly knew where her feet were going. The homes along Third Avenue passed in a blur. The low setting sun cast shadows from the houses on the west side of the street and from the trees in Central Park. Tears streaming down her face, Rory turned down Seventy-First Street until she reached Fifth Avenue.

She hesitated for a scant second to be sure she could dodge the carriages traveling down Fifth Avenue, and then ducked across the sidewalk into Central Park through the Children's Gate. It was a familiar walk from many Sunday excursions with other children from the Foundling, and the park was where she was always happiest. Even though it was in the center of New York City, Central Park felt like a different world. A place where grass and trees grew and buildings didn't shut out the sky. But now the park was quiet, with no screaming children's voices or nannies scolding their charges.

A stitch in her side stole her breath away and she slowed to a walk, pressing her hand to her waist. She could feel the leather in her boots splitting at the toes. She crossed the park toward the lake and stopped only when she reached her most favorite place, the fountain on the water's edge. Half panting, half sobbing, Rory couldn't stop railing at the Sisters. It was so unfair. Rory had mostly followed their rules. She'd worked hard to take care of the children and kept up her studies. And how did Sister Anna reward her? She took away the only thing Rory cared about!

The bronze angel atop the fountain held a lily in one hand as she blessed the water flowing beneath her with the other. Rory scooped water to cool her face and neck. At this hour, the park was almost empty and she had the angel to herself. Rory craned her neck to look up at the angel's beautiful face. Sister Anna had told her that a woman designed it and Rory liked it all the more for that. One bronze foot stepped
forward and her wings unfurled as though she was about to take flight. Never had Rory envied her so much.

“I wish I could just fly into the sky,” she told the angel. “What should I do? I have to save Violet before they take her so far away I can't find her. But how? The Foundling has been our home for three years.”

The angel's eyes were fixed on the distant horizon.

“Well?” Rory asked impatiently. “I haven't asked you for much—at least you could help me now that I'm really in trouble.”

Was it her imagination or did the angel's wings ruffle as though she was irritated by Rory's demands?

“So you want me to figure it out for myself?” Rory put her damp fist under her chin and considered. The Foundling hadn't always been their home. Why not return to Hell's Kitchen, where she had lived with her parents? She hadn't been back since Ma died, but maybe she could find some of her mother's old friends. Other girls her age got jobs and supported their family. Rory could do the same. She dried her face with her skirt and straightened up. With a spring in her step from having made a decision for herself, she headed across the park to Columbus Avenue. An omnibus came lumbering down from the north. Rory ran alongside. When it slowed for a carriage turning right, she hopped onto the back. There were two boys, very dirty, perched on the rear fender too.

“Hello,” she said.

They scowled at her and gestured to the driver in the
front of the omnibus. “Shhh.”

Rory pressed her lips in a tight line and kept her eyes looking straight ahead. There were unspoken rules to catching rides on the taxis and buses. Never, ever draw attention to yourself or your fellow illegal passengers.

As soon as she reached Fifty-Fifth Street she hopped off. Her companions didn't flicker an eyelash at her departure. Where the avenue intersected with Fifty-Fifth Street there was a saloon on every corner. In three years Rory had managed to forget the sound of poor men and women drinking their cares away; the loud laughter always had a cutting edge. Violence was never far away in Hell's Kitchen.

She quickly moved past the saloons into the street crowded with vendors selling goods from carts or trays suspended from their necks. Boys were hawking newspapers or offering to shine shoes. The smallest children scoured the street for bits of wood or coal, fallen from a passing cart— anything to feed the stove tonight. Rory had done the same in her time. She watched a little boy steal an apple from a fruit stand. She had done that too. She remembered so clearly her reasoning—how could it be wrong when she was so hungry? And she had always shared the loot with Vi.

She passed a man selling roast chestnuts, a smell Rory loved. She took a deep sniff and started to cough, her eyes watering. Rory covered her mouth with the clean handkerchief from her pinafore pocket. How could she have forgotten the smells of the street? The stench of sewage from the privies in the courtyard behind every building or the fresh
horse manure steaming on the street? Had her neighborhood always been this bad? Or had it gotten worse while she was away?

She reached her old building. She stared at it for a moment trying to decide if it was smaller now. It seemed impossibly narrow, wedged between two larger tenements. The door was propped open. Rory took a deep breath and walked in. The wail of a child's crying filled the hallway. The smell of coal fires, cabbage, and burned potatoes hit her senses like a policeman's nightstick thumping a drunk's skull. Unmistakable. Unforgettable.

The stairs were rickety and uneven. Nor had they seen the business end of a broom in years. The scents of vinegar and borax of the Foundling, not to mention the spick-and-span tiled floors, seemed from another world. As she began to climb, a boy dressed in knickerbockers and a shirt that was too small for him came rushing down the stairs. Rory pressed herself against the wall, recalling clearly how she used to race down the same steps, despite Ma's warnings.

Their room had been on the third floor in the back. There was no running water and the single privy was in the tiny back courtyard. At the time, Rory knew they were lucky not to have to share their room with another family. She caught a glimpse of the fire escape outside. It was strung with clotheslines and lined with trash and rags. Rory remembered she couldn't see the sky from the alley. Memories of the past washed over her in waves, threatening to drown her if she wasn't careful.

The baby was still crying and Rory thought that baby's ma might be out working. For the last three years she hadn't heard a baby cry so long without being comforted. She wanted to find the child and hold him close, but she knew better than to knock on any strange doors. Her mother had always tried to keep her away from the other kids in the building. “The likes of them are not for you, Rory,” Ma had said. Back in Ireland, Ma had gone to school for a few years. It was always her dream that Rory and Violet would go to school and get a proper education. Even when Da had died, Ma worked her fingers down to the bone to keep her children decent. They had been all right, even if Rory had gotten tired of eating potatoes all the time.

When the cough came, Rory tried to tell herself Ma was just tired from her job at the shirt factory. It was the chill in the air. Anything but the truth. But Ma would have none of that. “There's no use fooling yourself,” she had said. “Just promise me you'll take care of your little sister.”

Rory stared at her old door. “I swear, Ma.” The three-year-old promise still lingered in the air.

The door swung open and a voice bellowed, “Mavis! Are you finally home? Where's my supper?”

A large, gaunt man wearing a dirty pair of pants and a grimy undershirt stood in the doorway. Unsteady on his feet, he grabbed the doorjamb to stay upright. Even from ten feet away his breath stank of liquor. His bleary eyes spied her and his lips curled in a grin. Rory backed up as he stumbled in her direction. He lunged for her. Rory turned on her heel and
bolted toward the stairs.

Down two flights and she paused in the tiny hall to catch her breath. Hell's Kitchen was horrible. What was she doing here? There was nothing here for her and Violet. She had to return to the Foundling and somehow convince Sister Anna there was another way. She slammed through the door and burst into the street, colliding with a large man dressed in blue. She fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

A beefy hand grabbed hers and hauled her to her feet.

“Got you!”