Sorrows’ Children

Chapter 2

“Our Lady of Sorrows School for the Orphaned and Abandoned” was a generous title for the cluster of tired, graying buildings held together by the grace of God and the backbone of a few sturdy Catholic nuns. The school had been founded in the fall of 1841 by a group of missionaries sponsored by an altruistic St. Louis parish. “Sorrows”, as the school came to be known, fancied itself the model of Christian charity opening its doors to unfortunate young ones orphaned by the maladies of the plains or abandoned by parents too full of their own misery to be burdened with the care of a child. Over the years a steady stream of children flowed into Sorrows’ front door where they were blessed with a bed, an education and the moral upbringing deemed suitable by the Catholic church. The children didn’t stop coming but as purse strings tightened, the stipend from St. Louis did. As years passed without a benefactor, but no fewer number of young souls in need, the model of good intentions began to truly live up to its name.

Sorrows had been in a sad state of disrepair when Buck had been a student there and the years since had not been a friend. The compound consisted of the school building itself, a storage shed and barn which housed two sway-backed horses, older than anyone at the school could remember, a bone-gaunt Guernsey masquerading as a milk cow and a smattering of chickens. The limestone foundation supporting the barn had begun to crumble on one side so the structure sat decidedly out of square. Buck noticed the odd lot pieces of lumber used as a temporary fix for a hole in the barn roof five years before were still there along with an assortment of new patches. The wood used for the repairs had originally served as pieces of siding on the storage shed but the smaller structure had been asked to sacrifice itself for the sake of the more crucial barn. No longer used, its frame reduced to a near skeleton in places, it appeared that a stiff breeze or an unkind thought could send what remained of the shed toppling to the ground.

When the mission was constructed a picket fence had been built around the school building in an attempt to keep the youngest children in the yard and animals out. Years later it failed miserably at both. A snarl of vines tangled around the old wood had grown so heavy the fence cowered under the weight giving the impression of an overgrown bully intent on choking its opponent into submission in a schoolyard wrestling match.

The school building itself was a large three-story structure built atop a foundation similar to the barn that had, luckily, not suffered the same deterioration. Clad in rough sawn pine siding, the school once sparkled in a coat of white but the paint had long ago blistered and cracked under the intensity of the prairie sun leaving the bare and unprotected wood easy fodder for wood ants and termites. Two towering chimneys of native stone stood on opposite sides of the building like bookends holding it together. The fireplaces provided a pleasing warmth to the immediate area but failed to heat the space in between leaving the center of the building drafty and nearly unbearable once the January winds began to blow. The first floor housed an office, the kitchen, cafeteria and chapel. Classrooms, the nun’s sleeping quarters, the nursery and an infirmary comprised the second floor and on the third, tucked under the eaves and separated by the center stairwell were the dormitories – boys on the north, girls on the south.

Buck wearily drew his right leg over the saddle horn and slid carefully to the ground. Locating a section that still stood fairly upright, he draped the bay’s reins over the fence with one hand, a fussing Daniel held securely by the other.

The bay’s easy stride had placated the child for the first hour of their journey, the rocking motion of the horse and almost hypnotic melody of rustling grass lulling him to sleep. Buck’s initial awkwardness softened under the touch of Daniel’s small body lying warm and trusting against him. Much to his surprise, he found himself enjoying the feel of the little boy’s light breath on his neck and the way Daniel’s white blonde head fit so perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder. But an empty stomach brought on cries of hunger and Daniel awoke irritable, struggling against Buck’s firm hold. His only experience with an infant being the baby left on the Sweetwater station’s doorstep, Buck was at a loss. Assuming Daniel’s discomfort stemmed from either a soiled diaper or hunger, he reined the bay to a stop and a brief rest desperately hoping for the latter of the two ailments. Remembering the biscuits leftover from his breakfast, Buck reached blindly into his saddle bag, his eyes anxiously scanning the countryside for any sign of the Arapaho.

The outer crust of the biscuit was hard but the inner part seemed soft enough for a child, or at least he hoped so. Buck had no idea if a four month old baby could eat such a thing, but, having planned on replenishing his supplies in Julesburg, aside from a few strips of jerky his stores were nearly depleted. He tore one of the biscuits apart and coaxed Daniel into accepting a small piece. The little boy seemed somewhat interested in the new taste, his features serious as he moved the piece of biscuit around in his mouth experimenting with the texture. Buck’s hopes that the biscuit would tide Daniel over until they reached the mission crumbled as the child’s face puckered in disappointment and a fat tear slid down his cheek. Daniel pushed the dough out of his mouth with his tongue, the partially dissolved pieces dribbling down his chin, and began wailing again in earnest. Having nothing else to offer, they set out again, Daniel’s cries coercing Buck into asking a slightly quicker pace of the gelding, certain that the sound would alert every hostile Indian for miles in any direction of their presence. The little boy eventually found his thumb and, much to the relief of both horse and rider, the pacifier quieted him.

Buck unfastened the saddlebags and withdrew the McAlister’s Bible, silently surveying the school grounds. The yard was quiet and empty, the children’s chores completed for the night. Gray shadows growing tall at the buildings’ feet cast a further gloom over the somber scene and deepened his already sagging spirits. Buck tucked the Bible under his arm and rounded the drooping fence line. Growing impatient, Daniel wiggled in his arms as they climbed the steps to the small plank landing before the front door. Buck’s stomach turned uneasily like a key in a rusty lock releasing a vulnerability hidden away there. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the door, questioning his intent. Daniel seemed to sense his protector’s distress and whimpered, fussing all the more.

“I know, Daniel. I know. . .” Buck mumbled apologetically. “. . . but I don’t know what else to do.” Squaring his shoulders, Buck rapped his knuckles against the door before he could change his mind and quickly stepped away turning back to the yard. His eyes wandered across the empty playground, down the fence line, lingering for a moment on a sprawling quince bush, onto the lonely cottonwood standing guard at the south end of the yard. The tree welcomed his gaze like an old friend but then as if something frightful had come into view, Buck’s back stiffened and he turned sharply toward the door.

“Don’t think about it, Buck. Don’t look at the tree. Don’t do it.”

After eyeing him closely, Buck and Daniel were ushered into the Reverend Mother’s office by a black garbed sister he didn’t recognize to wait while she retrieved the older nun from the chapel. He really couldn’t blame her for looking at him suspiciously. It wasn’t every day that a bone weary, half-breed, Pony Express rider with a baby in one arm and a Bible in the other appeared on Sorrows’ doorstep asking for the Reverend Mother by name.

The worn spots in the wine colored upholstery on the arms of the desk chair were larger than Buck remembered, the fabric raveled away exposing the wooden frame in one spot, but that was the only change he noticed in the office. Aside from being a few inches taller and dressed differently he might very well have been thrown back in time four years to when he last stood in the room.

The oversized oak desk still sat squarely in the center of the office as he remembered – the same spot it had occupied since the school had been built. In its earlier days, the desk had been a striking piece of carpentry with smoothly turned legs, precise dove-tail joints, hand carved trim and a lustrous finish – a gift to the new school by a St. Louis parishioner aiming to buy himself into God’s good graces. Years of use had dulled the varnished surface and the dry climate had caused the wood to shrink and pull away from the carefully crafted joints. A few pieces of the trim had been broken away and the crispness of the hand detailing had been obscured by years of dust settling into the finely carved lines. Save for a painstakingly neat stack of papers in the middle, the desktop was completely clear, not at all like the clutter of files, wanted posters and waxed sandwich wrappers that littered Teaspoon’s desk in the Marshal’s office in Rock Creek.

The chair was centered precisely behind the desk – not an inch further to the left or right. The rigidly straight backed chair had always looked terribly uncomfortable to Buck, but considering the posture of the woman who had overseen the school for its twenty years, he decided it was a perfect fit.

With the exception of a silver crucifix mounted on the wall behind the desk, the office was void of any decoration or other furnishings. The room didn’t strive to be hospitable. That wasn’t its purpose.

Bouncing Daniel a bit as he walked in an attempt to quiet the little boy’s whimpering, Buck laid the Bible on the corner of the oak desk and crossed the rough plank floor to the window that overlooked the garden at the rear of the school. Although only remnants of fading light fell across the yard he could still make out the lines of Sorrows’ garden plot. The Reverend Mother’s garden always seemed to turn out larger than planned. Every year the earth was turned into neat furrows, the precious seeds dropped into the nurturing soil. Sorrows’ crop varied widely from the snap beans and okra that grew with little attention to more difficult varieties that required special care. Just as Buck expected, each tidy row ran exactly parallel to the next - each cabbage plant, every stalk of corn or mound of squash precisely spaced from its neighbor. Buck’s expression twisted in a displeased frown. That fairly well summed up Sorrows he supposed - strict order in the midst of despair. A knowing eye would understand that each plant was carefully cultivated, its growth and individual needs meticulously tended, but Buck couldn’t see past the rigid lines.

Gazing out the window into the waning light he wrapped his arms around Daniel’s small body holding the little boy tightly against his shoulder while the child sucked his thumb and tangled his fingers in a strand of Buck’s dark hair. What kind of life was he committing this innocent child to? Daniel should have better than this. Better than this place that never had enough meat, enough beds, enough books, enough love. They all should. None of Sorrows’ children deserved the hand they had been dealt. The circumstances bringing them to this place were not their doing.

Maybe it was because like the McAlister’s abandoned wagon left on the prairie, Daniel belonged to whoever found him or perhaps it was the kinship he felt to this parentless child that made Buck question his actions. He had intended to simply hand over the child and be on his way but seeing Sorrows again, faded and failing, made him think twice. Holding Daniel, Buck felt a protective instinct he had never before experienced take root inside him. He could do better than this. Buck drew a determined breath and turned away from the window to retrieve Daniel’s Bible intending to slip out the front door unnoticed. It would be difficult, but. . .

“It really is you,” came a voice from the doorway stopping Buck in mid stride. He recognized the voice, but the hint of surprise in the words was new to him.

His quick glance confirmed that Reverend Mother Mary Augustine hadn’t changed since he had left the school. She was a small woman, barely five feet tall weighing no more than a tumbleweed. Tiny in stature, she stood with a firm posture as if her back had no bend in it. Demanding order from herself as well as the children she supervised, even the creases on her face were symmetrical.

Answering the call to servanthood at the tender age of fourteen after a cholera epidemic left her motherless with a drink-hardened father, Mother Augustine had spent the past forty years in service to her Lord, half of those years at Sorrows. Although dwarfed physically by the heavy, dark habit she wore, anyone who made the error of mistaking her lack of size for lack of grit was quickly corrected. Buck remembered thinking once if a tornado threatened Sorrows, Mother Augustine would firmly stand her ground in the yard staring down the swirling green monster, demanding with a point of her finger that the whirlwind back up and go around her children. If he were a wagering man, Buck would still put his money on the Reverend Mother in such a contest of will.

“I wasn’t quite certain Sister Agnes had the name correct when she informed me you were waiting,” the tiny black robed woman said as she crossed the room to take her place of authority behind the desk. Shifting Daniel so he could be held with only one arm, Buck quickly smoothed down his clothing making himself as presentable as possible and unconsciously moved to the side of the desk opposite her assuming the position of a schoolboy. “We don’t get many visits from former students,” the Reverend Mother added, explaining her surprise.

Mother Augustine nodded to the squirming bundle in Buck’s arms. “However, I assume this young one has something to do with your return and it is not a social visit that has brought you back to us.”

Buck felt her steady gaze make note of the length of his hair and the medicine bundle around his neck. He was a grown man now, twenty years old, but this tiny bit of a woman still made him feel like an awkward thirteen-year-old boy. “No, Reverend Mother. It’s not a social call,” Buck answered, trying to bounce and pat away the little boy’s discomfort as well as hide his own. “I found him a few hours’ ride southeast of here. His parents are dead,” he concluded simply, hoping he wouldn’t be pressed for further details. Even though there was no love lost between the Arapaho and the Kiowa, he was still hesitant to divulge the particulars of the incident that had orphaned Daniel. He wasn’t there to debate the rights of the Indians to protect their land against the rights of the white man to take what didn’t belong to them.

To his relief, Mother Augustine asked for no explanation. Every child at Sorrows had a sad tale to tell. The individual stories might vary but the ending was always the same. “I assume you gave them a Christian burial?” she asked, her eyebrows arched inquisitively as if inquiring about an assignment.

"I buried them,” Buck answered, although he wondered if laying the bodies closely together in one grave so they wouldn’t be cold would really be considered ‘Christian’. Buck picked up the leather bound Bible, offering it to his former teacher. “His name is Daniel . . . Daniel McAlister. His parents’ names are listed in here, but no one else. I didn’t know what to do . . . so I brought him here.”

“Such a pity for one so young,” she said quietly, her solid countenance wavering a bit at the sight of the little boy. Accepting the Bible she thumbed through the pages, confirming that no family was listed. “And of course, you did the right thing by bringing him to us. We have two others about his age but we can always make room for one more.”

Yes, they could make room but that wasn’t good enough. Buck shifted uneasily. “But . . . I’m thinkin’ maybe. . . maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I want to keep him.”

The nun’s tone was skeptical. “Are you able to provide for a child?”

His thumb no longer fooling the insistent hunger pains, Daniel arched his back and tossed his small body in protest, his face reddening as his fussing gave way to anger. Buck tightened his hold on the little boy trying to control the extra set of arms and legs Daniel seemed to have sprouted and raised his voice enough to be heard over the child’s cry. “Well. . . not exactly,” he said nervously, the baby’s flailing and the nun’s look of doubt converging upon him. “I was thinkin’ I might take him home with me instead. Maybe find a family for him there.” His voice revealing both his growing weariness and inexperience, Buck sighed heavily as Daniel squealed again. “I think he’s hungry.”

The older woman nodded. “Yes, he is,” she agreed, her calm reply contrasting with Buck’s increasing level of distress. “I will ask Sister Ruth to prepare a bottle for him.” Rounding the corner of the desk she reached for Daniel although Buck made no move to release his hold on the little boy. “As the one who found him it is your choice, but I must say I believe it would not be wise to travel on horseback for any distance with an infant.” Leaving no room for discussion she concluded, “It will be dark soon and I believe the Lord is about to bless us with another rain. You will stay with us tonight and your decision can be made in the morning after you have given more thought to the matter.”

Buck remained quiet for a moment considering his options until he realized they were limited. Daniel needed to be fed and cared for. Remembering his earlier inept attempt at feeding the child, he reluctantly nodded in agreement and handed Daniel over feeling more like the bundle in his arms was a late grammar assignment than a child. Daniel and the Reverend Mother were half way out the door before he could even think about changing his mind.

“I need a place for my horse, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“You will find what you need in the barn. I doubt that Blossom and the horses will mind sharing.”

Stopping in the doorway, Mother Augustine added, “We were just about to serve supper. Please join me in the dining room after you have tended the animal. As I mentioned earlier, we very seldom see former students. I would like to know how you and the McSwain boy have faired since leaving us.”

“How the McSwain boy has faired.” Buck leaned back heavily on the desk, Mother Augustine’s words falling with a sickening thud to the bottom of his stomach. Returning to Sorrows was a mistake - he was certain of it now. This wasn’t included in the terms of the agreement he had made with his grief. A memory he was forbidden to think about lurked in every corner. A silent ghost waited for him behind every door.

TO CHAPTER 3