The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman

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СКАЧАТЬ He smiled and sat beside her, a polite distance away. To her relief, he kept quiet, almost as if he knew she didn’t feel like making conversation. Together they sat lost in their own thoughts, watching three colored girls with braids and pigtails play hopscotch across the way. One held a rag doll under her arm, the doll’s limp head flopping up and down with every jump. A group of ruddy-cheeked boys in patched pants and worn shoes kicked a can along the cobblestones, shouting at each other to pass the can their way. Snippets of laughter, conversation, and the tinny music of a phonograph drifted down from open windows, along with the smell of fried onions and baking bread. Line after line of laundry hung damp and unmoving in the humid air above their heads, crisscrossing the row of buildings like layers of circus flags. People of all colors and ages and sizes spilled out onto the fire escapes, some sitting on overturned washtubs and kettles, all looking for relief from the heat.

      An old colored woman in a dirty scarf and laceless boots limped past, humming and pulling a wooden cart filled with rags and old bottles. She skirted around two boys of about seven or eight playing cards on their knees in front of a stone building three doors down. One of the boys glanced over his shoulder at her, then jumped to his feet, grabbed something from her cart, and ran, laughing, back to his friend. The old woman kept going, oblivious to the fact that she had been robbed. The second boy gathered up the cards and did the same; then they both started to run away.

      Finn shot to his feet and chased after them, cutting them off before they disappeared down a side alley. He yelled something Pia couldn’t make out, then grabbed them by the ears and dragged them back to the old woman. After returning her things to the cart, the boys hurried away, rubbing their ears and scowling back at him, muttering under their breath. The old woman stopped and looked around, finally aware that something was amiss. When she saw Finn, she shooed him away and swatted at him with a thin, gnarled hand. He laughed and made his way back to Pia, shrugging and lifting his palms in the air.

      Pia couldn’t help but smile. “Do you know her?” she said.

      “I don’t,” he said, catching his breath. He sat back on the stoop beside her and wiped the sweat from his brow. “But I see her every day, selling rags and bottles on the corner. I know the lads, though, and they’re always causin’ a ruckus.”

      “They didn’t look very happy with you,” she said.

      “I suppose they’re not,” he said. “But they won’t cause trouble for me.”

      “Well,” she said. “It was very nice of you to stop them and make them return what they took.”

      He gave her a sideways grin. “Why, isn’t that grand? Ye think I’m nice. Thank you, Pia Lange.”

      Heat crawled up her face. She nodded because she didn’t know what to say, then went back to watching the girls play hopscotch. Did he really think what she said was grand, or was he making fun of her? His smile made her think he appreciated the compliment, so she told herself that was the case. Not that it mattered. Once he found out she was German he’d probably never speak to her again.

      He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and watched the girls play hopscotch too. “We came from Ireland three years ago,” he said. “How long have you been in the States?”

      “Since I was four,” she said.

      He raised his eyebrows at her. “That long?”

      She nodded.

      “Livin’ here in Philly the entire time?”

      She shook her head. “We came here from Hazleton, Pennsylvania. Vater... I mean, my father worked in the coal mines.”

      He forced a hard breath between his teeth. “That’s a bloody hard way to make a living.”

      She nodded. At least he didn’t react to the German word. Or maybe he didn’t notice.

      “This city can be a mite overwhelming when you first arrive,” he said. “But you’ll get used to it. My da was the one who wanted to come, but he never got to see it.”

      “Why not?”

      “He didn’t survive the voyage.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Aye, I appreciate it. My mam has been having a hard time of it since then, so my older brothers and I have been taking care of her and my granddad. Then the army took one of my brothers six months ago, and my other brother had to start working double shifts at the textile mill. I’m ready to take a job, but Mam insists I finish my schoolin’ first. Things were hard in Dublin, but I’m not sure they’re much better here. It makes ye long for home, even when you know leaving was the right thing to do.”

      She really looked at him then, at his kind face and hazel eyes. It was almost as if he were reading her mind.

      From that day on, they were fast friends. He didn’t care that she and her family were German, or ask her to explain why she didn’t want to play cat’s cradle or any other game that might involve close contact. After he sent her a note on the clothesline between their fourth-floor apartments that said, ’Twas nice to meet ye, lass! they started sending each other messages on Sunday nights when the line was empty—but only if the windows weren’t frozen shut and they were able to find scraps of paper not set aside for the war effort. The notes were silly and meaningless, just hello or a funny joke or a drawing, but it was their little secret. One of the few things Pia didn’t have to share with anyone else.

      Once school started and they discovered they were in the same classroom despite him being a grade ahead, he offered to sit with her at recess, but she said she’d rather not have the added attention. While he played kickball and marbles with the other boys, he always looked over to offer a smile or a wave. And that small gesture made everything easier.

      Most days she didn’t mind sitting alone. But today was different. She wished he’d stop playing ball and come sit with her, even if it was just for a few minutes. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about the flu, and was constantly distracted by an overwhelming feeling of worry and dread. When a group of girls skipping rope began to chant a new rhyme, chills shivered up her spine.

      There was a little girl, and she had a little bird,

      And she called it by the pretty name of Enza;

      But one day it flew away, but it didn’t go to stay,

      For when she raised the window, in-flu-enza.

      “What are you staring at, scaredy-cat?”

      Pia looked up to see who had spoken, unaware she’d been staring. A thin girl with brown pigtails glared down at her, a disgusted look on her face. It was Mary Helen Burrows, the girl everyone liked or feared, depending on which day you asked, and whether or not Mary Helen was within earshot. No one had ever seen her get into an actual brawl, but permanent anger knitted her brows, and bruises marked her arms and legs. Two other girls stood behind her, Beverly Hansom and Selma Jones, their arms crossed over their chests.

      “I wasn’t staring at anything,” Pia said, reaching for her book.

      “I’m telling you, Mary Helen,” Beverly said. “She was staring at us, like she was coming up with some nasty German scheme or somethin’.”

      Mary Helen knocked the book out of Pia’s hand. “You spying on us?”

      Pia СКАЧАТЬ