The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman
cause trouble for me.”
“Well,” she said. “It was very nice of you to stop them and make them return what they took.”
He gave her a sideways grin. “Why, isn’t that grand? Ye think I’m nice. Thank you, Pia Lange.”
Heat crawled up her face. She nodded because she didn’t know what to say, then went back to watching the girls play hopscotch. Did he really think what she said was grand, or was he making fun of her? His smile made her think he appreciated the compliment, so she told herself that was the case. Not that it mattered. Once he found out she was German he’d probably never speak to her again.
He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and watched the girls play hopscotch too. “We came from Ireland three years ago,” he said. “How long have you been in the States?”
“Since I was four,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows at her. “That long?”
She nodded.
“Livin’ here in Philly the entire time?”
She shook her head. “We came here from Hazleton, Pennsylvania. Vater... I mean, my father worked in the coal mines.”
He forced a hard breath between his teeth. “That’s a bloody hard way to make a living.”
She nodded. At least he didn’t react to the German word. Or maybe he didn’t notice.
“This city can be a mite overwhelming when you first arrive,” he said. “But you’ll get used to it. My da was the one who wanted to come, but he never got to see it.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t survive the voyage.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Aye, I appreciate it. My mam has been having a hard time of it since then, so my older brothers and I have been taking care of her and my granddad. Then the army took one of my brothers six months ago, and my other brother had to start working double shifts at the textile mill. I’m ready to take a job, but Mam insists I finish my schoolin’ first. Things were hard in Dublin, but I’m not sure they’re much better here. It makes ye long for home, even when you know leaving was the right thing to do.”
She really looked at him then, at his kind face and hazel eyes. It was almost as if he were reading her mind.
From that day on, they were fast friends. He didn’t care that she and her family were German, or ask her to explain why she didn’t want to play cat’s cradle or any other game that might involve close contact. After he sent her a note on the clothesline between their fourth-floor apartments that said, ’Twas nice to meet ye, lass! they started sending each other messages on Sunday nights when the line was empty—but only if the windows weren’t frozen shut and they were able to find scraps of paper not set aside for the war effort. The notes were silly and meaningless, just hello or a funny joke or a drawing, but it was their little secret. One of the few things Pia didn’t have to share with anyone else.
Once school started and they discovered they were in the same classroom despite him being a grade ahead, he offered to sit with her at recess, but she said she’d rather not have the added attention. While he played kickball and marbles with the other boys, he always looked over to offer a smile or a wave. And that small gesture made everything easier.
Most days she didn’t mind sitting alone. But today was different. She wished he’d stop playing ball and come sit with her, even if it was just for a few minutes. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about the flu, and was constantly distracted by an overwhelming feeling of worry and dread. When a group of girls skipping rope began to chant a new rhyme, chills shivered up her spine.
There was a little girl, and she had a little bird,
And she called it by the pretty name of Enza;
But one day it flew away, but it didn’t go to stay,
For when she raised the window, in-flu-enza.
“What are you staring at, scaredy-cat?”
Pia looked up to see who had spoken, unaware she’d been staring. A thin girl with brown pigtails glared down at her, a disgusted look on her face. It was Mary Helen Burrows, the girl everyone liked or feared, depending on which day you asked, and whether or not Mary Helen was within earshot. No one had ever seen her get into an actual brawl, but permanent anger knitted her brows, and bruises marked her arms and legs. Two other girls stood behind her, Beverly Hansom and Selma Jones, their arms crossed over their chests.
“I wasn’t staring at anything,” Pia said, reaching for her book.
“I’m telling you, Mary Helen,” Beverly said. “She was staring at us, like she was coming up with some nasty German scheme or somethin’.”
Mary Helen knocked the book out of Pia’s hand. “You spying on us?”
Pia shook her head. “No, I was just—”
“What’s going on?” someone said. “Are you all right, Pia?” It was Finn. He was out of breath, his face red and his hair disheveled.
“Your girlfriend was giving us the stink-eye,” Mary Helen said.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Finn said.
“Shut up, Mary Helen,” Pia said.
Mary Helen ignored her and glared at Finn. “I just wanna know one thing. What would your mother think if she knew you were friends with a filthy Hun, ’specially with your older brother over there fighting to keep you safe?”
Pia bounced to her feet. “Take that back!”
Mary Helen’s head snapped around and she gaped at Pia, shocked to hear her standing up for herself. “What’d you say?”
“I said take it back!”
Mary Helen held up her bony fists. “You want a fat lip to go with that stink-eye, scaredy-cat?”
“Jaysus,” Finn said. “In the name of all that’s holy, shut up, Mary Helen. You’re not gonna fight.”
“Oh yeah?” Mary Helen said. Suddenly her hand shot out and grabbed the front of Pia’s dress. She yanked Pia forward and pushed her contorted face into hers, the stench of garlic and onions wafting from the bag around her neck almost making Pia gag. Thinking only of escape, Pia grabbed Mary Helen’s wrist with both hands and tried to pull her off. A quick stab of pain twisted in her chest, sharp and immediate, and she gasped, unable to get air. She let go of Mary Helen’s wrist and tried to step away, suddenly disoriented and dizzy. Finn pried Mary Helen’s fist from Pia’s dress, moved Pia behind him, and stood between them. Pia sat down hard on the ground and tried to catch her breath.
One of the teachers hurried over. “What in heaven’s name is going on over here?” she said. It was Miss Herrick. She towered above them, willowy as a flower stem.
“Nothing, ma’am,” Mary Helen said. “You must be balled up. We were just playing a game.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like a game to me,” Miss Herrick said. “You and your friends run along now, Mary Helen, and leave Pia alone.”
Mary Helen harrumphed, but did as she was told. The other girls followed, their faces pinched.
“Are you all right, Pia?” Miss Herrick said. She bent down to help her up, reaching for her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” Pia said, louder than intended.
Miss Herrick gasped and clapped a hand to her chest.
Pia instantly regretted her outburst. The last thing she needed was to get in trouble at school. Mutti would never understand. She got up and brushed off her dress. “I’m sorry, Miss Herrick,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was frightened, that’s all.”
Miss