Orphan Train

PART I

1.

The sun beat down through a cloudless sky, and there was no wind to blow the heat away. It seemed everybody in New York was outside, avoiding the heat of their homes. Not that the outside temperature was any more comfortable than indoors. Although nearing supper time, very few homes smelled of cooking food. It was simply too hot. Men were coming home from the day’s work and joining their wives and neighbors on the porches, drinking cool drinks and bickering about the heat. Yes, most everybody in New York was outside. In the shade of the tall houses and trees.

Except, of course, the group of seventeen boys gathered near the intersection of 7th & 24th in Manhattan. Like most children, they didn’t seem to notice the heat. More than a dozen adults lined the buildings, staying in the shade as best they could, watching the boys play a game that had recently captured the attention of all teenage boys it seemed – stickball. These boys, ranging in age from seven up to sixteen years, played as often as they could gather enough boys to make nearly even teams. On hot July days like today, with no better way to keep cool, the residents of 24th street had come to enjoy watching, and even cheering for, the young men.

Most of the boys played shirtless; trousers and an old worn out cap seemed to be the accepted uniform for either team. The men returning from work would loosen their ties and unbutton their shirtsleeves as they watched. Women would fan themselves with any material firm enough to cause a short burst of a breeze. It was a relaxing and fun atmosphere, except for the miserable heat.

Alright Rollie, the pitcher took a step forward as Roland, a young and nervous looking eight-year-old, picked up the stick and took his turn to hit. Just like we talked about earlier. Keep your eye on the ball, wait until it’s close, and swing the stick level.

Rollie nodded and griped the stick tight enough to choke it. He swung with his might at the first pitch, far too early to have any hope of hitting it. Slow down just a bit, the pitcher coached. He was one of the oldest boys out there and a wonderfully patient teacher to the younger boys. His next pitch, thrown slowly but overhand as to not offend Rollie, flew in a straight line and Rollie’s perfectly timed swing sent the ball sailing. The crowd cheered loudly, as they did when any of the younger boys got a hit. The ball bounced off a building near its roof and landed between second base and the boys playing what they called the deep field. Rollie jumped excitedly as he ran to first base – a day-old newspaper being held in place by a fist-sized rock.

Great hit Rollie! The next boy to bat, a thirteen-year-old who was a natural at stickball, couldn’t have been happier to see his kid brother getting better with each game. Now stay there until I hit this one to the river.

The boys loved the game. The older boys would give each other a hard time, joking about who was better player. But it was all in fun. Almost all of the boys helped each other try to get better at the game. Most of the younger boys looked to one of two older boys for help – the tall pitcher named Roy, and Rollie’s older brother, Theodore. When the two players faced one another, everyone became more excited. Roy could strike Theodore out half the time, but when Theodore connected with a pitch the ball flew for days. The people watching from their steps stood as the boys in the deep field ran a building farther back than normal. Two men, neighbors watching the game with their wives, made a friendly wager on the outcome of the hit.

Unable to hit the first two pitches, it looked like Theodore would strike out. Roy threw the ball hard and low, aiming to have it bounce just past the toes on Theodore’s back foot. Theodore saw it coming and stood up straight as he swung. Everybody there – the players on both teams, the small crowd, and especially Roy – craned their necks to see the ball fly higher than any ball they’d ever seen. Theodore himself stood in awe for a moment, watching it fly.

Wow! Rollie said slowly, admiring his brother’s skill as the ball cleared 7th Avenue and showed no signs of landing before the bay. You really did hit it to the bay!

That’ll teach me to throw it low and inside, Roy took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Theodore shrugged his shoulders as he followed Rollie around the bases. Lucky swing. Couldn’t do it again if I tried.

One of the boys pulled another ball out of his pocket – the last one the group had to play with – and the game went on. People talked the rest of the game about Theodore’s amazing hit, certain that it wouldn’t be equaled. Roy got some payback by striking Theodore out later in the game. He tried a new pitch he’d been working on; a pitch that appears to come in fast but is actually flying quite slowly. He had yet to perfect the pitch, but it worked well enough that Theodore swung much too early and spun a full circle before the ball passed him by.

Last batter! Roy called a few minutes later when his team was batting.

The shadows were getting longer in the street as the sun sank in the sky. The heat didn’t get any more bearable. The crowd had started to go into their homes and the boys knew it was time for them all to get home too. The youngest boy playing, a 7-year-old cousin of Roy, wanted one more chance to bat and both teams were happy to play for even one more minute.

After the young boy swung and missed the first pitch, the local newsboy came around the corner with an armload of papers. Get your papers! He hollered with his might. Body found near the docks; the Italian Butcher strikes again! And Beecher’s Pets are comin’ home! Get your papers!

At least six boys stood up straight and forgot all about the game they were playing. They all looked at each other then back at the newsboy, waiting for him to yell the headlines again. Rollie ran from his position in the deep field to second base, where Theodore was taking off his cap.

What’d he say Theo? Rollie asked.

Say that again! Theodore called to the newsboy.

That’s right boys, the newsboy smiled and waved his papers in the air. Beecher’s Pets are comin’ home. Some of yous could be seein’ your pa’s before next week.

Give me a penny, Rollie held his hand up to his brother who was already fishing through his pockets. The younger sibling ran toward the newsboy and tossed the penny, grabbing a paper and opening it quickly as the five other boys gathered around him.

He found the article on the bottom of the front page and began to read aloud slowly. His reading skills weren’t as good as he wanted them to be. Normally he’d be nervous to read aloud to others, but he was too excited to worry about that.

Beecher’s Pets Coming Home!

The 67th New York Volunteers companies A and B, sometimes called Beecher’s Pets, having recently fought bravely in Petersburg, Virginia, have been given a release from their warfighting efforts and will be returning home early next week.

Rollie was overcome with excitement and didn’t bother to read the rest of the article. Another boy snatched the paper as Rollie turned to Theodore. Pa’s coming home next week Theo! Pa’s coming home!

Theodore leaned over and finished reading the article quietly, nodding as he read. A smile crept across his face. He, too, was excited to see his father again. It had been almost two years. There were whisperings of the civil war coming to an end, but nobody knew if the rumors were true. Whether or not this meant the war was over, the boys gathered around the paper didn’t care. They were going to see their beloved fathers once again.

ROLLIE BURST THROUGH the front door, nearly knocking it off its old squeaky hinges. Theodore followed more collectedly a few steps behind.

Momma! Rollie called and quickly searched the small house. Momma, have you heard the news?

The boys found their mother sitting in her favorite rocking chair near a window at the front of the house, using the last rays of dimming light from the setting sun to read a book quietly. She looked up with a beautiful smile. Rollie bounced up and down and was too excited to let her answer.

Papa’s coming home!

I heard, Mother’s smile lit the room. She patted a newspaper sitting in her lap. Josephine from the bakery just came by and gave me the newspaper. He should be home in four or five days.

I can’t believe it; he’s finally coming home!

Rollie hopped in circles all the way around the room, giving Theodore a chance to lean in and kiss his mother. Welcome home dear Theodore. How was your game?

He hit a ball farther than anyone has ever hit a ball before! Rollie hollered. The boy’s enthusiasm could be heard at least two houses away. It went over a rowhouse. And likely landed in the bay!

Is that so? Mother wasn’t sure how true the story was but showed her excitement in his telling of it.

It was the farthest I’ve ever hit one, Theodore confirmed. Rollie here got a few good hits too.

That’s wonderful dear. She rubbed Rollie’s cheek gently with her hand. You boys go wash up. I’ve got supper ready.

Rollie sprinted away and Theodore followed behind slowly. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to his mother. Do you think Papa is as excited to see us as we are to see him again?

I know he is, Mother said with a reassuring and gentle smile. His last letter spoke of nothing but you boys.

Theodore smiled and unconsciously reached his arm up to rub the top of his right shoulder. He walked out of the room without another word.

2.

It was too hot to sleep as it had been for days. Rollie didn’t seem to notice; he was snoring atop his covers. Theodore had been lying next to his brother for a couple hours, tossing and turning and wiping sweat from his forehead. He was both jealous of- and frustrated by Rollie’s ability to sleep through the sweltering summer nights. Theodore was hoping for a few hours of sleep before he went to help unload fishing boats from the dock, which he had done every Sunday morning since his father had been away to help earn a little extra money for his family.

He’d been sitting at the windowsill watching the night sky and trying to get some of the cooler outside air to blow past his body, when he heard a coughing fit come from downstairs. He listened closely and followed his mother’s footsteps from the front room into the kitchen. He made his way down the stairs and found his mother drinking a glass of water at the kitchen table.

Is everything alright Momma?

I’m fine, Mother said after swallowing a mouthful of water. Just a dry throat. What on earth are you doing up this late?

Couldn’t sleep. He sat at the table across from his mother.

Are you excited about your father returning home? He could be here as early as tomorrow. Her emotions were evident in her voice; when she was excited, her voice was high. When she was sad, she spoke almost silently. It was obvious that she was excited as she eagerly awaited her husband’s return.

When I was picking up the cannoli from Salamone’s, Mr. Salamone said he heard Beecher’s Pets made camp in Philadelphia last night. He doesn’t think they’ll be home until Tuesday. I said Monday. So he bet me, told me that if they make it home Monday, I get next week’s cannoli for free. If it’s Tuesday, I have to work Saturday morning to help him prep for the day.

Mother gave him a look. What have I told you about gambling.

It’s just for fun Momma. Worst thing that happens is I learn how to make cannoli. He replied with a confident grin.

Mother began coughing again, trying her best to keep it quiet. Theodore looked on concerned as the fit lasted for half a minute. She calmed down and slowly finished drinking the water in the glass.

Are you sure you’re alright?

Mother nodded as she drank. This started yesterday morning at the bakery. I walked by the counter just as they dropped some dough onto the table to begin kneading it. Flour flew up everywhere. Must have gotten into my chest, and I still can’t get it out. Eventually it will get out, don’t you worry.

What were you doing up? Before you started coughing?

Reading. I am too excited to sleep, with the prospect of your father coming home any day.

The boys’ mother was a sweet woman. She would celebrate her thirtieth birthday soon. She had soft features and long, straight hair. She was attractive, albeit plain. She was generally soft spoken, and very intelligent. Before marrying at sixteen and becoming a mother a year later, she attended school every year starting at five. Her father, a cantankerous behemoth of a man who only showed a soft side to his wife and three daughters, spent every dollar he earned to make sure his daughters were educated and self-reliant – a woman who can stand on her own two feet, he called them.

Somehow, whether the moonlight or the coughing fits, she now looked older to Theodore. Exhausted, as she sat across the table from him. Her normally lively spirit seemed subdued. Then again, it was after midnight.

I’m going to try to sleep, Mother. You should try too. He stood up and kissed her forehead before walking back up the noisy stairs into the loft that he and his brother shared as a bed room.

I will dear Theodore. Good night.

MONDAY WAS ALMOST DONE and there was no sign of the civil war regiment. While only 6 men from the neighborhood were expected home, the whole neighborhood was excited for their return. Women had sewn banners which were hanging from windows, and everybody ran to their doors and front windows when they heard any carriage approaching on the road.

It was hot once again, but the overcast skies made it muggy and more miserable than normal. Not enough boys showed up to play a game of stickball, so they took turns practicing their hitting. Roy and Theodore took turns pitching, and both helped the younger boys work on their swings. Rollie was getting better with every swing; he listened to all of the advice that both of the older boys offered and tried both ways before finding the style he preferred. He had a beautiful natural swing. His problem was timing the pitches thrown his way. The slow pitches – the ‘slowballs’ as Roy called them – were a guaranteed swing and miss every time.

Watch my hand when I pitch. I have to wrap my hand around the whole ball to get it to slow down. If you see me holding it tight, you know it’s coming slow. Roy held up the ball with the slowball grip, letting Rollie see what he was talking about.

How am I supposed to see it while he’s pitching it. His arm moves too fast. Rollie quietly asked Theodore, who was facing him but standing far enough away to not get hit by the stick.

It takes practice. On this next pitch, don’t worry about swinging. Just watch his hands like he said, you’ll see.

Rollie did as his brother suggested. He watched as closely as he could while Roy threw the ball. Roy threw it slower than normal, so Rollie could get a good look, but Rollie still didn’t know if he could see the handle on the ball in a full speed throw.

Get your headlines! The newsboy’s voice could be heard before he turned the corner. Fisherman’s strike averted! Vanderbilt wants to buy New York Central Railroad! Get your headlines!

Any word on Beecher’s Pets? Theodore hollered.

Nothin’ in the papers. Let me make my rounds, I’ll see what I can find out. Cost you a quarter!

You’ll be lucky to get a nickel! Theodore joked with the newsboy. They had known each other a long time, although none of the other boys knew how the two had met. Perhaps they never had. Maybe they just knew instinctively that they could joke around with each other.

The boys went back to practicing. It was another ten minutes before the news boy returned. His papers were gone and he was no longer hollering. He walked over to Theodore confidently, like he owned the neighborhood.

Any word? Theodore followed after the boy motioned with his head. The two walked to the nearest house and leaned against the steps. The newsboy took his time pulling a bag of hard candy from his pocket, eating one, then offering a piece to Theodore before speaking.

Nothing official. Another newsboy heard the 67th is camped in Jersey for the night. Some fat guy around the corner here said he heard they made camp in Menlo Park. My best guess is, they’ll be home tomorrow.

Good, Theodore reached in his pocket and fished out a nickel.

Keep it. News that ain’t printed is free.

Thank you.

Your Pa coming back? The newsboy was friendly enough, although he seemed perpetually nervous. Uncomfortable even. His head was looking around at all times and he didn’t stand still, even though he was leaning against the stair railing.

Theodore nodded. Been gone almost two years.

The newsboy fidgeted with his candy bag. That’s good. Good news. They stood in silence for a long time. Theodore watched the boys playing ball while the newsboy watched too, then the sky, then looked up the road, then down it. Always moving. My Pa left when the war first started. Got word he fell at Manassas. Wherever that may be.

I’m sorry to hear that. Theodore looked at the boy, who suddenly didn’t seem so tough and streetwise as he did when he was selling newspapers. The newsboy looked down at his feet for a long moment – the first time his eyes weren’t shifting during their visit – and took a deep breath before folding the candy bag and returning it to his pocket.

Gonna be a hot night. I’ll go dip in the bay before it gets dark. He patted Theodore’s shoulder as he walked by and Theodore watched him go. The newsboy looked confident and tall once again as he strolled down the road with his hands in his pockets. Theodore felt like he knew something more about the boy now, something that many did not know. Something only a friend would know.

3.

Mother made sandwiches from leftover beef for supper – a simple meal they could eat on the front steps of their home. She said she chose the meal because it was too hot to use the oven again, which was true. Theodore knew the real reason was that her husband was expected home any minute and Mother wanted to be the first to see him. A few hours before, word spread through the neighborhood that the regiment passed through Elizabeth, New Jersey, and the neighborhood had been buzzing since. A few of the women ignored the heat and made bread and pastries, and banners continued to hang from windows and street lamps. And, like Theodore and his family, most everybody was eating their light dinners on their own front steps, waiting for the small group of men to finally return home.

Do you think he’ll make it home before sundown? Rollie was holding his sandwich in one hand while walking all around the steps. He was jumping off them, running up them, and occasionally sitting on them. The excitement got the best of the small boy.

I’ll bet you a quarter he does, Theodore said through a mouthful of beef and bread.

Don’t teach your brother that behavior, Theodore, Mother had finished eating and was wiping crumbs from her dress.

And just then, far in the distance, a sound arose that wasn’t clear at first. Yelling. No, cheering! It was at least a block away, maybe two. But there were shouts and whistles and clapping. Rollie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Mother and Theodore both stood up quickly and faced the sound. It grew louder and closer