named Maud Curry also lived as a ward at the Brown Ark. Maudwas a thin child, with white-blond hair that coiled down her neck so thickly it was kept cut short, to prevent the abundance from sapping her strength. Maud’s mother was consumptive and had been separated from her daughter for the child’s own health. Her father had owned a small dry-goods store, but it had been embezzled away by his bookkeeper. Unable to bear presenting his darling, ailing wife with bankruptcy and failure, he brought Maud one morning to the Ark, kissed her, told her he would return for her in a day or so, and disappeared. He was by nature a cheerful, hearty man, and he had never given any outward sign of distress.
It might have been easier on Maud if he hadn’t dissembled so persuasively. As she saw the days pass and his promises turn to lies, she began to suspect his every emotion: Had he ever been happy with her and her mother? Had he ever intended to stay? Had he ever loved them?
Her mother’s health was not improved by her father’s desertion. She sent Maud many tender letters, but often they were not even in her own hand and she did not pretend that Maud was coming home soon.
After the initial shock, Maud’s unhappiness settled so deep inside her she was rarely aware of it. She was her father’s daughter. She made a place for herself among the other wards as someone who was ready for anything. “Maud is a sport,” the boys said admiringly. “Maud will stop at nothing.”
At least she had a mother and a father. At the Brown Ark, that counted for something. It was the first questionthey asked when a new child arrived. They’d asked it of Jenny Ijub. Did she have a mother? A father? Anybody?
Jenny Ijub was not settling in. She was small, but without the ingratiating manner that might have turned this to her advantage. She refused to be dressed and carried about like a doll, though this would have vastly improved her popularity. Lizzie believed her to be four years old, but she was, in fact, five. She had told the other children that her friend, Mrs. Pleasant, was sending her a special gift, loved her dearly, would be coming to take her away soon. This was what she had made of Mrs. Pleasant’s promises.
Maud had once said something too much like this herself, had even believed it. She’d been made to look a fool. By the time of Jenny’s arrival, Maud had lived at the Ark for almost a year. Jenny’s assertions were preposterous. Jenny was trying to make fools of them all. Maud held Jenny’s nose and mouth closed until she confessed as much. She pinched Jenny’s nose hard enough to leave fingerprints.
“She sleepwalks,” Maud told the matron when questioned about the bruising. “And she’s such a liar! If there’s one thing I can’t bear, it’s a liar.”
She’d heard the matron say this herself often enough to know it would find its mark. “So a friend is coming to fetch you?” Nell asked Jenny. “And what friend would that be? You’ll find no friends here, missy, if you can’t learn to be truthful.”
The warning had no apparent effect. Maud told the other children that Jenny boasted she’d owned a pony, a parrot, a silver cup with her initials, dresses, and dolls.Her mother had allowed her lemon sticks whenever she liked, had kept a vase full of them on a low table within Jenny’s reach. Her lies grew more and more fanciful. Her father had been as rich as a sultan. She believed in fairies, because she had actually seen them. She’d seen ghosts and angels, too. She didn’t believe in God. Before a week had passed, everyone at the Brown Ark knew you couldn’t trust a thing Jenny said.
Even Jenny was persuaded. Her memories tangled into the things Maud reported. Jenny thought there had been a pony, dresses, and candies, but apparently these were lies. And more confusing, she didn’t remember telling Maud anything. She vowed to say nothing about herself to anyone—she already hated them all—but in the
It might have been easier on Maud if he hadn’t dissembled so persuasively. As she saw the days pass and his promises turn to lies, she began to suspect his every emotion: Had he ever been happy with her and her mother? Had he ever intended to stay? Had he ever loved them?
Her mother’s health was not improved by her father’s desertion. She sent Maud many tender letters, but often they were not even in her own hand and she did not pretend that Maud was coming home soon.
After the initial shock, Maud’s unhappiness settled so deep inside her she was rarely aware of it. She was her father’s daughter. She made a place for herself among the other wards as someone who was ready for anything. “Maud is a sport,” the boys said admiringly. “Maud will stop at nothing.”
At least she had a mother and a father. At the Brown Ark, that counted for something. It was the first questionthey asked when a new child arrived. They’d asked it of Jenny Ijub. Did she have a mother? A father? Anybody?
Jenny Ijub was not settling in. She was small, but without the ingratiating manner that might have turned this to her advantage. She refused to be dressed and carried about like a doll, though this would have vastly improved her popularity. Lizzie believed her to be four years old, but she was, in fact, five. She had told the other children that her friend, Mrs. Pleasant, was sending her a special gift, loved her dearly, would be coming to take her away soon. This was what she had made of Mrs. Pleasant’s promises.
Maud had once said something too much like this herself, had even believed it. She’d been made to look a fool. By the time of Jenny’s arrival, Maud had lived at the Ark for almost a year. Jenny’s assertions were preposterous. Jenny was trying to make fools of them all. Maud held Jenny’s nose and mouth closed until she confessed as much. She pinched Jenny’s nose hard enough to leave fingerprints.
“She sleepwalks,” Maud told the matron when questioned about the bruising. “And she’s such a liar! If there’s one thing I can’t bear, it’s a liar.”
She’d heard the matron say this herself often enough to know it would find its mark. “So a friend is coming to fetch you?” Nell asked Jenny. “And what friend would that be? You’ll find no friends here, missy, if you can’t learn to be truthful.”
The warning had no apparent effect. Maud told the other children that Jenny boasted she’d owned a pony, a parrot, a silver cup with her initials, dresses, and dolls.Her mother had allowed her lemon sticks whenever she liked, had kept a vase full of them on a low table within Jenny’s reach. Her lies grew more and more fanciful. Her father had been as rich as a sultan. She believed in fairies, because she had actually seen them. She’d seen ghosts and angels, too. She didn’t believe in God. Before a week had passed, everyone at the Brown Ark knew you couldn’t trust a thing Jenny said.
Even Jenny was persuaded. Her memories tangled into the things Maud reported. Jenny thought there had been a pony, dresses, and candies, but apparently these were lies. And more confusing, she didn’t remember telling Maud anything. She vowed to say nothing about herself to anyone—she already hated them all—but in the
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