Dear Canada: A step back in time

From Victoria's diary:

Saturday, May 29, 1897

So much happened today that I can never get it all written down at one go. My hand would drop off. But I'll start.

We went and got our Home Girl. She is very small and shy. Her name is Mary Anna Wilson and she is twelve years old. She is smaller than I am and very thin.

But let me tell it like a story even if it does have to be true. If I read it in a book, I would be fascinated.

When we got to the station, there were just four children on the platform. Only one of them was a girl. A lady was sitting on a bench next to her. All four wore labels with their names written on them, and each of them had a trunk with his or her name on it. They were big, wooden ones with brass corners. They had nothing else, just one trunk and the clothes they wore on their backs.

The lady was the only one without luggage so I was not sure she was really with them. Father must have had the same thought.

"I am Dr. Alastair Cope," he said. "I was told to meet this train. Are you escorting these children, madam?"

The lady stood up and gave my father an annoyed glance. "We arrived almost an hour ago," she said frostily. "The two other girls I was escorting have already gone."

"I am sorry to have been unavoidably delayed," Father said, his voice cool but polite. "Hold the reins, Victoria."

He got down from the gig and reached out his hand to the lady. I gripped the reins, glad Bess was a calm horse. I could tell Father was displeased about something. He seemed to be studying the one girl waiting there. She had not looked at us or spoken a word.

"We need someone strong to help my wife," he told the woman. "That girl is nothing but a child. A sickly youngster wouldn't be worth her keep."

The girl could not help but hear every word he spoke. I told myself she was only a Home Girl and they must be used to such things, but it was embarrassing for me. Father did not sound like himself. I knew, if I were her, each word would feel like the cut of a switch. She did not flinch, though, but stood still as stone.

"I can assure you, sir, that she is perfectly stout. We don't place girls who are not well. You are fit as a fiddle, aren't you, Mary Anna?"

The girl had her head ducked down so far we could just see the top of her hat. She mumbled something without raising her head.

"Look at me when you speak, child," Father said. "What's your name?"

"My name is Mary Anna Wilson. I am strong and healthy," she said in a clear but dead voice. It sounded as though every word had been ironed flat. "I am twelve years of age."

"Are you a hard worker, Mary Anna?" Father asked her.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"If she does not suit your wife, write to us and we will move her," the woman said. "The smaller girls are tough and wiry, you know. Would you like a boy?"

"No, thank you, madam," Father said, smiling at last. "I have two boys. But one of your young fellows can hold the horse's head while I get a few more particulars and give you whatever information you wish. Jump in behind Victoria, Mary. I will only be a minute."

A little boy with red hair poking out from under his cap was standing close to Mary Anna. The lady told him to take the bridle. He ran to Bess's head.

As Father and the lady went into the waiting room the boy pushed his cap back and gazed up at Mary Anna. His bright hair hung in his eyes. The eyes themselves were enormous and bluer than blue.

I cannot write another word or my hand will drop off. Also, Mother called up to blow out my candle. More tomorrow, dear Diary. I know I am breaking off just when things are getting exciting, but you'll just have to wait.

From Dear Canada: Orphan at My Door, copyright © 2001 by Jean Little.