THE MOMENT AIDAN STEPPED OFF THE WHARF AND ONTO SOLID LAND, he clenched his fists in an effort not to burst into tears of relief. His most fervent desire at that moment was to move away from the beach and curl up on the ground until all his trembling subsided. But before he could act on this desire, Charles had wrapped his arm around his shoulders and was steering him up the gravel path behind the steamboat pilot. The cold sweat that had run from Aidan’s forehead into his eyebrows during the tortuous ride now trickled into his eyes, blinding him with its salty sting. His rubbery legs gave out, but Charles tugged him upright before his knees hit the ground. “You made it, Sully. It’s a walk in the park from here on out,” Charles whispered to him. “Land as far as the eye can see.”
Aidan rubbed the sweat out of his eyes and looked around as he walked. It was true what Charles said: The land extended to both the left and right, and straight ahead of them was a steep hill. But soon his eyes were saturated with the view, and that was when his nose took over. Nowhere he’d been had ever smelled like this, even the Public Garden. Every city dweller was all too familiar with the smells of hay and manure, but here those things smelled fresher, in part because there was so much fresh air with which it could mingle. That was it, Aidan decided—it wasn’t so much the smell of honeysuckle or grass as it was just the vast quantities of fresh air: endless, clean air that wasn’t funneled through narrow streets and alleyways and airshafts, picking up the stink of humans living too close together. How had he breathed before?
Now that Aidan was able to walk without assistance, Charles loosened his grip on him and took in their surroundings.
“What the hell is all that noise?” he hissed into Aidan’s ear. He glanced left and right but couldn’t seem to divine the source. “Christ, that’s gonna drive me off my nut. Do you hear that goddamn racket?”
Aidan turned his focus to the sound around him, and he immediately heard it—slow, raspy screeching, getting lounder and softer in waves, coming from the fields around them. Must be some kinda bugs, he thought, and with Charles’s sense of hearing, he could understand how it was making him crazy. But there were other things, too. Songbirds, invisible in the high trees, were singing their hearts out with all sorts of notes that bore no resemblance to the low cooing of pigeons he associated with birds. Off to his right he saw a group of boys laughing as they entered a long, low building, and then he heard the squawking of what could only be several disgruntled hens—even a city dweller like him could identify that sound. Somewhere in the distance he heard the lowing of a single cow. He looked over his shoulder back to Boston, where he could make out a few of the taller buildings, just to verify they had only traveled a mile and hadn’t landed on some island a thousand miles from nowhere.
Up ahead, the pilot was droning on about the difference between the stock barn and the storage barn. He suddenly looked back and noticed that the boys were several yards behind him. “C’mon with the two of ya, we’re makin’ our way to Superintendent Bradley, and he’s expecting ya. Hop to it.”
The boys made strides to close the gap, but when the pilot continued up the path, Charles pulled Aidan back and whispered, “Okay, I’m doin’ the talking in front of this Bradley guy, see? You still ain’t feelin’ aces on account of that boat ride, and so you ain’t got a lot to say. I’ll handle this. Arthur.”
“Yeah, sure,” mumbled Aidan. It was no stretch to say he was still wobbly.
Soon they arrived at the building at the top of the hill. Its broad, symmetrical front of red brick and white columns was formal and imposing. The land was not level until you were right next to the house, so the building’s four stories seemed even taller upon approach.
“This here’s Bulfinch,” said the pilot, gesturing to the structure in front of them. “Named after the fella that designed it, not the bird. Over there’s Gardner Hall. The superintendent will go over all this with ya. Speakin’ of which, better get to it,” he finished, and he tugged open the door.
Once they started up the main staircase, Aidan tried to get a feel for the layout of the building but became immediately turned around. Everywhere there were corridors and doorways, hallways leading to other landings or stairways. The further they tunneled into the building, the darker it became, since most doors were closed and there were few hallway windows. By the time they reached their destination on the third floor, he wasn’t sure he could even find his way back to the front door.
After knocking and instructing the boys to remove their caps, the pilot swung the door open, and they all squinted as the sunlight from the room barreled forth. The man behind the desk rose to greet them, but they could only see a silhouette, the light streaming out from behind a tall figure. He motioned them in, and once inside, Aidan could see his features. He had a kind face, with eyes that sloped down slightly, giving him a somewhat naturally apologetic look. It was hard to imagine this man being angry or loud. Aidan immediately felt even worse about the deception that he and Charles had created, and he dropped his gaze down to his shoes.
“Ah, Mr. Fielding,” Bradley said as he rubbed his hands together and raised his eyebrows, “what have we here?”
“May I present,” said Fielding with an exaggerated little bow, “the Weston brothers.”
“You, I will wager, are Master Charles Weston,” Bradley said as he held out his hand. Charles shook it as he looked Bradley in the eye and said, “Indeed I am, sir.”
“And that would make you Master Arthur Weston, would it not?”
“It would,” Aidan said sheepishly, and he offered a damp hand.
“Please have a seat,” said Bradley as he gestured to the two chairs set up in front of his desk, and he settled into his own seat. He asked Fielding to wait outside in the hall. Jaysus, Aidan thought. Charles had assured him that after the boat ride, everything would seem easy, but Aidan hadn’t really thought about how it would feel to look people in the face and tell lie after lie.
Once seated, Bradley did not launch into his speech but instead gave the boys a moment to settle in. He thought about how what he had read in the folder compared with the flesh and blood version in front of him. They didn’t look much like brothers, but there was often more than one father in these situations. It struck him as odd that Charles seemed dirtier and scabbier than Arthur. Then again, with that cocksure attitude he’d felt in the boy’s handshake, Charles was bound to be more of a scrapper than his brother, who was perhaps just a more fastidious boy, relatively speaking. The more he looked at them, in fact, the more he believed that these two did not come from the same father. But he was relieved to find that he did not detect in either boy the delinquent aura he always feared he would find across his desk—the miasma that had seeped out of Johnny McFarland, and which every teacher at the State Primary School had sensed on that boy’s first day. A little wrinkle in Bradley’s brow smoothed and relaxed.
“Today,” he began, “is the first day of your new life.” He put his elbows on his desk and made a steeple with his hands as he continued. “Your new life will have more schedule and rigor than you are likely used to. You will rise earlier, work harder, pray more frequently, and bathe more often than you ever have before. The ringing of the bell will instruct you that it is time to end one activity and begin the next. You will have no choice in what you do during school and work times. In the summer, you will be in bed for the night before it is even dark, and you will be well glad of it, you will be that tired.” Bradley paused for a minute to let this sink in, looking at Charles and then Aidan, both of whom were attentively listening to every quiet word.
“On the other hand, you will have free time before dinner and before supper, and you will find that you have resources far beyond what you’ve had at home with which to entertain yourselves. You will have a bed of your own with clean blankets and linens, which will be clean because you and the other boys will launder them. You will have three meals a day made almost entirely with foods grown or raised on the island—foods grown and raised and harvested and served by you and the other boys. You will wear a school uniform and shoes, which will always be in good repair because you and the other boys will mend them when needed. You will learn some or all of these jobs and perform them when you are told, and you will become a cog in the wheel that turns to make this island a self-sufficient haven. If you abide by the rules, you will never want for any necessity, never be cold at night, never go to bed hungry, always have medicines and proper care when you are ill. You will learn enough to be employed in the outside world at age fourteen, and I will personally secure your first job for you. I believe every boy on this island thinks this is an excellent arrangement. Some find it difficult to adjust at first, but often those are the ones that ultimately appreciate the benefits the most.”
Bradley paused again to see if he had lost the boys yet, but it did appear that they had been paying attention and were now turning all this information over in their minds. He was tempted to continue past this point—there was so much more to say, for them to know—but he decided that to pursue anything more than his parting instructions would be pushing his luck.
“You will call me and all male instructional staff either ‘Mr.’ with their surname or ‘sir.’ Similarly, you will address the matron, my wife, as ‘Mrs. Bradley’ or ‘ma’am,’ and the same for all female instructional staff. Mr. Fielding, our groundskeeper, is simply ‘Mr. Fielding,’ and despite my preference, the boys have a long tradition predating my arrival of calling Mrs. Culligan ‘Cook,’ which she apparently tolerates.” Bradley stood, and the boys also rose and picked up their sacks of possessions. “If you have an issue that cannot be resolved by other staff members, you may come to see me if I am in my office.”
Mr. Fielding opened the door at that moment, as if on cue.
Bradley checked his pocket watch. “Mr. Fielding will escort you to Mrs. Bradley, who will get you settled in time for dinner at half eleven. Good morning, boys,” he said, glancing back up at them with a smile.
As the boys were walking to the door, Charles stopped short. “Mr. Bradley? Sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Master Weston,” Bradley replied.
“My brother here, Arthur my brother, he ain’t so comfortable with, uh, water. The harbor, I mean. Fielding here said somethin’ about daily swim lessons? Can he, maybe, not do those?”
“If your brother isn’t comfortable around the harbor, the swim lessons that Mr. Fielding mentioned can be adjusted at first to bring him along at a modified pace.” Turning to his left, he continued, “Master Arthur Weston, you are not the first lad to arrive on these shores with a fear of the water, but every boy who graduates from the Farm School has learned the basics of swimming. Indeed, one of the boys who felt as you do came here as a nine-year-old. That boy is almost thirteen now, and he is our instructor of the boys that fear the water. You will find him quite understanding of your situation. And you will also learn over time to speak for yourself, as I am sure you are every bit as capable as your brother. Perhaps more so in the grammar department—we shall see.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. He saw more than the usual amount of misery there, and he wondered if he could ever really fathom the lives all these boys had to live before they arrived on his island.
“Off we go,” said Fielding, ushering the boys out of the office. “We don’t want to keep the matron waitin’, now do we? She has plenty to do, I’ll tell ya that. Busy she is, and now two more to settle. Come along.” Bradley watched as the three of them disappeared down the stairs. Be good, he said to them inside his head. Do what you’re told here. Turn your lives around.
As he descended the staircase, Charles felt far more relaxed than he had prior to the meeting. Bradley would not pose a challenge, he thought to himself confidently. Nice fellers always wanted to believe the best about people, and Charles would be sure that the best of the Weston brothers was what Bradley would see and hear about. Hell, maybe that’s who he and Aidan would become—the nice Weston brothers, never in no trouble, rescuing kittens outta trees and such. This was their fresh start if there ever was one. No reason they couldn’t become model American boys now that they didn’t have to roll drunks anymore.
Fielding brought them to the matron’s sitting room, furnished with a small settee and a rolltop desk, but the matron was not there. “Ah, probably putting little Henry down for a nap down the hall. Plant yourselves on that settee and don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back straight away,” said Fielding, and he left the sitting room, closing the door behind him.
“So, whaddya think so far?” asked Charles as soon as the door clicked shut.
“I can’t believe we was standin’ in Boston an hour ago,” said Aidan. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“I know! Things here is so different, it’s like we just got off two days of travelin’ out West on the Orphan Train. They got buildings just for chickens and cows to wander around in, for Chrissakes.”
“It’s like that primer we had in school a couple years ago—Mary and Jack Down On The Farm. With their dog Jip chasin’ the hens and all. But I didn’t think anyone really lived like that. Well, around here at least.”
“Listen, when the old lady comes in, we gotta make it so that we don’t get separated, see?” Charles said. “I dunno if they’re in the business of splittin’ up brothers, but we gotta make sure they don’t. We can say that it would just be too upsettin’ to be split up, as we just been made into orphans and all.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” said Aidan, twisting his cap in his hands. Looking up at Charles, he said, “You really think they might do that? Split us?”
Just then, the door swung open, and a small but energetic woman swept into the room with a pile of linens in her hands. “Good morning, Weston brothers. As you may have guessed, I am Mrs. Bradley, matron here at the Farm School. I am in charge of everything having to do with living in this building. All activities under my watch must be done neatly”—she stopped briefly to plunk half the pile of linens into Aidan’s arms—“and efficiently,” she finished, landing the other half in Charles’s arms. She looked into both their eyes intensely, making an impression even deeper than her introductory words. Though only half a head taller than the boys, she projected a calm yet militant attitude that was impossible to ignore. Her dark brown hair swept up to a complicated bun, and no stray hairs dared to break loose from the pack. Her plain visage was unadorned by any cosmetics or jewelry, save the ivory silhouette brooch at her high collar. Despite the heat and her brisk movements in a dress that reached the floor, she showed no evidence of perspiring.
She began to slowly pace back and forth in front of the boys as she continued. “Outside of your trade learning, all your indoor moments will be in this building. There are three dormitories, six classrooms, the dining hall, and the chapel, all under this roof. And the entire staff of the school also lives here, so you will never be far from those who are in charge.” Here the matron stopped and fixed her gaze on Charles, who fought the urge to look down.
Not quite the easy mark as her husband, he thought. Christ, if she stares at Sully like that for long, he’s gonna crap his trousers and confess everything. He made a mental note that they should avoid this woman whenever possible.
“In your hands,” the matron resumed, “are your bed linens, towels, night clothes, and school uniforms. You will eventually be measured for new uniforms. Until that time, you will make do with these. Now we proceed to the East Dormitory.” She swept between the two boys, nearly spinning them around, and proceeded out through the doorway. They quickly shouldered their bags and scurried to catch up.
In the dormitory, Mrs. Bradley walked them to a stripped bed at the very end of the room. “As you may or may not know,” she began, “your arrival here puts us one over our normal level of one hundred boys, and thus we do not have two spare beds. However, in five days, a boy will leave the island for his placement, so this arrangement will be quite temporary. I’m sure as brothers you’ve shared a bed for at least part of your life, so this will be nothing new.”
Aidan looked over at Charles in surprise, but Charles clamped his hand on Aidan’s shoulder and faced Mrs. Bradley. “Ma’am,” he assured her, “it will be just like old times.”
Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes again as she considered Charles. “Hmmm,” she murmured. She looked as if she were making a mental note about Charles, and not a good one.
“Ma’am?” ventured Aidan.
The matron’s focus swiveled to Aidan. Charles breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“What are we supposed to do with these here sheets?” Aidan asked.
“Under each bed, there is a wooden box that has been made in the carpentry shop by a student here. They were specially designed to fit under these beds. Each boy that leaves bequeaths the box to the next occupant of the bed. This box will hold all your clothes, linens, and other personal possessions. Any staff member can examine the contents of any bed box at any time. This seems like as good a time as any to review what is not allowed to be in your possession: weapons of any kind, including pocketknives; alcohol or other illicit substances; tobacco products; matches; fireworks; or any printed material you could not read sitting next to your mother, God rest her soul. Cards are permitted, but gambling, whether with real money or tokens representing money, is forbidden. Dice are not permitted.” By the end of her litany, she had crossed her arms in front of her and returned her gaze to Charles. “Store everything but your uniforms and towels, which you are to bring with you to our next destination.”
Aidan slid the box from beneath the metal bed frame, and he and Charles inspected it. It was long and narrow so that it could be removed from either the side or the foot of the bed. It was all right angles, tight and sanded smooth. Aidan ran his hand over the top and down the side before opening it. As Charles leaned down to place his bed linens inside, he noticed words carved into the lid’s underside: Joe M. 1886. G.T.+D.S. Go Beaneaters!
“Come along, Masters Weston, we’ve a lot to do before the dinner bell,” said Mrs. Bradley, and she swept out of the room. Charles and Aidan trailed behind.
They arrived at a room on the ground floor adjacent to the kitchen, and before Mrs. Bradley opened the door, the smell of dinner being prepared hit Charles like a boxing glove, rendering him ravenous.
“Is that chicken?” asked Aidan, inhaling deeply, an almost religious expression washing over his face.
“With boiled vegetables and potatoes,” Mrs. Bradley said. “But you are in here first,” she added as she opened the door.
Along the walls were a dozen galvanized metal tubs. In the center of the room was a table holding a tin bucket full of soap pieces. Near two of the tubs were two boys, from the looks of them a bit older than Aidan and Charles, who were holding the valves open for two of the tubs.
“Boys, this is Horace Warwick and Thomas Bowditch, in Second Class. Our new students—Charles and Arthur Weston, respectively,” the matron said, gesturing to them with an upturned palm. “Masters Warwick and Bowditch are in their houseboy rotation, and although I am familiar with every houseboy job, I did not know that it took two houseboys to run two baths.”
Bowditch and Warwick looked at their shoes. “Yes, ma’am,” one of them mumbled.
She fixed them with a piercing stare for a moment and then relented. “Each boy on his first day has a thorough bath, including the vigorous use of soap. For boys younger than ten, I assist them with this—and you can be sure that if I am not satisfied with your results, I will rerun your bath and assist you as well.”
Charles shuddered at the thought of this woman scrubbing behind his ears as he sat naked in eight inches of water.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, at which time I expect you to be dressed,” said Mrs. Bradley. She turned to the houseboys, who had stopped running the water. “You two, I believe your schedule calls for setting tables next door, if I’m not mistaken,” she intoned in a voice that clearly implied that she was not mistaken.
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in approximate unison, and they made to follow the matron out the door. But when a teacher approached her in the hallway and the two women engaged in conversation, the house-boys ducked back into the bathing room and went over to the tubs.
“Enjoy yer baths, ya dirty bastards!” one said quietly. They grinned as they each took what looked like thin pieces of rope out of their pockets and threw them into the tubs. The one who hadn’t spoken knocked Charles’s cap off his head and laughed before they both sauntered out and closed the door.
Charles and Aidan peered into the tub closest to them and saw a small snake frantically swimming around the flat metal bottom.
“Jaysus, is that a snake?” Aidan said.
“Goddamned bastards,” Charles muttered. He thought for a moment. “Hey, open that window.”
As Aidan opened the window, Charles rolled up his sleeve and went to grab one of the snakes.
“What if it’s poisonous?” asked Aidan, clenching his fists to his chest like a girl.
“They wouldn’t put poisonous snakes in their pockets,” Charles said as he made another swipe, sloshing water around in the metal tub.
“What if they thought they was the nonpoisonous kind but they was wrong?”
“Then they’d be dead,” Charles said as he victoriously held up a snake. It writhed in his pincer grip, and Aidan gave him a wide berth as he walked over to the window and tossed it out.
“Wanna give it a try?” Charles asked with a wry grin, gesturing toward the other tub.
“Uh . . .” started Aidan. “I mean, you already did one—now you know how to do it an’ all. You ain’t gonna let a rank amateur take over now, are ya?” He flashed a hopeful smile.
“For you, little brother, I’ll wrestle this here python to the ground. But you owe me.” In three more swipes, Charles secured the second snake and then flung it out the window.
“We better get to it,” Aidan said, “or Matron’s gonna be here before we’re done.” He tossed Charles a lump of soap from the tin pail.
“Yeah, that look of hers could hard-boil an egg—I don’t want no trouble from that quarter.”
They undressed back-to-back, averting their eyes until they had lowered themselves into the shallow water of their respective tubs. They didn’t say anything for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.
After a few minutes, Aidan cupped some water and lobbed it in Charles’s direction. “Better get scrubbin’, brother—you got more work to do on that front than me. And you don’t want Matron helpin’ you out, do ya?”
“I already made a solemn vow that she ain’t never gonna see my pecker, and I suggest you do the same,” Charles said as they both began to lather up the soap.
After they were done washing, the water was a grayish-brown, but they were loath to leave it for their rough towels.
“Charles?”
“Mmmm?”
“You think we should tell Matron about the snakes? Or tell Bradley?”
“No dice, Sully. This you gotta know.” Charles sat up straight in his tub and faced Aidan. “We do that, we ain’t never gonna be able to stand our ground. This is between us and them. We just gotta learn the ropes here, learn who we can trust. But that don’t include no adults.”
Aidan considered this and understood the truth of it. “But what if we can’t trust no one? What if they’re all bastards like Bowditch and Warwick?”
“Could be. But we already know there is someone here we can trust.”
“Who?” Aidan looked puzzled. “Who can we trust?”
Charles smiled his lopsided smile at Aidan. “Each other.”