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The woman considered the children, tapping one finger to her cheek. “Why don’t I bring lunch out onto the back porch? There be a shaded table there. Mrs. Barney liked to eat outside in the summer. And it’s such a lovely September day.” Then Vista nodded toward the door behind Felicity.
Felicity got the message. She was to take the children outside and around to the back porch. And so she did.
Vista met them in the back and greeted them beside the pump. “I don’t allow anyone with dirty hands or a dirty face to eat at my table.” Vista pointed to a white bar of soap and a white flour-sack towel, sitting on an overturned wooden box nearby. Then she began to pump water.
As the water splashed, Felicity slipped off her bonnet and gloves and tossed them onto the nearby back-porch steps. Setting an example, she lathered her hands with the soap, then handed the bar to the little girl. “Be sure to keep your eyes shut so the soap doesn’t sting them,” Felicity cautioned. After scrubbing her face and hands, she rinsed off in the cold water Vista was still pumping. And then, since she’d taken her own advice and shut her eyes, Vista put the towel into her hands.
When Felicity opened her eyes, she looked over to find that the girl was teaching the boy how to lather his hands and face. When they were done, she passed the towel to the children, who left dirty prints on it. The girl said, “I ’member washing up. He doesn’t.”
“Does thee?” Felicity resonated with the impact of that simple but telling sentence.
The girl nodded. “Can we eat now?”
Felicity wondered how she could persuade these waifs to stay. She sensed a deep caution in the girl, wise for her years. Father, guide me.
“Right now, chil’run.” Vista led them to the small round table on the trellised porch, shaded by lavish, bright purple clematis. She went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee, a plate piled high with slices of buttered bread and cheese and two glasses of milk on a tray. The minute she set the plate on the table, the little boy grabbed two slices of bread and shoved one into his mouth as deep as he could.
“Donnie, that’s not good manners,” the girl scolded. “Sorry, miss, but he don’t ’member eating at a table.”
Felicity choked down her reaction. Was eating at a table another privilege she took for granted? “That’s all right. I’m sure he will get used to it. What are thy names?”
“I’m Katy and he’s Donnie.”
Felicity gave them a smile. “Happy to meet thee, Katy. Now I will thank God for this food.” She bowed her head. “Thank Thee, God, for food and friends.”
After that, Vista was kept busy bringing out more bread and cheese. Finally, she murmured to Felicity that she didn’t want the children to eat themselves sick.
After her last swallow of milk, Katy stood up. “Thanks for the eats, miss. We’ll be back later to sleep.”
“Where is thee going?” Felicity asked, rising to stop them.
“We got to go beg. Donnie’s going to need shoes before the snow.” The child glanced down at the little boy’s bare, dirty feet.
“Does that mean thee doesn’t have a home?” Felicity asked.
“No, miss, but I take care of Donnie.” Katy took the boy’s hand and began edging away.
“Would thee like a home?” Felicity blurted out.
Katy stopped and eyed her with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch?” Felicity echoed.
Vista spoke up. “The catch is that you got to be scrubbed clean to come inside. I know you chil’run can’t help it, but you have to be scrubbed head to toe before you come in. No vermin allowed in any house I’m living in or cleaning up.”
Vista’s calm but firm pronouncement slightly embarrassed Felicity. But better to start as one plans to go. Katy glanced at Felicity, who nodded her agreement with Vista.
Katy glanced around and then pointed to the door mat. “What about out here? Could we sleep here on the porch?”
Felicity turned to Vista. After all, she was the one who would be cleaning and she was the one who’d brought up the issue of cleanliness.
“You can,” Vista replied, “as long as the weather is warm like this, but if you stay till Donnie needs shoes, you will have to be clean to stay inside.”
“You mean we could really stay here?” Katy asked with an appraising expression.
“That’s why I’ve come—”
Vista cut Felicity off. “We got no chil’run and I need help with chores and such. The gardener has been away so the weeds have started getting thick. If I show you how to weed today, would you pull weeds, not my flowers?”
“And we might need errands run,” Felicity added, catching on. These children had probably rarely known generosity which asked nothing in return. Better to draw them in slowly, gaining their trust. Vista was already proving to be an asset.
Katy nodded. “We got a deal. Where are them weeds?”
Felicity glanced at Vista and lifted one eyebrow, asking her to proceed.
“Over here. I have a garden patch that is choked with them. And I do not like pulling weeds.”
Katy followed Vista down the steps and around the house with Donnie in tow. Relief whispered through Felicity. Vista had displayed a practical kindness and sensitivity that impressed Felicity. And the children were staying—at least for now.
Vista returned and Felicity helped her carry in the dishes. After waving Felicity to a chair at the kitchen table, Vista began to wash them. “I see you are planning to start the orphans’ home right quick.”
Sitting down after eating caused exhaustion to sweep through Felicity and she closed her eyes. “I want to give children who have no home a place, a safe place to grow up strong and good.”
“That’s why Mrs. Barney left you this house and all the money?” Vista glanced over her shoulder.
“Yes, she came to Pennsylvania and we worked together coordinating movement on the Underground Railroad. She was a wonderful woman. And she was certain that many children would be left orphaned by this dreadful war.”
“And just generally, too?”
Felicity nodded, blinking her eyes to keep them open. “Will thee stay with me and help?”
Vista gave her a sidelong glance. “I got no plans to leave…yet.”
So Vista was sizing her up, too. Felicity stretched her tight neck and sighed.
“I got a room ready for you upstairs, miss. Why don’t you go on up and rest?”
Felicity sighed again—a habit she must overcome. “No, first I must walk back into town and speak to Mrs. Barney’s lawyer.”
Her hands in the wash basin, Vista frowned. “Well, first of all, if you going into town, you’re not walking. The groom will hitch up the gig for you. But what do you need to talk to the lawyer about?”
“Why mustn’t I walk into town?” Felicity asked, not answering the housekeeper’s question.
“Mrs. Barney had a certain standing here. I know she wouldn’t want you to walk to town,” Vista replied firmly.
Felicity tried to think of a polite answer to this. Yes, Mrs. Barney had been a lady of generous means. But Felicity didn’t ride where she could eaily walk. But here and now, she was just too tired to argue.
“And the lawyer, Miss Felicity?” Vista asked again.
Clearly there was no putting anything past this woman. “There’s a child who needs my help,” Felicity answered. “And I’m going to need a lawyer in order to give it to him.”
That evening Ty paced his library, wishing he were deaf. After four years of listening to cannon fire and bombs bursting in air, he should be. Unfortunately, he could still hear well enough to suffer each evening’s ordeal. The rocking chair on the floor above him creaked in a steady but rapid rhythm. Every once in a while, Camie cried out as if someone had jabbed her with a needle.
No one should have to rock a five-year-old girl to sleep. But if no one rocked her, Camie would stand by the door in her room and sob till she fell down with exhaustion. Then upon waking in the night as she always did, she would scream as if someone were scalding her.
Ty rubbed his face in time with the rocking chair. The sounds of the rapid rocking and Camie’s sudden cries of terror shredded his nerves into quivering strings. He halted by the cold hearth and rested his head on the smooth, cool mantel. When would this nightly torture end? Dear God, help my little daughter, help us.
Finally, the rocking above slowed and quieted, then ceased, along with the outcries. Ty’s tension eased. He slumped into the wing chair by the fireplace. His mother’s light footsteps padded down the stairs. As always, she paused at the doorway to wish him good-night.
Tonight, however, she came in and sat down across from him. His mother, Louise Pierce Hawkins, perched on the tapestry seat, a small canary of a woman with silver strands liberally mixed into her faded blond hair. Her kind face showed her distress.
His heart beat faster. “Did something happen?” Something worse than usual?
She gazed at him. “Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately.” She locked her hands together. “I’m becoming more and more concerned about our Camie.”
Ty chewed his upper lip and frowned. He wanted to ask if she thought Camie needed…no, he didn’t want to know.
“I don’t think she’s mentally unbalanced, son,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “But nothing I do appears to help her get past her panic. In fact, I don’t know why she has such fear or what exactly she is afraid of.” She shook her head. “She fights sleep as if it were death itself.”
Her face twisted with concern. “Whenever she feels herself slipping into sleep, she cries out to wake herself and hold…something at bay. I wish I knew what it was.”
Ty could think of nothing to say, nothing that could end this nightly struggle. Guilt weighed on him. He hadn’t been able to tell his mother the part he may have unwittingly played in making his daughter’s night terrors worse.
Louise rested her head in her hand. “I confess I’m at my wits’ end. God must send us help, an answer, someone who knows what to do.”
His mother’s strained, defeated tone alarmed him. “I could hire someone to care for her. This is too much for you—”
“No.” His mother’s tone was firm, implacable. “Camie is a sweet, biddable child all day.” She looked to the cold hearth as if seeking warmth, encouragement there. “It’s just the falling asleep. She can’t face the night.”
His mother left out the other worrisome problem, which was that Camie would not look at him. Or suffer him to come near her. He clenched his jaw and then exhaled. “Mother, I appreciate all you do for Camie. Maybe we should do what Mrs. Crandall—”
Louise hissed with disapproval. “Ty, you know my opinion of that woman.” She jerked her head as if warning someone away. “I try to be charitable, but I think much of the cause of this worrying behavior lies at her doorstep.” She pressed her lips together.
Ty looked out into the night. The question of what to do hung unspoken and unanswered between them.
That evening, Felicity stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the two children huddled together on her back porch like stray puppies. She had been tempted to overrule Vista and let the children come inside without cleaning up first. But Felicity hoped Vista would become a part of her work here, and she didn’t want to do anything that might upset the housekeeper.
By staying here and keeping the house safe and cared for after Mrs. Barney’s death, Vista had proven herself to be honest and hardworking. It would be hard for a stranger to town like Felicity to replace Vista. Trust took time to forge.
And Vista was right. Basic cleanliness must be established for the benefit of all the children who would come here to live. Cleanliness was healthy. A home with children—Felicity hoped to have many children here in the future—must be a house with firm, sensible rules.
Felicity wiped the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a warm, humid night. Sleeping outside was probably more comfortable than sleeping inside. Still, homeless children sleeping on her porch grieved Felicity, causing a gnawing ache deep within.
Donnie snorted in his sleep and opened one eye. She realized he could see her through the window because he wiggled one of his little fingers as if waving to her. The boy, barely more than a toddler, hadn’t spoken a word to anyone all day. Though nearly moved to tears, she grinned and wiggled her little finger back at him. The child closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
Felicity sighed. And then reminded herself that she must stop this new habit. Sighing sounded lonely and a bit sad, pensive even. She caught herself just before she did it again.
Dear Father, please bring me children, the lost ones, the ones that the evil lion Satan wishes to devour. Give me strength and wisdom to carry out the work Thee has given me. I will depend on Thy promise from Psalm 37. I will trust in Thee and do good.
Felicity turned from the window to go upstairs before she remembered one more request.
And Father, please give me the courage I will need in court tomorrow so that I may right the wrong committed against a child—a wrong that has been committed in my name.
Chapter Two
The next morning after breakfast with Katy and Donnie on the back porch, Felicity stood in the kitchen. The heat and the humidity were already growing uncomfortable. How could the calendar say September when it felt like July?
While the children pulled weeds, Felicity and Vista discussed the grocery list. Underneath these routine concerns lurked apprehension over what she would be facing in town today. Felicity glanced at the kitchen wall clock. She needed to get busy and set off for town. The lawyer had told her to be in court at 9:00 a.m. The coming test tightened her midsection. She was pitting herself against the powers of this world.
“What are you children doing here?” A strident female voice flew through the open window, followed by squeals of pain.
Felicity burst through the back door and sailed over the grass toward the woman, her heart outracing her feet. “Stop! Let them go!”
A tall, slender, very well-dressed woman had Katy and Donnie each by an ear. The sight sent anger rushing through Felicity like a hot spring.
The woman was brought up short and glared at Felicity. “These children can’t possibly belong here. This is a respectable neighborhood.”
Pulling them from the woman’s grasp, Felicity drew the children to her. “Katy and Donnie are my guests.” She gasped for air, trying to catch her breath after running in the sultry air.
“Guests?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as they took in every detail of Felicity’s attire and face. “Who are you?”
“I am Felicity Gabriel. Who is thee, please?” Standing very straight, Felicity offered her hand, which was ignored—a sting that tried Felicity’s temper.
“Thee?” the woman snapped, her face crimping up. “Are you some kind of Quaker?”
“There is only one kind of Quaker that I know of.” Taking another sip of the humid air, Felicity tried to keep her irritation out of her tone. “And yes, I am a member of the Society of Friends.”
“Well, I am a God-fearing Christian and this is a respectable neighborhood. We don’t want riffraff from the riverfront here.”
Felicity could think of nothing Christian to say to this so she merely looked at the woman. She knew she wasn’t to judge others, but…
“Why are these children here on Madison Boulevard?” The woman pointed at the ground as though it were sacred ground that Katy and Donnie were not worthy to walk upon.
Felicity gripped her spiraling temper with both hands. “They are here because they had no one to feed them and nowhere to sleep,” she replied in an even tone. “They are doing a few jobs for me in return for food and shelter.”
“You are not from around here,” the woman said, her attractive face reddening like a bull about to charge. “So you don’t know that we keep the river rats and their spawn down at the wharf. We don’t let them roam through town—”
Felicity gritted her teeth. “I met Katy and Donnie at the wharf and invited them home because they are hungry and homeless orphans. I hope to invite many more to come here.” Felicity quoted, “‘Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.’ So since thee is a God-fearing Christian, I would think thee would be pleased.”
The woman leaned forward as if trying to either read Felicity’s mind or intimidate her. “Are you telling me that you’re starting an orphanage here?”
Felicity’s forced smile thinned. Her hold on her temper was slipping, slipping. “I think ‘orphans’ home’ and ‘orphanage’ are unpleasant titles. They sound so institutional and unkind. This will be the Barney Home for Children. I am going to welcome homeless children into this house and make sure they are kept warm and well fed. So yes, thee can expect to see many more children here in the future.”
The woman began making a sound that reminded Felicity of a dog growling at trespassers. “The law won’t let you disrupt our quiet neighborhood with an orphanage.”
Churning with righteous indignation, Felicity patted the children’s backs, trying to reassure them, and felt their spines sticking out, no padding of fat over the knobby vertebrae. This woman saw only their bare feet and ragged clothing, not their need. Father, help me make her see these children with Thine eyes.
“Mrs. Barney’s lawyer has already checked all the legalities of this charitable work which that good woman requested in her will. She asked me to carry it out in her stead.” Felicity took another breath of the sultry air. “I am breaking no laws. I don’t know why thee assumes that a small number of orphans will disrupt—”
