Folly (21 page)

235

MARY 1878 Telling About Leaving Him

The Petition of
Mary Finn
of
Wayburn
Humbly Sheweth--

That your petitioner is a
spinster
,
16
years of age, and was on the
3rd
day of
August
delivered of a
male
child, which is wholly dependent on your petitioner for its support, being deserted by the father. That
Caden Tucker
is the father of the said child, and was, when your petitioner became acquainted with him, a
groom's boy
, at
barracks of Coventry Guard
,
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London
, and your petitioner last saw him on the
12th
day of
January
, and believes he is now
posted to Afghanistan with no intention of responsibility
. Your petitioner therefore humbly prays that you will be pleased to receive the said child into the aforesaid hospital
.

The gentleman at the desk wore ribbed white stockings that I noticed because I were looking groundward, not into his face. How did he keep white stockings so white, I wondered. All that mud out there and not even a splash on him! Perhaps he saved a clean pair in a basket under his desk and removed the soiled ones when he arrived each day? Or perhaps he didn't
arrive
, perhaps he
lived
there and never exposed his legs to the mucky streets of London, the narrow sloshing gutters on Lamb's Conduit Street.

"Miss Finn?"

"Uh, yes, sir?" I were that distracted that I wondered if I'd mentioned his hose aloud. My arms were squeezing Johnny so tight he woke and struggled.

"Shh," I whispered, and quick glanced at the waiting man. A woman stood quietly behind him, wearing a uniform of sorts, with a broad white apron, also very clean.

"I have your letter here," he said, tapping a paper that I supposed to be mine.

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"And I wrote it myself, sir. I've learned my letters, and it took some time, but I put all the words down there myself."

"Good for you."

What did I go telling him that for?
It made me sound stupid, not clever.

"Nurse Aldercott will take the child now. You may have a minute to say goodbye, but no longer. There are others waiting. He'll be baptized here in the chapel and taken off to a country foster home in the morning, where he will be nursed and cared for until he is ready to return here for his education. You may rest assured that he is in the best of hands."

He tipped his head at me, like a bow were intended but I were too inconsiderable for him to take the trouble to bend at the waist.

"Good day," he said, and went away through the door. The woman with the apron stepped forward and I stepped backward.

"Just a little moment, ma'am." I were croaky already and turned away quick. I stood by the draperies at the window, holding my cheek to Johnny's cheek.

"All the things you'll know," I whispered. "All what I don't know. You'll be eating, and with sturdy clothes on you. You'll have lessons, and be reading before you're grown. You'll meet dozens of boys ... friends ... maybe they'll feel like brothers...." A picture of Thomas and Davy blinked in my mind and a terrible flash of Small John

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when I last saw him, with his cap on backward and his teeth knocked out from falling off the fence.

"You'll knock somebody's teeth out one day," I told my boy. "He'll call you a ... a motherless brat, and you'll squint those blue eyes and say 'What did you call me?' And you'll push up your sleeves and give him a sock in the eye, won't you, Johnny? You tell him you've got a mother and she loves you ... she loves you ... I love you...."

I tucked Caden's silver button between the folds of the blanket. I kissed him. And that were goodbye.

The matron took him, turning his face to her shoulder, pulling the blanket up to cover his head so I couldn't see him anymore.

"I wonder, ma'am, could I ask you, please? I'm a very good worker, harder than anything. I've been in service over two years now. I helped at an inn, with all that cooking, and linens changed every day in all those rooms. I worked in a big house, too, so I can haul up and down stairs with no complaints, I've done my share of laundry--"

She put a hand on my arm, firm but not harsh, and shook her head.

"No, dear. The mothers are not permitted to work here, we're to shoo you off at once."

"Oh, but it's not to do with my ... my boy ..." The word caught in my throat as if I'd swallowed a plum and it sat, whole, wrapped around that word
boy
, and I knew I'd never breathe right again. "I need work."

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"You'll forget this trouble in a year or two," she said. "We all forget who's come and who's gone."

She took me gently to the door and that were that.

Wandering down that Foundling Hospital drive, I were unsteady of foot and foggy of mind. Putting a boot down, moving the other one to join it, putting a boot down again--it seemed beyond me. Finally I were outside the gates and stood a-swaying till a gent in a black coat came out of the little guardhouse and said to "move along, miss, there'll be no loitering here."

How many girls had already been on this spot, loitering? All those children behind the big gate, they'd all got mothers somewhere, hadn't they? And every one of those mothers likely felt as I did, numb and spooked and sorrowful. And there were no one to tell, no person I could look in the face to say,
I've delivered my baby to strangers
. To save his life or mine?

I pressed my hand against the wall, needing that wall for a moment, wondering if they'd built it for this very purpose to hold the mothers up. I made my way, one wee step after another, one hand always pushing against the gritty stones. Some time later, though it were no distance really, I got myself to St. George's cemetery, tucked behind the hospital grounds.

I wished it were St. Bartholomew's churchyard, with Mam nearby, but then I thought of Margaret Huckle's children, frolicking about on a Sunday. That made me laugh

240

to myself, though I were prickle-eyed already. It were laughing that recalled me, an itch that life weren't over, even as I were headed to a burial place with the dreadest of intents.

Once I landed there, I ambled around for a bit, walking steadier now, being in the right place for my intentions. I were looking for the little stones, knowing they always keep a corner special for babies and children taken before their time. Sure enough, there it were, under a weeping willow, wouldn't you know, most of the markers no higher than my knee.

I took my time, reading slow and careful as Eliza showed me, so I understood every word, devoted to choosing the very one.

Sophia Giller

Little Angel

July 14, 1859-August 12, 1859

There were a real little angel carved into the top of the marble, but I wanted a boy.

Roddy Bowman

Oct 1862-April 1863

Lies with God

I weren't trusting God as a guardian right then, hoping the place I'd found would be more practical.

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And then I saw it, a gray stone about the size of a coal bucket, poking its way through brambles and with a wild rose even, though not tended in a long while.

Felix Kenner

Our son

1822-1824

Not dead but only sleeping

That seemed right. Not dead, I liked that. I knelt most fervently, and with my hands clipped the too-grown, too-green grass away from the face of the gravestone, tears finally burning across my cheeks. I could come to Felix Kenner whenever I wanted a quiet spot. That matron saying
We all forget who's come and who's gone
... Not likely!

I hesitate to tell how much I carried on, cloaked in mournfulness so heavy I were kneeling there the longest time. I suppose it's the same for all of us in sorrowful hours, has been always, and forever will be, especially a parent saying goodbye to a child, the worst hour of any. Even knowing that better is to come.

The cold finally seeped through to my bones. My knees were drenched in icy mud so standing up were miserable. Lordy, and nowhere to sleep.

Hard to imagine that without you there might now be a place somewhere for me.

242

OLIVER 1888 When James Came In

Oliver's relief was an embarrassing rash, best kept hidden. If anyone suspected that this dear, odd little boy mattered to him more than the others ... There were too many children to let oneself care for a single one, that was how the masters were instructed, and that was what he knew from having been amongst them. No one should care overmuch for a nobody. That was what they said.

Seeing James unharmed, and even cheeky ... Oliver couldn't speak, his mouth being so dry, and likely better that way. Nothing would slip out that he'd feel foolish about later. He squeezed the boy's pale, dirty wrist and whispered, "Good chap." That new nurse was hovering closer than he'd like. Oliver blinked in the dark hallway, hands clamped inside his pockets to stop from looking as

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though there was anything to wipe away behind the blink.

A surprise the next minute; the nurse herself was crying, or pretending not to. She'd better toughen up if she hoped to work here for any length of time. You couldn't go around shedding tears over boys you knew nothing about.

"Welcome home, James!" Her voice was cheery despite the wobble, so she knew what was expected even if she couldn't pull it off just yet.

"Hello," said James.

"You've stirred up a fury of worry," said Oliver. "You'll be doing extra chores for weeks."

"Do you suppose I'll be flogged?" said James.

"Flogged? Do you think you live in Roman times?" Oliver thanked the boy silently for banishing the anguish from his heart. "Just a light whipping," he said.

"He'll be
whipped
?" said the nurse.

Oliver winked at James, who solemnly winked back.

"That's all right," said James. "I'm used to it. Usually only forty lashes."

"Ah," said the nurse, catching on. "And I've heard they sprinkle the wounds with salt and lemon juice between strokes."

"I see you know boys," said Oliver. "We met another time, a while ago. I'm Mr. Chester. Oliver Chester." He put out his hand.

"Yes," she said, taking it. "I'm Nurse Finn."

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Her hand trembled slightly, as light as a leaf, for the moment Oliver held it.

"You do pong something awful," Oliver said to James. "Did you sleep on a rubbish heap?"

"I think so." James grinned, so pleased with himself. "I am sorry if I caused any trouble. But I did terribly want to see my mama."

"Of course you did," said the nurse. "And she wanted to see you too. You'll both feel better now, going onward."

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MARY 1893 Not Telling

I'd be richer than Lady Allyn if I'd got sixpence every time I imagined telling you your own beginnings. Your eyes'd light up, you'd toss your arms about me like a favorite puppy, and we'd have a right old reunion.

Still, there were as many times when my heart turned over with a sickly thump, picturing the other likelihood--that your face'd go gray and you'd spit out regret that'd rip through me like a knife across a rabbit's belly. What tied my tongue for certain were remembering how Johnny ... how Mrs. Peevey loves her James, and he loves her.

You only need to have a mother, not that it be me.

So, it were better I kept mum, then
and
now. I've seen you grow up a little, all the way to fifteen; fine and

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handsome just like your daddy, though I confess his features have smudged in my memory, something that were not expected to happen.

Today will never be the end of things, despite saying goodbye. I'll watch from the chapel gallery when you shake hands with the governors and take your certificate. My whole self will swell up, proud as ... as a mother, and you'll go off wearing new clothes. A manly coat, not a uniform.

Your Mr. Chester says it's usually girls who are clever enough to take a place at the university, but here you are! Going off with shoulders squared and who knows how many footsteps in those new boots? Won't your Peevey family be tickled to bits, when you have your holiday week with them?

I say "your Mr. Chester," but I believe that he is, perhaps, becoming mine too. This leads to that. So you've not said farewell to either of us. No ending here, only another beginning. Do your best, my boy. Be brave and be merry.