Just as I Am (2 page)

For a moment guilt tried to wrap its tentacles around her. Ma Jonnson relied on her to get breakfast started while she dressed the littlest ones. Would the youngsters all be crying with hunger before someone realized she wasn’t there to fix their morning meal? She pushed the emotion aside. They needed to get used to making do without her help since she wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway—not with her birthday waiting around the corner.

The decision made, she yanked the faded sunbonnet, which dangled along one shoulder, and threw it into the empty stall. She touched her fuzzy mop of hair, remembering how the children had laughed. Then she set her shoulders square and lifted her chin. So what if they laughed? She wouldn’t have to hear their derisive hoots again after today.

She set off for the house with a determined stride, already looking ahead to her new life in Sinclair.

Chapter 2

D
aisy peeked into the kitchen through the screen door. Baby Claire sat in the highchair in the corner, chewing on a rag doll’s foot, while toddlers Emily, Ted, and Marvin clacked blocks together on the floor. Ma Jonnson and Marion stood at the dry sink with their backs to Daisy, washing the breakfast dishes. Guilt panged as she gazed upon the scene. Marion should be in the asylum’s classroom with the other children. By neglecting her duties, Daisy had stolen learning time from the younger girl. But, she reminded herself, Marion would soon be with her new family and attending school daily, so one lost classroom morning wouldn’t do much damage.

The momentary guilt assuaged, she entered the kitchen, letting the screen door slap into its frame behind her. The little ones glanced up, then went on playing, unconcerned, but both Ma Jonnson and Marion turned from the dry sink with a start. Daisy braced herself for a scolding, but when Ma Jonnson set the washrag aside, her face held a grimace of sympathy rather than an angry scowl.

“Daisy …” Ma Jonnson moved toward Daisy, carrying the scent of lye soap with her. She placed her wet hands on Daisy’s shoulders and pressed her cheek briefly to Daisy’s. “I’m glad you came back. The children are sorry for their behavior this morning, and at lunchtime you can expect them to apologize.” Her gaze flitted to Daisy’s hair, and a small frown pinched her eyebrows. She looked into Daisy’s eyes again. “We’re all so accustomed to the delightful curls framing your face, the change took us by surprise. I feel bad that you suffered hurt feelings.”

Daisy stepped away from the woman’s kind touch. “It’s all right. They’re only children.”

“Yes, but they know the rule in our home: treat others as you want to be treated. When they saw how their laughter affected you, they should have stopped, and they need to tell you they’re sorry.” She angled her head, pinning Daisy with a meaningful look. “If apologies aren’t forthcoming, let Pa Jonnson or me know. We’ll remedy the situation.”

A forced “I’m sorry” wasn’t worth much in Daisy’s opinion, but she pasted on a weak smile for Ma Jonnson’s sake. “I’m sure the children will do as they’ve been told.”

Approval gleamed in Ma Jonnson’s eyes. “You’re a kindhearted girl, Daisy, and the children are lucky to have you to emulate. You always set such a good example. Now,”—as she moved in the direction of the dry sink, she gestured to the little table tucked in the corner where a red-checked napkin covered a plate—“I saved a hot cake for you. Sit and eat, and when you’re finished, you can … dampen your hair to bring back your curl.”

An hour-old hot cake, no matter how well flavored with nutmeg, held no appeal. Nor did the idea of bringing back her curl. Daisy edged toward the hallway, which led to the staircase. “I’m really not hungry. Let Marion feed my hot cake to the goat. I want to”—she gulped, realizing she was about to tell a half truth—“start the wash.”

Ma Jonnson nodded. “That’s a fine idea. I had the children drop the last of their soiled clothes down the laundry chute before coming to breakfast. Once I peel the potatoes for lunch and get the little ones settled for their morning naps, I’ll come help you.”

“No need,” Daisy said. Tackling all the wash on her own, even using the Triumph Rotary Washer purchased by the asylum’s founder, Mr. Dunnigan, would take her nearly all day. But if she worked alone, it would be easier to pack her belongings. “I can do it. That is, if you don’t mind cooking lunch on your own.”

Ma Jonnson laughed, a sweet sound of merriment that made Daisy want to smile for having enticed it from the woman’s throat. “I will cheerfully trade you wash duty for cooking duty today, Daisy. Thank you.”

Daisy scurried off before guilt could grab hold of her again.

When the train ticket window opened at six o’clock Tuesday morning, Daisy was waiting, money in hand. After she had turned thirteen, the Jonnsons had begun paying her a bit each week for the additional chores she performed at the asylum. Not being one to care much about gewgaws or girlish frippery, she’d simply placed the coins in a little purse she’d received as a Christmas gift one year. When she’d counted it last night, she’d been amazed at how much she’d accumulated. Enough to purchase a train ticket, pay for a room at least for a month, she presumed, and buy simple meals until she’d secured a job.

She stifled a yawn as she slid the amount needed for a ticket across the varnished wood counter to the ticket clerk. The walk from the asylum into town in the dark of night, her heart beating in fear the entire way, had worn her out. She looked forward to a nap on the train. “One way to Wichita, please, sir.”

The clerk pinched up the nickels and dimes one at a time, his lips moving as he counted silently. He gave an approving nod when he lifted the final coin, dropped the coins into a sectioned tin tray behind him, then reached for a stamp pad and stiff square of paper. “You’re up awfully early, young lady. You traveling alone?”

She answered honestly, using the polite language she’d learned from Ma Jonnson. “Yes, sir, I am.”

He shot a frown through the steel bars separating him from those purchasing tickets. “Kinda young to be off on your own, aren’t you?”

She’d donned her best dress—a muslin as dark brown as a walnut husk, lavishly graced with creamy lace at the collar and the wrists of her tight-fitting cuffs. The hem reached all the way to the toes of her button-up boots instead of ending midcalf like a schoolgirl’s dress. With a perky straw bonnet bearing a cluster of yellow silk rosebuds pinned atop her wild hair, she’d felt grown-up. The man’s question hacked at her confidence, but she straightened from her tired slouch and lifted her chin. “I’m old enough.”

His scowl deepened as he leaned in and peered intently into her face. “I’ve seen you around town. Aren’t you one of the youngsters who lives at the Dunnigan Asylum with the Jonnsons?” He flicked a glance right and left. “Do they know where you are?”

Despite her irritation Daisy couldn’t bring herself to lie. After listening to nightly Bible readings for the past years, she knew right from wrong. So instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. “May I have my ticket, please? I don’t wish to miss my train.”

The man stared at her for several more silent seconds before blowing out a huff of breath and shaking his head. “Well, all right. I can’t say your money’s not good. One ticket to Wichita.” He jammed the paper through the little space beneath the bars.

“Thank you, sir.” With the ticket held tightly in one hand, she lifted her carpetbag with the other and made her way to the pair of long benches tucked beneath a protective canvas covering next to the depot. Although she sat with her back to the ticket window, she sensed the clerk’s eyes boring into her.

She resisted fidgeting, determined to present an unruffled appearance. If the clerk suspected she’d run off from the asylum, he might summon the sheriff. At least she’d had the sense to buy a ticket to Wichita rather than Sinclair. It cost a bit more, but the train would stop at the Sinclair station before it went on to Wichita, and she would disembark early. If the Jonnsons asked questions, the clerk would say she’d gone to Wichita. She silently congratulated herself on her cleverness.

Other passengers began to fill the benches. A few offered her a smile of greeting, which she returned with a demure bob of her head, but most seemed too intent on their own business to pay much attention to her. Only one—an older woman traveling with a boy perhaps ten years old—tried to engage her in conversation. But Daisy’s deliberately simple, one-word replies soon discouraged the woman, and she shifted her attention to the boy instead.

She stared at the round clock fastened to the depot wall and willed the minutes to pass quickly. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t brought anything to eat on the journey. Why hadn’t she thought to tuck away some of yesterday’s biscuits and baked ham or an apple or two? Maybe she wasn’t so clever after all. But no, hadn’t she been wise enough to save her money rather than squander it, to choose a destination, to strike out on her own?

A rumble beneath her feet followed by a shrill, distant whistle signaled the train’s approach. Passengers rose, grabbing cases and bags and the hands of their companions. Daisy fell in with the others, taking care to keep her gaze aimed forward rather than sneaking a look toward the clerk to see if he still watched her. She
was
clever. And she would be just fine.

Chapter 3

M
aybe she should have given this plan of hers a little more thought before leaving Brambleville. Still groggy from her jostled sleep on the train and unfamiliar with her surroundings, Daisy stood on the boardwalk outside the bustling Sinclair station and tried to decide what to do next. In her carpetbag she carried the letters Robby had sent over the past months, so she had the address of the boarding hotel where he lived. But where was 710 North Halstead in the city? She gnawed her lower lip until it bled, inwardly berating herself. She should have planned ahead and sent Robby a letter or a telegram, asking for directions from the station. Or better yet, asked him to meet her.

Someone bumped into her from behind and muttered, “Get out of the way, why don’t you?” in lieu of an apology. Chastened, she scuttled to the edge of the raised wooden platform where she’d be free of the flow of foot traffic.

Such a big, busy city compared to Brambleville! At two o’clock in the afternoon, the streets teemed with life. Mule-drawn trolleys rattled through the center of the street on silver rails. In the wide roadways on either side of the rails, wagons, carriages, and even a motorized vehicle—the first she’d ever seen—stirred dust into a perpetual cloud. Businesses of all manner, constructed of brick or stone rather than sided in wood, were crunched side by side and towered two, sometimes three, stories tall.

Holding her carpetbag against her knees, she scanned the names painted on scrolled signs above wide windows, seeking a place to spend the night. Her heart gave a little leap of relief when she found a sign on the opposite side of the street proclaiming “Hollington Hotel—Clean, Friendly, Affordable.” All three descriptions appealed to her.

She looked right and left, seeking a gap in the constant passage of conveyances, then gathered her courage and broke into a half trot. She had to pause twice to allow wagons to pass, and one of the drivers shook his fist at her, but she made it to the other side unscathed and leaped onto the boardwalk with a sigh of relief. Once she’d secured a room and had a place to leave her bag, she’d ask the hotel clerk for directions to Robby’s boarding hotel. Imagining the surprise on his face, she felt her lips tug into a smile. She hurried toward the hotel’s open doorway.

As she passed the large plate-glass window, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and came to a startled halt. Although her hat remained pinned in place, the wayward curls escaping beneath its brim squiggled out like worms from a boy’s bait can. Soot blown through the cracked windows of the passenger car had peppered the front of her dress and even left a smudge on her left cheek.

Leaning closer to the glass for a better look, she tried to rub the mark away with her palm. When she lowered her hand, she realized she’d only managed to spread the smudge all the way to her temple. Growling in frustration, she bit down on her sore lip again. If the hotel was clean, they wouldn’t want her in there! But she couldn’t just wander the city, hoping to stumble upon Halstead Street.

She continued to gaze at her reflection, considering whether to go in and risk being ejected for her filthy appearance or to ask a friendly-looking passerby—not that she’d seen any who seemed friendly yet—for directions to Robby’s boarding hotel, a delightful aroma reached her nose. Saliva pooled under her tongue as she recognized the sweet scent of chocolate.

Robby worked in a chocolate factory. Surely even a town the size of Sinclair wouldn’t have two factories producing chocolates. If she followed her nose, would she find the factory … and Robby?
As she recalled, he worked the shift from six in the morning until three in the afternoon. She’d left the train station at a little past two, which meant she had less than an hour to find the factory. Worry tried to take hold of her again. Could she find the factory in such a short amount of time, or would she get herself helplessly lost?

What should she do? If Ma or Pa Jonnson were here, they’d advise her to ask God to help her. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d heard the asylum leaders tell the orphans that God’s ears were open to hear their requests and His hands were willing to offer help. They spoke so assuredly of God. But hadn’t she tried praying? Of course she had. She’d begged and begged for a family. But her pa, ma, and Grandma and Grandpop never came back for her, and she’d been overlooked by every prospective family visiting the asylum in search of a child to love. He hadn’t helped her in the past. Why think He’d help her now?

“You don’t need help. You can do it by yourself.” She whispered the stern words as she turned from the window and stepped directly in the path of a pram being pushed by a young woman. Daisy leaped back, but one of the pram’s iron wheels rolled over her toe, and she couldn’t squelch a sharp yelp of pain.