Orphan Train Read Online Free PDF Page B

shortest, which generally means oldest to youngest, with the babies
     in the arms of the children over eight. Mrs. Scatcherd pushes a baby into my arms
     before I can object—an olive-skinned, cross-eyed fourteen-month-old named Carmine
     (who, I can already guess, will soon answer to another name). He clings to me like
     a terrified kitten. Brown suitcase in one hand, the other holding Carmine secure,
     I navigate the high steps into the train unsteadily before Mr. Curran scurries over
     to take my bag. “Use some common sense, girl,” he scolds. “If you fall, you’ll crack
     your skulls, and then we’ll have to leave the both of you behind.”
    T HE WOODEN SEATS IN THE TRAIN CAR ALL FACE FORWARD EXCEPT for two groups of seats opposite each other in the front, separated by a narrow aisle.
     I find a three-seater for Carmine and me, and Mr. Curran heaves my suitcase onto the
     rack above my head. Carmine soon wants to crawl off the seat, and I am so busy trying
     to distract him from escaping that I barely notice as the other kids come on board
     and the car fills.
    Mrs. Scatcherd stands at the front of the car, holding on to two leather seat backs,
     the arms of her black cape draping like the wings of a crow. “They call this an orphan
     train, children, and you are lucky to be on it. You are leaving behind an evil place,
     full of ignorance, poverty, and vice, for the nobility of country life. While you
     are on this train you will follow some simple rules. You will be cooperative and listen
     to instructions. You will be respectful of your chaperones. You will treat the train
     car respectfully and will not damage it in any way. You will encourage your seatmates
     to behave appropriately. In short, you will make Mr. Curran and me proud of your behavior.”
     Her voice rises as we settle in our seats. “When you are allowed to step off the train,
     you will stay within the area we designate. You will not wander off alone at any time.
     And if your behavior proves to be a problem, if you cannot adhere to these simple
     rules of common decency, you will be sent straight back to where you came from and
     discharged on the street, left to fend for yourselves.”
    The younger children appear bewildered by this litany, but those of us older than
     six or seven had already heard a version of it several times at the orphanage before
     we left. The words wash over me. Of more immediate concern is the fact that Carmine
     is hungry, as am I. We had only a dry piece of bread and a tin cup of milk for breakfast,
     hours ago, before it was light. Carmine is fussing and chewing on his hand, a habit
     that must be comforting to him. (Maisie sucked her thumb.) But I know not to ask when
     food is coming. It will come when the sponsors are ready to give it, and no entreaties
     will change that.
    I tug Carmine onto my lap. At breakfast this morning, when I dropped sugar into my
     tea, I slipped two lumps into my pocket. Now I rub one between my fingers, crushing
     it to granules, then lick my index finger and stick it in the sugar before popping
     it in Carmine’s mouth. The look of wonder on his face, his delight as he realizes
     his good fortune, makes me smile. He clutches my hand with both of his chubby ones,
     holding on tight as he drifts off to sleep.
    Eventually I, too, am lulled to sleep by the steady rumble of the clicking wheels.
     When I wake, with Carmine stirring and rubbing his eyes, Mrs. Scatcherd is standing
     over me. She is close enough that I can see the small pink veins, like seams on the
     back of a delicate leaf, spreading across her cheeks, the downy fur on her jawbone,
     her bristly black eyebrows.
    She stares at me intently through her small round glasses. “There were little ones
     at home, I gather.”
    I nod.
    “You appear to know what you’re doing.”
    As if on cue, Carmine bleats in my lap. “I think he’s hungry,” I tell her. I feel
     his diaper rag, which is dry on the outside but spongy.