Wings of a Dove (2 page)

    Allie had heard all these stories before. The majority of their group had spent some time on the streets before coming to the asylum. Ten of the boys had been recruited directly from the docks, where they slept in empty packing crates, warm doorways, or whatever spot appealed to them for the night. They had supported themselves by begging and petty thievery, by peddling matches or apples or newspapers, or by gathering rags and bones on the street to sell. Others had even resorted to robbery for the bare necessities of life.

    Two of that group, Willie and Barney, had slept in nearly all the station-houses in the city at one time or another. Another, Carl, had been born in Chicago and abandoned in New York by his drunken brother. A friendless, quiet boy named George had been completely alone when he made his way to the Newsboys' Lodging House. There were also Dick and Jack, brothers whose father, a jobless drunkard, had given them up in the hope that by going west they might find a better life than he could give them.

    Allie eyed the crowd of interested passengers who had gathered around the children. The older boys had raised three cheers for Michigan when the boat left the harbor on the first leg of their journey. The cheers had caught the other passengers' attention, and it appeared interest in their group had not yet waned.

    Allie took another deep, steadying breath. All the other children were engrossed in the show the older boys seemed only too happy to provide the passengers, with their enthusiastic singing and their lively recitations. They were all smiling, excited. They were all

    Allie's slow surveillance of the children stopped abruptly, catching and holding on the tall, dark-haired boy who had been fighting earlier. He was the one who had been delivered to join their party just before they left the orphanage, and she had found out since that his name was Delaney Marsh.

    No, not
all
the others were smiling.

    Silent since arriving in the upper saloon with the rest of them, Delaney Marsh continued to shun attention of any kind. He was one of the oldest, but he had not joined the other boys in their lively exchange with the captain and passengers. He had been unnaturally silent; and now, when he obviously believed no one was paying him the slightest attention, he stared with true venom at Sam, with whom he had been fighting earlier.

    Allie had heard the whispered rumors repeated by the others when Delaney Marsh's back was turned, and a chill passed down her spine. Unexpectedly, as if they boy sensed her thoughts; he snapped his heated, light-eyed glare in her direction. Jumping with a start as its unexpected intensity raked her face, Allie immediately turned away. She could feel his eyes burning into her back for long moments afterward, but her gaze did not stir again from William as his conversation with the captain drew to a close.

    Her heart racing, Allie closed her eyes. Oh, how she wished these last terrible months, when she had been frightened and alone and when even God had seemed deaf to her prayers, were all a terrible dream. How she wished she would awaken to the morning light and find herself far from this place, with Mama alive beside her.

    Abruptly, with great determination, Allie brought her thoughts to a halt. It was stupid to keep on thinking this way. She had learned only too well in the long months since Mama went to live with God that wishing accomplished nothing at all.

    Allie walked quickly, maintaining her place in line as the children moved rapidly through Albany's crowded train depot. She   stumbled over the trailing end of the blanket she clutched close to her chest and, frowning, scooped it up to scramble forward once more. She tightened her grip on the Bible she held in her other hand. A Bible had been issued to each of them prior to leaving the orphanage, along with a blanket and traveling clothes, but this Bible was strange to her, offering little of the comfort intended.

    The whistle of a departing train screeched and the babble of loud voices in an unfamiliar tongue turned Allie from her thoughts to a large, frantic family streaming past them. The father was bent low under the weight of large bundles secured to his back with shoulder straps. Several older children scurried anxiously alongside him. Trailing behind them was an obviously exhausted and apprehensive woman, struggling with the weight of the baby in her arms and the smaller child clinging to her skirt. The crowd thickened rapidly as that same scene was repeated time and again in dizzying numbers, the only variation the languages the anxious immigrants spoke as they rushed and pushed toward their destinations.

    Dodging the advance of a heavy luggage cart rumbling past as the relentless tide of humanity threatened to separate her from her group, Allie hastened her step, making certain to keep close to the heels of the girl ahead of her. Confusion and disorder seemed everywhere apparent, in the great piles of baggage, the stacks of unclaimed freight, and the clusters of vendors hawking their wares as the ragged line of children continued on through the bustling terminal.

    Bringing their group to an abrupt halt in front of a short uniformed gentleman, Mr. Smith addressed him quietly, only to react with a sharp exclamation to the man's response.

    "Six hours! You can't be serious!" His thin face flushed, Mr. Smith paused briefly before addressing the middle-aged conductor again. "Sir, these children and I have been all night in steerage on the
Isaac Newton
. I don't think I need tell you that the accommodations left much to be desired in the way of comfort. The children have not uttered a word of complaint, but to ask them to wait six hours more in their state of exhaustion before boarding the train is truly too much to ask."

    The conductor shrugged his rounded shoulders, showing little regret. "Too much to ask or not, sir, the train for Buffalo won't     arrive for another six hours, and if you're wanting to go on from here, you'll have to wait."

    Mr. Smith withdrew his watch from his pocket with obvious distress. A nervous flutter moved in Allie's stomach as he then shook his head in obvious resignation.

    "You say the train will leave promptly at noon?"

    "That's right, but I'm advising you and your charges to be ready on time. This is an immigrant train you're taking, you know. There'll be a mad rush for places in the cars."

    Mr. Smith's frown deepened. "Sir, we were told we would have a separate car so the children might spend a comfortable journey."

    The conductor's wiry brows rose expressively as he turned to survey the small faces turned attentively in his direction. "That so? Well, I'll do my best for them, but I'm making no promises."

    "All right. We'll be ready." Mr. Smith's face tightened, and the nervous fluttering in Allie's stomach increased as he turned to address them.

    "You heard the conductor, children. We have an extended wait for the train that is to take us west." Mr. Smith's small eyes moved along the line, dwelling on the older boys in the rear as he continued. "I would prefer that our group remain close together for the duration of that time. However, my function is to serve as guardian, not guard. You are all of a reasonable age and I do not expect to maintain a constant watch to ensure that no one strays. I feel it is important at this time to make one point very clear to all of you: We have been delayed, but we
are
going to Michigan; and any of you who want to come along
must
be here when the train arrives. Is that understood?"

    A chorus of youthful voices responded in agreement as Allie turned toward the rear to observe the reactions to Mr. Smith's statement. She saw eager expressions keen with anticipation, except for the stone-faced Delaney Marsh. Sam turned toward him with another low-whispered word, and anger blazed anew in Marsh's peculiarly light eyes. Allie snapped her attention back toward Mr. Smith. Sooner or later there was going to be trouble again.

    Allie moved hastily into step behind the girl in front of her as the line again surged forward. She so desperately wanted to go home, wherever that was going to be.

    "
Marchin
' in line like a bunch of lambs to the slaughter!"

    "Yeah, lambs to the slaughter, that's what you fellers are!"

    "All them pretty clothes and that book you got in your hand
ain't
goin
' to do you no good when you're
slavin
' from dawn to dark."

    "Take a deep breath! It's
goin
' to be one of the last breaths of free air you
       
 
fellers'll
be
takin
'!"

    The shouted taunts of Albany street boys rang in Allie's ears as Mr. Smith led them back to the depot after a brief walk. Unwashed, with long, matted hair, stained, cast-off clothes, and the uncertainty of the next day staring them in their dirty faces, they continued their harangue as the westward-bound children continued walking. But their jeers did not go unreturned by the street boys in Allie's group.

    "What would you snoozers know about where we're
goin
'? We're
goin
' west to find our fortune!"

    "Fortune! Yeah, a yoke around your neck and a whip
crackin
' over your head!"

    "We'll be
ridin
' on our own horses, and we'll be
sittin
' every night at a table where there'll be as much food as we can eat. Seconds, if we want. Thirds, even!"

    "Yeah, yeah…"

    Unexpectedly, Allie felt a sharp tug on her freshly cut pale hair swinging against her neck. Turning in protest, she met the eyes of a tall, light-haired, adolescent girl within the group of tormentors.

    "
Goin
' west, girl? I'm
thinkin
' I can find easier work for you than
workin
' on a farm. Fellers take a real
likin
' to them girls that got yeller hair, especially if they're young and
willin
'."

    Stella's reference to her "lily-white" skin flashed back into allies’ mind. Controlling a shudder, she struck the girl's arm, freeing herself with a loud smack that turned the girl's expression abruptly ugly.

    "You'll be sorry you did that! You won't be so sassy a couple of weeks from now after some feller use you!"

    Closing her ears to the girl's taunts, Allie directed her gaze forward and raised her chin. She fixed her eyes on the girl ahead of her, ignoring the painful knotting in her stomach as their wavering line continued marching past the State House and down the hill toward the waiting train.

    She had been distinctly relieved when Mr. Smith finally called the group together after their extended wait and had begun to march them toward the depot once more. Surprisingly, not a one of their group had ventured far, including the older boys with whom she was certain Mr. Smith expected to have the greatest difficulty.

    The hours of waiting had been long. She was uncomfortable in the clothes she had been issued before leaving New York. The rough wool of her skirt and jacket irritated her delicate skin, and the collar had already begun rubbing a sore red line around her neck. The thin cotton of her shirtwaist did little to protect her from the abrasive fabric that lay atop it, and the hot September sun had increased her discomfort yet another notch.

    But Allie's greatest source of discomfort stemmed from a problem of an entirely different kind. Allie glanced with growing desperation toward the depot as they drew nearer.

    Oh, dear, she so desperately had to piddle!

    Walking with a short, restrained step calculated not to put any further strain on her already heavily burdened bladder, Allie brushed the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. As they entered the depot, she searched the area for the appropriate sign but saw none. She glanced toward Mary Clark who walked beside her. Mary had disappeared for a few minutes a little while ago. Why had she not followed?

    An ear- piercing whistle interrupted Allie's thoughts. She needed to find a place soon or her humiliation would be complete.

    Waiting only until Mr. Smith halted the orderly line and set out in search of the conductor he had spoken with earlier, Allie left her assigned position and struck out on her own. Only a few minutes she would be right back.

    Greatly relieved a short time later, Allie raised her hand to brush back the sweat-dampened wisps of hair clinging to her cheek. She made a short grimace of despair as she started back in the direction from which she had come. Even newly cut, her hair refused to behave. The pale, flyaway wisps, bleached lighter still from recent exposure to the summer sun, had a mind of their own and she had long ago accepted that no matter the trouble Mama or she took, her hair would never look neat.

Mama had so valued neatness. Her hair had lain in a dark, gleaming cap against her head, and her eyes had seemed all the more blue in contrast. Allie fingered the lank strands lying warmly against her neck. She had inherited the coloring and features of a father she had never known, a father Mama had discussed only when persistently pressed to do so. But she remembered the softness that had sprung into Mama's eyes each time she mentioned his name. She knew Mama had loved him dearly.