The Little Sparrows Page 7

  Moments later, the children were seated on the sofa, and Frances was on the chair where the pastor had sat earlier. Johnny had gone to the guest room and brought Frances’s Bible to her.

  She opened the Bible, and while she was flipping pages, she said, “I want to read you a very special verse from Romans chapter 8.” She found the page. “It’s verse 28. Paul is addressing God’s people. Listen. ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ Did you notice he said all things?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I remember Mama and Papa talking about this verse. Papa pointed out the word all. And he pointed out the words work together. He said all things that come into our lives are not good, but that they work together for our good.”

  “He was right, honey. And only God could make it work like that. What I wanted to do was to help you understand that all things—including this tragedy—will work together for good, and you will see it one day.”

  Johnny set serious eyes on Frances. “Mrs. Roberts?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Mary told me that God will take care of my sisters and me. She said He will see to it that we have food and clothes and a place to live. Do you believe He will?”

  Frances smiled. “I sure do, Johnny. Let me read you what the Lord Jesus said about that. It’s in Matthew chapter 10.”

  She flipped pages. “Verses 29 through 31. Listen to Jesus as He talks about little sparrows.”

  Lizzie’s eyes came to life. “I like sparrows, Mrs. Roberts!”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Mm-hmm. They come into our yard a lot. And doves do too. Sometimes Mama lets me put out bread crumbs for ’em.”

  Frances nodded. “Well, listen to what Jesus said about those little sparrows, honey. ‘Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.’ When Jesus said that one of those little sparrows shall not fall to the ground without your Father, He is telling us that those little sparrows are never alone. God is always with them.”

  “Mrs. Roberts?” Mary said.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Didn’t Jesus talk about the little sparrows in the book of Luke, too?”

  “Yes, He did, honey. He said almost the same thing, but it might be good if I show it to you. The way Jesus put it in Luke’s gospel strengthens what I was about to say next.” Turning to Luke 12:6–7, she said, “Now, listen closely. ‘Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.’

  “Now, we saw in Matthew that Jesus spoke of a little sparrow falling to the ground, but that our heavenly Father is right there with him when he does. As I said, He is telling us that those precious little sparrows are never alone. God is always with them. In Luke’s account, Jesus said that not one of them is forgotten before God. Sometimes in our lives, things happen that break our hearts. And sometimes we feel so lonely in our troubles that we think God has forsaken us and even forgotten us. But Jesus is trying to get us to see that this will never happen. Notice in both accounts, he tells us not to be afraid because we are of more value than many sparrows.

  “Do you see what Jesus is saying, children? God provides nests for little sparrows to live in, food for them to eat, and feathers to clothe them. A sparrow’s home is his nest. A human’s home is his house. The Lord Jesus, who loves you, Mary, Johnny, and Lizzie, is telling you that since God loves little sparrows and always remembers them, He will take care of you. He will provide you a home, food, and clothing because each of you is of more value than many sparrows.”

  Lizzie picked up on what Frances was telling them. Her eyes brightened as she exclaimed, “Mary! Johnny! We’re God’s little sparrows!”

  In spite of the sorrow in their hearts, this brought a laugh to the others.

  The elderly woman left her chair, bent down, wrapped her arms around all three, and hugged them tight. With tears in her eyes, she said, “I love these little sparrows!”

  On Sunday afternoon, April 19, a group of older children—seven boys and one girl—were playing roughhouse games on the sidewalk in the 1200 block on Canal Street in south Manhattan. The entire block, on both sides, was made up of tenement houses.

  While playing, some of the children noticed a man in his early thirties coming along the sidewalk, but paid him little attention until he drew up and said, “Could I interrupt for a moment?”

  One of the boys, who looked to be about thirteen, said, “What can we do for you, mister?”

  “Do any of you happen to know which tenement Mr. Curtis Holden lives in?”

  All seven boys looked at the girl, who at the moment was measuring the man with her eyes. One of them said, “Mr. Holden lives in this very tenement you are standing in front of, sir.” Then pointing to the girl, he added, “This is Josie, Mr. Holden’s daughter.”

  Josie smiled at the man. “What is your name, sir?”

  “I’m Matthew Clark, Josie. Perhaps your father has mentioned my name.”

  Josie’s smile broadened. “Yes. Papa has talked a lot about his good friend, Matt Clark. I know you grew up together in Little Rock, Arkansas, and were best friends as boys.”

  “You’re right about that, Josie. It’s been too many years since Curtis and I have seen each other. I’m in New York on business. Do you know the name Will Barton?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, he’s a mutual friend of your papa’s and mine in Little Rock. He’s had contact with your papa sometime in the not-too-distant past, and told me that he lived on Canal Street here in Manhattan. I sure want to see him before I head back to Arkansas. Is he home?”

  “He sure is. I’ll take you up to the apartment.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Josie turned to the boys. “I’ll be right back.”

  With that, she led Matt Clark into the tenement and up to the third floor to apartment number 28. She opened the door and Matt followed her inside.

  “Papa!” Josie called. “There’s an old friend of yours here to see you!”

  Seconds later, Curtis Holden appeared from the rear of the flat, and a smile broke over his face when he saw his old friend. “Matt!”

  “Hello, old pal!”

  The two men embraced, pounding each other on the back, then Curtis started asking questions about what had brought Matt to New York.

  Before Matt could begin his explanation, Josie said, “Papa, excuse me, please.”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “I’ll go back down and play with the boys so you and Mr. Clark can talk, okay?”

  “Sure. Have fun.”

  She giggled. “Whipping boys in our games is always fun, Papa.” With that, she was gone.

  Matt laughed. “That’s some kind of girl you’ve got there, Curtis.”

  “And don’t I know it. Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  The two old friends sat down in chairs close to a window that overlooked the street. Matt explained about the business that brought him to New York, and while doing so, he glanced down on the street and saw Josie appear and join the boys once again in a roughhouse game.

  When Matt finished his explanation, Curtis said, “Well, I’m sure glad you looked me up.”

  “I wouldn’t get this close without trying to see my old pal.” Matt looked back down at the children at play. “Curtis, that’s one pretty little girl. She sure looks like her mother.” He chuckled. “And she’s holding her own with those boys, too.”

  “She’s quite the tomboy. Yet she is very feminine.”

  “So Josephine became Josie, eh?”

  “Mm-hmm. She picked up the nickname when she was about two years old.”

  “And she’s what, now? Twelve? Thirteen?”

&n
bsp; “Twelve.”

  “Hardly seems possible. Let’s see, it’s been seven years since Carrie died, hasn’t it?”

  “It will be in another month. It was just too much for both Josie and me to stay in the apartment where we lived then. Too many things reminded us of Carrie. So we moved here about six weeks after she died. And I want to thank you for the letter you sent when you found out from one of Carrie’s childhood friends in Little Rock that she had died giving birth to our little son.”

  “It was the least I could do. The baby died at the same time, if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes. Within minutes after Carrie did.”

  Matt nodded. “Seven years. Do you … ah … have some young lady in your life, now? Any plans to marry?”

  Curtis grinned. “Not really. I have some lady friends in the neighborhood, but no one I’m serious about.” He chuckled. “If and when I find one I’m really interested in marrying, she will really have to be something to get Josie’s approval. I guarantee you, she’ll be very picky about a stepmother.”

  “I tell you, that girl really resembles Carrie. Not only in facial features, but she has the same dark hair and flashing green eyes.”

  “For sure. And she also has her mother’s sweet disposition and tender personality. Now that she’s maturing, it’s almost like having Carrie with me again.” He choked up, swallowed hard, and wiped away a tear from his eye.

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Matt said softly. “So what are you doing for a living?”

  “I’m a laborer for the Roebling Construction Company. One of New York’s biggest construction companies. Have you heard anything about the Brooklyn Bridge being built here?”

  “Why, yes. There was something about it in the Little Rock News back when it was first started. That’s been a while.”

  “Mm-hmm. It was first begun back in 1869. By the Roebling Construction Company.”

  “Really? And are you going to tell me that you are working on that bridge?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Well, I’ll be. And this Brooklyn Bridge is from Brooklyn to where?”

  “Manhattan Island.”

  “Oh, sure. Come to think of it, there was an article in the Little Rock News about it more recently. Probably a year ago. It spans the East River, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. It will when it’s finished. That’s a long way off, though. We expect it to take us a total of twelve or thirteen years from start to finish. So we’ve got another seven or eight years to go.”

  “So how long will the bridge be when it’s done?”

  “One thousand five hundred and ninety-five feet.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’ll be the world’s largest suspension bridge, Matt.”

  “Mmm. Sounds like some project.”

  “It is.

  Matt’s brow furrowed. “I recall that the more recent article told about some of the construction workers who have been killed. Quite a few, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it could be a lot worse, but to date, seven men have lost their lives in work accidents. The very first to be killed was John Roebling, who owned the company. He was killed in October 1869. His son, Wash Roebling, has headed up the company since then.”

  Matt nodded and looked back down on the sidewalk. “Well, lookee there! Josie’s wrestling with one of the boys. Hah! He’s bigger than she is, and she’s got him down on the sidewalk so he can’t move!”

  Curtis focused on the scene below. He grinned and laughed. “She’s some tomboy, all right. When you see her like that, it’s hard to believe that she is really very feminine in her ways. I’ll have to say, though, that she enjoys doing the small handyman jobs with me that I do around town on my off-hours from the job on the bridge. She can handle a saw, a screwdriver, and a wrench quite well. Josie and I have become very close in these past seven years, Matt.”

  “I’m glad for that. You need each other.”

  “Actually, Matt, Josie’s tomboyishness developed after her mother and baby brother died. She was trying to fulfill my need for the son I wanted and lost. At the same time, though, Josie takes her mother’s place in the home, doing the cooking, the housework, and the sewing, in addition to going to school and doing her homework. She began doing this when she was nine years old.”

  Matt smiled. “Like I said, old pal, that’s some kind of girl you’ve got there.”

  Curtis nodded.

  Matt took out his pocket watch and looked at it. “Well, I hate to say this, but I’ve got to be going.”

  As both men rose to their feet, Curtis said, “I’m just glad you could come by. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  Matt cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. “Hey, we’re pals. I’m just glad you were home.”

  Curtis walked downstairs with Matt, and when they moved outside, they both laughed when they saw Josie pinning another one of the boys.

  They moved to the spot where Josie was holding the boy down. Breathing hard, she looked up at them and grinned. “Hello, Mr. Clark, Papa.”

  Matt snickered. “I sure wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, Josie. You’d probably put me down and pin me too.”

  Josie let go of the boy, allowing him to get up. Embarrassed, he darted away as she rose to her feet, brushed off her dress, and caught her breath. She giggled. “Well, Mr. Clark, if you want to wresde, I’m ready.”

  Matt laughed and shook his head. “Oh no, you don’t! I don’t want to get embarrassed like that boy did.”

  Chapter Six

  On Monday, April 20, at the West End Orphanage in Manhattan, the playground was busy with children playing hopscotch to tag to baseball under a partly cloudy sky.

  In the medical office and examining room, Deborah Williams—the orphanage’s new nurse—was busy arranging things to her own liking. It was her first day on the job, and while she worked at the rearrangement task, the pleasant sound of happy children at play came through the open windows.

  Moving to one of the windows that overlooked the playground, the young nurse ran her gaze over the running, hopping, jumping, laughing, shouting boys and girls whom she knew ranged in age from four years old to their early teens. Deborah rubbed her chin as she made mental notes of each child. She knew that sooner or later, for one reason or another, she would have to tend to each one of them.

  Deborah shook her head in amazement at all the energy they exerted. She smiled to herself and started to turn away from the window, but halted when her attention was drawn to one solitary little figure standing in the far corner of the fenced-in playground. All the other children were playing in groups or teams, except for this pitiful little lad.

  The boy was standing with his back pushed tight against the fence, his hands shoved into his pockets. His head was bent low with the warm spring sunshine glinting off his blond hair. He was digging the toe of his right shoe into the dirt.

  Deborah frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a woebegone little creature in my life.”

  While she stood there at the window with her gaze fixed on the little boy, it was as if he felt her eyes on him. He raised his head and looked directly at her. Deborah’s heart seemed to turn over in her chest when she saw his solemn little face, streaked with tears.

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, little fellow, what’s wrong?” She wheeled and darted out the door.

  The boy saw her coming and kept his eyes on her while wiping tears from his cheeks.

  Deborah drew up and laid her hands on his shoulders. “My name is Miss Deborah Williams, honey. I’m the new nurse. What’s your name?”

  He sniffed, blinking at fresh tears that were welling up in his eyes. “J-Jimmy K-Kirkland.”

  “How old are you?”

  “F-five.”

  “Jimmy, why are you crying?”

  Jimmy’s voice quavered as he said, “B-becauthe th-thome of the k-kidth were t-teathing m-me about th-the—th-the way I t-talk.”

  Deborah’s heart went out to little Jimmy beca
use of his speech impediment. His stuttering was emphasized even more by his decided lisp.

  “Jimmy, I’m sorry they were teasing you. Do they tease you a lot?”

  He sniffed again, clinging to her. “Uh-huh. All th-the t-time.”

  She picked him up in her arms, carrying him toward the building. “Well, Jimmy, this teasing has got to stop. We’re going to go talk to Mr. Myers about it right now.”

  Two minutes later, with Jimmy still in her arms, Deborah drew up to the office of orphanage superintendent Walter Myers. The door stood open, and Myers looked up from his desk when his attention was drawn to the nurse and the boy. “Yes, Miss Williams?”

  “Mr. Myers, I need to talk to you.”

  Myers stood up and nodded. “Certainly. Come in.”

  Deborah sat down in front of the desk, holding a sniffling Jimmy Kirkland on her lap.

  Myers eased back down onto the desk chair. “Is something wrong with Jimmy?”

  “Not physically, sir … but emotionally.”

  Deborah proceeded to tell the superintendent how she happened to look out the window of the medical office to see Jimmy standing on the playground, crying. She explained that Jimmy told her some of the boys and girls had been teasing him about the way he talked.

  Myers, who was in his late fifties, pulled his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yes, it has happened many times, but never when someone in authority in the orphanage is around to see it. Jimmy has been asked before to name the guilty parties, but has always refused to do so. I know it’s because he’s afraid what the boys will do to him if he identifies them.”

  Deborah looked down at the towheaded child on her lap. “Is that true, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy nodded, fear showing in his eyes.

  Myers lowered his head and looked the boy in the eye. “How about this time, Jimmy? Will you tell Mr. Myers who was teasing you about your stuttering?”

  The fear was still in Jimmy’s eyes. He shook his head. “Hmmpmm.”

  “Was it just boys, son?”