Before We Were Yours(43)

Rill

It’s two weeks before I learn that the kids here are wards of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society. I don’t know what wards means when I first hear Mrs. Murphy say it on the telephone. I can’t ask either, since I’m not supposed to be listening in. I’ve figured out that if I shinny up under the azalea bushes alongside of the house, I can get close enough to hear through the screens on her office windows.

“Certainly, all of the children are wards of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society, Dortha. I do understand your daughter-in-law’s predicament. When unhappy, many men turn to liquoring and…dalliances. It is so difficult for a wife. Adding a child to the home at long last might well brighten up the atmosphere and solve the entire problem. Fatherhood has a way of changing a man. I’m certain it won’t be a problem, as you’ll have no trouble paying the fees. Yes…yes…quickly, of course. A surprise for their anniversary. How sweet. If I could just give you one of these, Dortha, I certainly would. I have some darling little cherubs just now. But Miss Tann controls all of the decisions. I’m only paid to board the children and…”

I figure it out from the conversation quick enough—that new word. Wards means that these kids’ parents didn’t come back for them. The kids here say that if your parents don’t come get you, Miss Tann gives you to somebody else, and they take you home. Sometimes those people keep you, and sometimes they don’t. I’m scared to ask too many questions because we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I’ve got a feeling that’s why Stevie’s big sister hasn’t turned up again since the day we got here. Miss Tann gave her to somebody. Sherry was a ward.

We’re lucky we’re not. We belong to Briny, and he’ll fetch us, soon as Queenie gets well. It’s taking longer than I thought, and that’s why I’ve started listening under Mrs. Murphy’s window. I’ve been hoping to hear something about Briny. When I ask the workers, they just tell me to behave myself, or else we’ll have to stay here longer. I can’t think of anything much worse than that, so I do my best to see that all of us behave.

I’m taking a chance, coming up under the window like this, and I know it. We’re not allowed to get anywhere near Mrs. Murphy’s flower beds. If she knew I was listening to her phone calls and talks on the front porch when folks come by…I’ve got a few ideas about what might happen to me.

She comes to the screen, and through the azalea leaves I see cigarette smoke puff out. It hangs in the wet air like the genie floating over Aladdin’s lamp, and my nose tickles with a sneeze. I slap my hand over my face, and the branches move. A hammer pounds against my ribs from the inside.

“Mrs. Pulnik!” she yells. “Mrs. Pulnik!”

My skin goes cold. Don’t run. Don’t run, I tell myself.

Fast steps come up the hallway inside.

“What is it, Mrs. Murphy?”

“Instruct Riggs to put out poison this evening under the azaleas. Those infernal rabbits have gotten into my flower beds again.”

“I will be puttingk him to the task immediately.”

“And have him tidy up the front yard and pull the weeds. Tell him to make use of the older boys in any way he sees fit. Miss Tann will be coming tomorrow. I’ll have the place presentable, or else.”

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy.”

“What’s become of the ones in the sickroom? The toddler boy with the deep violet eyes in particular. Miss Tann wants to see him. She has promised him for an order in New York.”

“He is lethargic, I am afraidt to say. As well, he is thin. He takes little bit of corn mush. I do not belief he will travel well.”

“Miss Tann will not be pleased. I am not pleased. You’d think that, having been raised in back alleys and ditches, the little guttersnipes would be hardier.”

“That is true, yes. The girl in the sickroom is decliningk as well. For two days, she refuses to eat. The doctor shouldt be summonedt, yes?”

“No, of course not. Why in heaven’s name would I have the doctor called over a bit of the runs? Children always have the runs. Give her some gingerroot. That should do it.”

“As you wish.”

“How is little Stevie coming along? He is roughly the size of the boy in the sickroom. Older, but that can be changed. What color are his eyes?”

“Brown. But he has become stubborn in wettingk the bed as well. Andt he will not speak even a wordt. I do not belief a client wouldt be content with him.”

“That will not do. Secure him to the bed and leave him in it for the day if he wets again. A blister or two will teach the lesson. In any case, brown eyes won’t satisfy for this order. Blue, green, or violet. Those have specifically been requested. Not brown.”

“Robby?”

My throat catches. Robby is the name they call my little brother. There’s not another Robby in the house.

“I am afraid not. The five are being saved for a special viewing event.”

I swallow the burning in my throat, push it all the way down to my stomach. A special viewing event. I think I know what that means. I’ve seen parents come here a few times. They wait on the porch, and the workers bring their kids to them, clean and dressed and with their hair all combed. The parents carry presents and give hugs and cry when they have to go. That must be what a viewing event is.