Sorrows’ Children

The sharp contrast of the Reverend Mother’s crucifix against her black habit had caught Daniel’s eye.  The little boy seemed mesmerized by the bright cross and occasionally reached out with a dimpled, inquisitive hand to touch the shiny object.   The baby seemed perfectly content in Mother Augustine’s arms and didn’t seem to mind at all that her voice was more than just a bit off key.

Perhaps it was the faint trickle of early morning light filtering through the window beside the chair that softened her features.  Or maybe a helpless infant has some sort of magical ability to change even the most severe countenance into something gentle.  Whatever the cause, the result was startling.  Buck crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned against the door frame watching the scene before him, nearly as captivated by the Reverend Mother’s actions as Daniel was by her crucifix.

A whisper floated across his memory, distanced and muffled by time.  Buck closed his eyes for a moment and tried to bring the blurred image into focus.  He was very young, no more than three or four years old - an age of discovery when a child’s mind begins to grasp hold of precious moments, tucking them away to remember later.   He had awakened in the night, frightened by Red Bear’s story of the Utes sneaking into Kiowa villages to steal away the children.  His mother had drawn him into her arms and promised to scold Red Bear for scaring him.  She had even let him hold her beaded medicine bundle so he would be protected from the story.  Blue and yellow beads.  It reminded him of sunshine – soft, warm and beautiful.  Just like she was.  Her arms around him felt soft and warm, too.  Like sunshine in the middle of the night.  He couldn’t quite hear the words of his mother’s song.  He strained to remember, but it was such a long time ago . . .

“Come in, Buck.  No need to stand in the hallway.” 

The sound of the Reverend Mother’s voice broke through his reflection like a stone tossed into still water.  Buck hurriedly tried to pull the ripples of the memory back together – he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet – but they had slipped away out of his reach.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he answered, his arms instinctively tightening to an almost defensive posture. 

“You aren’t.  Daniel and I were just getting to know each other.  We need to talk.  Come . . . sit,” she said, nodding to a stool near the rocking chair.  “Did you sleep well?  You look rested.”

Buck offered a nod in reply from the doorway. “Yes, I did.” 

The Reverend Mother motioned to the stool again and Buck compliantly crossed the dimly lit room feeling more like he was back in grammar class called to recitation.  She wanted an answer about Daniel and he didn’t have one yet.  After all these years, he still couldn’t please her.

“I didn’t think anyone would be here this early,” he said taking his assigned seat on the edge of the stool.

“I always begin the day with the little ones . . . every morning for the past twenty years.”  Mother Augustine rubbed her hand almost affectionately over the wooden arm of the chair.  “This rocker and I are old friends.”

“I didn’t know you tended the babies.  I thought they were Sister Margaret’s responsibility.”

“Every child at Sorrows is my responsibility, Buck.”

“I’m sorry.  I meant no disrespect,” Buck muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under her gray gaze.  “Have there been many as small as Daniel here?  I don’t remember.”

“No reason that you should.  The youngest ones have always been kept a bit apart from the rest of the school,” she explained, brushing her thumb gently across Daniel’s pink cheek.  Despite the little boy’s contentment in her arms, when she continued, her voice was tinged with sadness.  “But, yes, I’m afraid there have been quite a few.  Orphans come in all ages.  Steven, there,” she said, motioning with a slight nod of her head to the curly topped little boy pulling himself into a wobbly legged stand in a nearby crib.  “Steven came to us at only three days old.  His mother left him here promising that she would be back, but I knew better.   That was over six months ago.  I do think she loved him, but she was young and alone.  I don’t know which is worse.  For them to have known their families and lost them or to be this young and never know them at all.”

“But surely you’ve found homes for them.  Don’t people want babies?” Buck asked hopefully.  He could understand families not wanting to adopt older children but certainly there was hope for the little ones.

“We placed a few in the early years,” Mother Augustine replied.  “But these are difficult times we live in.  A war coming will make matters no better.   Still . . . we pray that all of Sorrows’ children will be blessed with new families and trust the Lord will answer.  Until then we do the best we can and we will always make room for more.”

Buck was quiet for a moment considering Sorrows’ state of disrepair.  The ‘best’ the school could do certainly fell short of what he felt Daniel or any of the children there should have.  The school’s finances weren’t really any of his concern . . . no, if he was considering leaving Daniel there, it most certainly was his concern.

“Reverend Mother, how can you afford to take in more children?  You said yourself that the barn was still leaking and it looks like it could fall down any minute. Blossom must be nearly dry by now and the horses are worn out.  The school was crowded when I was here years ago and it’s worse now.”

Buck waited expectantly for a tangible answer from the Reverend Mother.  Perhaps she would answer that the school had found a new benefactor or that there were coffers of cash hidden away for the lean years.  Or if there was no immediate relief, at least an acknowledgement of the school’s dire straits would appease him.  But his barrage of Sorrows’ shortcoming did not penetrate the nun’s armor of faith. 

“We are doing the Lord’s work, Buck.  Our needs will be provided for.  They always have been.  They always will be.”  Mother Augustine spoke with such a serene certainty that Buck almost believed her.

“Buck, I understand that you feel a responsibility for Daniel, and that is commendable, but it would be very dangerous to take him with you.  The fate of his parents reminds us that traveling in the open plains is treacherous and certainly unfit for a child.   You will both be safer if he stays here.”

“I just want what’s best for him.”

“I know you do.  So do I.  He’ll have a home here and an opportunity to learn just as you had.”

Buck’s sharp intake of breath felt like a stab wound reopened.  An opportunity to be laughed at and humiliated was more to his recollection.  “You were hard on me,” he said, half under his breath.   He hadn’t intended to be so bold, but the words had been poised on his tongue since he rode into Sorrows’ yard the day before and used his moment of weakness to assert themselves.

“Yes, I was.” 

Buck’s own remark had startled him, but the Reverend Mother’s calm response left him slack jawed.  To his greater surprise, there wasn’t so much as a hint of guilt or remorse in her voice for treating him badly.  Surely if she admitted as much, he deserved an apology.  Didn’t he?  But rather than asking his forgiveness she just sat there, rocking Daniel as if there was nothing regretful in her admission. 

“I always ask more of those who show potential.”  Taking note of his bewildered expression, she began to explain.   “Buck, I’ve been teaching children for longer than you’ve been on this earth and no two have been exactly alike.  Each requires a different approach.   Some respond to a gentle touch, some need constant supervision to learn.  Others,” she added, pausing long enough to cast a knowing look in his direction, “others need to be made angry for the best in them to be called out.  We had a very short amount of time to teach you what you needed to know to survive away from your own people.  You say I was hard on you, but can you carry on an intelligent conversation in a language you weren’t born into?”

“I’d like to think so,” Buck answered, a bit put out by the question.  What kind of a thing to ask was that anyway?  Wasn’t she the one who had taught him?

Buck’s irritation brought a quick smile to her face. “Yes, you can.  Quite well in fact.  But at first you were so afraid of failing that you wouldn’t try.  A teacher must use whatever method is necessary to reach into child and if I had coddled you or made allowances for you, the result would have been different.  I was hard on you because you needed me to be.”

Buck sat back on the stool absorbing the Reverend Mother’s explanation.  It wasn’t what he had expected to hear, but once it sunk in, he realized what she said was true.  She had pushed him at every possible turn and he had responded to the pressure angrily, bitterly, at times hating her, but always more determined to succeed.  He tucked his head, a bit embarrassed, trying to think of something to say.  Should he thank her for making him so angry that he had learned just to spite her?  Should he apologize for having drawn a picture of her with flames shooting from her mouth?  Should he admit that he had let the garder snake loose in her office?  No.  He couldn’t confess that.  The snake had been only half his idea anyway.   He glanced up uncertainly, but understood by the look in his teacher’s eyes that nothing needed to be said.

“Will you be as hard on him?” he asked instead, nodding toward Daniel. 

“If need be.”

“Good.”

“You are welcome here to visit him anytime and I do hope you will come back.  And please bring Ike with you next time.  I would like very much to see him again.”

“Don’t think about it, Buck,” he warned himself. “Don’t think . . .”

“Reverend Mother . . .”  Buck went cold inside and swallowed hard to loosen the grip around his throat.  He took a deep breath and a moment to reconsider.  He didn’t have to tell her, but for some reason he wanted to.

“Ike can’t come back with me.”

The nun was puzzled by his response, but the distress written on Buck’s face spoke more than his few words did.

“He died about a month ago,” Buck explained, his voice so quiet the Reverend Mother had to strain to hear the words. “I should have told you last night, and I’m sorry . . . it’s just hard.”

“I’m certain it has been a very difficult time.   How did this happen?” 

The touch of her smooth fingers against his calloused palm startled Buck for a moment, but he allowed her to take his hand and the warmth of her touch drew the story from him.  The words that had been lodged in his throat like chunks of ice for so long spilled out.

“Ike met a girl.  Emily was her name.  Emily Metcalfe.  He had feelings for her.  More than that, I guess.  He didn’t know her for very long – not much more than a week – but I think he loved her.  It worried me and I told him not to get involved with Emily.  Ike always came out on the losing end whenever he cared for a girl.”  Buck was quiet for a moment as the brutal accuracy of his statement settled on him.  “Never thought it would come to this end, though.  He should’ve listened to me.”

“Emily’s father got on the wrong side of a gambler.  He accused the man of cheatin’ and . . . well, there was a lot of bad blood between them.  Metcalfe called the man out, but he wasn’t much of a gunfighter.  Got himself killed instead.  Emily tried to settle the score and drew on the man.”  Buck’s voice tightened, unable to hide his bitterness as he continued.  “She never should have done somethin’ so foolish.  Emily didn’t stand a chance against him and Ike died tryin’ to protect her.” 

“Buck, I can understand your resentment of the young lady, but it doesn’t surprise me that Ike gave his life for someone he loved.  That boy had a sweet soul.”  A sad smile crept across the creases of Mother Augustine’s face as she added quietly, “Once he let us see it.”

“I’d put what happened out of my mind and was doin’ fine,” Buck insisted.  “But then I found Daniel and had to come back here.  And now . . . now Ike’s everywhere I look.”

“Those memories can be a comfort to you if you allow them to be.  They can provide the peace you need to move on,” she replied, her gray gaze locking with his dark eyes.

Buck pulled his eyes away.  If only it could be so easy.  She didn’t understand that he was perched precariously, straddling a wide chasm in a fragile balance.  One misstep could crumble away his delicate foothold and send him tumbling back into the abyss of grief that had swallowed him in the days after Ike’s sudden death.  She didn’t understand how hard it had been just to climb this far.  

“It’s hard.”

“But you mustn’t be afraid to try.”

“Ike didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“No, Buck, he didn’t.  Neither did Daniel’s parents or any of these children’s families.  Such violence mocks the will of God and the innocent suffer.  I’ve seen too much of it.  But the word of the Lord assures us that those who follow the darker path will be judged according to their actions.”  Mother Augustine paused for a moment and then asked, “And what of the gambler who caused you such grief?”

Buck took time to consider his response.  Would she think him a sinner or a savage to know he had taken Neville’s life without an ounce of remorse?  He was a grown man now, not a child longing for his teacher’s approval, but for some reason that he couldn’t quite fathom, what this woman thought of him still mattered.

“He was punished,” Buck answered quietly.  It wasn’t really a lie.

“Ike has found his reward, Buck,” the Reverend Mother offered in reassurance.  “The reward that is promised for all the faithful. I will ask a blessing of peace for his soul and for yours.”

The nun took a moment to carefully study the young man opposite her – the foreign features, the heathenistic relic around his neck.  Mother Augustine squeezed Buck’s hand gently as she rose and caught his eye once more. “We never really converted you though, did we?”

The corners of Buck’s mouth lifted for a moment and he readily met her gaze.  “No, Mother, you didn’t.  But I’d appreciate the prayer just the same.”

Buck settled against the spindled back of the rocker and brought Daniel to his shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile at the little boy, all clean and pink and smelling of talcum.  The baby’s weight was warm and comfortable against him and the soft rhythm of Daniel’s breath against Buck’s neck seemed to slow the pace of his thoughts.

He had never rocked a baby before but there was something wonderfully soothing in the motion.   Maybe there really was something magical about holding a child – holding a new life in your arms.  Buck rested his head back against the chair’s wooden frame, watching the dawn unfurl outside the window.  The feather wisps of a dappled gray morning seemed strangely in contrast to the harsh realities inside Sorrows’ walls.  He would also pray for a family for Daniel, but realized the little boy would most likely spend his first sixteen years at Sorrows.  His growth wouldn’t be celebrated with parties and cakes but marked by exchanging one ill fitting suit of clothing for another that fit just as poorly. Lying awake in the dormitory at night, he would wonder what his life might have been like if his parents hadn’t been taken from him.  He would be given a religion whether he wanted it or not.  And at sixteen, with two dollars in his pocket, he would be ushered out the front door into a world that offered few chances and no apologies. 

But there was more to Our Lady of Sorrows School for the Orphaned and Abandoned than that.  Buck understood that now.  How narrow his scope had been, or perhaps how little he had allowed himself to see.  It wasn’t the home his own mother had wanted for him, or the life the McAllisters or any of these orphan’s families would have provided, but there was a love here.  Not as open or as obvious, perhaps you had to pull back layers of discipline and an endless supply of rules to find it, but it was a love none the less.

“They’ll take care of you here, Daniel,” Buck whispered to the orphaned child in his arms.  “And if you find a friend, you’ll do just fine.”