Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider (4 page)

“There, there, it will be alright: what is your name and how old are you?” she inquired.

“My name is Tabitha Salt and I am ten, almost eleven.”

“Do you go to school, Tabitha?” she inquired.

“I do. Miss Marianne is my teacher, but now I don’t have anyone to walk me, and my mama doesn’t like me to walk alone.”

“Where do you live Tabitha, where are your mother and father?” Sister Agnes asked probing gently for answers.

“Well I lived over there,” I pointed a shaking hand to the tenement building. “But my mama just died so I have to leave because there is a new renter coming in.”

The Sister led me to a bench and sat me down, holding my hands all the while I told her about my da’s death on the farm and my mama’s bloody tooth.

“So now I am all alone,” I repeated.

When I was done talking and sat next to her spent from emotion she held my hands tight. She soothed me by rubbing her thumb back and forth rhythmically across my tiny wrists. Sitting quietly for a moment, deciding how best to approach my situation she finally launched into a possible solution that did NOT involve an orphanage but rather orphan trains.

“I know this is a lot to take in right now, but I would like to help you if you’ll let me, will you let me help you, Tabitha?”

“Uhuh.” I said quietly.

“Have you ever heard of Reverend Brace?” Sister Agnes asked me.

“No, who is he?”

“Well, he is a very important man who is trying to help children like yourself. He has started a movement on behalf of New York City which is failing its children, the needs of the city’s indigent are simply not being met,” the Sister said sternly.

I didn’t know what indigent meant but assumed I was one. She went on to explain that orphanages and workhouses were not well funded and the inhabitants suffered abuse, mistreatment, and further neglect. Many children ran away from such facilities she stated. This was “not a good place for you at all,” she said, speaking more to herself than to me. She further detailed how the Reverend put his head together with several other humanitarians and Children’s Aid servants to find a solution to the growing epidemic. He did not believe in charity for its own sake and felt certain soup kitchens and handouts fostered dependence. Instead he had an idea to help society by establishing Newsboy lodging houses, industrial schools, and night schools. But these too fell short, furthering the Reverend’s belief that without familial life, true reform was lacking. His thoughts fixated on the growing dangerous criminal activity that lured thousands of children. The only option available was sending the homeless waifs and half orphans west. The westward expansion of the railways would help make this possible. The idea was radical and ingenious and enormous effort went into it. Want Ads were circulated ahead to cities on route with details regarding the children available for adoption or work. Children were given bibles, new clothing and had their hair tended, they used cardboard suitcases for their belongings. All the children were given a lesson in manners and new identities before being sent on their way.

Sister Agnes was animated with her description of the massive locomotives and of Reverend Brace whom she held on a pedestal.

“The Sisters and I personally draft and circulate Want Ads and circulars so that someone could be waiting just for you when you arrive at their stop. If you’re willing to board the train, you could have a new home, just like that.”

The orphan trains were piled with children from the poverty stricken city and transported west on the Erie line where they were fostered by new families or selected to become laborers. Sister Agnes detailed the countryside out west describing fresh air and wide open fields with roaming animals. While I could create a picture in my mind of flower gardens and flapping hens, I couldn’t bear the thought of new parents. Most children in the Sisters’ care were given a ten day waiting period for any of their parents to claim them, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen for me since my parents were both dead.

“Would you like that?” Sister Agnes asked me, breaking my concentration. I was purely confused by all the big words she used, never heard of Reverend Brace or his schools for boys, what about girls? Why weren’t there schools for us? Terror filled my veins, the thought of boarding a train heading someplace unknown, while all alone did not sit well with me.

After meeting Sister Agnes and hearing about the trains I ran up the familiar stairwell into to Mrs. Canter’s apartment to ask her opinion, she already knew about them and had asked the Sisters of Charity to kindly consider taking me along on their next departure. It would be charitable she said considering my age, most families only wanted babies to adopt and kids much older than me were used for work. Perhaps because of my laundry skills I could be useful to someone even though I was ten and my cuteness potential was lost with my curls.

I didn’t have time to let the shock of losing my mother settle in. I couldn’t allow myself one tear or it would turn into an unstoppable fountain of self-pity and body numbing grief. Furthermore the city was my home now.

I pleaded with Mrs. Canter to let me stay with her, “Please, Mrs. Canter, I won’t be a bother and I can help you with the laundry, I don’t even have to go to school anymore!” I cried. I didn’t want to go on no orphan train with the juveniles, but she already had too many mouths to feed and no husband neither.

“No, no that won’t do, I have enough on my plate already I am sorry child.” Reluctantly she sent me away with cookies and told me to gather my belongings because our room was going to a new renter on the morrow. I grabbed a laundry bag and filled it with my primer and the only two dresses I owned. I only had two pairs of underwear and stockings and even though they were riddled with holes we had yet to mend, I put them in also along with a needle and thread. I reached under our clothing hamper and found the one thing I would treasure. Mama kept the picture taken of us under the hamper where it was dark, she never wanted it to fade or crumple. “Someday we can have it framed and even take another photo to go beside it,” she used to say, her voice nothing but a memory now. I looked at the picture of us; it was taken when we first got to the big city. We were giddy and apprehensive at the same time. Neither of us was smiling so that our teeth showed but we had sparkle in our eyes and were full of ambition. That’s how I will remember my mama always, with sparkles in her eyes and ambition in her heart.

Miss Marianne, my teacher, heard the news of my mother’s passing and tried her best to soothe my worries and concerns about the orphan train. She said I could keep coming to school but that I needed to be kempt and clean. She didn’t ask where I would be staying so I didn’t tell, and on my first night alone in the city that’s where I went. I was the first orphan under the stoop that night but by midnight there were three more. Tommy was the oldest scoundrel and his nose was crooked and misshapen from being broken so many times.

“You just gotta learn how to steal food, or sneak into houses at night to get warm.” Tommy said like breaking the law was no big deal.

“There are other ways a girl could get warm in the big city.” Karen said with a dirty laugh, as she slid her skirt up with a wink of her eye. That one would lie down in a bed of nettles for certain.

She had dirt under her fingernails and violet hollows under her sad eyes. Tommy leaned in closer to Karen and they cuddled up together and away from me and Scotty. Scotty was slightly older than me but had been on the streets a long time. He smelled like something from the sewers and slept with one eye open threatening to beat up anyone that bothered us at night.

“I’ve been in a home for boys once already, and I aint’ going back there.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Cuz they got too many rules and they whip you good if you don’t follow ‘em.”

“Well at least they fed you there, right?” I was already wondering about my next meal.

“If you can call it food! I just gotta be careful not to get caught, I’ve been seen with the Roach Guards and if I get picked up it’s a for me.”

I didn’t really think Scotty was a delinquent but he did steal us some bread for dinner and gloves for my freezing hands. Tommy and Scotty both swept the streets and sold Sunday papers for coin but sooner or later they would have to join one of the gangs for protection. Neither knew what it really meant to be initiated, but both looked hopefully at the prospect.

“I can help you get a job you know.” Scotty whispered in my ear, his stinky breath hanging thick between us like fog.

“Thanks, but I am going to try to get a job tomorrow doing laundry, I am good at that. I did it with my mama. Plus Miss Marianne said as long as I was clean I could still go to school.” I picked at my fingers, pulling at the hangnails until they bled.

“Awe isn’t that swell, she did laundry with her mama, guys.” Tommy threw the crusty heal of his bread at my legs. “You better grow up fast, your mama ain’t here no more,” then he cracked his knuckles one at a time before pulling on holey brown gloves that covered his scabs.

“You’re just jealous she had a mama you prick, Tommy, leave her alone.” Scotty moved in front of me ready to pounce on Tommy if he kept at it.

“You really think you can go to school and work?” Scotty asked. Of the three scoundrels under the stoop with me, he was the only one with any hope and still held a gleam in his eyes.

“Well, it’s my plan and I have to try. Where can I get cleaned up in the morning?” I asked, remembering my promise to my teacher.

Before the sun lit up the morning sky the Sisters of Charity were at the stoop ushering us kids out with offers of dark bread and hot tea. Sister Agnes was not among the flock. Their offerings were tempting but Scotty grabbed my hand pulling me to my feet and together we ran for it until we mixed in with the city dwellers, adrenaline on high gear.

“What do you need to get cleaned up?” Obviously Scotty hadn’t cleaned up in a while so he did not know where I could go for a fresh water basin and some baking soda for my teeth. It had been a full day since I brushed and my teeth felt slimy already. I decided to talk to Miss Marianne about this, begging for a clean basin of water to wash with at the beginning of school and in return I would gladly clean the chalkboard and erasers.

Miss Marianne agreed this was a good idea, she asked me then as if it just dawned on her where I had been sleeping and right then I told my first lie. I told her I was bunking on Mrs. Canter’s floor for now and explained there were too many people in the small house for a fresh water basin or bath so this would be easier.

After school I began my search for a job doing laundry. Heavens knows I knocked on all the doors I had with my mama one year earlier in hopes someone would remember me, but on account of my short bristly hair cut nobody did. I was shooed away and swat at like a pesky fly, so I decided to head towards the docks and asked the sailors and workers if they had laundry but they sent me away too thinking I was just another beggar boy.

It became clear that laundering wasn’t going to work. So the second day after my mama died I went around town with Scotty and asked store clerks if I could sweep for them and keep their storefront clean for a penny. Five stores turned me away abruptly but the sixth was owned by a matronly woman who took pity on my poor soul and gave me the job even though she called me, “boy.”

I encountered a problem immediately; I had no place to store my nice school clothing and primer while I was at work sweeping and conversely no place to keep my work clothes while at school. I knew that speaking to Miss Marianne about this would be suspicious so instead I talked to Scotty. We devised a watch out system for the stoop. We took turns guarding our territory while the other was working and we began looking out for each other in other ways too. One day Scotty would bring extra bread to share and in return I would wash his spare socks in the left over basin water at school. Whenever Tommy bullied me, Scotty would step in and threaten to break his nose again, and he could too. Tommy was slightly built and not very strong. Scotty was only eleven but stronger and sturdier than Tommy was at thirteen. He knew more than his share about fighting too, the way he held his arms and fists made me wonder.

One night Karen came to the stoop crying, her dress had been torn away at the hem and there was blood mixed with mud on her legs. She had no noticeable scrapes or cuts, only a pink tinged blood slowly making its way from her thighs down the back of her knobby knees, slowing down to pool at her ankles. Tommy was livid and unable to comfort Karen because he had plans to go out and “kill” the asshole who did this to her.

“What happened, Scotty?” I asked, unaware of how she was injured.

“You’re just a kid, aren’t you?” he replied.

It was the first time he insulted me and I cried softly into my hands, feeling like an
eejit
at my confusion and misunderstanding. Tommy cradled Karen in his arms and whispered sweetly to her until she fell asleep.

That night I missed the click clack of my mama’s knitting needles as well as the very smell of her, I envisioned her there with me, her arms protectively around me, sheltering me from harm as she always had. She hummed sweetly into my ears and I allowed myself to feel her presence and for a fleeting moment the heaviness I felt weighing me down lifted.

The next day at school I felt distraught and told Miss Marianne about Karen. She asked once more where I had been and because it was against my conscience to fib a second time I told her about the stoop. Once school ended Miss Marianne took me to the Elizabeth Home for Girls. At the home I was to learn to sew and type in order to become a productive member of society. I would have a cot to sleep in at night as well as food to eat. I would also have a place to wash. I hated this home; the girls, fifty-eight in all, were crammed into rooms often two to a cot. The showers were communal and older girls made fun of my “buds” and short boy hair. I was teased relentlessly that my mama taught me to do laundry and this made me livid. I missed Scotty, and even Tommy and Karen and I was upset that I never got to tell the shopkeeper I wouldn’t be there the next day to sweep away the grime on her sidewalk. I remembered how the blood tinged loogies and spit got stuck in the broom making it wet and harder to use. I had devised a way around this but now the job was lost and it didn’t matter.