Young Writers Society

I appreciate all critiques. Thanks!

P.S. I am rather new to writing, so I apologize if I switched tenses, or some other amateurish mistake

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Entering the room, a squalling child buried in my arms, I surveyed all the darling, little babies, swaddled and placed in bassinets. Peering out the large windows, I observed the ominous thunderclouds and accepted that tomorrow would be another dreary day. I heaved a sigh and strode down the lines of sleeping infants. “Why,” I thought, “Just three were admitted yesterday!” Calculating in my head, I realized that at this rate of admission, we would no longer have any vacancy, or money to support our tiny charges, for that matter. Shaking my head vigorously, I pushed those thoughts away; they were better suited for the time when our fees were due.

My thoughts sobering, I considered, as I have often done, how any creature worthy of the term “human” could leave their child in a collection basket; destitute, cold, and without any sort of provisions.

Walking past a consecutive row of ailing babies, I realized the direness of their situation and tried not to allow my emotions free reign; for if in control, I would be weepy mess. While I struggled with my depressive feelings, I began to comprehend and consider why I felt this way; I was saddened to note that in the future, all these children would wonder, “Was I not wanted? Did they not care?”

My thoughts so inclined, the recollection of a sick, dying child screaming, ringed in my ears. So concentrated was I on my thoughts, that I did not hear Margaret, the head nurse, approach.

A person patted my shoulder. I started, whirling around. Upon seeing that it was merely Margaret and not some deranged abductor, I resolved into a smile, albeit a forced one.

Margaret smiled and tilted her head, appraising my current emotional state. If I ever swore, I would have sworn that she could read my heart, mind, and soul.

“Do not fret, my dear Alice,” and misinterpreting (or so I thought) the reason for my emotional turmoil, she said, “We shall give these children a loving home and nurture them in the ways of the Lord.” Taking the child from my arms, she scowled, though not at the baby. “Something their wretched parents have not seen fit to do.”

A lump forming in my throat, I said, “That’s not what I’m worried about, Margaret, but instead, how will we provide them with such necessities as food, clothing, and education?” I repressed a disappointed sigh; but though smothered, I’m quite certain Margaret heard it.

But her watchful gaze already wandering, Margaret patted my shoulder, making to attend to yet another pressing responsibility. “Have faith, Alice, and the Lord will provide and give us --. Don’t touch that, Charles!” she shouted, interrupting herself, her blue eyes widening in exasperation.

In the middle of walking off, I stopped her, my mind still troubled. “But what if the Lord doesn’t assist us in our time of want?” Stopping mid-stride, Margaret turned, opened her mouth, and paused with her mouth half open. As if thinking, she looked at the ceiling. Turning to the side, she called, “Elise, restrain the rubicund rapscallion!” And as soon as she gave the command, a disheveled looking nurse raced through the entrance, her head bowed in respect. Though I was currently in a brooding frame of mind, I couldn’t help but smile and remember that Margaret, in general, had that effect on people.

Elise rushed past us. “Yes, ma’am, I shall attend to that immediately, ma’am.”

“Oh, and, Elise?” Margaret said, not looking up from the child that she had confiscated from my arms.

“Yes, m-a-a-’am?” Elise stuttered.

“Under no indefinite circumstances shall said convict be allowed any substances that generate intolerable behavior, namely ones of the sugary variety.”

Nodding her head to such an extent that it wouldn’t be a surprise if it were shaken clear off, Elise was off.

There was one thing that I was still puzzled about though, and I wasted no time in trying to clarify it.

“Margaret, why were you using such obscure language when telling Elise what to do?”

“Ah,” she said, “You see, Charles is a dastardly child, and an intelligent one at that.”

My expression after this statement not conveying enlightenment, she added, “If Charles understood that we were taking measures to stop his misdeeds, he would escape into his special hiding place. One, she said, her expression one of slight irritation, One that we have not yet discovered.”

Silence ensued, due to Margaret being preoccupied with, what’s his name? Oh, yes, ‘twas Henry. I remembered. Perhaps I wasn’t so old after all, I mused.

Meanwhile, rocking back and forth, Margaret made a funny face at the baby, Henry; and as was its purpose, her silly expression elicited a laugh from the child.

Remembering all of a sudden the reason why she had stayed, Margaret looked at me, her eyes gleaming expectantly. “Well, what matter did you wish to consult my erudite opinions upon, Alice?” she asked, enjoying the superfluous way of speech.

I sighed, Margaret and serious never seemed to correspond. I rejoiced at that thought.

Collecting my thoughts, I looked outside the windows and was surprised to see the first rays of the sun peak the horizon. All signs of the thunderclouds had disappeared. Wondering at the sudden change, I allowed myself to absorb that hope which is brought by the reappearance of sunshine, after a long period of darkness.

“Never mind, Margaret. None of my doubt is left, instead it has been replaced with those overly sentimental feelings we call faith and hope.”

Margaret bent over, as if telling a secret. “If faith and hope are sentimental mush, I’m the largest pile of ever known to man.”

I stared at her, surprised, my eyes pleading for an expansion on that unfathomable statement. But alas, my only response received: she winked.

Following her gaze, we watched the sunlight’s indomitable happiness enter the room, illuminating everything inside. I smiled. Heaven on earth was the only phrase that could describe my emotions when I saw all the babies in peaceful repose. Consenting to smile once more before setting my mind to the day’s tasks, I realized that maybe I was an immense pile of sentimental mush, as well.

Margaret patted my arm. “That’s the right perspective, dear,” she said, and without further delay, walked off, her stride confident and sure.

I shook my head, a lop-sided grin stretching my face. Margaret could read minds. That much was incontestably certain.