Chapter Six

Commotion at the Station

Moments before the train pulled into the Liberty station, the townsfolk had gathered on the platform. Adults and children alike were chattering among themselves about the exciting event that was about to take place.

“I hear a train coming, Mama! Is it the Orphan Train?”

“I expect so, dear.” Harriet Hodge adjusted the white straw hat that bounced off her little girl’s head and hung around her neck by the elastic string. “Do stop dancing around, Glory. Your clothes will be a mess. You’ll look just like an orphan.”

“Really, Harriet, that was hardly the best choice of words,” her sister reproved. “The child will think that the boy you take will have to look like a tramp.”

“I know, Edna. It just slipped out. But you don’t ever expect an orphan to look neat and tidy, do you?”

“I think you’ll have to tell me again why you’ve decided to take one.” Edna sighed and peered down the track toward the approaching train. “It seems a most foolhardy thing to do.”

“Glory wants a playmate. I can’t think of an easier way than this to get one. Frank didn’t object. He thought it might be nice to have a boy to take into the business.”

“At seven years of age?”

“No, of course not. If we get one we like, we intend to keep him.”

“And if you don’t like him?”

“We can always send him back.”

“You make the child sound like a piece of merchandise. Are you sure Frank won’t sell him if he gets tired of him?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Edna! Be sensible. You know better than that!”

She didn’t, really, but she made no further comment.

Harriet turned her attention to the little girl. “Glory, why are you pulling on my shirt? I’m going to look as bedraggled as you do before that train ever gets here. What do you want?”

“I’m going to pick him out, huh, Mama?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” her mother replied. “Just don’t grab the first one you see getting off the train. Remember that he’s going to live in the same house with us.”

Edna watched the people standing along the platform in front of the depot. Some, she knew, had come out of curiosity, as she had herself. But many others were planning to return home with one of these children. It would certainly be interesting to know what all their reasons were.

The small town of Liberty lay along the Iowa River, less than one hundred miles from Davenport. Not many strangers came through, and certainly none who were unobserved. There had been great excitement when the notice of the Orphan Train appeared on the post-office door, on Hodge’s mercantile window, and at the train station. Since everyone in town and many in the surrounding countryside entered at least two of those establishments daily, no one was unaware of the big event.

“I didn’t even know I wanted another young ’un until I saw that notice,” Mrs. Tyler declared. “Just imagine being able to pick whoever you want from the bunch. I’m going to get a girl who can cook and sew. I just hate to cook and sew.”

“You’re not too fond of mopping and washing clothes, either,” her daughter, Nita, observed. “You’d better be sure the girl can do that, too.”

The mother ignored the girl and turned to the woman next to her. “How about you, Jenna? What are you getting?”

“I don’t know yet. We want to look them over and choose a child who looks needy. Of course, they’re all needy,” she added quickly, “but I think I’ll know the one for us when I see them all together. Jared and I want a child we can love and bring up to serve the Lord.”

“Well, I suppose there isn’t that much work to do in a parsonage,” Mrs. Tyler replied. “Your husband only works on Sunday, and the church folks support you. I guess you do have a garden, though, don’t you?”

Jenna smiled and answered quietly, “Yes, we have a garden. I hope our child will enjoy working in the earth, but the chores will be handed out evenly among us, just as they are now. I’m not planning to adopt a servant.”

Mrs. Tyler blushed and turned away. The minister’s wife had obviously heard Nita’s remarks. Her daughter needed some competition, Mrs. Tyler thought irritably. She was far too free to speak her mind.

Clayton Jones stood by himself, staring thoughtfully down the track. There might not have been anyone else on the platform for all the notice he gave them. Since reading the advertisement in the Iowa County Courier several weeks ago, Clayton had thought of little else. He had briefly discussed the matter with his sister, who shared his home.

“You know it will be all right with me, Clayton. I’d prefer you’d get a wife first, but that’s up to you. I’m happy to stay right here and look after you and the boy.”

“Thank you, Cassie. You’ve been patient over the years. Unfortunately they aren’t sending Suitable Wife Trains to Iowa this season. It’s becoming a matter of necessity that I have help in the business, and I want it to stay in the family. I’m unsure how to approach a boy with the possibilities ahead of him. And I realize that any apprentice isn’t going to have years to grow used to the situation.” He pointed to the sign Jones and Son over the local funeral parlor.

It had been four years now since his beloved wife and only son had fallen victim to the smallpox epidemic that swept the area. Clayton had thought to carry on alone, but as he grew older, he realized that not only did he need help in his work but he needed a family of his own.

The thought that his occupation could be objectionable to some boys had entered his head, but his greater concern was about knowing what to do with a boy of fourteen or fifteen. He supposed they would need to carry on a conversation occasionally, but he had no idea what boys wanted to talk about. The few he had observed around town seemed to lean strongly toward things like, “Hey, Spike! Whatcha doin’?” or “Sez your old man!” and things equally unintelligible. City children would probably come equipped with a vocabulary completely foreign to him.

As the train drew closer, Clayton’s apprehension grew. Should he go back home? Should he just forge ahead and apprentice the Wilcox boy, whose father had an eye on eventually owning the entire main street where Clayton’s acre occupied a choice spot? The thought of the elder Wilcox’s continual pushing of such an alliance strengthened Clayton’s resolve, and he stood his ground.

No one walking by the tall, somber man clad in a black suit, white shirt, and black string tie would ever suspect that he was pondering anything but death.