Innocent (2 page)

SITTING IN THE
living room of Mrs. Hazelton’s stone cottage, waiting outside the closed door to her study, everything seemed so normal, so calm. If it wasn’t for the awful stench of smoke that still filled the air, it would be as if nothing had happened. The matron’s cottage was almost all that remained on the property. Our home was a tangle of blackened, smoldering timbers, punctuated by half-burned furniture. Everything except the cottage and a nearby shed had been consumed. I was alone in the waiting room but could hear some of the other girls talking in the living room.

The door to the study opened and Toni appeared. She looked small and scared, and she wiped away some tears with the back of her hand. Toni was usually so strong that it was hard to see her cry. What had been said to her? What had happened inside that room? She was staring at a large brown envelope in her hands. Toni looked up and saw me. She tried to smile, but it came out wrong. It was small and twisted and sad, and she looked as if she was going to cry even harder.

I got to my feet and we hugged.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered in my ear, her voice raw and raspy.

“It’s going to be all right,” I said. Isn’t that what she always said to me?

“No, you don’t understand. It’s—”

“Betty?” I loosened my grip on Toni and looked to the doorway where Mrs. Hazelton was standing.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Come,” she said as she disappeared back into the study.

“We need to talk before I go,” Toni said.

“Go? What do you mean, go?”

She shook her head. “You need to talk to Mrs. Hazelton first.”

She squeezed me tightly, gave me a kiss on the cheek and then released me and walked away.

Again I had to fight the urge to run after her. Partly I wanted to provide comfort to my best friend, my sister, and partly I wanted to avoid entering that room. Whatever had been said to her had reduced her to tears, and she was so much stronger than me.

As long as I didn’t enter the study, whatever was waiting for me would have to keep waiting. It couldn’t touch me or harm me as long as I stood right here. Once I stepped into the study, everything would change, and I’d be more alone than I’d ever been in my entire life.

“Betty,” Mrs. Hazleton called out again.

“Coming, ma’am.” I stumbled forward, the momentum of my body dragging my feet along. I stopped just inside the doorway. Mrs. Hazelton was seated behind her desk.

“Close the door and have a seat.”

I closed the door and eased into the soft leather armchair that sat across from the desk. Some of the girls hated coming in here. Private discussions with the door closed often meant you were in trouble or about to be punished. I’d never really been in trouble or needed to be punished. This was simply a place I’d come to borrow a book from the shelves or have a cup of tea and a quiet conversation with Mrs. Hazelton. I knew that underneath that formal public face, she was gentle and kind. Some of my favorite memories were of things that had taken place inside this room. This morning was going to be different.

“Were you able to get any sleep, my dear?” she asked.

“A few moments,” I said.

We had slept in the church down the road, each girl taking a pew as a bed. The few times I closed my eyes, I could only see the images of our house burning to the ground, leaving only ash and metal and a few smoldering, blackened wooden beams poking into the sky.

By the time the firemen had run a hose up from the pond, it was too late. With nobody inside to save and no chance of saving the building, there was no point to them risking their lives. They watched as the house burned to the ground.

The fire had moved surprisingly quickly. One of the firemen mentioned something about dry wood, that the whole building was nothing more than kindling. In the end, it wasn’t even that. For the firemen, it was a fire. For us, it was the destruction of our home, the end of everything we’d ever known.

At the end of the night Mrs. Hazelton had collapsed. We all knew she hadn’t been well for months, and the strain finally overcame her. Even then, she hadn’t let the firemen and the doctor bring her back to her cottage until she was certain we were all tended to. Most of the little girls had been herded into cars and taken away to stay with local families, but I’d stayed much longer, watching. I figured the more I saw, the more real it would become. But it never became real.

“And ma’am, how are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

“I am doing as well as possible under the circumstances. Thank you for asking.”

Mrs. Hazelton started to give more details about the aftermath of the fire. I listened but also studied her closely to see how she was
really
doing. She looked fine but faded, a grayer and paler shade of her normal self. But what else could be expected?
Stoic
was the word that best described her. No matter what, head up, emotions in check, moving forward. Lead by example. Even if she was on the verge of dying, I didn’t think we’d see it. Was she on the verge? Her sickness wasn’t a topic for discussion.

“Your clothes seem to fit you fairly well,” Mrs. Hazelton said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps not the most stylish clothing,” she added. I remained silent. “The townsfolk were so generous in answering our call for clothes.”

Starting at first light, people had rolled up in their cars and dropped off bags of clothing, footwear and personal items like toothbrushes. We had all lost everything we owned except for the nightgowns we’d worn to bed. The only exception was Tess, who had the clothes she’d been wearing. Everything else was gone. Clothing, shoes, books, stuffed animals, trinkets, inexpensive jewelry and little tokens that meant nothing to anyone else but everything to the girl who owned them. Now all I owned was the worn clothing on my back, a change of clothes in a donated suitcase and the ill-fitting shoes on my feet. All of it was used except for some undergarments that had been donated by a shop in town. I had virtually nothing and no place to go, which made having nothing even worse.

“I’ll be helping the littler girls settle into their temporary homes,” Mrs. Hazelton said.

“I’m sure that will be most comforting to them.”

“Small comfort, but the best I can do,” she said. She looked as sad as I felt.

“I know you’ll do the best that can be done for them. For all of us,” I said.

Her look of sadness became even deeper.

“I’ve always enjoyed our conversations in this room,” she said. A small, sad smile crept over her face.

“I have too.”

“You have both an inquiring mind and a positive outlook. Your optimism has been a blessing to us all. Betty, you know that I care for all of my girls. You are all special to me; you are my children,” she said. “You all have your gifts. In you, there is an extraordinary kindness. You always seem to see the positive in everything and everybody.”

“I try to, ma’am.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a bad thing about another person in the almost fourteen years since you first arrived. It was just before your fourth birthday.”

“I know, although I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything from before or even that much from my first year or so here,” I said. “This is all I’ve known.”

And now it was gone. Not that it was going to last that much longer anyway. For me and the other six oldest girls, the plan had been that we would remain at the orphanage until we turned eighteen and then we’d be sent out into the world as independent adults. I was about to graduate from high school, and when I turned eighteen, I had planned to leave and work for a year or possibly two and then get further training. I wanted to become a nurse.

Even before the fire, there were changes coming to the orphanage. Some government people somewhere had decided that our orphanage—
all
orphanages—would be closed. The Home hadn’t been accepting new residents for the past few years. Some of the younger girls had already been placed with foster families.

“I hoped that my illness would not prevent me from being here to oversee all the changes, to help my girls take the next step,” Mrs. Hazelton said.

That mention of her illness caught me off guard. She hardly ever talked about it. She had been ill for the better part of a year but had only told us a few months ago. She hadn’t told us what was wrong, just that she was
not well
. Over the past few months there had seemed to be less and less of her. She was withering away before our eyes, looking older and thinner every day. Even the way she walked, her posture slightly hunched, was telling, and there were times I was positive she was in pain. Not that she would ever tell us.

“I imagine this is a lesson in being careful what you wish for,” Mrs. Hazelton said. “Here I am at the end.”

“This isn’t the end,” I said.

She gave a weak smile. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” She paused again, as if struggling to find words. That was so unlike her. She had always known what to say.

“Betty, as you are aware, your eighteenth birthday marks your move into adulthood and independence. In a few months you were going take the job that I had arranged for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That was the plan. Man makes plans and God laughs. Last night He laughed. Our schedule has had to be moved forward.”

“How much forward?”

“You’ll be leaving today.”

“I’m leaving today?” I gasped, unable to believe my ears.

“This afternoon.”

I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach.

“I made a telephone call early this morning, and the employer has very graciously agreed to accommodate you immediately. There is no place for you here, and there is a place for you there.”

“But what about school?”

“I know it means that you won’t be able to finish your year, and it might interfere with your graduation.”

“But it’s only a few weeks until I’m finished.”

“The timing is so unfortunate. I am going to try to make arrangements to allow you to graduate.”

“Thank you,” I stammered. What else could I say?

“I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you. Some of the girls were counting the days until they were old enough to leave. You’ve never been that way.”

“I’d stay here forever if I could.”

“Nothing is forever. It’s important to remember that this isn’t a new plan—it’s all just happening earlier than expected. Nothing we can do about it, so there’s no sense crying over spilled milk.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I was close to tears.

“You’ll be going to a good home. The work is not glamorous, but it is honest work and fine training to someday become a wife and a mother,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I know others may have greater plans, but I’m grounded in my own time. Lord knows it’s 1964 and some people want to erase the roles we have played in the past, but I firmly believe a woman’s place is in the home, and her role is to be a supportive wife and loving mother. Someday you will be a wonderful mother.”

“I can only hope.”

“A tragedy took away your family, but that tragedy cannot take away the opportunity to create your own family.”

“I’ve always thought this was my family, this was my home,” I said.

“It was…but it’s all gone. You’ll have time to say goodbye to the others. Your train leaves at 3:30 PM.”

“My train?”

“Yes, you’ll be going to Kingston by train,” she said. “The future has arrived, Betty. And so has your past. You’re returning to where you were born.”

“I was born in Kingston?”

“There’s so much you’re not supposed to know. Some things are better forgotten, better left unknown. Some things, though, need to be known, even if it’s not right.”

I suddenly felt afraid. It wasn’t so much her words as the tone of her voice and a darkness that seemed to cloud her eyes.

“Betty, did you ever wonder why you were never adopted?”

“I guess God didn’t find the right family for me.”

This was something Mrs. Hazelton had never talked about.
Nobody
ever talked about this. It was too painful. For some reason, I’d been unwanted by my own family, but also by any other family.

“You know it’s harder with older children, and while four doesn’t seem old, everybody wants a baby. But then, when there was a couple or two that were interested, I had to talk to them, tell them something about your past.”

“My past?”

“You must be curious. It’s only natural to want to know. You must have questions.”

I nodded my head ever so slightly. I did want to know, but I was afraid of what I might find out. Learning could never be unlearned.

“There are so many rules. When we discharge a ward at eighteen, we’re only allowed to give minor details—what they call
nonidentifiable information
. This is general information that doesn’t include anything that would allow you to know or locate your birth parents. Today I’m going to break those rules.” She paused. “Sometimes you have to look back in order to move forward.”

She picked up a large manila envelope that was on her desk and started to remove some papers. Then she hesitated. She looked at me and I could see the doubt in her eyes, the tears that were starting to form. I’d never seen her cry.

I reached across the table and placed my hand on hers. “I want to know. I can handle it.”

JOE COAXED THE
beat-up old truck along the road. The engine sputtered and wheezed. For the past few months I’d wondered if the truck was going to last much longer. It turned out it was lasting longer than the orphanage. Longer than me. It would still be here when I was gone. He brought it to a stop at the intersection, and the engine stalled. Joe muttered something under his breath.

He turned the key and pumped the gas; the engine whined and spun and finally caught. A puff of blue smoke shot out from the exhaust pipe and drifted back into the window before he put the pickup in gear and started off again, leaving the haze behind.

“We’re going to make it on time, aren’t we?” I asked.

“We’ll make it if I have to push the truck the rest of the way.” Joe chuckled.

Part of me wanted us not to make it. If we missed the train I could go back with Joe. Sleeping in the church wasn’t the same as sleeping in my room, but at least I’d still be with the girls for another night. At least, some of the girls. Toni had already gone—without saying goodbye. Not to anybody. Not even to me. How could she do that? I was her best friend in the world, and she’d just gone.

“Kingston’s a fine place,” Joe said.

“That’s what Mrs. Hazelton said. I was born there.”

“Do say.”

“Not that I remember it. It’s where my mother lived before my father…” I let the sentence trail off. I didn’t know how much Joe knew, but I just didn’t want to say the words. Saying them would make them even more true. “You were born in the south, right?”

“Louisiana, born and raised.” He paused. “’Course, I don’t have no accent anymore.” He flashed a big smile, and that made me smile back and, for an instant, feel warmer inside. “Kingston is nice. Of course, it’s no Toronto,” Joe said. “That’s where I’m headed.”

“You’re not staying here in Hope?”

“I’ll be here for a while, helping with the cleanup and wrapping things up, but I’m definitely heading to Toronto once that’s done, ’cause there won’t be nothing else for me here anymore.”

I suddenly felt bad. His room had been a small space off the kitchen, gone the same way our rooms had gone. And with no orphans and no orphanage, there certainly wasn’t a need for a cook.

“I’m so sorry. In all the rush and worrying about everything, I hadn’t even thought about what would happen to you.”

“No need to apologize or worry. This here cat has nine lives, and I think there are at least two of them left.”

“What are you going to do in Toronto?” I asked.

“I was thinkin’ that maybe it’s time for me to pick up my guitar again.”

“You plan to play the guitar for money?”

“We all knew the orphanage was goin’ to close, so I’ve been making plans. I still know a few people, although not as many as I used to. Lots of them are dead or in jail, but I think I can hook myself up with a band, play a few gigs, get a little work.”

“That would be wonderful. You’re such a good player.”

“I figure I’m the best player in Hope. ’Course, there’s not a lot of competition.”

“If there were a hundred players, you’d still be the best,” I said.

“Kind of you to say so.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. ’Sides, if I can’t get any gigs, I can live off my savings for a while. Then, if worse comes to worst, I can sure enough get work in a kitchen. I do have twenty-two years of experience, and a cook is a cook. People always need to eat.” He paused. “It will also be good to be around some of my own people again.”

“People from the south, from Louisiana?”

He laughed. “No, musicians. We’re all just one big family. Don’t matter if a man is from the north or south, whether he’s old or young, whether he’s white or a Negro. The music makes us all brothers.”

I guess I understood that. The girls at the orphanage were sisters even though we had different mothers and fathers. We were all close—so why hadn’t Toni said goodbye?

“I know you’re sad about Toni leaving the way she did,” Joe said.

I startled out of my thoughts. How did he know I was thinking about her?

“She didn’t have much choice. She chased herself away. I think because the two of you were so close, she didn’t know how to say goodbye,” he said.

Were so close? I thought. If we really were so close, she would have found the time, found a way. Then again, in my rush to get out, I hadn’t offered more than a few words and hugs to the others. I’d kept telling myself it was just goodbye for now. I had to think the same thing about Toni. I had to. It was the only way to move forward.

“That’s not the last you’ll see of each other,” Joe said. “Toni said she’d write. You’re all supposed to write.”

“We’re to send our letters to Mrs. Clifford at Loretta’s Diner, and she will forward them once she has our new addresses,” I said.

“That’s a good plan. I’ll make sure to drop a line or two myself, in case you girls are interested in what happens to old Joe.”

“We’d be very interested—or I know I would be. Please write!”

“I will. You know, when I came to be a cook at the orphanage I figured it was only gonna be for a month or two tops. I’d save me a little money and be gone.”

“But you’ve been there since before I arrived,” I said.

“A week became a month and a month became a year and then a year sure enough became twenty-two years.” He paused. “Do you know what happened?”

I shook my head.

“I got comfortable, and, maybe more than that, I got happy. I’d drifted halfway around the world and never felt like I had a home. At the orphanage, I got treated like I belonged.”

“You do belong—I mean, you
did
belong. You were part of our family.”

“And you were all part of mine.” He laughed. “Who would have thunk that I’d have two dozen daughters?”

His laughter, as always, was infectious, and despite my fears I found myself laughing along.

“’Sides, I always liked cooking, and it wasn’t like I didn’t still have my music.”

He’d had his guitar, and that little transistor in his room, which he’d brought to the kitchen when he worked. It was always on Top 40 hits throughout the day. At night, when he could get stations from far away, he’d listen to what he called Negro music. We could hear it through the walls of his room when we passed through the dining hall. He’d have it playing loud, and we could often hear him singing along to it. Some of it I liked, and some of it I wasn’t sure of.

I knew Mrs. Hazelton didn’t like it at all, and out of respect he’d turn it off when she was around. Her musical tastes pretty well ranged from anything classical to hymns. And, to be fair, Joe did help us with choir practice, and he did know all the old-time gospel and church songs as well as the songs on his transistor.

“I’m gonna really miss Toni,” he said, “and I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m going to miss everybody, everything.”

“I know you are, but you have to remember that you’re gonna do just fine,” he said. “It’s Miss Toni that I’m most worried about.”

That only made sense. He was closer to her than anybody else. They’d spent time together listening to and talking about music—and life.

“Not that I won’t worry about all of you, but Miss Toni… she just isn’t as tough as she thinks she is.”

That surprised me. She was the strongest person I knew—well, except for Mrs. Hazelton.

“It’s funny how Miss Toni went on about how she’s always been worried about you, but she doesn’t have to. All these years she’s been thinkin’ that she’s the one looking after you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Toni thinks she’s so hard and you’re so soft,” Joe said. “I knows it’s the other way around. You’re the tough one.”

“I’m not tough.”

He put his foot on the brake, and I put my hand on the dashboard to stop myself from sliding off the seat. We came to a stop, right there on the road. What was happening? Had the truck stalled? No, the engine was still going.

He turned to face me. “Don’t ever sell yourself short, and don’t allow anybody else to do it either. You’re a lot stronger than you think you are. Being kind doesn’t mean being weak. Thinking the best of people doesn’t mean you should think any less of yourself. Understand?”

I nodded my head, even though I didn’t really understand or necessarily agree. Toni was the strong one, not me.

“You’re not very big,” he said.

“I know.” I was so small that most people thought I was a year or two younger than I was.

“And because you’re almost always smiling, some people mistake small and friendly for weak. You have to use those things to your advantage,” Joe said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let ’em underestimate you. Let ’em think there’s no steel beneath the surface. You have lots of people fooled that way.”

“I’m not trying to fool anybody.”

“Didn’t say you were trying. It just happens. They see the smile instead of the steel underneath it. You, Miss Betty, are a survivor.”

A horn honked, and we both turned around. A car had come up behind us. Joe waved at the other driver and put the truck back in gear, and we lurched forward. We continued until we reached the heart of the town and turned onto the main street of Hope. We drove by the Orpheus, where a lineup of people waited to go in for the matinee. I wasn’t interested in the movie that was playing now, but Toni and I had made plans to go and see the next release—
Mary Poppins
. That wasn’t going to happen now.

The parking lot of the grocery store was full, and there were people loading groceries into their cars. Mulcaster’s front windows had mannequins displaying the newest clothes—all of which were far nicer than the cast-offs I was wearing. Walking along the streets were people I knew. They didn’t notice us driving by. They couldn’t know this would be the last time they’d see me, at least for a long, long time.

I looked at each little store as we passed. I knew them all. They were all that I
did
know. The pharmacy, the little clothing store where all I could do was window-shop, the variety store, the hardware store. I silently said goodbye to all of them, even the ones I’d never been inside.

We came out the other side of the downtown, stores giving way to houses, and then crossed over the railway tracks. They curved around, separating the town proper from the lake to the south, two silver slivers that mostly carried freight cars. A few times a day, a shiny passenger train briefly stopped as it made its way between Toronto and Montreal. I’d seen it many times but never thought I’d be getting on it—had never wanted to get on it. I still didn’t.

Joe eased the truck into a spot in the parking lot. It wasn’t crowded, but there were cars—and people—nearby. We climbed out and he grabbed my bag from the back.

“Traveling light is the way to go,” he said as he handed me my bag.

“I guess none of us has much choice.”

My suitcase was old and worn; one of the clasps didn’t fasten properly. I supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. In the suitcase I had a change of clothing, an extra pair of shoes, a few personal items and, of course, my nightgown, the only thing that actually did belong to me.

In my purse—which, of course, had also been donated—was the envelope from Mrs. Hazelton, my ticket, a letter of introduction to my employer and the money Mrs. Hazelton had given me. I knew they were all in there because I’d doubled-checked and then checked again before we left. I pressed the purse tightly to my chest. It was like a shield against the world, its contents the only things that would offer me any protection.

As we walked to the station, there were very few people who didn’t nod or say hello or acknowledge us in one way or another, and we answered back. Hope was so small that we either knew somebody or knew of them. There couldn’t be a soul in town who didn’t know about the fire.

I felt a little self-conscious and struggled to make polite eye contact. At times it had been hard enough that they all knew I was an orphan, but now it was even worse. I was an orphan without an orphanage, dressed in donated clothing, leaving town. I had always been an unwanted, homeless child, and now I was even more unwanted and homeless, no longer a child but still not an adult. If Joe was right and there was steel inside of me, I didn’t feel it. Unless that cold feeling was the steel pressed against my bones. I was uneasy, even scared. I wished Toni were there with me.

“Looks like some joker has gotten to the sign again,” Joe said.

Hanging from the side of the station was a big sign that said
HOPE
; in smaller letters someone had added
less
. I’d seen the town sign change many times—
No Hope
,
Small Hope
,
False Hope
and now
Hopeless
. Suddenly I felt all of those things. I clutched my purse even tighter.

Joe looked at his watch. “Won’t be more than a few minutes before it arrives.”

I was prepared to wait forever. Sometimes the train was late. I’d heard that sometimes it didn’t even come at all.

“I guess I better be getting back,” Joe said.

“You’re going?” I exclaimed.

“I’ve never been much for goodbyes. Maybe that’s why I didn’t leave the orphanage before this. Besides, you won’t have to wait for long.”

“I was just hoping that…I’ll be fine. Thank you for driving me.”

Joe held out his hand to shake goodbye. I reached up and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him with all my might, almost pulling him off his feet. When I released my grip, Joe looked embarrassed.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I said.

“Me too.”

“Goodbye, Jumpin’ Joe,” I said, calling him by his nickname.

I thought I saw a tear in the corner of his eye, but he turned away before I could tell for sure. I watched as he walked along the platform, moving past the other people, and then disappeared around the side of the station. He was gone. I had to fight the urge to run after him, jump in the truck and beg him to take me with him. A train horn sounded, and then the bells at the crossing started to chime. It was coming.

Within seconds I heard the sound of the train itself, although, looking down the track, I still couldn’t see it around the curve of the rails. The drone of the engine got louder and louder, echoing off the station itself. Finally it rounded the curve, its bright front light leading the way. The engine got louder, and then I heard the squeal of metal wheels on metal tracks as the train started to brake. The front light was blindingly bright, causing me to look away. The sound of the engine got louder and louder, overwhelming me as the train entered the station, and I stepped back from the platform, partially propelled by the air that the train pushed before it.