All My Tomorrows Page 3

  Teddy nodded.

  Smith told the boy about his talk with police Chief Walt Masterson last evening, of the two police officers who visited his aunts and uncles, and what happened in both homes.

  Teddy looked down at the floor. “It’s like I told you, sir … the only one who wants me is Aunt Eva. But Uncle George doesn’t, so it can’t happen.” He looked back up at Smith. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I have a good friend who works at the Thirty-second Street Orphanage.”

  Teddy’s back arched. “Orphanage? But all the orphanages are full, sir. I’ve heard that many times.”

  “I know, but my friend Bill Waters has told me many times how tenderhearted the superintendent is. I believe he will take you, once he meets you and hears your story. I’ve been to the orphanage a few times, Teddy. The people there really love children. They are very kind. The children I’ve seen there seem happy. It sure would be better than living on the streets, as you saw yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Teddy. “It’s for certain sure I don’t want to go through that again. Let’s try it.”

  The two of them walked through the snow with Officer Smith carrying the cloth bag. When they arrived at the orphanage, Teddy stared up at the two-storied red brick building. Sunlight glinted off the sparkling windows and smoke rose skyward from its four chimneys.

  “It looks like an all right place, sir.”

  “Well, let’s go in and see what happens.”

  Together, the man in blue and the boy in the tattered coat mounted the steps and moved through the double doors. When they approached the middle-aged woman who sat at the desk, Smith said, “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Officer Justin Smith. Is Bill Waters on the premises?”

  “Yes, he is,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll fetch him for you.” Her soft eyes went to Teddy. “And who is this young gentleman?”

  “His name is Teddy Hansen, ma’am. He’s an orphan.”

  “What happened to your face, honey?”

  “I got beat up in an alley, ma’am.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” She headed for the door. “I’ll be right back with Mr. Waters.”

  No more than three minutes had passed when Waters and the receptionist entered the room.

  Bill Waters was a husky man with a receding hairline, and he was dressed in a suit and tie. He extended his hand to his friend, then Waters looked at the boy. “What happened to you, son?”

  “He got beat up in an alley when he was trying to join a colony,” Smith answered for Teddy. “He just became an orphan this week. He’s ten years old.”

  Waters met Smith’s gaze. “And you—”

  “Yes. You’ve often told me of Mr. Stanfill’s compassion. Now, I need to put it to the test. Teddy needs a home.”

  Bill nodded. “I’ll take you and Teddy in to see him.”

  Waters guided the officer and orphan a short distance down the hall and tapped on the door that had a sign on it which read: Wayne D. Stanfill, Superintendent. He tapped on the door and a deep masculine voice from inside called, “Come in.”

  Bill Waters led them into the office and introduced Officer Justin Smith, saying they were close friends. Stanfill, who was even a larger man than Waters, shook Smith’s hand, then set his eyes on the boy. “What happened to you, young man?”

  Smith answered for Teddy again, using the same words he had spoken to Bill Waters a few minutes before. Stanfill invited them to sit down, and Waters excused himself and left.

  The superintendent smiled at the boy. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Teddy Hansen, sir.”

  Stanfill looked at the officer. “You’re looking for a home for Teddy, I assume.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Smith. “Let me tell you Teddy’s story.”

  When the officer finished the sad story, there were tears in Wayne Stanfill’s eyes. “Teddy, we are indeed very crowded here, as you will see. But we will make a place for you. I’ll call for Mr. Waters, and he’ll take you to your room.”

  Teddy made a nervous smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  Stanfill went to the door and asked the receptionist to find Waters and tell him to come to his office. He returned to his desk and took out a printed form. He asked Teddy for his full name, and Teddy told him it was Theodore Ambrose Hansen. Ambrose was his mother’s maiden name. Stanfill wrote it down, then as he wrote on another line, he told Justin Smith he was putting him down as Teddy’s outside contact.

  Smith told him that would be fine, then talked to him about the stitches in Teddy’s cheek. Stanfill assured him that the orphanage’s doctor would take care of Teddy’s wound.

  Bill Waters came in while Stanfill was writing something else. The superintendent looked up and said, “Bill, I’m putting Teddy in room twelve. He’ll have to sleep on the floor as two other boys are. Make sure he gets an extra blanket.”

  Waters smiled. “Sure will, Mr. Stanfill.”

  Stanfill set his kind eyes on Teddy. “There are eight boys in the room, son, but only six bunks. Two of the newest boys to come to us are sleeping on the floor, so you can join them. Sorry we don’t have a bunk for you, but as I told you, we are very crowded.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Stanfill,” Teddy said politely. “It’s still a whole lot better than being out there on the streets.”

  Officer Smith rose from his chair. “Well, Teddy, now that you’re situated here in the orphanage, I’ve got to get back to headquarters.”

  Teddy slid off the chair and looked up at his friend. He felt reluctance about Officer Smith leaving him and the look in his eyes showed it.

  Smith laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine here, Teddy. You’ll soon make new friends. I’ll come back as often as I can and check on you.”

  “You’ll really come to see me, sir? Is that a certain sure promise?”

  Smith grinned. He squeezed the slender shoulder. “Yes, Teddy, that’s a certain sure promise.”

  “Thank you, sir, for being so kind to me.”

  “I have a son just a little older than you, Teddy. He’s twelve. His name is Johnny. His mother died just over a year ago with cancer. If something happened to me, and Johnny became an orphan, I would want someone to treat him well. I’m glad I could be of help to you.”

  Wayne Stanfill’s face showed the compassion he suddenly felt for Justin Smith. “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s death, Officer Smith. You haven’t remarried?”

  “No, sir. There is a widow in her late sixties who lives in our tenement, on the same floor. She keeps Johnny in her apartment when he’s not in school and looks after him when I’m on duty.”

  “I see. Well, I’m glad you have her.”

  “So is Johnny.” He patted Teddy’s shoulder. “See you later, pal.”

  Teddy watched the man leave, then Wayne Stanfill said, “All right, Bill, take Teddy to room twelve and introduce him to his new roommates.”

  “Okay, Teddy,” said Waters. “Let’s go.”

  Teddy picked up his bag and followed Waters out of the office. They moved down the hall, and when they came to room number twelve, the door was open and the boys were laughing. They looked up as Bill Waters stepped in with Teddy on his heels. Their eyes went to Teddy, then back to Waters. “Boys, this is Teddy Hansen. He’s ten years old. Mr. Stanfill has assigned him to your room. Teddy knows he will have to sleep on the floor, as two of you do. I’ll send his blankets and pillow in a little later.” He turned to Teddy. “I’ll let the boys introduce themselves to you.”

  When Waters had gone, the boys gathered around Teddy and welcomed him. Each one gave his name and age. He was treated especially kind by the other two boys who slept on the floor: thirteen-year-old Jerry Varnell and nine-year-old Clint Albright. They assured him they would help make him comfortable on the floor with them at bedtime. After his experiences with the cruel boys in the alleys, Teddy was thankful for the kindness he was being shown and told them so. “This place is for certain sure
a lot friendlier than the alleys where the mean boys live.”

  Later that day when his shift was over, Officer Justin Smith left the precinct station on Thirty-fourth Street in Manhattan and headed for home. Soon he arrived at the tenement where he and his son lived, and before going to his apartment, he knocked on the door across the hall.

  There were rapid footsteps inside, then the door came open and Johnny Smith wrapped his arms around his father. “I’m glad you’re home safe and sound, Dad. Did you have to use your gun today?”

  “No, for which I’m thankful, son,” Justin said as Flora Benson came into the parlor, a smile lighting up her wrinkled face.

  A wonderful aroma of baked chicken and sage dressing was causing Justin’s mouth to water. Flora said, “In case you didn’t know it by what you smell, Officer Smith, you and Johnny are not eating at your usual café this evening. You’re going to keep a lonely old lady company. I have supper ready, and we’re eating together. No arguments.”

  Justin laughed and looked down into Johnny’s eyes. “This lady is really bossy, isn’t she, son?”

  “Yeah, Dad, and aren’t you glad?”

  “Don’t tell her I said so, but I sure am! It smells awfully good from here.”

  Johnny made a slurping sound. “I’ve been smelling it all afternoon! I was sure hoping we would be invited to stay!”

  Flora laughed. “Then that makes us all happy! Take your coat off and warm yourself by the fire, Justin. Supper will be on the table in just a few minutes.” Flora bustled off toward the kitchen.

  Justin stood near the fireplace and glanced about the homey room with his son at his side. A sadness filled his heart as he remembered the warm, cozy home his beloved wife always kept for him and Johnny. Before he had a chance to dwell too long on the past, Flora called them to the table, which was laden with delicious dishes. Both of their mouths were watering in anticipation of the meal.

  While they were eating, Johnny said, “Dad, you told Mrs. Benson and me about Teddy Hansen last night. Were you able to get him in the orphanage today?”

  “Yes, I sure was.”

  “How’s his gash?” queried Flora.

  “Dr. Martin said it will heal up fine inside of a couple of weeks. He had to put four stitches in it. Teddy’s got quite a black-and-blue mark where the bully hit him, but that will clear up in time. The doctor at the orphanage will be looking after him. Poor little guy. He’s been through a lot.”

  Johnny swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “Dad, I sure don’t understand why Teddy’s aunts and uncles wouldn’t want him, but at least in the orphanage, he will have people who care about orphan children and will provide for him. That’s a whole lot better than living on the streets.”

  “After what happened to him on the streets, I’m sure the orphanage will look plenty good to him,” said Flora.

  Johnny took a drink of milk, set the glass down, and looked at his father. “Thank you for loving me and providing for me, Dad. I miss Mom an awful lot, but I’m so glad I still have you. I know I’ve said this a lot, but when I grow up, I want to be a policeman, just like you.”

  Flora chuckled. “Johnny, you’ve been saying that since you were six years old. I admire you for it, and I hope it works out for you when you grow up.”

  Justin smiled. “I hope so too. I will be proud to have my son follow in my footsteps.”

  “Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to wear a badge, Dad. I want to do all I can to stop the crime on New York’s streets, but I think the best part of being a police officer will be to do things like you did for Teddy Hansen. It must make you feel good to help somebody like Teddy.”

  Justin smiled and placed his hand over his heart. “Yes, son. It makes me feel good right here.”

  In a small, dingy flat in a run-down tenement house on Houston Street near downtown Manhattan, Gerald and Delia Mitchell sat down to supper with their seven children, who ranged in age from the thirteen-year-old identical twin girls to their ten-month-old baby boy. The meals were meager, like all the other meals had been in the Mitchell household for some time.

  While they were eating, Gerald ran his gaze over the faces of his children. “Your mother and I have something to tell you. When we went shopping today, we also went to Dr. Baldwin’s office. Dr. Baldwin told us that your mother is going to have a baby in October.”

  The eyes of all the older children were silently fixed on their father, then swung to their mother. Delia Mitchell was little more than thirty years old but looked more like fifty. Her skin was pallid and her thin, lifeless brown hair—streaked with gray—was pulled back in a tight bun on the nape of her neck. She was nothing but skin and bones, except for the small roundness of her middle. A tired sadness pinched her face as she met the dull eyes of her older children and a weary sigh escaped her lips. She looked down at the table, assessing the scanty meal she had put there for her family. And now, there was another one on the way. Gerald is right. We must let the twins go and find a place for themselves. But how am I ever going to part with them? They’re my firstborn and have a special place in my heart. But they’ll be better off, and at least maybe they’ll have a better chance in life. But I’ll miss them so.

  Gerald’s voice was tight as he said, “Mama and I had a little talk on the way home from the doctor’s office. We’re hardly able to keep enough food on the table and clothes on ourselves and you children. As you know, I’m working two jobs. I can’t work three. So … Donna and Deena, since you are the oldest, you are going to have to move out. We don’t like to have to do this, but there isn’t any choice.”

  Stunned beyond words, the twins stared at each other as though looking in a mirror. The blood drained from their faces. Both were seized by an icy, unreasoning fear.

  Finally Donna found her voice. “Wh-where are we supposed to go? We’re only th-thirteen years old and still in school. Papa, please let us stay here with you and Mama.”

  Tears filled the eyes of both girls as they stared at their father.

  Gerald cleared his throat shakily. “We simply can’t keep you anymore. There are thousands of children who live on the streets downtown. Some of them do odd jobs for businesses, and others sell different items provided by distributors, such as wooden matches and toothpicks. Others do quite well at begging. They sleep in all kinds of makeshift shelters. Certainly you two are old enough to take care of yourselves as the other teenagers do.”

  Deena set her tear-filled eyes on her mother. “Mama, is this what you want, too? Who’s going to help you with the children? You can barely get out of bed some days because you are so weak.”

  “I know,” Delia replied in a whisper. “I’ll just have to do the best I can. Please, girls, look at this as an opportunity. Maybe somehow you can better yourselves. You—” A sob clogged her throat, and she began to cough uncontrollably.

  Gerald’s face bunched in momentary displeasure. He set hard eyes on Deena. “Now look what you’ve done. You and Donna will do as you’re told, and no sass from either of you. Our situation is desperate. You will have to leave tomorrow morning.”

  The twins looked at each other, panic tearing at their hearts.

  Deena wiped tears from her cheeks and set her gaze on her father. “Why so soon, Papa? The baby won’t be born for another seven months.”

  Gerald’s anger increased, but before he could reply, Delia said, “You don’t know it, but of late, your papa has had to borrow money from friends on both jobs just to make ends meet. With two less mouths to feed, he will be able to start paying the money back and probably will have the debts paid by the time the baby is born in October.”

  “So now you know,” said Gerald, shoving his chair back and rising to his feet. He kept his eyes on the twins as he helped Delia from her chair. “You two get the dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up. If you need help, get it from your brothers and sisters, as usual.”

  Gerald guided Delia into a tiny bedroom. The floor was covered in faded, cracked linoleum. The onl
y pieces of furniture were a battered dresser with sagging drawers and an old scarred bed with a lumpy mattress that was covered with a tattered quilt.

  With the help of their three younger sad-faced brothers and sisters—who ranged from six to eleven—the twins cleaned the cramped kitchen. All the while, they discussed what they would do the next day, still in total disbelief.

  Once they had done all they could in the kitchen, they readied the younger children for bed in the apartment’s only other bedroom, then did the same for themselves. Neither parent had come out of their bedroom, and soon the tiny flat was filled with the sounds of their father’s snoring and an occasional sniff from their mother as she wept because of her lot in this miserable life.

  When their siblings were asleep, Deena and Donna clung to each other in their narrow bed and wept silently for some time. Then in whispers, they shared their fears of having to go to the streets and alleys. Would they actually be able to provide for themselves, or would they starve to death as hundreds of street children had done? And then there were the great numbers of street children who froze to death every winter. They had read about it in the day-old newspapers their father had brought home, and their schoolteachers had told them about it. Each tried to console the other in an effort to be strong for her twin.

  “We’ll make it somehow,” whispered Donna, with an assurance she didn’t really feel.

  “Of course we will,” responded Deena, with the same secret doubts assailing her. “We will always have each other.”

  After a while, they finally cried themselves to sleep.

  The next morning at the breakfast table, the twins were unable to swallow more than a few bites past the lumps in their throats while their mother and siblings looked on. Gerald had left for work before any of the children were up.

  They helped their mother do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, then went to their bedroom and gathered their scant belongings. They placed a few faded, worn dresses, stockings with holes in the toes, and some ragged underwear in a cloth bag. They also placed a tiny music box in the bag that had been given to them on their eleventh birthday by their maternal grandmother just before she died.