Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider (22 page)

Chapter 18 Meeting Sonya

Bereft of emotion while traversing through the countryside from Binghamton to New York, I pushed away thoughts of Sister Agnes in her black habit and the hand whittled wooden cross she wore hanging on its shoestring cord around her neck. The resolute, conservative Mr. and Mrs. Porter, the other chaperones on our train ride west so long ago threatened to creep into and cloud my mind as well. However I tried, it was nearly impossible not to have flashbacks, the stale smell of the train and the feel of the stiff wooden seats catapulted me back in time. The ride west was long and lonely; siblings were ripped apart and sold, fostered or adopted. Uprooted and afraid, the remaining kids on the train cried non-stop. It was my job to wipe runny noses and comfort the neglected children. It was a miserable position; literally gut wrenching to feel unwanted by society and to be ripped from the only anchor keeping you intact. I remembered when Edmund was taken from me, the agony of losing him brought on tremors and night terrors; I was alone again as I am this very moment, but if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was take care of myself.

I closed my eyes in concentration when thinking about my biological parents, as well as Edmund’s. I spoke with Sister Agnes once on my Edmund’s behalf and found his mother had grown very ill with typhoid fever and had a neighbor bring him to the Sisters of Charity before her death. Typhoid was abundant in New York City on account of the sewage and sludge contaminating the drinking water and food supply. Eddie’s father remained a mystery as was his mother’s occupation. Was she a stripper, a dancer, someone who became impregnated by accident? Or did she and his father love each other? Was he a hero perhaps fighting in the war, was he a deputy attempting to keep order as New York had its largest ever influx of immigrants? Was he murdered? Was he an addict of some sort, or did he in fact hold a responsible job, but die from an accident? This we would never know, but the questions about our families consumed us and poisoned our minds with what ifs.

Luckily this trip was to be short; a mere four hours on the train would land me in New York City, time enough to formulate a plan. I was feeling a tad woozy and clenched my belly, promising my unborn child that we would find its father. I called on my inner strength, resolute that this trip to New York would accomplish two things. One, I would find Scotty and bring him home with me, and two, I would find Sister Agnes. She was instrumental in turning my life around for the better and I couldn’t wait to visit with her.

I would begin looking for Scotty in the Five Points, starting in Paradise Square. When the train lurched to a halt at Grand Central Station, I stumbled off the platform, looking about my surroundings expectantly for Scotty. It was wishful thinking, Scotty was not here. But several men did approach me, seeing a single woman unaccompanied in the city left me open for a wide variety of sinister propositions. Men asked where I was staying, they whistled at me and called me a star-gazer. Some even offered to carry my bags, but I declined them all, worried from the stories I heard of young women being kidnapped, and of all things, sold into prostitution. Street thugs appeared out of nowhere wishing to be helpful, but in reality they wanted my wallet, or my virtue, neither which they would get. It was a lawless, corrupt city and my inner child, that scrappy little girl who kicked, hit, and lashed out at strangers, came out to protect me. I walked with my head held high, as my inner child guided me along the grimy city sidewalks, checking my back and keeping me safe until I found my hotel and checked my bags. I had never been in a hotel alone before, but I would manage. I ordered a carriage and set about my way to the Five Points; Walton Street would be my first stop.

I did not have a photo of Scotty, or of Pauli and Candy, in fact I had never met either of them, but I felt I would recognize them right away if crossing them on the street on account of the detailed descriptions Scotty gave me of their appearance and characters. Walking along Walton Street I saw great amounts of destitution and was overwhelmed with a need to intercede on behalf of the dozens of orphans I saw. I forgot myself, stopping to speak to numerous children; a young girl in rags approached me looking longingly at my food. I shared my sandwich with her on a street bench watching her engulf the bread and its meaty center. She had dark brown eyes, long lashes, and was covered in filth. Her outfit was threadbare, and many sizes too small. She wore no shoes and told me her name was Sonya. I inquired as to her family, and home, but she shrugged her shoulders in answer. She was painfully shy but managing, and fending for herself as so many others did. She became my shadow, following me about the city, her bare feet slapping the mud as I went in search of information on Scotty. I checked the shipping docks, thinking perhaps he picked up work there. When I didn’t see him there I went to the newspaper stands, storefronts, even hotels, but to no avail. Scotty was either currently at work or still in search of it; perhaps he had left the city all together. I had not heard from him in ten weeks and was suddenly panicked and felt very much alone. What if I never found him, I would have to go home tail between my legs and face Edna and Pap, Sarah and Uncle Sam, as well as Edmund. What would they think of me now, that I was a no good hussy, a loose wanton woman willing to give up her future of a school teacher for one quick tumble with Scotty? It wasn’t like that and if I had to go back alone I would make sure they saw how much I loved Scotty, that he didn’t take my virtue, I gave it to him willingly, with great love. I summoned my courage at the thought of the baby and continued on my quest.

I changed my course of action and went to several homes for unwed mothers, asking for Candy. I described her in as much detail I could, providing dates and explaining my predicament. However, no one had any record of Candy staying within their confines, and or giving birth to a child there.

I continued my search, noting Sonya was still following me. I was feeling parched and hungry and the baby’s weight was tugging at my belly in a curious way. I had not been on my feet this much in several months and knew my body was taxed. I sat on a corner bench under a blossoming maple, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. I wished I had brought a bonnet not for propriety sake but to shield my eyes from the day’s bright sun. I closed my eyes and imagined it was 1860, so long ago. The hustle and bustle sounded the same, people came and went into and out of shops, vendors sold papers and shaved ice with flavorings, boys offered shoe shines on every corner, and the clip clop of horse hooves echoed between the buildings. The smell was no better now than it was in my past, in fact the sewage problem seemed to be more pronounced, sludge was everywhere, and I had to lift my dress so as not to ruin my hem line. My shoes were covered in slop. I would be sure to clean them properly in my hotel room, where I promised to be grateful for a proper bed and warm water to bathe in.

I beckoned Sonya out from behind the maple and asked her to sit with me and keep me company. Together we watched a black and white finch, no bigger than the palm of my hand, flitter about building a nest in the treetops. Sonya was missing several of her teeth and I guessed she was perhaps seven years old; she spoke very little, though she seemed to understand what I said to her. I decided she would become my companion for the time being, she lived here now among the corruption and knew more about the city’s underworld. I hated to admit it but I was thinking of the fight circuit. If Scotty was unable to find work, or his family, my gut feeling told me he would either look to enter a fight or at the very least observe them and perhaps lay a wager or two.

It was growing late so I took Sonya for a lemonade and burger, which she smothered in ketchup and sweet pickle relish. I knew the hotel would not allow her entrance in her current state so we found a running fountain and I used my under garments as a wash cloth and cleansed her face and arms from weeks of smudges and grime. I had money to spare so we found a store front offering used clothes for children, the outfits and signs in the windows beckoning shoppers to come in for the best prices in town. I held Sonya by the hand and together we discovered her true size, a five. I told her we would pick out one practical outfit so she would have something that wouldn’t wear out so quickly, but when she pointed to pink gingham checked dressed with starched white collar I could not withhold it from her. I allowed her to try it on and purchased it for her immediately; we threw away her old rags and went to find shoes to match the dress.

It was getting late so we walked back to the hotel and I invited Sonya to stay with me for the night. She and I slept comfortably on the generous bed, I don’t think she had ever been in a bed of this size before, if at all, and the down comforter seemed to swallow her up. The child stole my heart; I covered her and watched her sleep. I felt my own baby moving inside me and wondered in amazement at my circumstance. I didn’t want to give Sonya any false hope by doting on her, but now I couldn’t bear the thought of her alone on the streets once I went back home to my comfortable bed and family.

In the morning I woke to Sonya’s humming and her little fingers drawing on my back. She played with my auburn hair and smiled incredulously at me when I turned towards her. We indulged in room service and then took turns bathing; I spent the better part of an hour on Sonya’s hair as it was tangled and unkempt from lack of brushing. We chose to give her a middle part and do two French braids that attached in the back and formed a bun at the nape of her neck, it was going to be another hot day and this would help keep her cool. She looked precious and what’s more, she felt giddy. She was so undernourished it was hard for her to eat more than a pancake and glass of juice, but I hoped to provide her, while I was here with as many good meals as I was able.

The only thing unnerving to me was how trusting this child was. I would do her no harm, but what if someone else did? I was clucking and fussing over her like a mother hen.

Together we walked the swollen streets from uptown Manhattan to the more gruesome and fearful Five Points, crossing from Bayard to Leonard before seeing Paradise Place in our sights once again. She held my hand as we went, leading me towards an arena of sorts. There was to be a fight here in a few days’ time and we studied the posters to see who was pitted against whom. A giant by the name of Vladimir had posters everywhere, encouraging people to bet on him. There were others too, Patrick Kelly, Bill O’Malley, Brian O’Donnelly, all these lads with Irish names surely having immigrated here recently and found America to be lacking in work, the promised land not so promising after all.

We searched the benches of the arena, only finding scraps of garbage and old ticket stubs. When Sonya picked up food from the ground and put it to her mouth I told her no and she dropped it immediately. We bought a warm pretzel with mustard to share and sat enjoying the salty morsels together. There was no sign of Pauli, Scotty, or Candy anywhere. Exhaustion was settling into my bones, so we sat for a rest in a rusty set of chairs biding our time.

On my fourth day in New York I decided to change pace. Instead of looking for Scotty, I would embark on finding Sister Agnes. She was a beacon for me and the thought of seeing her brought tears to my eyes.

Sure enough, Sister was still placing orphans from the roughest parts of the city on orphan trains and sending them west. She had great success in placing the children because she was diligent about placing ads in all the stops along her route west. She looked the same, slightly more plump in her cheeks and chin, but otherwise she had the same wooden cross and wiry glasses.

“Sister Agnes?” I called to her from behind.

She turned and immediately remembered me, although I was one of thousands of children she took care of over the years.

“Mary! It is wonderful to see you!” She clasped her hands in prayer position and reached towards me, embracing me in her arms as she did years ago, exuding warmth and security.

“Who do we have here?” She nodded to Sonya who had snuck in behind me and was clutching my dress.

“Why this is my friend Sonya, she has become my shadow this week, I am afraid she is orphaned and I was hoping I could bring her to you when my journey here is finished.”

The ladies held hands and sat in a pew facing each other as they spoke.

“Of course, do you know anything at all about her?” Agnes took in the sight of the girl before her.

“She barely speaks, but I found her alone, scraggly and threadbare, she is a waif is she not?” The women examined Sonya and Sister said, “Guten tag, Sonya.” The girl beamed and began talking a blue streak in a language I was unfamiliar with.

“Oh my goodness, Sister, how did you know?”

“Well Sonya is a common name for those of German descent; we have thousands and thousands of German immigrants in the streets.”

Sister Agnes continued speaking with Sonya in German and I did my best to use context clues and follow along.

It was all so exciting to break through to this child and have a means of communication, however her story was pitiful. She was on a boat with her family, crossing the great water when people began falling ill. Sadly her entire family died and were disposed of by being tossed overboard into the sea. Sonya was all alone.

“I will see to it she goes to a good German home, Mary. Now do tell me, what brings you back to New York?”

I told Sister Agnes of my pregnancy and she vaguely remembered Scotty, who was given the name Matthew when put on the train. I told her of our love and how he came back to the city for work, I didn’t go into detail beyond that. He didn’t know about the baby and I needed to find him and tell him. Sister did not judge me; she only listened and held my hand while I spoke. After I told her my tale, she asked after Edmund. I felt guilt leak from my pores because I had not spent much quality time with him lately, he was a tad more reclusive, always leafing through law books and studying trials. He worked numerous odd jobs unlike other boys his age who played ball to fill their time.