Read Online Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline - Free Book Online Page B

away both his kindness and his honesty.
    “Can’t help what you are, can you,” he says.
    I crane my neck to see if Mrs. Scatcherd might have heard us, but there’s no movement up front.
    “Let’s make a promise,” he says. “To find each other.”
    “How can we? We’ll probably end up in different places.”
    “I know.”
    “And my name will be changed.”
    “Mine too, maybe. But we can try.”
    Carmine flops over, tucking his legs beneath him and stretching his arms, and both of us shift to accommodate him.
    “Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
    “What’s that again?”
    “That everything is decided. You’re just—you know—living it out.”
    “God has it all planned in advance.”
    I nod.
    “I dunno. I don’t like the plan much so far.”
    “Me either.”
    We both laugh.
    “Mrs. Scatcherd says we should make a clean slate,” I say. “Let go of the past.”
    “I can let go of the past, no problem.” He picks up the wool blanket that has fallen to the floor and tucks it around the lump of Carmine’s body, covering the parts that are exposed. “But I don’t want to forget everything.”
    O UTSIDE THE WINDOW I SEE THREE SETS OF TRACKS PARALLELING the one we are on, brown and silver, and beyond them broad flat fields of furrowed soil. The sky is clear and blue. The train car smells of diaper rags and sweat and sour milk.
    At the front of the car Mrs. Scatcherd stands up, bends down to confer with Mr. Curran, and stands up again. She is wearing her black bonnet.
    “All right, children. Wake up!” she says, looking around, clapping her hands several times. Her eyeglasses glint in the morning light.
    Around me I hear small grunts and sighs as those lucky enough to have slept stretch out their cramped limbs.
    “It is time to make yourselves presentable. Each of you has a change of clothing in your suitcase, which as you know is on the rack overhead. Big ones, please assist the little ones. I cannot stress enough how important it is to make a good first impression. Clean faces, combed hair, shirts tucked in. Bright eyes and smiles. You will not fidget or touch your face. And you will say what, Rebecca?”
    We’re familiar with the script: “Please and thank you,” Rebecca says, her voice barely audible.
    “Please and thank you what?”
    “Please and thank you, ma’am.”
    “You will wait to speak until you are spoken to, and then you will say please and thank you, ma’am. You will wait to do what, Andrew?”
    “Speak until you are spoken to?”
    “Exactly. You will not fidget or what, Norma?”
    “Touch your face. Ma’am. Ma’am madam.”
    Titters erupt from the seats. Mrs. Scatcherd glares at us. “This amuses you, does it? I don’t imagine you’ll think it’s quite so funny when all the adults say no thank you, I do not want a rude, slovenly child, and you’ll have to get back on the train and go to the next station. Do you think so, Mr. Curran?”
    Mr. Curran’s head jerks up at the sound of his name. “No indeed, Mrs. Scatcherd.”
    The train is silent. Not getting chosen isn’t something we want to think about. A little girl in the row behind me begins to cry, and soon I can hear muffled sniffs all around me. At the front of the train, Mrs. Scatcherd clasps her hands together and curls her lips into something resembling a smile. “Now, now. No need for that. As with almost everything in life, if you are polite and present yourself favorably, it is probable that you will succeed. The good citizens of Minneapolis are coming to the meeting hall today with the earnest intention of taking one of you home—possibly more than one. So remember, girls, tie your hair ribbons neatly. Boys, clean faces and combed hair. Shirts buttoned properly. When we disembark, you will stand in a straight line. You will speak only when spoken to. In short, you will do everything in your power to make it easy for an adult to choose you. Is that clear?”
    The sun is so bright that I have to squint,