Publisher: Dorry Press
Series: The Orphan Train Saga, Book 1
Print Length: 229 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction
Synopsis
While most use their summer breaks for pleasure, third grade teacher Cindy Moore is using her summer vacation to tie up some loose ends concerning her grandmother’s estate. When Cindy enters the storage unit that holds her grandmother’s belongings, she is merely looking for items she can sell to recoup some of the rental fees she’s spent paying for the unit.
Instead, what she finds are secrets her grandmother has taken to the grave with her. The more Cindy uncovers, the more she wants to know. Why was her grandmother abandoned by her own mother? Why hadn’t she told Cindy she’d lived in an orphanage? And how come her grandmother never mentioned she’d made history as one of the children who rode the Orphan Trains?
Join Cindy as she uncovers her grandmother’s hidden past and discovers the life that stole her grandmother’s love.
Excerpt
Mileta followed Clara down a long hallway, admiring the large blue bow that held her hair high on top her head. It was a fine bow. Mileta wondered how her own long brown hair would look in a bow such as that. They passed two doors before stopping in front of another. Clara opened the door and pushed her inside, closing the door with a loud bang. She was beginning to not like the doors in this building.
Mileta was standing in what she would soon learn was the washroom, which was filled with deep washtubs. Three of the roundest women she had ever seen were in the room. Each of them wore long dark dresses covered with crisp white aprons such as Clara had on. Two of the women sat on low stools beside the large tubs, each briskly scrubbing the heads of girls not much older than she. Neither child seemed to be enjoying themselves. The third woman approached Mileta. Without saying a word, the woman took hold of her hair, twisted it close to her head, and snipped the length off with scissors. The woman examined the length of hair, then wrinkling her nose, tossed the wet locks into a large woodstove. Before Mileta could protest, the woman removed her tattered dress and tossed it into the fire along with the hair.
“You're covered with lice,” the woman said when Mileta began to cry. “Now strip off your underwear.”
Mileta did as she said and watched as the woman tossed them into the fire. A scream drew her attention.
“Tis hot!” one of the girls in the tub yelled.
“Stop your wailing, or I’ll pour another bucket on your head,” the woman tending her said and pushed the girl’s head under water. Seconds later, the head emerged. The woman plucked the girl out of the water, wrapped her in a towel, and motioned for Mileta to come. She hesitated, then found herself thrust forward by the sting of a hand on her bare backside. Not wanting another swat, she hurried to where the large woman was waiting and stood looking into the sudsy water.
“Well, go on; get in,” the woman fussed.
Mileta scrambled into the tub, blinking her surprise at the warmth of the water. Still cold from the rain, the water felt so inviting. She smiled. It was the second time she’d done so since entering the building.
“What? You’ve never had a bath before?” The woman snorted.
Mileta shook her head. She and her mother lived in a three-room apartment on the fourth floor of a bug-infested tenement building. They shared the space with two other families, making for a total of nine people living in the tiny apartment. The water spigots on the fourth floor didn’t work, so once a week, her mom carried a bucket of cold water up the stairs and, using a sponge, cleaned them both as best she could. Every other week, an extra bucket of water was brought up for washing the hair. The water was only heated enough to remove the chill. Running the stove cost money they did not have. Sometimes the water wasn’t even heated. If it was cold outside, her mother would allow it to come to room temperature before using it to wash. Up until a few moments ago, she never knew such luxuries as a hot tub filled with water existed. Nor did it matter that the water had already been used multiple times. It was the first time since leaving the house earlier this morning that she’d been warm.
The feeling of contentment didn’t last. The woman who sat next to the tub pulled a scrub brush from her apron, slid a bar of strong smelling soap across the brush before, in turn, sliding the brush along Mileta’s delicate skin. She tried to escape, but the woman’s grip held firm. She did not let up until she had assaulted every inch of Mileta’s body from scalp to toe with the course bristles. When she finished scrubbing, the woman poured a foul-smelling liquid into her palm, which she used to lather what was left of Mileta’s hair. Using the tips of her full fingers, the woman pulled the foam through the strands of hair from root to end.
“Rinse,” she ordered, then pushed Mileta’s head under water.
Gasping for air, Mileta rubbed the stinging suds from her eyes. Her vision cleared just in time to watch the woman lift a bucket and douse her with the contents. The girl that had preceded her in the tub was not lying; the water was hot.
“Out!” the woman commanded, tossing the bucket aside.
Mileta clamored out of the tub without hesitation and trembled while the woman ran a rough towel over her tender pink skin.
When she finally finished, she pointed a chubby finger to the other side of the room.
“Go see Mistress Eleanora and she will get you dressed. Now!” the woman bellowed when Mileta hesitated.
Mileta hurried to the woman who’d taken her dress. Mistress Eleanora sized her up before handing her a pair of brand new underwear and a slip. To Mileta’s surprise, she then handed her a blue and white gingham print dress that matched the one Clara was wearing, along with a pair of black tights. Except for the print, the dress was plain. However, to seven year-old Mileta, used to wearing rags, it was beautiful. The lady took a ruler and measured Mileta’s feet before presenting her with a pair of shiny black shoes. Once again, tears threatened. It was the first time she had ever received such treasures. She hurried to get dressed then crammed her feet into the shoes, which seemed a bit small. She did not tell the lady, as she was afraid she would take them away from her. They might hurt her feet, but they were new. Brand new, like from the store window on the busy street where people wrinkled their noses when she and her mother passed by. For the third time that day, Mileta smiled.
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What a fabulous excerpt!
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I totally agree!
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