Orphan

CHAPTER ONE The train rumbled along through the country side past fields bare of any growing thing. It was February and still too cold to plant. The train was cold. You could see your breath in the icy dawn. The sun was just showing color to the East. Lila Jo Brewster lay curled up across the hard bench seat. She was covered with the old, brown, moth eaten, wool coat that Miss Lettie had given her just as she almost pushed her out the door. Jo had lived at the Kavanagh Children’s Home in a small place called Gransburg, bordering between Wisconsin and Minnesota, since just before she turned six years old. Her mother had died giving birth to the child she had wanted so badly. Randolph Brewster had tried his best to raise the child that looked so much like his beloved Jodie. That was the only reason he married again just before Jo turned four. People kept telling him that she needed a mother, that he wasn’t capable of raising a daughter. He thought he had been doing a pretty good job really. He could see that they were right in some ways; the child needed some one to possibly make her a dress or do something with that mass of curly hair that crowned her precious head. Jodie had been extraordinarily beautiful and he had loved her so. He felt sure he would never love another as he had Jodie but he wasn’t looking for love, just someone to be there and to help raise his child; after all, he had known real love and knew that he would never know anything even close to that again. Jodie’s grandmother had raised her and she and her new husband had moved into her home to take care of the elderly lady when they married. Randolph and the baby had stayed on and in the beginning the old lady was able in some way to help take care for the little one, but by the time the child was a year old the old woman’s health had really begin to fail. Two months after Lila Jo turned two years old the old lady died. She had not been of much help with the child in the last several months, but she had given the child love and he knew this was as important as all the rest. John Adams had died in an accident on the railroad, where he worked as a brakeman. One night during a bad ice storm he had made a jump for the train and his foot slipped on the icy step and he fell under the wheels. They wouldn’t let her see him, but one of the other men that had worked with John had told her that he had not suffered. She had been grateful for that. Martha had warned him time and again to please be a little more careful, but he didn’t listen. She had loved her dare devil and she missed him something awful, but he had not been much of a manager with money. If Martha or one of the girls said they would like to have something, he went out and bought it for them if at all possible. Just days after they came and told them that he was dead, she learned that they had been living, as it was said, hand to mouth. Martha could find no work. There weren’t many jobs for women, especially in a small town. She tried taking in washing, but she didn’t have the stamina for that. The railroad gave her his last pay check and were good enough that they added an extra check. It was a help but it didn’t go far. With the little money she made doing laundry and the money from the railroad she was able to make it almost a year. One day when it looked as if the world was going to come to an end along with the last of the money that she had been so careful with, she had gone crying to her neighbor Molly Doyle. “Molly what am I going to do? The only thing I see is to go to Miss Hollie’s place and take a job as one of her girls.” The other woman gasp out, “Martha, you can’t do that. You aren’t the type; besides what would John say?” “John would say nothing! John is dead and if he had been less careless he would still be here to support me and our girls.” She almost screamed out, and with this she broke into tears. “Martha, there is another way.” “What, what way?” The distraught lady ask curtly. “You could marry again.” “Marry again? And who would I marry? I don’t go anywhere to meet anyone. Every man in this town is married, so just who am I suppose to marry?” “No one.” Molly came back with. “Who then? Who in Harrisburg Pennsylvania is not married?” “Well Randolph Brewster! Jodie has been gone, what? Close to two years? He is a nice guy and I am sure he needs help raising that little girl of his. The old woman, ugh, Jodie’s grandmother I think she was. She was real old and she has been as much help to Randolph as she could be but now that she is dying, he is going to need someone to help with his child as you need someone to help you and your girls.” “I don’t know Moll. I have never been with any man but John and I don’t know if I could preform the wifely duties he would expect.” “Well, think about Randolph Brewster, but I wouldn’t wait too long. Kathy Wise has been making eyes at the man in question. Taking food over to the old lady and making little dresses for the child! You can check him out at church Sunday. You do know how to find the church, don’t you?” Molly said, throwing it at her friend as she had for a while been trying to convince the lady that she had needed to get back to church. She thought it might be worth it to check out Randolph Brewster, and this she did when a few days after the conversation with Molly, the old lady had died and she had gone to her funeral and had shook his hand and given him her condolences. That had been the only time she had ever spoken to him. Of course, she had seen him around town; after all, it was a small place, but he had not been one of her customers. He must have taken his families clothes to the other lady in town who did laundry.Molly had been pretty positive he would be at church with his little daughter. Sure enough, they were there. Molly steered Martha and her two girls into the pew just in front of where she knew Randolph would sit. After singing a couple of songs the congregation was asked to greet those around them and Martha shook hands with the family in the pew in front of her and a couple on her right, but she didn’t turn around. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and when she turned it was to look into the face of Randolph Brewster. He was a nice looking man, not nearly as handsome as her John had been; but he wasn’t bad looking. She had planned this and as she placed her hand in his, she squeezed gently then she let her hand go limp before pulling it away. She ducked her head, lowering her eyes, and she sat down, pulling her youngest daughter into her lap.