Rory's Promise (5 page)

R
ORY ST
A
RED UP THE LONG
A
R
M
IN
A
BLUE CO
A
T TO
A
L
A
RGE policeman with a wicked smile on his face.

“Thought ya could double back and get away, did ya?” he asked in a thick Irish brogue. “Outsmarted yerself this time!” With his free hand, he adjusted his round cap with the insignia of the police on the front. Rory had jarred him as she fell.

Writhing under his grip, Rory glared up at him. “I wasn't running from you. You've got the wrong kid.”

“Do I now? And I suppose you aren't part of that gang of thieves?”

“I'm no thief,” Rory retorted. “I live at the Foundling. Ask them and they'll tell you.”

He burst out laughing. “That's a new one. First street kid I ever heard who wanted to be a foundling! If you're at the Foundling then why aren't you there? The nuns don't let their
kids run the neighborhoods. You're a dirty scamp like all the rest of the street kids.”

“Honest, I live with the nuns at the Foundling,” Rory explained patiently. If she told him enough times he would have to check.

“Honest? Ha!” With his free hand he tweaked her nose. “I used to walk that beat and I know a bit about it. Why don't you tell me which building you live in?”

“St. Irene's Residence,” Rory shot back.

“Ha! That's where the babies live!” he crowed. “I knew you were lying.” He pushed her forward. “Let's go.”

“No, wait!” Rory cried. “I do live there. Ask Sister Anna Michaella. She lets me stay with the babies because my sister is there.”

He kept shoving her forward. “I've met Sister Anna before.” He tugged at his collar with his free hand as if the memory was not a pleasant one. “Sister usually dresses her kids a bit more respectable.” He glanced down at her too-short skirt and leather boots where her big toe had finally split the leather.

“I keep growing,” Rory said with an edge of desperation. “Just last week the ward Sister was saying she was at her wits' end trying to find me shoes.” She plucked at the hand on her arm. “You must believe me! Please?”

“You're good.” The officer grinned. “I almost believe you!”

“Just take me there. Any of the Sisters will tell you …”

He laughed. “Think I have time to be parading across the park, do you? Not a chance.” He marched her a few
steps down the street to a black paddy wagon. Somehow all the vendors and shoppers had melted away. Rory wasn't surprised; it had always been like that when the cops were on the street. The policeman unlocked the back door of the wagon. Inside was a metal cell on wheels. A bench lined both sides and there were iron rings bolted to the walls. There was already a prisoner inside. His face was bruised and bloody, and one eye was swollen shut. He was in handcuffs that were threaded through the iron rings. His body was slumped and twisted against the wall, almost unconscious.

Rory's feet dragged on the sidewalk. She began breathing faster. Her heart beat too quickly in her chest. She didn't belong in there. “Don't make me go in there,” she begged. “Not with him.” He must be dangerous to be handcuffed. Rory couldn't afford to take chances—what would happen to Vi without her? “Please, sir?”

“You've changed your tune now, I see,” the officer said, his grip relaxing slightly.

This was her chance. Rory kicked him hard in the shin. He let go and shouted in pain. But no sooner did she turn to run than he grabbed her long braid and hauled her back.

“Ow!” Tears escaped down her cheeks. “Let go of me!”

“If you really are at the Foundling,” the policeman
said angrily, “they'll be glad to be rid of you.” Limping, the policeman shoved her into the wagon. “Not so bold now, are you?” he grumbled, rubbing his knee. “You'll stay in there until we get back to the precinct.” He slammed the metal door and Rory was trapped.

The narrow metal wagon was dark except for thin lines of light rimming the edges of the door. The light told her there was air, but still Rory couldn't breathe. She huddled in the corner, as far from the other prisoner as possible. His breathing was ragged and Rory wondered if his insides were hurt. When her Da had fallen from the elevated train tracks, he had lived for a few days, wheezing just like that. The doctor said his ribs were broken. Rory sat for hours at his bedside those last days while Ma was at work, just listening and praying he would live—and keeping Violet quiet so he could get his rest.

Rory wanted to kick herself. The children at the Foundling never went outside without the nuns. Rory had been warned time and time again. The police were always looking for poor kids to pull off the streets. What happened to the children afterward had never been specified, like the threat in a fairy tale. Don't go outside alone or else. But Rory had not listened. Now she would find out the ending firsthand.

The wagon lurched forward and Rory cried out. There was nothing to cushion the jarring of the wagon over the cobblestone streets. Her companion groaned. Rory bounced from one surface to another. Her elbow hit the wall with an impact that made her whole arm numb. When the wagon stopped, she rubbed the sore spot and wished she had kicked the policeman harder. Outside, she could hear traffic noises and the voices of lots of men. The door swung open and Rory blinked in the bright streetlight. She was at the Eighteenth Police Precinct. No one could mistake that pink granite
building with the telltale pillars holding up the green police lamps. She'd been here with Ma when Da had died. Not a day she cared to recall.

Another policeman joined hers. “Well, O'Rourke, get much of a haul?”

“An idiot who got himself knocked out at McAllister's tavern and a kid.” Rory's policeman, Officer O'Rourke, scowled. “A little hellion. She tried to tell me she's with the Foundling Hospital but she didn't know the name of the right dormitory.”

“These kids will lie as soon as look at you,” the other officer agreed.

“I am not lying!” Rory protested. “Just ask Sister Anna if I am telling the truth.”

“I don't know about you, O'Rourke, but I don't have time to go interrogating nuns.”

“Me neither. In fact, they scare me a bit. Always have since I was a wee lad in Dublin.”

Rory stared at them, disbelieving. “You won't send for her? But then how will I get home?”

“Lass, that's not my concern,” O'Rourke said. Taking a firm hold of her arm, he escorted her up the short flight of stairs into the precinct house.

“You can't do this to me!” Rory protested. “It's not right. The nuns will miss me.”

O'Rourke snorted. “The likes of you ain't missed by nobody.”

Rory's jaw dropped. Was it possible? Wasn't she important
to somebody? Well, Violet, of course. But Violet couldn't help her. Rory's heart ached when she thought of how frightened Violet would be when Rory wasn't sitting beside her at supper. This was what happened when she disobeyed the Sisters and didn't respect authority. The nuns had warned her. And before that, Ma had warned her too. When would she learn?

O'Rourke led her past a wooden counter where a line of people were shouting at the duty officer. Rory tried to dawdle so she could listen, but O'Rourke propelled her into a large room that seemed to be occupied by enormous men in blue uniforms. The noise was deafening. He led her to a hard bench against a wall then sat down at a desk across from her. “You'll wait here until the matron comes to collect you,” he said. “Don't move; I've got my eye on you.”

Rory felt tiny on the bench. Even her legs weren't long enough to touch the floor; the back of her thighs ached as her feet dangled. She leaned back against the wall and looked around. The room was filled with policemen, criminals, and victims, all talking at the top of their voices. Sometimes Rory had to look twice to tell the difference between the criminals and the victims. A policeman escorted an old lady, clutching a stole around her shoulders, to stand in front of Rory.

“Do you recognize the miscreant who stole your purse?” he asked.

“Maybe her …” the old woman said, peering through thick spectacles at Rory.

Rory eyes widened. “I didn't steal anything! Ma'am, truly
I didn't!” She sat up straight and tried to look innocent.

“Not her, Mrs. Montgomery,” the policeman said. “I meant the pictures.”

Rory looked over her shoulder and noticed the wall was covered with hundreds of cards. Each card had a hand-drawn portrait of a criminal with a description beneath of his or her criminal record and unusual habits. She slumped against the wall in relief. As Mrs. Montgomery nearsightedly looked at the cards, Rory idly read the card at the end of her nose about “Gentleman Joe Dapper.” That couldn't be his real name, Rory thought. She read on. Gentleman Joe dressed like a gentleman and talked his way into society weddings and made off with the gifts. He was partial to presents from Tiffany's. Looking at his posh face, Rory would never have pegged him for a criminal. Even Sister Anna could have been fooled by him. But on consideration, Rory decided her Ma would have seen right through Gentleman Joe.

“Do you like the rogues' gallery?” O'Rourke said in her ear, startling Rory. “Just be thankful I'm getting you off the streets so your picture will never be up here. I don't suppose you can read, but each of these men and women are desperate criminals.”

“I can read, Officer O'Rourke. The nuns taught me.” She added pointedly, “Because I live with them!”

He scowled. “You are a stubborn one.” He stepped aside and revealed an older woman with a narrow face and dark beady eyes staring down a pointed nose. She wore a black uniform and a sour expression.

“Matron, here's the one I told you about. Watch her, she likes to kick.”

“After a few days staying with me, she'll be as biddable as a lamb,” the matron said. She held out a hand that was red and cracked.

Rory's eyes burned from the smell of lye.

“C'mon, girl,” the matron beckoned.

Rory shrank against the wall. “What about Sister Anna? Won't you tell her I'm here?” She winced to hear how scared she sounded.

“See what I mean?” O'Rourke said to the matron.

The matron grabbed Rory's shoulder and shook her. “Liars don't prosper here,” she said. “You'd better remember that.”

“I
'
M
NOT LYING
!”
R
ORY CRIED.
“I
BELONG TO THE
F
OUNDLING. ” Rory felt as if she were sinking beneath the surface of a lake. If she didn't find someone to listen to her, the waters would close over her head and she would die.

“Lying or truthful—it don't matter,” the matron said to O'Rourke, as though Rory hadn't said a word. “All the children end up on the trains in the end. Such an economical solution to the problem.”

“What problem? What trains?” Could the matron's trains and Sister Anna's be the same? That seemed unlikely.

“Don't be afraid,” the matron said, although Rory could see clear as day that the matron relished Rory's fear. “After you're unclaimed for a few days—”

“Days!” Rory squawked.

“Hush, don't interrupt me. After a few days, we'll send you to Children's Aid. They take all the poor children who
have some work in them and send them west. It's a fresh start you'll have.” The matron's smile didn't reach her eyes.

“Please, just tell Sister Anna I'm here,” Rory begged. “My name is Rory Fitzpatrick. She'll come for me, I know she will.”

“If she comes, she comes. Now I don't want to hear another whine out of you or you'll find out what it's like to miss a few meals.” With a sharp gesture, she indicated that Rory should precede her down a long hallway. Swallowing hard, Rory forced her feet to move. The matron took her up three flights of stairs to the top floor and unlocked a door that opened into a large cell. A window was set high in the wall. Now that the sun was down the only light came from a dim electric bulb high overhead. A girl lay on a bench bolted to the wall. In the corner was a chamber pot with an ill-fitting lid. Rory could tell by the smell it hadn't been cleaned today. The matron shoved her inside.

“No fighting or you'll feel the back of my hand.” The door clanged shut behind her and Rory heard the squeak of the key closing the lock. She turned slowly to face her companion. The other girl looked a little older than Rory. She had dark black hair and pale green eyes. Her dress was filthy, as if she had fallen in the mud, and the hem badly needed mending. Her bare feet had a calloused look as though she rarely wore shoes.

Rory gave her a tentative smile and met with a cold stare. “Hello,” Rory said finally.

“What do you want, Red?” the other girl answered.

“My name's not Red. It's Rory.”

The girl burst out in cruel laughter. “That's a boy's name.”

“It's my name.” Rory shrugged. “Do you have a problem with that?” That was how kids on the street talked in Hell'sKitchen.

With a nod, as though Rory had passed a test, the girl said, “I'm Brigid.” Rory could hear the Irish in her voice. “What are you in for?”

“The policeman thought I was a thief,” Rory said, blushing. “But he was wrong.”

“That's what everybody says,” Brigid said. “It's never true.”

Rory started to protest but then wondered what possible difference it could make what Brigid thought. “So what did you do?” Rory asked.

Brigid shrugged. “The coppers caught me picking a gent's pocket.”

“Oh,” Rory said, making sure to keep her voice neutral. In the old days she'd stolen food to eat, but never money. She had always known in a pinch she could explain food thievery to her mother, but never cash. But who knew what would have happened if she hadn't found sanctuary at the Foundling for her and Violet after Ma died. Rory might have become a thief too. She couldn't judge Brigid without living her life. “What will happen to you now?”

“I'll pay for my crimes,” Brigid said, her expression as gloomy as the single light bulb in the ceiling.

In a tiny voice, Rory asked, “How?”

“With my very life,” Brigid said, hiding her face in her hands.

Rory could feel the blood draining from her head and, without willing it, took a step backward. Brigid peeked from between her fingers and burst out laughing. “Look at you, Red. You shouldn't be let out on the streets without a minder. I'm only joking. I got no family so it's the orphan train for me. But it'll be the end of me too. Kids never come back.”

“From where?” Rory asked.

“Don't you know nothin'?” Brigid said. Without waiting for an answer she said, “Poor kids get put on trains to the West like farm animals.”

“But sometimes they go to specially chosen homes and they get to be part of new families,” Rory said, parroting Sister Anna. But was she sure about that? Sister Anna had let Rory believe that she and Vi could stay together. What else had she lied about?

Brigid snorted and looked pityingly at Rory. “Not likely. The people out there need workers, so they meet the trains and pick out the strongest and best. Then they put them to work. To those farmers you're no better than a beast.”

Rory's breath caught in her chest. “That's … that's … why, that's slavery!”

“It gets worse,” Brigid said, leaning forward to whisper in Rory's ear. “Some of those men want wives and don't care how young they are.”

Rory's knees buckled and she sank down to the bench.

“Still, it might be better than thieving or begging on the streets.” Brigid looked her over. “You must do pretty well to keep so clean.”

“I'm not a beggar,” Rory explained. “I live at the Foundling.”

“What's that?”

“An orphanage on the East Side. The nuns there have been good to me. I get room and board and school.”

“Do they make you work for it?” Brigid asked.

“No, of course not,” Rory said with indignation. “I help with the babies, but that's because I want to stay with my little sister. They want me to learn a trade and get apprenticed out. But I make myself useful so they keep me with Violet.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” Brigid said flatly. Rory sighed. “From here, it looks like heaven.”

“Why'd you leave if it's so good?” Brigid shot back.

“I ran away even though I should've known better.” Rory rested her chin on her hand and sighed again. “Sister Anna is going to kill me.”

“You think you're ever going to see her again?” Brigid laughed, then she started to cough. Rory smacked her on the back until she recovered her breath.

“Of course I'll see Sister Anna again,” Rory said, willing it to be true. “She'd never abandon me here.” But there was doubt in her voice where there had never been any before. After the cruel things Rory had said, what if Sister Anna didn't ever want to see her again?

“If that's true, I'd like to meet this nun of yours.” She closed her eyes and shortly began snoring, leaving Rory alone with her fears.

What if Sister Anna left Rory to rot here? Sister Anna had hundreds of children to look out for; what if she decided
she could do with one less? Violet would be sent off to the Wild West and Rory might never see her sister again. Loaded on a train like cattle, Rory would be claimed by a family more interested in her strength of body than her strength of mind. She would never finish her education. Worse yet, she might be taken in by a cruel family who would beat her and never give her anything more than scraps to eat. They would chain her to a post and make her turn a spit like a dog. Or maybe she would have to sleep with the cows. She might get scalped like the settlers in the
Wild West Weekly
magazine. Rory pinched herself hard before she worked herself up to hysterics. Of course, Sister Anna would come.

But what if Sister Anna couldn't find her? It was a big city and Rory had gone all the way to Hell's Kitchen, miles away from the Foundling. A tear rolled down her face, followed by another one. Rory rarely cried unless she was hurt, but she had really ruined things for herself this time. She had thrown away everything in a fit of temper. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them just for a moment.

When she opened her eyes again, the harsh electric light hurt her eyes. Brigid was still sleeping. As Rory wondered what had awoken her, she heard voices in the hall, muffled and indistinct. She rushed to the door and put her ear to the crack in the jamb.

“Officer, if Rory told you she was with the Foundling I am confused why you did not send for me at once. We have been searching for her for hours. This is the third precinct I
have visited.” It was Sister Anna! She was speaking in what Rory thought of as her most nunnish voice.

O'Rourke sounded like a whipped dog, all his bravado and bullying gone. “Sister Anna, we thought she was lying and didn't want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense, O'Rourke. Rory is honest to a fault.” There was a brief silence; Rory pressed her ear against the door. She didn't want to miss a word.

“This is not the first time you've mistreated one of my children,” Sister Anna went on, implacable. “I think I shall ask His Excellency the Archbishop to write a letter to the chief of police. Again.”

Rory almost giggled when she heard O'Rourke whee-dling, “Ah, ma'am, I mean Sister, there's no call to do anything like that, is there? I'll just unlock this door and you can take your lass with you. No harm done!”

The door lock squeaked and Rory jumped back. No sooner had the door swung open than Sister Anna stepped inside, filling the doorway with her tall frame. Her dark nun's bonnet shadowed her face. “Rory, it's time to go.”

Rory wanted to run and hug Sister Anna, but that would never do. She contented herself with waking up Brigid to say goodbye. “This is the nun I told you about. She came. I knew she would!”