Chapter 1
“Oh, Arthur, do behave! We’ve only a few minutes until Ma’am Tabitha calls everyone for supper. You must endeavor to be at least somewhat presentable by then.” Meredith was tightly clutching a small, rather faded shirt as she attempted to persuade the boy to put it on. She and Arthur had to go through this routine chase on an almost nightly basis. For whatever reason, he seemed strongly opposed to clean shirts.
“But Meredith, you know how much I dislike that shirt! I want to wear the red one!” he cried out in defiance, standing atop one of the several beds in the room.
With her hands on her hips, Meredith said matter-of-factly, “Well, Tommy is wearing it tonight. Perhaps if you had come in from the yard sooner, you would have been able to claim it for yourself. Now I’m afraid that either you wear this or be content with no supper at all.” She held up the shirt with both hands as a sort of present for him as he considered his limited options.
Needless to say, he gave in. He begrudgingly stood still as Meredith draped the shirt over his head and pulled his arms through the holes one by one. She smiled softly as she quietly examined his wrathful demeanor. It had been the same argument with the same ending every day for days now, perhaps even weeks. Or was it months? Indeed, it was hard to keep track of time within the orphanage. Every day was filled with noise and rowdiness unrivaled by even the busiest of marketplaces.
Every day, Meredith looked after, taught, soothed, dressed, and patched up each of the little ones. However, she did not perceive this as a burden. Rather, she believed it to be her duty to care for each of these children as delicately as possible so as to provide them with a higher chance of getting adopted. Meredith herself was also an orphan. But, alas, at twenty years old, it was much too late for her to be adopted now. Oh, how she used to dream of what her adopted parents would have looked like!
She often imagined her new father would have been a tall, confident man with a pipe in his mouth and a newspaper tucked under his left arm. She dreamed he would be the sort of educated man with a vast collection of books and artifacts, which he would then proceed to share with Meredith.
And on his other arm, he would have a beautiful, kind, and equally knowledgeable wife. Meredith used to dream that they would both have red hair, just like her. She always stood out in the orphanage because of it, but perhaps if her adoptive parents had the same feature, it would help her feel less out of place.
Ah well, nothing to be done about it now. I grew up pleasantly enough under Ma’am Tabitha’s care.
Her new mission was to help as many of the little ones get adopted as possible, including the spirited troublemakers like Arthur.
“There! What a fine young lad! And most deserving of a scrumptious supper.” She put the comb down on the dresser and straightened the collar of his shirt. He squinted first at his own reflection, then at her. He tried to seem displeased with his new appearance, but could only accomplish a half-frown, half-smile. He settled instead for sticking his tongue out at her through the mirror, and she promptly returned the gesture.
They were interrupted by the sound of Ma’am Tabitha ringing the bell. At last, suppertime!
* * *
One would think that a dining table filled with children would be a most raucous affair. But not so under the diligent supervision of Ma’am Tabitha, who endeavored to instill the values of discipline and dignity in all of the children under her care. Everyone chatted away in a most behaved manner, knowing full well that any causers of mischief would be heartlessly sent to bed with empty stomachs and caned hands.
Each of them politely waited their turn as Meredith carefully ladled stew into each of their bowls while Ma’am Tabitha did the same starting at the opposite end of the table.
Times were tough at the moment. The last successful adoption was several months ago, towards the end of Autumn. It was now the beginning of Spring, and donations had been scarce and far between for several months. There were currently six-and-twenty children in the home, ranging from roughly two up to ten-and-two years of age. Ma’am Tabitha did not allow herself to dwell on the home’s woeful plight for too long. After all, there were more important things at hand.
Indeed, there is always more washing and sweeping and scrubbing and cooking and folding and putting away and—
The sound of a crash made her jump. It had come from the other side of the table. A cup was now lying shattered on the wooden floor. All of the children had fallen silent and had their eyes nervously fixed on her. No one dared to move a muscle. With a sigh, Ma’am Tabitha put down the pot of stew she was carrying and finally spoke.
“Naturally, I did not see what happened for I was preoccupied with the stew,” she gestured plainly to the pot that she had set down, “So, who did it?” After receiving no answer, she simply asked, “Meredith? Did you see what happened?”
Instantly, all eyes and heads turned from facing Ma’am Tabitha—who was stationed at one end of the table—to Meredith, the only person in the room who had the courage to meet Ma’am Tabitha’s gaze at the moment.
Meredith responded, “Oh, I am so very sorry, Ma’am Tabitha. I was careless and knocked the cup off the table with my elbow as I turned around to—” Suddenly realizing that elaborating on these details would be of no use, she lowered her head and quietly said, “Nevertheless, I am deeply sorry.”
Unfazed by this display of sorrow and remorse, Ma’am Tabitha simply picked up her pot of stew and resumed her ladling, “See me after supper, Meredith, dear.” With three short, fervent nods, Meredith confirmed this impromptu appointment and turned to fetch the broom.
“No, no. Carry on with what you were doing. Joyce can take care of that for us. Joyce?” Tabitha called out loudly to the other room, “A cup has been broken. Could you please fetch the broom and dustpan?”
A muffled, “Right away, Ma’am,” was heard from the drawing room. And as Joyce swept up the broken pieces and wiped up the spilt water the children slowly, hesitantly, started to move and talk again. One by one, they finished their meals and promptly made their way up the steps to prepare for bed. After clearing the table, Meredith and Joyce accompanied the younger children upstairs to help them all settle in.
In the meantime, Ma’am Tabitha took care of the dishes and performed a final sweep. She could feel her knees creak as she finally sat down on the dusty, faded armchair in the parlor. It faced the fireplace, but it was too warm for a fire now. The only light in the room came from a single oil lamp on the tea table next to her. And once more, she sighed. She found herself sighing more often as of late. There were, of course, valid reasons for doing so. But one reason in particular, had grieved her more than the rest. She had kept it to herself for a while now.
I had hoped that if I did not speak it out loud, it would have gone away. Alas, this reason has persisted. And I must now face it head on.
* * *
Meredith gently cleared her throat to make her presence known. She immediately followed it up with, “I’m here, Ma’am.”
“Have a seat, dear.” Ma’am Tabitha gestured to the other faded armchair across from her and handed Meredith a cup as she sat down. “Mrs. Hatcher was kind enough to give us a pouch of tea leaves. I’ve made you a cup, it’s lovely stuff. And I’ve saved a bit for Joyce, as well. Is she nearly finished upstairs?”
Meredith swallowed her sip of tea before responding, “Almost, Ma’am. The youngest ones are already asleep. But some of the older children begged her to read them a story.” Ma’am Tabitha’s expression immediately brightened. Almost 15 or so years ago, the owner of a bookshop several lanes down passed away in his sleep. He had no family or next of kin to pass the shop and its contents onto. The only wish stated in his will was for the books—which he considered his most prized possessions—and all of his other belongings to be divvied up between various charities and orphanages within the district. This was to be his final contribution to society.
