Orphan Tales (Our Struggle)

Alicia

My name is Alicia Summers, I am six-years-old, I was dropped off at Barren Hill Orphanage when I was six months old. My parents couldn’t take care of me; they put me in a basket with a letter and a photo. I pull the old, faded photo from my pocket; I’ve been keeping it for as long as I can remember, and show the interviewer man. I point to my mother who is holding a baby girl swaddled up in a pink blanket. “See, that’s my mom, she’s holding me,” I say. “They took this the day I was born.” The man nods; a small smile on his face and asks me another question. I frown, thinking, when I think really hard my tongue sticks out of my mouth like a tiny pink work peeking out from the earth. The man asked me how the other children and I were treated. I tell him we were all treated the same, Ms. Downey don’t have no favorites. The man sighs and asks me to tell him about a normal day at the orphanage. So I tell him about Wednesday, Wednesday was bad, it makes me shiver just thinking about it.

~

Wednesday started off like any other day. Ms. Downey woke us all up at five. Out of the six girls I share a room with; it was my day to take kitchen duty. That’s how it works in Barren Hill, every child from every room has their jobs tossed, one child has to do the washing, one has to do shopping, one has to do the cleaning, one has to do the darning and stitching of clothes, one has to help the younger ones (I’m relieved of that because I can’t write, and I can barely read) and lastly, one has to be on kitchen duty. You’d think kitchen duty would be the best one, wrong. I’m too young to help with the actual cooking, so I just peel potato skins and wash dishes or clean up the scraps. If I am lucky I can get a morsel of food for myself, all the kids do it. I was on kitchen duty all day and I didn’t get a thing besides the regular meals. Breakfast every Wednesday is oatmeal, the only hot breakfast we have. That is because the trustees visit every Wednesday and Ms. Downey wants to make sure that if the trustees ask us what we had for breakfast we’ll say oatmeal. The trustees all come before lunch, they all wear fancy clothing and sparkling jewels. I think Ms. Downey wants to be like them, because she wears nice clothes and jewels too, though most of her jewels ain’t real, at least that’s what Tris, in the bunk above mine says.

I stood in the only good pair of clothes I was given, and I really was given it that morning. It was an itchy white blouse with a navy blue skirt that fell to my knees, grey stockings, and black shoes that belonged to Marissa (another girl there, she outgrew them) before me. My hair was down in two braids, Tris did it for me, she’s the eldest girl in our room and is in charge of all six of us and has to make absolute sure we all look could on Wednesdays. I stood up straight in a row of other nicely, but uncomfortably, dressed six-year-olds and with the five-year-olds and younger in front of us and the older kids in the back. I smiled like I was told to and said “Good day” with the others as I was supposed to. I’m glad Wednesday comes every week and that I get so much practice standing straight for a full hour or I wouldn’t have been able to keep still. Ms. Downey talked and talked, lied straight through her teeth about how nice of an orphanage Barren Hill was, and how well taken care of us poor orphans were, and that we were all well behaved and couldn’t wait to be adopted and become respectable children. I, like the other kids, kept the smile plastered on my face, not even Jimmy, the most disagreeable out of all of us, scowled at her lies. Although the last part wasn’t a lie, we all wanted to be adopted and get out of Barren Hill already. We knew for a fact what our punishment would be if we slipped up and made Ms. Downey look bad. I was so glad when we were allowed to disperse and sit down with our individual trustee to have lunch. A lunch we prepared at that.

I sat down with my trustee, an elderly man named Josiah Baxter who wore round spectacles and had a bushy white beard. He was supposed to be really rich; he always wore the nicest of suits and a ring on each finger and had a cane with a gold bird’s head that had ruby eyes. We sat all the way in the back of the parlor, Mr. Baxter and I. He pulled out a notebook and a fountain pen and an ink bottle from the bag he brought, it looked just like the bag the Dr. Heckler always brought with him when he visited for check-ups. In the book are several of my attempts at writing the alphabet and my name in my awful handwriting. Mr. Baxter always tried to get me to write although he knew I only liked reading, but I like hearing stories better than reading them. I was stubborn usually, or at least that’s what he told me I was, so he bribed me. The week before it was hard candies, and before that a ribbon for my hair, and before that a rag doll that I still have, her name is Linda. Well that Wednesday it was a book and it was called Alice in Wonderland. I like it instantly because the main character’s name sounded a lot like mine. I gave in and Mr. Baxter told me that he’d give me the book after I wrote two sentences. So pouting, I did, Mr. Baxter can be really mean sometimes, forcing me to write when I’m illiterate. I’ve got the book right now, its dark blue. I open the book and show the interview man last Wednesday’s writing.

My name is Alicia Summers, I am six-years-old. My parents will come back for me.

I giggle and pull the book away, telling the man my handwriting really is awful. Anyways, I wrote the sentences and Mr. Baxter asked me if I believe my parents will come back for me and I said I didn’t, because they haven’t come back for me in six years. He told me to keep hope and I shrugged and asked for the Alice story. He gave it to me and helped me read it for the whole half hour until Ms. Downey rang the bell for lunch. In the whole half hour, I only managed to read the first page. Oh well, I was glad it was lunch time. That Wednesday we had mashed potatoes and chicken with corn. I ate slowly, savoring every bite. Before I used to eat it too quickly and choke, but I was afraid someone would take it from me. Andrew, who is nine, used to take my lunch from me. I hated that, Andrew was mean; he got adopted two months ago. Two months prior, I correct myself, I like that word, prior. Mr. Baxter taught it to me. I giggle again and continue the story, the man looks slightly annoyed as he writes down what I say.

After lunch the trustees went home, they all hopped up in their fancy carriages and drove as far away from us as possible. They would forget us until next Wednesday, when we were their responsibility for a whole two and a half hours again. Before he left, Mr. Baxter gave me a silver coin and told me it was worth one hundred copper coins, I looked at it for a moment and stuffed it in my shoes because the skirt had no pockets. A loaf of bread at the baker’s cost three copper coins, a currant roll six, a roll without currants three, and a muffin was four coins. I definitely had to make that coin last and hide it from everybody, especially Ms. Downey. She wouldn’t care about the book, or the candy, or the ribbon, or any other gifts, but money and expensive things she’d take if she found it. I would not let her find the coin. I smiled and thanked Mr. Baxter and skipped away, not wanting to watch him leave. Wednesday was the best day of the week at the orphanage, if only until one o’clock when the trustees left. Ms. Downey came inside from saying her goodbyes and her smiles turned to a scowl.

“Hurry up and change your clothes you ungrateful little brats, the eldest’ of the room better make sure everything is accounted for and cleaned,” she said in her loud voice. We all scurried away to obey.

I changed in my room and stuffed the coin between the pages of the Alice book and shoved it under my pillow. When I was changed back into my usual boots, overalls, and shirt I grabbed the satchel Victor Morris gave me before he got adopted, he was twelve. I pulled on my cap and put the book in the satchel, ready to leave the orphanage for the few hours I could before dinner had to be made. If you’re wondering why I wasn’t wearing a dress it was because dresses are too hard to climb stuff in, skirts too, and I only had one good dress and one good skirt that I didn’t have to wear on Wednesday and I kept those in my drawer. Tris put the Wednesday clothes away and I told her I was going out. Tris is nice and pretty too, the Ms. Downey always tells her she’s ugly, Ms. Downey is cruel. Tris is tall and thin; she’s fifteen and would have to leave soon. I really was hoping she’d be adopted before she turned fifteen. She told me once that if she didn’t get adopted before eighteen she’d end up on the streets, working in a brothel, or as a maid. She told me a maid was the best choice. She could be a nanny or a teacher because she’s good with kids, but she said no one would give an orphan a chance, besides that, she only had four years of school before her parents died.

“Alright, make sure you make it back in time,” she told me when I said I was leaving.

“Okay,” I said back.

“And don’t, I cannot stress this enough, get into any trouble.”

I nodded and promised I wouldn’t.

Well if God is my witness I intended to keep that promise, I tried too, I really did. However, it seems luck was not on my side that day; I walked around town with nothing to do but look for anything that caught my eye. I had my head down as I shuffled my feet in the dirt. I should’ve had my head up; if I had my head up I wouldn’t have bumped into anyone, especially not nasty Patricia Meyers. She was a pretty girl, but not pretty like Tris, Tris is nice pretty, Patricia is mean pretty. She’s sixteen, with honey hair and green eyes and had been recently proposed too by a merchant’s son I think. I couldn’t believe that, because no boy in their right mind would propose to Patricia, she a right witch. Well, anyways, I bumped into her while she was walking with her friend Jessica Fuller, the blacksmith’s daughter. Patricia screamed and I looked up apologizing over and over again. I said I was sorry six times but she was still mad. Before I could say it a seventh time she yelled at me.

“How dare you,” she said. “You-you unwanted brat, how dare you bump into me? You could’ve given me lice or whatever disease you have.”

“I’m not sick and I don’t have lice,” I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen.

“You better not have dirtied my dress, Mommy just made this for me,” she said checking her dress.

Then Jessica jumped in and pointed at a spot on the dress, it was a green dress. “Look, there, I see a stain.”

I peered at the spot where her finger was pointing and couldn’t see a stain, apparently Patricia saw one though and exclaimed loudly.

“You little wretch, you’ve ruined my dress forever,” Patricia screamed and began to wail like a babe. Even the babies at the orphanage don’t cry like her. I couldn’t believe she was a year older than Tris, Tris never cries.

Terrified, I ran away while Patricia was crying. Jessica yelled after me to stop but I didn’t, instead I ran into the alleys and hid, hoping the stray cats would keep my hiding place a secret. I hid behind an old barrel that a black mama cat was sleeping on. She had seven kittens around her, four were black like her, two were gray, and one was ginger. I watched them, the little kittens’ chest rose and fell, they were so thin, thinner than me, and their mama was almost bones too. I thought about the picture of my parents and I, my mama was really thin, and then I thought about Timmy. He was my best friend a year ago, and he was nearly bones, he died of hunger. Ms. Downey said he’d been bad and she forbade him to eat anything for a week, he would sit in his room while we had meals. His roommates would sneak him a piece of their bread, I would too. But Ms. Downey found out and kept him locked in the closet during meals for another week. One day she forgot him in there and he died, we buried him beneath the oak tree out back. I didn’t want the kittens or their mama to die like Timmy, so I waited a few minutes then ran as quickly as I could to the other side of town, making extra sure no one saw me. I bought a bottle of milk and took care not to drop it or spill any of it as I hurried back to the alley. The kittens and their mama were awake by then. They looked at me with curiosity as I dug around the trash looking for something to use as a dish. Eventually I found a chipped and cracked clay bowl that someone must have tossed. I used my shirt sleeve to wipe the inside of the bowl and then set it down by the barrel and poured the milk into it. The mama cat looked at me suspiciously and then at the bowl of milk suspiciously. After a moment, she picked up one of her kittens in her teeth and hopped off the barrel. She did that with the other six kittens and set them all down in front of the bowl, they all drank, even the mama. I smiled, happy for them, and drank the last few drops of milk that wouldn’t leave the bottle. I was setting the bottle down against a wall when the mama kitten came and slunk around my legs, purring. She was thanking me.

I laughed and tried to pet her, she almost bit me. I thought she didn’t like me after all but I tried again anyways, I extended my hand and she inched away, as wary as one of us orphans. I left my hand out for a bit. A few seconds passed and she sniffed my hand then licked it. Her tongue was scratchy. I sat with the cats and watched the mama hunt, she caught three mice, two rats, and a sparrow and I watched in disgust and amazement as she snapped their necks and fed the little creatures to her kittens. She had to continue hunting to feed herself and the ginger kitten, I waited and played with the kittens until she came back with a pigeon between her teeth. She shoved the ginger kitten towards the dead pigeon and the kitten ate, I thought it was gross and cute. Then she pawed at me and gestured towards the pigeon. It took me a few moments to realize she wanted me to eat too.

“Sorry, Mama but I can’t eat a pigeon unless it’s cooked and rid of bones,” I said. “Besides it’s not people food.”

She did not understand and kept pestering me. It was cute, really cute; cuter than me. It was also very sweet and made me feel like my own mama would do the same, except for the pigeon part. Eventually the mama got the message and started eating too. I stayed with them for a few more hours, I stayed too long.

The bell in the church rung six o’clock, I was late. I shot up, making the kittens and their mama hiss in surprise. I apologized and ran home as quickly as I could. I wasn’t quick enough. Ms. Downey usually has dinner in her office. Her food gets delivered by an old woman named Agatha who lives a few houses down; she pays Agatha four silver coins to make and deliver food to the orphanage, and five more coins for the food. One of us orphans has to answer the door and another one of us has to call for Ms. Downey so she can take the basket. The person who calls her has to follow her upstairs and set up the meal, if they do it right she gives he or she a small portion of her meal. I came running up the hill just as Ms. Downey was taking the basket from Agatha and sadly, she saw me. I gulped and ran inside quick, ducking under the two women.

I ran straight to my room and hid my satchel, put away my cap, kicked off my boots and waited. Nyla, another one of my roommates, came up and told me that I wouldn’t be eating tonight. She gave me five crackers and I stuffed it under my pillow. Fifteen minutes later Darwin, a twelve-year-old who had a room down the hall, came and told me Ms. Downey would come for me after dinner so she wouldn’t spoil her appetite. He gave me five more crackers that I stuffed under my pillow as well. Dinner was over and the other girls in my room washed and dawned their nightgowns, all except Tris. We sat up waiting for her, I sat on the floor. She came in two past seven, wincing. Her blouse was not properly buttoned up and we all knew Ms. Downey had whipped her for my being late and then it was my turn. I left while Nyla, the second eldest, was cleaning the blood from Tris’s back and dressing the wound.

Biting my lip to keep from crying, I stood up tall and marched downstairs to Ms. Downey’s office, it was my turn. I knocked on the door three times and waited until she told me to come in. Inside her office, she was sitting at her desk, brown hair down, and whip in hand. I didn’t need to be told anything; I didn’t need to say anything. All of us knew the routine; we knew that apologizing was useless, and that there was no chance of us not being punished if we angered her. I pulled off my overalls and unbuttoned my shirt. Ms. Downey never whipped us with our clothes on, blood was too hard to wash out and the clothes would rip, and she hated having to buy us things. I bowed down in front her desk and let my braids drop over my shoulders. Ms. Downey got up, I watched her boots as she walked. They clipped and clopped against the wooden floor. The heels on her boots was louder than the second hand on her clock. I felt her stand over me, I saw her shadow, and I clenched my teeth determined not to scream or cry as she whipped me. She told me to count though, so I did, thinking the paddle would’ve been a mercy. The whip went down with a loud crack and it stung my back. “One,” I said through clenched teeth as I tried not to drop at the force of just one blow when I knew I would get several more and Tris had received ten.

Blood oozed from the fresh wound, I could feel it. She waited only a moment before striking me again. “Two,” I said. After three she stopped waiting, and the blows came down faster and faster. My back was in tatters, blood dripped on the floor. My blood mixed with Tris’s blood. I was struck with the whip eleven times before I fell in a heap on the floor. Ms. Downey called for someone, Roger. The thirteen-year-old came in wrapped me in a towel and picked me up. He handed me off to Darwin along with my clothes and I was taken back to my room while Roger cleaned up the mess. I slept on my stomach that night, licking salty tears from my cheeks because they would not stop coming. I only started crying when I got to my room. The next morning I stayed in bed, but Tris couldn’t, she had to go shopping. She gave me a kiss on my forehead before going and told me to stay put until she got back, I said I would. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room anyways, I couldn’t eat breakfast and I couldn’t even use the bathroom, I had to hold it. The ten crackers sat beneath my pillow until evening when I felt strong enough to push myself up. I ate the crackers, my mouth was dry and it hurt to chew, heck, it hurt to breathe. Still, I ate them and I licked my lips of any crumbs, leaving behind no evidence. Even after Tris came back I was not allowed to leave the room, no one could bring me anything to drink either unless I ended up needing to pee. If I wet the bed I would’ve gotten eleven more strikes from the whip or maybe eleven from the paddle and then I wouldn’t be able to sit. It was only the next day I was lowed to leave the room.

~

“I don’t mind if you don’t believe me, I’m not even supposed to tell you this,” I tell the interview man. “But I’m glad you listened till the very end, it made me happy.”

The man is staring at me with an expression of horror and eyes as sad as the rainy day Timmy died and as blue as the ocean I might never see. He doesn’t speak.

“Will you tell me your name?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Please,” I beg.

“C—,” he starts. “Carol Morgan, I work for the newspaper.”

I nod, “Thank you for listening Carol, can I go now?”

He nods and I stand from the stool I’ve been sitting on for the past two hours and walk to the door.

“Wait,” Carol says.

I turn around and watch him; he walks around the kitchen and starts cutting slices from a loaf of bread. He wraps the bread in a cloth with an apple and a pear and then hands it to me.

“Put it in your satchel and hide it, in case you’re late again,” he says a weak smile on his face.

I nod and smile bag. Taking it I do as he says. “Thank you Carol,” I turn back around and leave the house, fingering the three copper coins he gave me for the interview.

I’ve got an hour and a half before dinner, I’ll go buy some milk and visit my favorite cats. I forgot to tell Carol I named the cats. The mama’s name is Midnight, the black kitten with a grey crescent moon by his left eye is Nightshade, the girl black kitten after him is Onyx, the boy kitten after her with a white stripe at the top of his tail is Sabbath, and the last black kitten is a girl named Amber, because that’s what color her eyes are. The two grey cats are both boys, one’s name is Timmy and the other’s name is Tommy and lastly, the ginger kitten is a girl and I just call her Ginger. I need to get them collars or something that I can put their names on and put of them. I hope Mr. Baxter gives me another silver coin and I hope I can trust him to keep the kittens a secret from Ms. Downey.

Last week Wednesday he gave me the book I’d been writing in and gave me the fountain pen and one bottle of ink. Tris keeps the ink and pen in her drawer, the pan in wrapped in a faded piece of my baby blanket, it had been cut up into rags last year, and the ink is always properly closed. She’s helping me with my writing and my reading; she’s helping all five of us girls that share the room with her. Sometimes she reads the Alice book to us, sometimes she has us read. She even got Roger to snatch the dictionary from Ms. Downey’s office for us, she won’t miss it; she doesn’t read any of her books anyways. They’re all just for show. I smile at the thought of another midnight reading session, my small happiness in my cruel reality. Tonight I’m going to pray for Tris; pray she gets adopted or at least proposed to before she turns eighteen and if she doesn’t, I’ll give every silver coin Mr. Baxter gives me to her and find another way to feed the cats. My adopted big sister must not suffer anymore, she just can’t.