The Orphan Train
The Meekers were not exactly a wealthy family, but they could be described as comfortably well-off. Hector Meeker owned the town dry goods store and made more than enough money to provide for his wife and daughter. The little girl, considered both a blessing and a miracle because her mother gave birth to her late in life after years of believing she was barren, was truly the joy of her parents' world. The blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty of a child wanted for nothing. Clothes, toys and amusements were hers for the asking.
Although their daughter was taught to read, write and perform simple mathematical calculations, neither of her parents encouraged her to seek a more substantial education. On the contrary, whenever Coreen Meeker asked a question dealing with science, history or geography, she was told not to "worry her pretty little head about such matters." That advice became the rule by which she lived. She was, after all, a female. What use would learning be to her?
Yet whenever she passed by the bookstore on her way to her dressmaker, she always stopped to admire the leather-bound volumes on display in the window.
"The House of the Seven Gables," she read aloud. "The Count of Monte Cristo. Uncle Tom's Cabin."
"That's quite a powerful book."
Coreen turned to find a handsome young man peering over her shoulder.
"I haven't read it," she said, knowing full well she ought not to talk to strangers.
"You should. Every American should."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because it exposes the evils of slavery, a vile practice that should be outlawed. I've read Mrs. Stowe's novel twice, and I cried both times."
Coreen was astounded. Tears were considered a sign of weakness in a man, and yet this stranger unashamedly admitted to crying after having read a book.
"Pardon my manners," the young man apologized, stepping back to assume a more respectful distance. "We haven't been introduced. My name is Piers Harbuck. I work here at the bookstore."
Coreen gave him her name but told him nothing else about herself.
"Are you new in town? I've never seen you in the shop before."
"No. I've lived here all my life. I just don't do much reading."
"What a shame! I always enjoy a good book. Reading is informative, entertaining, inspirational .... Forgive me. I tend to get carried away when I talk about a subject that is dear to my heart."
The church bells chimed the hour, and Piers reluctantly opened the door to the bookstore.
"I've got to start work," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to come inside? It doesn't cost anything to browse."
"I have an appointment elsewhere. Some other time perhaps," the young woman replied, making a mental note to visit the shop the following day.
* * *
Coreen made a beautiful bride. Her father spared no expense on either the dress or the wedding dinner that followed the ceremony. Nearly all the residents of the small New England town had been invited, and every one of the invitees attended.
"Our little princess is now a queen," Ernestine Meeker told her husband with pride as she brushed a tear from her eye.
"I only wish she were marrying a more suitable king," Hector opined.
"What's wrong with Piers Harbuck?" his wife asked.
"He works in a bookshop."
"You work in a store," Ernestine reminded him.
"But I own it! I'm afraid on his wages our new son-in-law will never be able to afford to support our daughter in the manner in which she's accustomed."
"But she loves him. Isn't that what matters most?"
Hector sighed. It was just the kind of impractical, sentimental reasoning he would expect from a woman. Still, if marriage to Piers Harbuck was what his daughter wanted, he would offer what financial assistance he could to make sure she remained happy.
Nearly one year from the day of the couple's wedding, Coreen gave birth to a baby girl, fair-haired and blue-eyed like her mother. Naturally, the grandparents were delighted.
When the family gathered at the Meeker home after the child's christening, Hector called for everyone's attention.
"I have something important I'd like to say," the patriarch announced. "My wife and I are getting up there in years."
"No, Father!" Coreen protested.
"Yes, we are. In fact, I'm getting far too old to run the dry goods store. I want to spend what time I have left with my wife, my daughter and my new grandchild. That's why I've decided to give the business to my daughter and son-in-law."
The new mother was overjoyed by her father's munificence, but Piers did not share his wife's pleasure.
"That's very generous of you, sir, but I know nothing about running a dry goods store."
"Nonsense! You work in a bookshop. There's not much difference between selling books and selling needles and spools of thread."
To Piers, there was a vast difference. Literature was his life. Writers such as Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickens and Poe were like gods to him. To give up being surrounded by their great works in order to sell notions was heartbreaking. Still, as a man he had to do what was best for his family.
* * *
Melody Harbuck, a younger version of her beautiful mother, was just three years old when Confederate artillery fired on Fort Sumter.
"There's no need for us Harbuck women to worry our pretty little heads over such matters," Coreen told her husband when he brought her the news.
Piers stared at his wife who was laughingly playing with Melody as though she did not have a care in the world.
"Don't you realize what this means? There's bound to be civil war."
"Isn't that what you and your abolitionist friends want?" Coreen asked innocently.
"We want to end slavery, yes, but we hoped for a less violent means to achieve our goal."
"Even if there is a war, we'll be fine. I overheard my father say that the South has no hope of defeating us, not with all the factories we have in the North."
"That may be so, but think of how many people will die before peace is made."
"I don't want to think about such things," his wife said and immediately put thoughts of a possible war out of her mind.
For Piers it was not so easy. He could not bury his head in the sand like an ostrich. Over the next few days, he went through the motions of his usual routine. However, his mind was not on dry goods, his wife, his child or even his beloved books. All he could think about was the likelihood that war would be declared and the country would be engulfed in blood.
Finally, after debating his course of action, Piers confided in his father-in-law.
"I've decided to enlist," he announced.
"What does Coreen say about your leaving her to join the army?" Hector inquired.
"I haven't told her yet. You're the first person I've spoken to since reaching my decision."
"What are you going to do about the business?"
"I was hoping you would keep an eye on it while I'm gone."
"I'm willing to run the store for you, but my daughter isn't going to be happy."
"There is more in life to consider than Coreen's happiness. My country needs me, and I hope in some way my service can bring an end to the reprehensible practice of slavery."
"And if you're killed?" Hector asked. "What will happen to your wife and daughter?"
"I don't know. I suppose I must trust in God to look after them."
Naturally, Hector resolved that he would give the Almighty a helping hand should the situation arise.
* * *
While Piers Harbuck survived the war, he did not return to New England in one piece. At the third battle of Petersburg, just weeks before Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox Court House, both his legs were shattered by a cannon ball. Thanks to the skill of the surgeon and his own strong constitution, the double amputation did not kill him nor did any post-operative infection threaten his life.
At first, Coreen was delighted that her handsome, young husband was coming home to her. Sadly, she did not realize what effect his loss of limbs would have on both their lives.
"I can't run the store from this chair," Piers insisted, making no attempt to return to work.
Despite his advanced age, Hector Meeker continued to manage the dry goods shop and support his daughter and her family. The returning war hero, meanwhile, spent his convalescence catching up on his reading. A nurse was hired to bathe, dress and see to all Piers's personal needs, thus sparing his wife the unpleasant tasks involved with taking care of an invalid.
The war was over for less than a year when Hector Meeker passed away, and as was often the case with older couples, Ernestine soon followed her husband to the grave. Still unable—or unwilling—to return to his duties as shopkeeper, Piers convinced his wife to sell the store. Within two years, however, the proceeds from that sale began to run out, and the family had to move to a much smaller, less expensive home.
Far worse than being forced to live under reduced circumstances, Coreen had to let the nurse go. With no servants and now no nurse, the responsibility for the care of both house and husband fell on her shoulders. Not accustomed to hard work or to dealing with the disagreeable aspects of life, she was in danger of suffering a complete physical and mental collapse.
If there was one bright spot in Coreen's dark universe, it was her daughter. Melody looked and behaved like an angel. She never pouted, never threw a tantrum and never required parental discipline. Whenever the exhausted, overworked mother was not scrubbing floors, laundering clothes and bed linens, emptying her husband's chamber pot or standing over the kitchen stove cooking, she spent her time playing with her daughter.
Then one day after giving her husband his prescribed dose of laudanum, the desperately unhappy wife swallowed some of the pain reliever herself in the hopes of relieving the recurring ache in her lower back. The result was nothing short of miraculous. The widely used tincture of opium seemed to alleviate her melancholia as well as her physical discomfort, at least to the point where she could face getting out of bed in the morning and making it through another day.
Unfortunately, no one in the mid-nineteenth century knew the addictive nature of morphine-based laudanum. As the drug took firm hold of Coreen, she no longer experienced the euphoria of her early usage—quite the opposite, in fact. Her dependence on laudanum growing, the young wife and mother began to experience sluggish periods of depression.
It was at that point in her life that Coreen's husband died, and she became a widow.
* * *
"The situation is disgraceful!" Augustus Seldon, director of the New England Children's Welfare League, exclaimed when he found Melody Harbuck unwashed and clothed in a filthy, torn dress, begging for money to buy food on a Boston street corner. "Where are your parents?"
"My Daddy died, and my Mommy is home in bed."
"Is she ill?"
The little girl nodded her head.
"Take me to your house. Your mother may need a doctor."
When Seldon entered the dimly lit bedroom, he did not need to see the bottle of laudanum on the night table to understand the situation. He had seen addicts before and could recognize one on sight.
"Madam," he called loudly in order to penetrate her drug-induced stupor. "Do you have any idea where I found your daughter?"
Eyes half open, Coreen turned in the man's direction. There was no surprise or fear in her glassy eyes when she saw the stranger beside her bed.
"No, you don't know," Seldon concluded. "And I frankly doubt you care, not in your present state."
He turned and looked at the little girl. Her resemblance to her mother was uncanny. He hated to think that it was only a matter of time before she, too, would be lying on a bed, out of her mind on drugs.
Thank God I have the authority to do something to prevent that from happening, he thought.
He stooped down so that he could face the child at eye level.
"How would you like to come with me to get something to eat?"
"What about my Mommy?"
"I'll send someone to take care of her."
Melody took his hand and followed him. She stopped on the threshold of the bedroom door and turned in her mother's direction.
"Goodbye, Mommy. I love you."
Coreen's eyes briefly fluttered open and closed again. She would not worry her pretty little head over what might become of her child; she wanted only to sleep.
A well-meaning, charitable man, Augustus Seldon used his influence as a director of the Children's Welfare League, to have Melody placed in a home for orphans and "half-orphans." He sincerely believed that the drug-addicted Coreen Harbuck was no fit mother for the little girl.
A woman who can't even take care of herself, he reasoned, can hardly take care of a child.
Not long after her daughter was removed from her care, Coreen was placed in an insane asylum along with other addicts, alcoholics and patients who suffered from various forms and degrees of mental illness. Her dependence had gotten to the point where she was more upset over losing her bottle of laudanum than having her daughter taken away from her.
* * *
A month after Coreen was placed in the asylum, business took Augustus Seldon to the orphanage where Melody was being looked after by the staff. He hardly recognized the child once she was washed and fed.
"Pretty little girl," he told Maude Vandella, the woman in charge.
"Isn't she, though? And what a sweet nature she has!"
"Is she getting along here then?"
"Yes, but ...."
"But what?"
"She misses her mother terribly."
"I don't know why. That woman wasn't much of a parent."
Seldon watched Melody interact with a group of children. The others were playing a game, but she sat on the sidelines, her sad face a pitiful testament to her loneliness. The director's soft heart swelled with compassion.
"The poor little thing. This is no place for her."
"She'd be worse off with her mother," Maude said.
"God forbid! No, I was thinking about her being placed with another family."
"That would be the best thing for her, but sadly adoptions are down. The war not only had a crippling affect on the financial ability of many couples to adopt, but it also created an abundance of additional orphans."
"When I was in New York last year, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Charles Loring Brace, the founder of the Children's Aid Society. He told me about a movement in which children like Melody were placed on trains and sent to rural areas of the Midwest, mostly farms, where they received fresh air, plenty of food and lots of exercise."
"Sounds like a vacation! I wouldn't mind being put on one of those trains myself."
"I think it would do Melody a world of good to get her out of the city—and as far away from her mother as possible."
Six weeks later the little girl was standing outside Boston's South Station with a group of more than thirty other orphans of ages ranging from three to fifteen. Some of them were eager to begin their journey while others were weeping, bereft at leaving behind the only home they had ever known.
"But why can't I stay with my mother?" Melody cried.
"Hush, now. I don't want to hear any more of that talk," Seldon said in a kindly, gentle voice. "Remember what Mrs. Vandella told you when you left the orphanage. You're to begin a new life. You must forget all about the past. You are to leave all your personal belongings and your memories behind. Is that clear?"
Melody nodded her head in obedience, but she could not stop the tears glistening in her blue eyes from sliding down her cheeks.
Seldon remained with the group until all the children were inside the train and sitting in their seats.
"I want to wish you all a safe journey," he announced loudly, so he could be heard over the noise of the train's engine. "And may you all have long, healthy and happy lives out west."
As he exited the train car, he could not help once more glancing at Melody Harbuck and thinking, What a beautiful child!
He wished he and his wife were not both in their late sixties. Had they been younger, he would have adopted the girl himself.
* * *
Coreen's time in the asylum actually did her good. Rather than being locked away in a room, she was treated by a young, crusading doctor with progressive ideas about mental illness as well as alcohol and drug addiction. Dr. Gerard Wilmot did not believe in making a patient go through the horrors of withdrawal. Instead, he gradually reduced Coreen's dosage of laudanum until her body no longer craved it. Once she was completely free of the drug, he signed her discharge papers.
"I don't know how to thank you, Dr. Wilmot," the former patient said gratefully, as he unlocked the door to her ward to set her free. "You've made a new woman out of me."
In truth, he had not made her a new woman; he had succeeded in restoring the woman she once was, not only emotionally and mentally but also physically. Thankfully, her addiction had not permanently robbed her of her beauty.
"You could thank me by agreeing to have dinner with me one evening," Gerard boldly suggested.
The doctor knew it was unethical for him to have a close, personal relationship with a patient, but since she was no longer under his care, he felt no qualms about pursuing the attractive widow.
Within two years of being released from the mental asylum, the former laudanum addict married her doctor and moved into his stately Beacon Hill home. Three years after that, she gave birth to his son, Gerard Wilmot III.
Coreen's life was a happy one—or, rather, it should have been. There was still one thing that preyed on her mind: what had become of Melody?
Pride made her hold her tongue and not tell Gerard that she had had a daughter taken away from her because she was an unfit mother. She did not want him to think the worst of her. But as the years went by, he sensed the sadness in his wife.
"Is it your late husband?" he asked one evening after the two of them had put their son to bed. "Do you still miss him?"
"No. Truth be told, I barely think about Piers at all. It was so many years ago, and we weren't married that long before he went off to war. When he returned—well ...."
"I'm sorry, darling. It's just that you sometimes seem so sad."
"It's my daughter that troubles me so," she blurted out, unable to remain silent any longer.
"You had a daughter? Oh, my poor dear! I had no idea you'd lost a child. No wonder you resorted to laudanum."
"I didn't lose her—not in the sense that you mean, anyway. She didn't die. The Children's Welfare League convinced the courts that I was an unfit mother, and she was taken away from me at about the same time I was committed."
"Whatever became of her?"
"I don't know. When I inquired as to her whereabouts, I was told she was sent to an orphanage and then later adopted, but I couldn't get any specific information."
The thought of her daughter being raised by another woman brought tears to Coreen's eyes. Finally, years of pent-up emotion erupted, and she burst into uncontrollable, heart-rending sobs.
"I have no idea where my little Melody is, who she's living with. She's nineteen years old by now and might even be married."
Gerard lovingly cradled his crying wife in his arms.
"I have many important friends who will no doubt do what they can to help us locate your daughter."
Coreen's face brightened, and her blue eyes glowed through her tears.
"You would do that for me?"
"I can't promise we'll find Melody, but I swear I'll move heaven and earth to try."
* * *
When Coreen and Gerard got off the train in the small Indiana town, the local minister, a young man just out of seminary school, was there to greet them.
"Dr. and Mrs. Wilmot," he said shaking the doctor's hand in greeting. "I hope I can be of assistance to you."
The three exchanged small talk on the journey from the train station to the church, most of which centered on the difference between life in Boston and that in the small farming community in Indiana. When they arrived at the church, the couple followed the minister into the basement where a box of old records had been placed on a table.
"These are all the adoption records that my predecessor saved. You're free to examine them. But as you can see, there were hundreds of children brought here during that time. Many of those orphans, I'm afraid, were later relocated."
"Why?" Coreen asked.
"A number of the children had disciplinary problems. Some were unhappy with their new environment and ran away. Others didn't get along with their new siblings. Some ...."
"Were abused?" the doctor asked.
The minister nodded his head.
"I'm afraid there are people who take the old 'spare the rod, spoil the child' adage too much to heart."
Coreen's heart lurched. Had someone beaten her daughter?
Gerard found the file for the year Melody arrived in Indiana.
"According to the Children's Welfare League, your daughter was placed on a train at South Station on the tenth of June, so we can disregard January through May."
After examining the records for June through December, however, they could find no mention of Melody's name. However, the minister urged them not to give up hope.
"From what I understand a number of the family's changed the children's names when they took them in."
"I suggest we make a list of girls the same age as your daughter was," Gerard said, "and from there see if we can narrow it down to one."
Surprisingly, despite the hundreds of children brought in on the orphan trains, there were only three girls on the list that could possibly be Melody Harbuck. Once they had the names, Coreen and Gerard were able to get their addresses from the town hall.
"We're in luck. They're all still living in this town," Dr. Wilmot observed.
Coreen beamed with joy.
"I can't wait to see her again!"
"Then let's get going," her husband suggested and hired a driver at the livery station to take them to the three addresses on the list.
* * *
The first young woman, who was still living on the farm with her adopted parents, was a red-haired, green-eyed girl from Ireland, who vaguely remembered leaving the Emerald Island behind and sailing to America where her parents died shortly after arriving in Boston.
"She's obviously not your daughter," Gerard said. "Let's go see the next girl on the list."
The second young woman was married and lived with her husband above the feed store he owned. One look at the dark-haired girl, and Coreen's hopes were dashed.
"Is that a birthmark on your face?" she asked.
"Yes," the orphan replied. "I've had it as long as I can remember. I suppose I was born with it."
Melody's face, on the other hand, had been flawless, not marred by so much as a freckle.
As she and Gerard rode away from the feed store, Coreen felt her optimism dwindle.
Why did I allow myself to get my hopes up?
Her husband sensed her disappointment and said, "The third one is bound to be your Melody."
Dulcie Mulhall was living in a small home she purchased after her adopted parents died tragically in a house fire. Although they had not been rich people, the land they owned was quite valuable, and Dulcie was able to support herself on the money she received from the sale of the property.
"I understand you're looking for your daughter," Dulcie said, after inviting the doctor and his wife into her parlor.
"Yes, she was sent here from Boston on an orphan train, as you were."
"That was so long ago. I don't know that I would remember her."
Dulcie, who had blond hair and blue eyes, had a more than casual resemblance to Coreen. Gerard was certain that she was his wife's child.
"How much do you remember about your own childhood before you came to Indiana?" he asked.
"Hardly anything," the young woman admitted. "You see, the orphans were instructed to forget their families and start new lives. We were even forbidden to bring mementos of our parents and siblings with us."
Coreen took a lace handkerchief out of her handbag and wiped the tears from her eyes. If this young woman was Melody, she did not even remember her mother!
"You mean you recall nothing at all?" she cried.
"All I remember was that my father was ill, and my mother had to take care of him."
Coreen's heart nearly burst with happiness.
"My husband was injured during war, and after we were forced to let his nurse go, I had to take care of him. Oh, dear, sweet Jesus! You are Melody! After all these years we've been apart, I've found you again."
"I wish I could remember," was all Dulcie said as Coreen hugged her tightly and kissed her.
"You must come back to Boston with us," Gerard declared. "We have plenty of room in our home."
"Oh, yes!" Coreen cried. "You'll love it there. I promise you. We'll go shopping, and I'll buy you a fine wardrobe, and we can travel to Europe. You're going to be part of a family again. Oh, and you have a brother."
"I do?"
"Yes, Gerard and I have a seven-year-old son."
"Please, can you give me some time to think about it?"
"Of course, we can," Dr. Wilmot answered, for his wife was too stunned to respond.
It had never occurred to her that her daughter would prefer to remain in Indiana. When the couple returned to Boston at the end of the week, however, Melody was with them.
* * *
Eight months after that trip to Indiana, Coreen found herself dressed in mourning again. Not only was she a widow for the second time, but she had lost her boy as well. As she kept her lonely vigil beside the two coffins, she thought about the doubled-edge sword of fate. On one side, she had been dealt a fatal blow by the deaths of her husband and son, but on the other she had been blessed by the reunion with her daughter.
"I know how you feel," Melody—once again going by her birth name—commiserated.
"Yes, I forgot that you lost your adopted parents in a fire, too."
Given the fact that so many homes were made of wood and fire prevention was crude at that time, two such tragedies hitting the same family was not seen as anything more than a coincidence.
"I'm going to miss them both so terribly," Coreen sobbed into her handkerchief. "But thank God I have you with me."
Once her step-father and step-brother were placed in their graves, Melody began a campaign to convince her mother to leave Boston and move to Europe.
"We can leave all this sorrow behind and start new lives in Paris or London.
"I'm not sure I want to put the past behind me. I don't want to forget Gerard or Theo—ever."
"If you don't care about your own life anymore, at least think about mine," Melody said defiantly. "Am I to spend the rest my days in mourning? Wouldn't you like to see me meet a nice, eligible young man from a good family and get married?"
"Yes, and you can do that right here in New England."
"But in Europe I might be able to meet a man with a title, an ancestral home and a lot of money."
"I'll think about it," Coreen said, disappointed that her daughter had turned out to be such a greedy, selfish woman.
What had happened to her in Indiana to corrupt the little angel she had once been?
* * *
The day Coreen purchased tickets for steamship passage to Southampton for her and her daughter, she received a visit from Augustus Seldon, Jr., whose father was the former director of the New England Children's Welfare League.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Seldon?" the middle-aged widow asked, trying not to judge him too harshly because of his parent's actions.
"My father recently passed away, and I found information among his papers that I felt ought to be brought to your attention."
"What information is that?"
"You had a daughter that was taken away from you, I believe?"
"Yes. Melody."
"I apologize for that," Seldon said, guiltily, "but I am certain my father believed he was acting in the child's best interest."
"Yes, well, that was a long time ago."
"According to my father's diary, you recovered from your ... um ... medical condition."
"There's no need for you to feel uncomfortable. I was addicted to laudanum."
"And when you recovered," the embarrassed young man continued, "you contacted the Children's Welfare League concerning the location of your daughter."
"They told me she had been placed on an orphan train and sent to Indiana. Years later, my late husband and I tracked her down. She's been living here with me ever since."
Augustus closed his eyes and turned his head away, not wanting to see Coreen's reaction to his next words.
"That's impossible," he said. "Your daughter, Melody, was killed when the orphan train derailed in Ohio."
"No. You're wrong," Coreen argued.
Having anticipated her reaction, Seldon took a newspaper clipping out of his vest pocket and handed it to her as proof of the veracity of his claim.
"Then who is the young woman living with me?" she asked after reading the article.
"I don't know, but the answer might be in my father's papers. I'll see what I can find out from them."
Two days later Augustus returned. He waited outside the Beacon Hill house until Coreen's "daughter" left in a carriage to visit a friend. Then he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.
"Back so soon, Mr. Seldon? I hope that means you've found the answer to my question?"
"Yes. Her name is Dulcie Mulhall; that much is true. And she was an orphan. Her parents died in a fire."
"Her adopted parents, you mean," Coreen corrected him.
"No. Her real parents. She became an orphan after their house burned down with them inside it."
"But her adopted parents died the same way, as did ...."
Coreen could not give voice to her suspicions. She did not even want to consider them.
"The poor girl," she said, her voice strained. "I suppose I can't turn my back on her after all she's been through. It wouldn't be very Christian of me, would it?"
"That's your decision, Mrs. Wilmot," Seldon said.
"Thank you. I appreciate your telling me the truth, as tragic as it was."
* * *
That night when Melody returned home from her friend's house, Coreen was waiting in the parlor for her.
"What are you doing up so late?" the girl asked. "You're normally in bed at this hour."
"I wanted to talk to you, Dulcie."
At mention of her given name, the young woman turned and eyed the older one with suspicion.
"Why did call me that?"
"That's your name, isn't it? The name your parents gave you at birth."
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember your mother and father dying when their house caught on fire?"
"That was years later."
"I'm not talking about your adopted parents. I'm referring to your real parents, who died in the same manner. Funny, fire also claimed the life of my husband and son."
"But I told you, I don't remember anything ...."
"Stop lying!" Coreen shouted. "I want the truth—now, and if I don't get it, I'll put you out of this house. And don't even think about setting this place on fire, for if you do the police will look into your past."
"All right. I killed my parents, but they deserved it. They beat me. I couldn't take it anymore, so one night I set the house on fire while they were sleeping."
"And what about your adopted parents, did they beat you, too?"
"No, they wanted me not as a daughter but as free labor to work on their farm. I labored from sunup to sundown. And he ... he ...."
Dulcie became so distraught she could not continue. If her tale of physical and sexual abuse was all an act, then she was a damned good actress.
"I tried to run away from them, but the authorities found me and sent me back to the farm. From that point on, I was locked in my room at night. One day I took a shovel, hit them over the head and set the house ablaze."
"What about my husband and son? What harm did they do to you?"
Dulcie lowered her head in shame, not wanting to face the only person in her life who had ever been kind to her, who had ever loved her—even if that love was meant for her real daughter and not an imposter.
"When you were out shopping that day, I went into your room and tried on your emerald necklace. Theo found me there and thought I was trying to steal it. He threatened to tell you when you got home. I followed him out to the carriage house, pleading with him not to say anything; but he wouldn't listen."
"So you hit him over the head and set the carriage house on fire?"
Dulcie nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
"And Gerard?"
"I didn't kill him; I didn't even want to. He saw the carriage house on fire and ran inside to save Theo. The roof collapsed, and he never came out."
"You murdered my family over a piece of jewelry," Coreen said sadly.
"It wasn't about the necklace!" Dulcie exclaimed, weeping so hard she could barely speak. "You and Dr. Wilmot were the only people in my entire life who have ever been good to me. I was afraid if Theo told you what he saw, you would send me away."
"Oh, Dulcie!" Coreen cried. "I never would have sent you away. In fact, I would have given you the necklace if you wanted it. You killed my family for nothing!"
"I'm so, so sorry. If I could undo what I've done, I would, but I can't."
"No, once an evil deed is done, we are helpless to change it."
Coreen rose from her seat, her shoulders slumped, her head lowered in sorrow. She appeared as though she bore the weight of the world on her thin frame. With no further word to the young woman she once believed was her daughter, she turned and walked to the door.
"Have you never been desperate enough to want to kill?" Dulcie asked as the older woman crossed the threshold.
There was no response to the young woman's question.
* * *
Dulcie remained sitting in the parlor until the sun went down and the room became dark. Finally, she went upstairs to her bedroom, lit the gas lamps and sat on the edge of the bed.
Questions raced through her mind. Would Coreen notify the police? What would they do to her when they learned of her crimes? Would she be arrested and go to jail or possibly be executed?
Maybe it's all for the best, she thought morosely. What have I got to live for? Except for my few happy days with Coreen and Gerard, what has my life been but one long misery?
Suddenly she heard a soft knocking from the hall.
"Yes?" she called.
Coreen opened the door and looked at the young woman sitting on the bed.
"Do you need help packing your bags?" she asked.
"No. I don't have much to pack," Dulcie replied, believing she could take only those things she had brought with her from Indiana.
"Don't be silly! You'll need at least three trunks worth of clothes as well as gloves, hats, petticoats, stockings ...."
"I don't understand," the girl said in confusion. "What would I do with all those things?"
"We will be going to England and France for six months. We'll need lots of clothes and accessories to take with us."
"But I thought ... after what I told you ...."
"You're my daughter, and I love you despite what you've done."
She knows I'm not her daughter. Has she lost her mind?
"I'm not Melody. She died in a train crash."
"I'm well aware of that. I haven't taken leave of my senses, dear. Melody was an angel, a rare and beautiful child with a gentle, loving nature—which she most likely got from her father, not her mother. You, on the other hand, are exactly like me. You may not have been born of my body, but you are my daughter in spirit."
"I am nothing at all like you. I'm a ... a killer."
Coreen put her hands on Dulcie's upper arms, forcing the young woman to look her in the eye.
"You said it yourself: you were desperate. I do know what it's like. I was desperate when my husband came back from the war without his legs. I hated having to nurse him. My life was an ongoing nightmare of housework and taking care of Piers and Melody. The laudanum helped take my mind off my troubles, but it didn't make them go away. Eventually, all I wanted to do was escape into my drug-fueled world. Melody, I believed, could take care of herself, but Piers—he was completely dependent upon me. I had no choice but to kill him."
Coreen released her hold on Dulcie and walked to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and began going through the girl's hosiery, deciding which to take to Europe and which to leave behind.
"Thank you ... Mother."
The older woman turned, smiled and said, "You are my daughter because we are kindred spirits. Now, let's not worry our pretty little heads about things neither of us can change, and let's concentrate on our trip."
The two women thus put the ugly events of the past behind them. After all, they both had been willing to kill to gain their freedom, so they might as well enjoy it.
Although this story is fictional, Charles Loring Brace was an actual person. He founded the Children's Aid Society, one of the organizations that was part of the Orphan Train Movement. This program was responsible for relocating orphaned and homeless children from large East Coast cities to rural areas of the Midwest during the years 1853 through 1929.
Whenever Salem travels by train, he goes first class where he gets a saucer of warm milk, a meal choice of fish or chicken and a freshly scooped litter box.
