Evelyn Evolving E-Book

Maryann Miller

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A Quest For Love

At just 4 years old, Evelyn Gundrum's happy world is turned upside down.

Abandoned by her mother, she is shipped to an orphanage run by the terrifying Sister Honora.

Evelyn grows up amidst hardship and heartbreak, plagued by unresolved emotions that follow her into adulthood as she seeks answers in a sea of questions.

Will her uncertain path to self-discovery lead to happiness?

Leseprobe

EVELYN EVOLVING

A NOVEL OF REAL LIFE

MARYANN MILLER

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

1. EVELYN – June 1923

2. REGINA – June 1923

3. EVELYN – September 1925

4. REGINA – October 1925

5. EVELYN – December 1930

6. EVELYN – December 1931

7. EVELYN – January 1932

8. Regina – 1938

9. Evelyn – 1938

10. EVELYN – April 1938

11. REGINA – April 1938

12. EVELYN – April 1940

13. EVELYN – July 1940

14. EVELYN – September 1940

15. EVELYN – October 1940

16. EVELYN – January 1941

17. EVELYN – March 1941

18. EVELYN – May 1941

19. EVELYN – June–December 1941

20. EVELYN – December 1942

21. REGINA – February 1943

22. EVELYN – July 1943

23. EVELYN – September 1943

24. EVELYN – September 1943

25. EVELYN – March 1945

26. EVELYN – April 1946

27. EVELYN – October 1946

Epilogue

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2019 Maryann Miller

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Nadene Seiters

Cover art by Cover Mint

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

To my sister, Juanita. Thank you for all the years of love and dedication you gave to our mother. And thank you for being the best sister ever.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This novel would not have been completed without the help of Kathryn Craft, a wonderful developmental editor and friend. When I was hopelessly lost in the middle of the first draft of this story, Kathryn took the manuscript, and me, in hand and helped me figure out how to write a novel so different from the mysteries that I had previously written. After I finished the first draft, Kathryn again offered the best guidance for the rewrites.

I must also acknowledge my muse, or the spirit of my mother, that started speaking to me one day in the shower and compelled me to go to my computer to start this project.

1

EVELYN – JUNE 1923

Evelyn Gundrum sat in the shade of the leaves adorning the branches of the sweeping elm, digging in the sandy dirt with a tarnished silver spoon Miz Beatrice had given her to play with. She also had a blue plastic bowl. It was cracked but still held dirt if she balanced it carefully. When she was allowed to go outside, Evelyn liked to play in the sand near the front porch, methodically filling the bowl, dumping it out, then filling it again. Her sister, two years older, thought that was silly. Viola preferred to stay on the porch with her dolls, closer to Miz Beatrice, who sat on the porch swing slowly pushing it back and forth with one toe on the faded wood planking.

Only four years old, Evelyn didn't remember why they were living with Miz Beatrice or why they didn't call her Mother. Evelyn couldn’t remember for sure how long they had been here, either. She had vague recollections of living somewhere else before, but she got confused easily, and Viola had to explain why they were supposed to call this lady Miz Beatrice. Wasn't she their mother? "No," Viola had said. "Our mother brought us here months ago. Beatrice is a friend."

"Why did Mother give us to Miz Beatrice?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

Viola sighed. "Okay. But this is the last time. Promise you won't ask again."

"What if I forget?"

"Then you forget. I'm tired of telling you. After Daddy left, Mother went to Detroit with a man named John."

"Why did Daddy leave?"

"I don't know. Now hush so I can tell you the rest. Mother said she was going to come and take us to Detroit too, but something happened, and she couldn't. So she took us here and wants us to live with Miz Beatrice."

Evelyn wasn’t even sure where “here” was, but she did remember that Viola told her before that Detroit was far, far away. Now and then, her mind worried over the reason that their mother had not taken them to that place called Detroit. Mothers didn’t leave babies. That’s what Miz Beatrice had said when showing them the kittens under the porch last summer. That day, Miz Beatrice had been putting some food under there for the mama cat.

They weren’t supposed to feed that cat, even though Evelyn would sneak her a piece of bacon when Miz Beatrice wasn’t looking. The cat was supposed to feed herself, and her kittens, by catching the mice that often got into the bags of flour in the pantry.

“Why are you feeding the cat? You said not to,” Evelyn had asked.

Miz Beatrice patted Evelyn on the shoulder. “This is just for a little while. The mama cat needs food to keep her close to her babies until they’re older.”

“Why?”

“To keep close to take care of the kittens.”

“But she didn’t,” Viola said. “Yesterday, she pushed that little one away. It died.”

“It was the runt.” Miz Beatrice sighed and rose slowly to her feet. “It probably wasn’t going to live anyway.”

The kittens were gone now. And so was the mother cat. She’d disappeared sometime in the winter. Evelyn checked every day, hoping the cat was back, but she wasn’t. Looking at the empty space, she thought about what Miz Beatrice had said about mothers and babies. Evelyn didn’t understand about the runt and why the mama cat pushed it away. Had it been a bad kitten? Is that what being a runt meant? Was it the same for real mothers? Their mother?

When the questions threatened to clog Evelyn’s brain, she took them to Viola, even though her sister hated the deluge of questions that Evelyn sometimes couldn’t hold back. Viola had just laughed. “Don’t be silly. We aren’t kittens. And there’s nothing wrong with us.”

Evelyn tried to believe that. She tried really hard. And sometimes, she could forget about those fears and just be happy.

Sometimes.

Today was going to be a special day. That’s what Miz Beatrice had said at breakfast this morning. A surprise guest was coming, and now Evelyn’s tummy was full of eggs and toast, and she was wearing her favorite sundress, yellow sprinkled with white daisies. When they came outside, Miz Beatrice told her to be careful not to get the dress dirty, so Evelyn pushed the skirt between her knees as she squatted to dig in the dirt. The sun streamed through the branches of the tree, making light and dark dance on the sand with every wisp of a breeze. Birds sat on high branches, adding their song to the dance, and every now and then, a bit of conversation between Miz Beatrice and Viola floated her way.

“Please tell me who’s coming?”

“No, child. You must be surprised like your sister.”

The questions Viola asked stirred more excitement, and Evelyn’s stomach fluttered with anticipation. Then the voices faded, and Evelyn heard only the song of the birds as she played.

Moments later, a cloud passed over the sun, and Evelyn shivered in the sudden chill. Miz Beatrice had been right about it being too early in the summer for a sundress. Maybe she should go change.

Evelyn stood and started toward the house, noticing that Miz Beatrice was slumped on the porch swing asleep. Lately, she'd taken to sleeping frequently during the day, which Evelyn thought was very odd. Only babies took naps. Right?

Miz Beatrice didn't eat much at dinner or supper anymore either, and Viola had said the other day that maybe they were running out of food. For some reason, Viola always worried that one day there would be no more to eat. But Evelyn had a feeling something wasn't right inside Miz Beatrice. Once, she had walked past the open bathroom door and saw Miz Beatrice hunched over the sink. She was coughing hard, holding a rumpled handkerchief over her mouth, and Evelyn had seen bold splatters of red on the white fabric before Miz Beatrice noticed her and pushed the door closed with her hip. While Evelyn knew that the splatters were probably from blood—she'd cut herself often enough to recognize the spots—she didn't know what the blood might mean. Yet, she did know that it was probably not right that it was on the handkerchief. The fact that it was had shot a bolt of fear so deep that Evelyn couldn’t say a word about it, not even to her sister.

But if Miz Beatrice was sick, Viola should know so she could help figure out what to do if the lady died and left them all alone.

Evelyn glanced at her sister, who was next to Miz Beatrice on the swing. Maybe she could tell her now. It looked like Miz Beatrice was good and asleep. She started to walk toward the porch steps but turned when she heard the sound of a motor. A big, gray car rumbled to a stop in front of the house, and a tall woman wearing a navy-blue dress with white ruffles at the top, white gloves, and a hat with a wide, curved brim got out. When the woman walked toward the house, the dress flared around her legs, lifted at the hem by a slight breeze. It was not any of the ladies who visited Miz Beatrice before, and curiosity distracted Evelyn from her worries.

Suddenly, Viola jumped up, raced down the four steps to the front walk, and launched herself at the woman. "Mother!"

The lady disengaged herself from Viola's wild embrace and just stood for a moment, looking first at Viola then up the walk toward Evelyn.

Mother?

Another chill washed over Evelyn. This lady was their mother? She didn't know if she should run to hug her too, but then Miz Beatrice roused and called out. "Regina. It’s good that you could come so quickly."

Miz Beatrice slowly rose from the swing and walked to meet the lady at the steps to the porch. The two women hugged, and Viola ran over and tugged at Evelyn. "Come on. Say hello to Mother."

Evelyn planted her feet in the sand, and Viola tugged again. “Come on!”

Cautiously, Evelyn took a few steps closer. "Hello." The word was barely a whisper.

The woman who was Mother leaned down and touched Evelyn lightly on the cheek. "You're a pretty little thing."

"Both of your girls are quite lovely," Miz Beatrice said. "Please come inside. We need to talk about what we're going to do."

The two women entered the house, leaving the girls in the yard.

Once more, Viola tugged at Evelyn. "Let's go listen."

More willing to eavesdrop than talk to a stranger, Evelyn crept quietly into the house, following Viola to the doorway to the kitchen, careful to stay out of sight. After a few moments, Evelyn dared to peek around the doorjamb and saw Miz Beatrice pouring glasses of lemonade. Miz Beatrice made the best lemonade, and Evelyn wished she could have a glass. She started to step into the kitchen to ask for one, but Viola held her back.

"I'm thirsty," Evelyn said.

"Shhhh." Viola held her fingers to her lips.

"Girls? What are you doing out there?" Not much escaped Miz Beatrice's sharp hearing or watchful eyes.

"Now look what you've done," Viola said in a quiet whisper. Then she called out. "Nothing, Miz Beatrice."

"Then go do nothing somewhere else."

Evelyn followed Viola back out to the porch and scrambled up on the swing. "Push me."

If Viola sat on the edge of the swing and stretched her leg as far as she could, she could toe the swing into action like Miz Beatrice. So that's what she did. "Maybe mother came to take us home," Viola said after a moment, raising her foot and letting the swing slowly sway back and forth.

“I don’t understand.”

Viola put her foot down and gave the swing another push. "You were too little to remember."

"Remember what?"

"Anything. You keep forgetting everything. I have to keep telling you things over and over again."

Evelyn thought about Miz Beatrice maybe being sick. Was that what brought their mother here? Was everything going to change? "Are we going to have to move?"

"I don't know." Viola jumped off the swing. "Stop asking so many questions."

Evelyn fought back tears. She always made her sister mad. She didn't mean to, but she always did. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but Viola was already off the porch and running around the side of the house to the backyard.

Evelyn kept waiting for something to make sense, but nothing that was happening did. That night at supper, silence was served up with the ham and potatoes. Miz Beatrice always said that suppertime should be pleasant, and she often had stories to tell as they ate a meal. Sometimes she even told jokes, but tonight, she was more reserved. Because of the company?

Appetites were not as usual either. Evelyn’s stomach was so tight with nerves she had to force each morsel of food down her throat. The visitor took the smallest portions of mashed potatoes and green beans and hardly took more than a nibble of each. She just pushed her beans into her potatoes and stirred them around. Evelyn couldn't quite believe this woman was really their mother, no matter what Viola said. So maybe Evelyn should just call her Regina like Miz Beatrice did.

No, she should say Miz Regina. That was the polite way to address an adult.

Knowing she didn’t dare leave food on her plate, Evelyn forced down her few remaining bites of potatoes, and then looked over to Miz Beatrice. "Finished. Excuse please?"

"Not yet. Your mother has something to say."

"No, no. You tell them," Miz Regina said. "They're more comfortable with you."

Miz Beatrice sighed and held her breath so long Evelyn wondered if she was ever going to speak. Then she stuttered over her words. “Well, uh … I—”

"Oh, for heaven's sake. There is no need for such dramatics." Miz Regina looked intently at each girl for a moment. "This is what you need to know. You can no longer stay here. Beatrice has The Cancer, so she can’t keep you anymore. I can't take you back with me, so I've made arrangements for you to go to another home here."

The words spun around in Evelyn's head, and all she caught was “Cancer” and “I can't take you back.”

If Miz Regina was their mother, why couldn't she?

Viola voiced the other question, "What kind of home?"

The next day, Viola helped Evelyn pack her few panties and two other dresses in the small suitcase they shared. At breakfast that morning, Miz Regina had made it clear what they could bring with them, some clothes and one small toy, but that was all. She told them that the institution where they were going had firm rules. Evelyn didn't understand about an institution. She had never heard that word before, but the cold sweat of apprehension had kept her from asking what it meant.

Now, Evelyn was overcome with uncertainty. She stood for several minutes, looking at the small shelf that held her toys: a rag doll that Miz Beatrice had made, an empty wooden spool, three wooden blocks with numbers and letters, and a small metal horse. What should she take? It was so hard to decide. She loved them all and each was so special.

"Hurry up," Viola said. "We have to leave soon. Here, take the doll."

"No." Evelyn whirled away from the shelf and ran outside where she grabbed the silver spoon from the sand pile. When she came back in, Viola said, "That's what you're taking?"

Evelyn nodded.

"Why?"

Evelyn shrugged and started to put the spoon in the suitcase. Viola reached over and snatched it away. "Don't. It's dirty. Go wash it."

A few minutes later, Miz Regina came and told the girls to hurry. She hustled them out of the door and into the back seat of the car, barely giving them time to hug Miz Beatrice. Evelyn tried not to cry when she said goodbye, but a few warm tears escaped and trickled down her cheeks. She clambered into the car next to Viola and waited until Miz Regina said her goodbyes and got behind the wheel. Evelyn had never been in a car before, at least not that she could remember, and when the engine started, the noise it made drowned out the music of the birds, and Evelyn could barely hear Miz Beatrice calling out one last farewell.

A short time later, the girls sat in an office at St. Aemilian's Orphan Asylum while their mother talked to a lady dressed all in black. The woman in black wore a funny white thing on her head that hid her hair and was so tight on her face there were ridges where it met her cheeks. A black veil was draped over the white thing. Evelyn knew it was not polite to stare. Miz Beatrice had told her that once at the market when they had seen a woman with a large wart on her chin, so Evelyn glanced down at the suitcase that stood on the floor between the chairs.

Words that were exchanged between the two women drifted in and out of Evelyn’s awareness, and she rested one hand on the suitcase, trying to stay connected to the things that belonged to the time with Miz Beatrice; to the time when they were all happy. Listening to her mother and the other woman talk, Evelyn had a sense that this might be the end of happy.

Apparently, this is where she going to stay, Viola, too. Miz Regina told the lady that she had no room for her girls in Detroit. She also had no money. That seemed odd, as she certainly wore a nice dress and she drove a car. Miz Beatrice had old, faded dresses and no car. She walked to the market. But she had been able to keep Evelyn and Viola.

Evelyn glanced at her sister, who had formed her face into an expressionless mask. Questions bubbled up inside Evelyn that she wanted to ask her sister. Primarily, why did their mother keep calling them “her girls” instead of using their names? But the hard set of her sister’s jaw made her force the questions down.

Maybe later she could free the questions. When Viola might be smiling again.

Miz Regina twisted the handkerchief she was holding as she listened to the woman in black. When papers were pushed across the desk for Miz Regina to sign, she put the handkerchief in her lap before picking up the offered pen. Evelyn looked at the handkerchief lying there in a crumpled mass, then reached over and pulled it quickly to her. Then she stuffed it into the pocket of her dress. She wasn’t sure why. She just did it.

Once the papers were in order, Miz Regina stood and grabbed up her purse, not saying a word. She turned and quickly hugged each of the girls, barely a touch, and then walked out of the room.

When they had first driven up to this place, Evelyn thought the tall, gray building, shaded by large trees, was pretty. Some of the trees were covered in white blossoms, and they looked just like the tree in Miz Beatrice’s backyard. Late in the summer, it gave them pears. Children played on an expanse of lawn, and Evelyn had wondered if this was some kind of school. Wouldn't it be nice to stay at a school and learn things?

Now she didn’t think it was going to be so nice.

Tears burned in her eyes.

Evelyn leaned close to Viola and whispered, “Where are we?”

“It’s an orphanage,” Viola hissed back.

“A what?”

“A place for orphans.”

“What are orphans?”

Viola sighed and whispered, “Children who have no parents.”

“But—”

The lady in black cut off the question, taking each girl by the arm and leading them out of the office and down a long hall that opened into a large room. “This is the girls’ ward,” the woman said. “This is where you will sleep.”

The room was lined with bunk beds along all four walls, and the woman stopped at one set. “There is a wooden bin under the bed,” she said, pointing. “Put your things there. Stay here until the bell rings for lunch. You may call me Sister Honora. Do you understand?”

Evelyn glanced at Viola, who nodded, so Evelyn did too.

“Is she our sister?” Evelyn asked after the woman left.

“No.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know.”

Evelyn looked around, trying to count all the empty beds. She kept losing track of the numbers, but there were a lot. Definitely more than twenty. A chill made her shudder, and she pulled her sweater tight. “I’m scared.”

Viola squatted down and hauled the bin from under the bed. She took things out of the suitcase and put them inside the bin, dividing the space with her rolled up sweater. “This is your half,” she said pointing to the side that was empty.

“Is our mother going to come back and get us?”

Viola didn’t answer. Her lips became a tight, straight line.

“Will we see Miz Beatrice again?”

Viola stood so quickly Evelyn had to take a step back.

“Stop! Stop! Stop your stupid questions!”

Sobs burst out of Evelyn. She tried to stop them, but they defied her. Viola opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then closed it. After a long moment, her expression softened, and she drew Evelyn to her chest, whispering, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

That scared Evelyn even more. Viola always knew everything. If she stopped knowing, who could Evelyn rely on?

2

REGINA – JUNE 1923

Regina didn't look back as she walked away from the large gray building, her back stiff and her head held high. She cursed the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She had kept them and her emotions at bay so she could get through what she had to do. It wasn't her fault that she wasn't able to take care of the girls. If only she hadn't been stuck in that tiny apartment in Detroit. If only it had worked out with John, who had whisked her away from Milwaukee with promises of a grand life on Grand Boulevard in Detroit. And it had been grand until the accident, and she became a widow before she was a bride again. John's mother had kicked her out of the house, allowing her to only take her clothes and nothing else. So here she was two years later and worse off than when she was married to Fred.

It seemed like Regina never had any luck. Or maybe she just brought the bad luck on herself.

First, there had been Fred. He was so dashing, tall with dark hair that tumbled across his forehead, so beguiling with that wicked smile. And he did like to party. They both liked to party, even after they were married, and when her monthly was late, she prayed so hard not to be pregnant, but God had stayed silent.

In the blush of new love and Fred's initial eagerness to have a family, she had gone along with the first pregnancy.

Actually, she'd gone along more because she was afraid to sneak away and have an abortion. Her friend Millie had almost bled to death in a dark, dank apartment where a woman “took care of things.”

The second pregnancy had been an “oops” when the rubber broke and one little sperm survived the cleansing Regina had done after the fun. Still more afraid of a back-alley abortionist than having another child, Regina resigned herself to being a mother of two. Fred was no longer so eager to be a father, so when her time came, he took Regina to the hospital and left her alone in the labor ward. It had been one of the worst days of Regina's life.

She didn't want another baby. She’d never wanted to be a mother at all.

It wasn’t something she’d ever allowed herself to say, even to herself, but it was the truth. She wasn’t like other women who couldn’t wait to have children. Those women who fussed and cooed over the babies in the hospital. The hard work of raising children in difficult circumstances dimmed the glow of maternal love.

At the time, she told people she was doing the best she could under the circumstances. Folks who knew Fred understood that and would nod in empathy, but in her heart, Regina knew she was not doing the best she could. The best would mean no more smoking or drinking. That could pay for one more dinner a week. And she would be sober enough to cook one more dinner.

The marriage had started to unravel shortly after Viola had been born. That's when the reality of having a baby had sunk in. During the first few days in the hospital, Regina had thought the tiny thing was just the loveliest thing she had ever seen and named her for the flower that was her favorite. The child deserved a pretty name. But three weeks later, that lovely baby face started contorting in the most awful red-faced screams. Day in and day out the baby wailed, until Fred started spending more and more time out of the house, and Regina wondered how much longer she could listen to the noise without doing something awful. That’s when her mother pointed out that the baby was probably just hungry. It didn't appear that Regina had enough milk. "But if you drink a beer just fifteen minutes before you want to feed the baby, your milk will flow like a river."

Turned out, Mother was right. The milk flowed and the crying stopped. Well, not entirely, but enough that Regina no longer had the urge to stuff a sock, instead of her breast, into her baby's mouth.

When the second girl was born and Fred showed little interest, Regina gave the child the first name that came to her—Evelyn Louise, using her middle name. Maybe that would spur some emotional bond. Since Fred wasn't there to object, Regina could choose whatever goddam name she wanted.

Fred wasn’t much for visiting hospitals.

To his credit, Fred did come to take her home from the hospital after her two weeks of laying up, but once they were home, he wasn't much help with the children. Babies both of them really. Viola was just barely two, and if the baby wasn't screaming, she was. "She's probably jealous," Regina's mother had said. "First children can be horrid about others. I was thankful to only have one."

Five months later, Fred said he was going out for some smokes and didn't come back. If she hadn't been angry enough to kill him if he showed his face again, Regina would have laughed at the whole cliché. How many men had used that same line, and how many women had believed the husbands would return? Waiting for hours, then days, then weeks, only to end up being stuck at home with kids. No job. No money. And no hope?

A week after Fred left, a man came to the door asking about him. Regina didn't like the looks of this well-dressed man—neatly-pressed suit, colorful tie, and hat like any other salesman who tried to separate her from a dollar or two. But his eyes were different. They didn't have that friendly sparkle framed by laugh lines. They were hard and empty, and the man didn’t lead with some pleasant banter. Instead asking, "Do you know where your husband is?"

Regina hated saying the words out loud, but his eyes compelled her. "No. Haven't heard from him since he left days ago."

"He say where he was going?"

"Out. Just out." Regina couldn't bring herself to repeat the tired reason that Fred had used. This man would see right through that.

"Do you expect him back?"

Indignation stiffened her spine and gave weight to her voice. "If he intended to come back, he'd be here by now."

The man took a half step closer. "Do not use that tone with me, little lady. You understand?"

He spoke softly, almost conversationally, but the menace was like ice in his deep blue eyes. Regina nodded, swallowing her pride and her fear.

"Good." The man eased back, but the hard look in his eyes didn't change. "Fred owes my boss money. A lot of money."

Momentarily, Regina flashed on the large satchel Fred had slung over his shoulder when he'd walked out that Friday night. Was that…? She masked any outward reaction as best she could.

"It's my job to get that money back."

"Don't know anything about your money," Regina said, hating the way her voice broke over the words. "He left me with nothing. Just the kids and a pile of bills."

The man didn't respond and didn't move. As they stood there, silent, a trickle of sweat ran hot down Regina’s back. What if he didn't believe her? What if he forced his way in? Searched the place? She was trying to figure out if she could close and lock the door before he made a move when he took a half step back. Regina fought to keep relief from showing as she maintained eye contact.

"When that husband of yours comes back, tell him Bernie wants his money." He paused, as if wanting to give time for that to sink in, then added. "Understand? Bernie don't like hurting women and kids. But he does what he’s got to do."

The man stood for another few seconds on the front stoop, then turned and left. Regina quickly closed and locked the door. Then she leaned her forehead against the wood. Oh, Fred, what have you gotten yourself into?

The answer to that question would have to wait. Evelyn was screaming to be fed again, and Regina felt the warm rush of milk filling her breasts. The beer trick still worked.

Fred stayed gone for six months, and then one day, he came back. When he walked through the front door, as casually as if he’d only been gone a few hours, he didn't say where he’d been. He had a noticeable limp, but he wouldn't explain that either. He did very little explaining, just resumed his routine of talking to people on the telephone and answering the door when the bell rang. Since he was home day and night most of the time, he didn't seem to care if Regina went out by herself, as long as she fixed meals and tended to the kids first. The marriage was all but over, but he never asked for a divorce. Neither did she, because he was now supporting them again. There was something to be said for security.

Regina didn't ask where Fred got the money he gave her to buy groceries and pay the bills. She was just thankful that he was able to do that. He wasn't much of a father, keeping a rather aloof distance between him and his offspring, but he did serve them the dinners Regina left. When she was home, it did hurt just a bit to see him brush any attempts at affection aside, but she rationalized that it would make the girls strong. They'd learn how to handle disappointment and frustration. Just in case their lives weren't going to be any better than hers had been.

Two months later, Fred left again.

That time, he never came back.

Regina didn’t like to think about what it had been like in those months after Fred and before John. She wasn’t proud of some of the things she’d done, and she’d certainly been a terrible mother to the girls. Leaving them for hours when she went out to hustle for some money. But she was still convinced that the hardships strengthened the girls for what might come in the future.

And now, a few years later, it appeared that she was right. Life was not going to be wonderful for the girls. Regina had no delusions about how they would be treated at the orphanage. It wasn't like a home, a real home, and they would be lucky to just have food and clothes.

Was it better than what she could offer?

Her steps faltered as she considered turning around and grabbing them out of there. But then what would she do? Take them to that dumpy little apartment in Detroit? Feed them hot dogs every night from the Coney Island where she worked? Have them sleep on a pallet in the corner of the living room? The girls might come to hate her for what she did today, and that was a painful realization. Still, she kept on walking away. It was the best thing for them all. Regina might not be the best mother in the world, but a part of her did care about her daughters and fervently hoped for a happier future for them. She didn't pray for one, however. She was long past the days of prayers, figuring God had given up on her years ago.

3

EVELYN – SEPTEMBER 1925

Sister Honora made Evelyn tremble. She always made Evelyn tremble. Sometimes, when looking into the stern face pinched tight by the wimple, Evelyn was afraid her bladder would let go and she would be punished twice. Once for not scrubbing the floor fast enough and again for soiling herself. That's what the sisters said about pee and poop. "Soiling oneself." As if she had rolled in the dirt outside. If she was not locked in such terror of the nun before her, Evelyn would find that thought amusing.

Two years had passed here at St. Aemilian's Orphan Asylum, and Evelyn still didn't understand why they had to stay. Couldn’t Miz Regina or Miz Beatrice not come and take them away from this horrible place? Everything was all so confusing, and Evelyn kept hoping that someday, someone would love them enough to come back and get them. Sometimes in her dreams, she lived with both women. Miz Beatrice not sick anymore and Miz Regina happy to have her girls back. Viola said it was silly to wish. Pointless to dream. Nothing was going to change.

“Child. Are you listening?”

The harsh words tugged at Evelyn. She nodded, unable to push words past the lump in her throat.

"Why have you not finished this floor?" The nun gestured down the hall with her walking stick. "You are as slow as molasses in winter. What good are you?"

"I don't know, Sister." A soft whisper.

That was met with a sharp crack along Evelyn's backside. "Don't talk out of turn."

"But, I—"

Another smack. "I said no talking."

"But, you—"

This time, when the walking stick landed, Evelyn's bladder did let go.

"Now look what you have done. You dirty, nasty little child. Take those panties off. Right now."

Evelyn did as she was told, holding the wet garment gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Sister Honora took the panties on the end of her walking stick, then draped them over the child's head. "You will wear these to supper."

"No! Please, Sister. No!"

"Enough. Go!"

Standing in the middle of the dining hall, the rotten stench of old urine swirling around her while the other children pointed and laughed, was the most humiliating experience of Evelyn's young life. She swallowed hard and held back the bile that rose in her throat. She couldn't vomit. She wouldn't vomit. If she didn't want more humiliation, she didn't dare vomit.

She looked past the rows of tables and the laughing children, focusing on the picture of the Virgin Mary at the back of the large room. Mary, Mother of God, was supposed to be their mother too. Their friend, but she didn’t feel like a friend or a mother to Evelyn. She was just this lady in blue in a picture.

As the serving carts were brought out and the children lined up with their metal bowls to get their supper, the aroma of meat and gravy momentarily blocked the acrid smell of dried urine. Evelyn's mouth watered. She glanced at the carts. Dinner that evening was roast with potatoes and carrots and onions. A favorite of Evelyn's that she would not be allowed to eat. Children who broke the rules had no dinner, but not everyone was forced to stand in such embarrassment. This was reserved for the worst transgressions.

Viola walked past with her bowl to take a seat at a nearby table. She stared straight ahead, not even glancing at Evelyn. Maria, a girl of eight who had been friendly to Evelyn, gave her a quick look, then averted her eyes, taking a seat next to Viola.

That disregard, as if Evelyn was a stranger they had never seen before, cut deeper than the sneers from the others. Why couldn’t Viola even look at her?

For the rest of the dinner hour, Evelyn’s legs trembled from standing in one position for so long, and hunger rumbled in her stomach. And still nobody looked at her, except for Sister Honora, who seemed fixed on watching, as if wanting to catch Evelyn in some other transgression. She didn't know if Sister Honora would make her wear the dirty panties during evening prayer. She fervently hoped not. But she tried to steel herself for the possibility. She didn't want to cry. Not for hunger or for humiliation. She wanted to be strong like her sister. Viola never cried when the sisters hit her or insulted her or made her do horrible things. Viola would just set her jaw and look them in the eye and hold the tears back.

Somehow, Evelyn needed to find the strength to do that too. Otherwise, the other kids would learn how weak she really was and take advantage.

Evelyn stood for another painful hour as evening prayer followed dinner, and her only plea to a God she wasn’t even sure was listening was that the session would end before her legs gave out and she fell. Once, when Maria toppled over in a heap during a punishment, she had received ten hard smacks with Sister’s cane on the back of her legs. The same fate would have Evelyn hobbling for days.

Finally, when Evelyn thought she could stand there no longer, it was over. Sister Honora closed the book of evening prayers and walked down the aisle to Evelyn. “Take that filthy rag off your head and get washed.”

“Yes, sister.” Evelyn turned quickly and headed to the washroom. She took off her clothes and stepped into the large washtub that was used for bathing. The water was cold, but she didn’t care. She took the bar of lye soap and scrubbed her hair, and then went under the water, holding her breath for a long time. She wished she could stay under forever. Never have to face Sister again. Or be hungry. Or be teased by the other children.

Sputtering, Evelyn burst out of the water, gasping for breath. Two older girls were in the washroom. “Hurry up,” one of them shouted. “Get your stinky self out of here.”

Evelyn quickly got out of the tub and dried herself with a rough towel. Then she pulled on the clean clothes she had grabbed from the sleep room and dressed. She took the wet underwear to one of the sinks and washed them, soaping and rinsing and soaping and rinsing again to get the odor out.

After lights were out for a little while and all was quiet in the sleeping area, Evelyn heard a rustle of sheets and then felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up at her sister. “Here,” Viola said, holding out a hunk of bread wrapped in a napkin.

Evelyn grabbed the bread and took a large bite, sending a cascade of crumbs down the front of her nightgown.

“It’s making a mess.”

“Oh, brother,” Viola said, lowering herself to Evelyn’s bunk. A dim shaft of moonlight from the window fell across the front of Evelyn’s nightgown, and Viola saw the crumbs. She brushed them into her hand and then licked them off. “Be careful. If Sister finds crumbs, we'll both get punished.”

“Sorry.”

Viola sat on the edge of the bed. “Finish now. Then I'll clean up the rest.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Because that’s what sisters do.”

“But you weren’t nice in the dining hall.”

Viola looked off into the darkness. “I couldn’t.”

Evelyn didn’t understand why, but that was just one more thing she didn’t understand about this place or how differently her sister acted when they were alone. This sister. The one who would sneak her food at night, was the sister who always made Evelyn feel better for a little while. She poked Viola to get her attention.

“Are we ever going to get out of here?”

“I don’t know.”

“When I’m a mother, I’m not going to do this.”

Viola frowned. “What?”

“Give my babies away.”

“That’s years and years away. You don’t know what you’ll do.”

“Yes, I do.” Determination pushed her upright. “I’ll have a pretty house. Like Miz Beatrice. And three children. And a father. And a mother. And kittens who don’t run away.”

"Oh, brother."

Evelyn giggled. "You always say that."

Viola sighed. "You always say the silliest things."

“It’s not silly. It’s perfect.”

Viola sighed again, then put an arm around Evelyn. “You’re right.”

“What do you wish for?” Evelyn asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think about it much.”

Viola paused for so long Evelyn wondered if she was going to say any more, then Viola pulled her into a tighter hug. “We have to think about now, Evelyn. How we are going to survive here in this place.”

“Will you still take care of me?”