April 4th, 1870 was Elizabeth Smith’s eighteenth birthday and therefore her last day at the New York Protectory, a catholic orphanage where she had lived her entire life. Ordinarily, Elizabeth would have left the orphanage when she turned sixteen, but Elizabeth was not ordinary. For starters, she had only one hand, her right. Her left arm ended at the wrist in a small nub. She usually covered this with a white cloth, neatly tied by one of the nuns or one of the other girls. She was also out of the ordinary because she was a great help to the orphanage.
Because girls at the New York Protectory were taught how to sew, and because this task was more than Elizabeth could manage, she was trained in other skills. She took care of the infants, cleaned up the bunks and canteen, and, her favorite thing, read to the younger children. All of the young boys and girls loved to hear Elizabeth read. She’d hold the book in her right hand if it were small enough, or prop it up in her lap, and the children would gather around her on the floor to listen.
Elizabeth enjoyed looking out at their eager faces. All day, the girls sewed and the boys made shoes. These were supposed to be valuable skills that would help them later in life. They received some schooling, but much less than they otherwise would. Elizabeth took advantage of their need for entertainment as a chance to teach them to read. Often she would hold the book out so that the children could see how the words were displayed across the yellow pages of her books.
She grew attached to the children, even though the nuns had warned her not to. Whenever one of the little ones was adopted by some young couple, Elizabeth would smile and hide her tears. She’d give them a hug goodbye and tell the parents they were taking a little angel home with them. But she cried later, because she missed them. And she cried because she was reminded of the fact that no one had come for her. And to keep this topic from constantly recurring in her mind, she kept as busy as possible. The other girls her age—there were only a few, and usually they were too violent to be adopted—would tell her she wasn’t capable of anything.
“What will you do when you leave?” they asked. “No one will want you, that’s obvious. You’re going to starve out there.”
Elizabeth did her best to push these voices away. Sometimes they got in, and she would weep late into the night, until her eyes ran dry and she finally drifted into fitful, bad sleep. But for every time she felt discouraged, there was a reminder that she was doing good, and that there were people who loved her. Sometimes she would tuck the little children into bed at night, and they would put their tiny arms around her neck and kiss her good night. “Love you ‘Liz,” they’d say, yawning.
When her sixteenth birthday came around, she’d been frightened of being thrown out into the streets, but the nuns had made an exception. There weren’t enough adults to take care of the children. Many of the women had gone away during the war, and they had gone on to other things. The few men who worked in the orphanage had all gone to war, and only one returned. He wasn’t the same man when he came back, and sometime later he’d disappeared without a trace. So Elizabeth stayed on and helped. But she was eighteen now, and it was time to go.
“Can’t I get a job here?” she had asked. “I don’t need much! I can stay in my old bunk!”
“I’m sorry, dear. You have to be a member of the cloth to work here. We can’t keep you on any longer.” The reply had come from Sister Mary, a plump woman with sad eyes. She’d kissed Elizabeth on the forehead and smiled wearily.
Elizabeth got her things together. There was barely enough to fit in one bag. The dress she wore was thin from so many washings, and besides it she had only one other that was nearly identical. In addition to this she possessed a cracked pocket mirror, a comb, a bible, and a small cloth doll. These went into her bag, except for the doll, which she left on a little girl’s bed. For the moment, she had the bunk hall to herself.
She gave the room one final look. The rows of black metal beds sagged in rows, their mattresses brown and their sheets thin. The wooden floor was polished, and wood stoves at either end of the room had grown cold for the season. She looked at her reflection in the one mirror, brushed a rouge strand of brown hair from her eyes, and gave herself a determined look. Her right hand adjusted the linen covering where her left hand had once been, and she moved to say goodbye to Sister Mary.
The children always asked how she’d come to lose her hand. If she was in a good mood, she would tell them she’d lost it in the war, or that a ghost had stolen it away. If she was in a bad mood, she’d grow silent and walk away. The hand was, of course, the reason she had never been adopted. No one wanted a daughter with one hand, especially when there were so many girls who still had all their parts. Elizabeth was not alone in her struggle. There were boys and girls disfigured by small pox who also would never be adopted, but they could still sew and make shoes.
She found Sister Mary near the front entrance, waiting for her. The nun’s hands were folded in front of her, and her elderly face sagged with emotion. Elizabeth wanted to hug her, but the old woman rarely ever bestowed a physical contact more intimate than a touch on the shoulder. Instead, she took the Sister’s hand in her own and squeezed it briefly.
“I’m going to miss you all so much,” Elizabeth said, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes. “The children most of all…that’s why I’m leaving while they’re at work. I couldn’t stand the goodbye. Will you tell them?”
Sister Mary bowed her head. “Of course. And you’re always welcome to come and visit, dear Elizabeth. We’re not banishing you forever.”
“I know.” Elizabeth looked away and brushed a tear from her eye. “But it seems final, doesn’t it?”
“Life is full of final moments, dear. It’s not often we’re aware of them. We should be thankful when we are. This is the final time you’ll be in the Protectory as a resident, but the next time will be as guest. That’s not so bad, is it?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was having trouble speaking.
Sister Mary produced a small, rectangular package covered in brown paper. She held it out to Elizabeth.
“What’s this?”
“A parting gift, dear.”
“Oh, Sister Mary, I can’t…”
“You will. And you’ll open it later, not here. Tell me now, where are you going from here?” The old woman gently but forcefully slid the package into Elizabeth’s bag.
“I’m going to stay at a boarding house here in Parkchester. I’ll be looking for work, perhaps as a housekeeper,” Elizabeth said. She didn’t sound hopeful.
“The Lord will set you on the right path, dear. You just have to listen to him.”
Sister Mary opened the large front door of the Protectory and let in the day’s cheerful sunlight. The light didn’t match Elizabeth’s mood, nor did it help to warm her up very much. As she stood in the doorway, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a high cliff, preparing to jump. Sister Mary gave Elizabeth’s dress a needless tweak and folded her arms again.
“God bless you, child,” she said.
“And you,” said Elizabeth. She raised one foot, set it down on the paving stones, and with a huge effort did the same with the other. She gave Sister Mary a final sad smile, and walked out into the busy New York street.
She carried her bag at her side. Her broken appendage swung at her other side. Her sleeves were long and frilled, and anyone passing her by in the street would probably fail to realize that anything was amiss. If those same people were judging her by her gait they would find nothing lacking. But if they stopped to look into Elizabeth’s eyes and to ponder her strained expression, they would be pressed to stop and inquire if they could help her, for Elizabeth’s face was an open book of passing emotions.
But even in these early days, New Yorkers kept to themselves. They looked straight ahead, rushing to unknown destinations. Elizabeth tried her hardest to imitate them. She set her feet in the direction of the boarding house and stepped carefully through the frenetic streets filled with pedestrians, snorting horses, and speeding wagons. The city swirled around her.
She spent the first day on her own in a panic, flitting from street to crowded street, on the lookout for help wanted signs. She was certain no shop would hire her, but she needed desperately to be occupied, to be moving forward. She bought a morning addition of the paper and read it over a hurried lunch of oysters. Later she bought the evening addition and brought it with her to the boarding house. By the time she donned her nightgown and tucked herself into bed, she had a neat stack of advertisements that she’d torn from her papers.
The boarding house was comfortable in that it was very similar to the orphanage. She shared a room with fifteen other women, mostly around her own age, but some much older than herself. Elizabeth listened to a few of them say their nightly prayers. When all the candles were extinguished, and Elizabeth was drifting off, she heard someone crying. Lifting her head from her lumpy pillow, she listened and heard soft sobbing come from the far end of the hall. Whoever was crying tried to hide their sorrow, but their choked sobs escaped in sad bursts. After a few minutes, they got control over themselves, and fell silent. Elizabeth remained awake for a long time after that.
The next morning she set out to look for work. The first of her newspaper clippings was an advertisement for a nanny position at a large house in Yorkville. It was an hour’s walk and she had to stop and inquire for directions several times. Eventually she came to a huge brick house with a short, cobblestone walkway. Elizabeth felt intimidated by the sheer size of the house and
April 4th, 1870 was Elizabeth Smith’s eighteenth birthday and therefore her last day at the New York Protectory, a catholic orphanage where she had lived her entire life. Ordinarily, Elizabeth would have left the orphanage when she turned sixteen, but Elizabeth was not ordinary. For starters, she had only one hand, her right. Her left arm ended at the wrist in a small nub. She usually covered this with a white cloth, neatly tied by one of the nuns or one of the other girls. She was also out of the ordinary because she was a great help to the orphanage.Because girls at the New York Protectory were taught how to sew, and because this task was more than Elizabeth could manage, she was trained in other skills. She took care of the infants, cleaned up the bunks and canteen, and, her favorite thing, read to the younger children. All of the young boys and girls loved to hear Elizabeth read. She’d hold the book in her right hand if it were small enough, or prop it up in her lap, and the children would gather around her on the floor to listen. Elizabeth enjoyed looking out at their eager faces. All day, the girls sewed and the boys made shoes. These were supposed to be valuable skills that would help them later in life. They received some schooling, but much less than they otherwise would. Elizabeth took advantage of their need for entertainment as a chance to teach them to read. Often she would hold the book out so that the children could see how the words were displayed across the yellow pages of her books.เธอเติบโตแนบเด็ก แม้ว่าชีจะมีเตือนเธอไม่ เมื่อหนึ่งคนน้อยถูกนำมาใช้ โดยบางคู่หนุ่มสาว อลิซาเบธจะยิ้ม และซ่อนน้ำตาของเธอ เธอจะให้ลาฮัก และแจ้งผู้ปกครองพวกเขาได้มีเทวดาน้อยที่บ้าน แต่เธอร้องในภายหลัง เพราะเธอลืมเขา และเธอเนื่องจากเธอนึกถึงความจริงที่ว่า ไม่มีใครมาเธอ และเพื่อไม่ให้หัวข้อนี้เกิดตลอดเวลาในใจของเธอ เธอยังคงวุ่นวายเป็นที่สุด อื่น ๆ หญิงอายุซึ่งมีเพียงไม่กี่ และมักจะพวกเขารุนแรงเกินไปเพื่อจะนำ — จะบอกเธอเธอไม่สามารถอะไร"คุณจะทำอะไรเมื่อคุณปล่อยไหม" เขาก็ถาม "ไม่มีใครจะต้องการคุณ ที่ชัดเจน คุณกำลังจะออกมีอด"เอลิซาเบธได้ดีผลักดันเสียงเหล่านี้ออกไป บางครั้งพวกเขาได้ใน และเธอจะร้องดึก จนกว่าดวงตาของเธอวิ่งแห้ง และเธอก็ลอยนอนต่อสู้ ไม่ดี แต่ทุกครั้งที่เธอรู้สึกท้อ เตือนว่า เธอทำดี และที่มีคนที่รักเธอ บางครั้งเธอจะเปิดเด็กเล็กเตียงในเวลากลางคืน และพวกเขาจะใส่อาวุธของพวกเขาเล็ก ๆ รอบคอของเธอ และจูบเธอหลับ ดี "รักคุณ ' ลิซ, " พวกเขาพูด yawningเมื่อวันเกิดของเธอ sixteenth มา เธอเคยกลัวของการถูกโยนออกไปในถนน แต่แม่ชีที่มีข้อยกเว้น มีไม่เพียงพอให้ผู้ใหญ่ดูแลเด็ก ผู้หญิงมากมายเดินทางไปในระหว่างสงคราม และพวกเขาก็หายไปในสิ่งอื่น ๆ ไม่กี่คนที่ทำงานในมูลนิธิสงเคราะห์เด็กทั้งหมดก็หายไปสงคราม และคืนเดียวเท่านั้น เขาไม่ได้คนเดียวกัน เมื่อเขากลับมา บางครั้งในภายหลังเขาได้หายไปอย่างไร้ร่อง อลิซาเบธฮวง และช่วย แต่เธอเอททีนตอนนี้ แล้วก็เวลาไป"ไม่ฉันได้รับงานที่นี่" เธอถาม "ฉันไม่ต้องการมาก ฉันสามารถอยู่ในเรือเก่าของฉัน""ฉันขอ เรียน คุณต้องเป็นสมาชิกของผ้าในการทำงานที่นี่ เราไม่สามารถให้คุณในอีกต่อไป" ตอบที่ได้มาจากน้องสาวแมรี่ ผู้หญิงที่อวบอ้วน มีตาเศร้า เธอมีรั้งเอลิซาเบธบนหน้าผาก และยิ้มงานเอลิซาเบธได้สิ่งของเธอกัน มีแทบไม่เพียงพอที่จะใส่ลงในถุง เสื้อผ้าที่เธอสวมบางจาก washings มาก และนอกจากนั้น เธอมีเพียงคนเดียวที่อื่นมีเหมือนกันเกือบ นอกจากนี้ เธอต้องเป็นกระเป๋ารอยร้าวกระจก หวี พระคัมภีร์ และตุ๊กตาผ้าขนาดเล็ก เหล่านี้เดินเข้าไปในกระเป๋าของเธอ ยกเว้นตุ๊กตา ซึ่งเธอไว้บนเตียงของสาวน้อย ตอนนี้ เธอมีฮอลล์ชั้นกับตัวเองShe gave the room one final look. The rows of black metal beds sagged in rows, their mattresses brown and their sheets thin. The wooden floor was polished, and wood stoves at either end of the room had grown cold for the season. She looked at her reflection in the one mirror, brushed a rouge strand of brown hair from her eyes, and gave herself a determined look. Her right hand adjusted the linen covering where her left hand had once been, and she moved to say goodbye to Sister Mary.The children always asked how she’d come to lose her hand. If she was in a good mood, she would tell them she’d lost it in the war, or that a ghost had stolen it away. If she was in a bad mood, she’d grow silent and walk away. The hand was, of course, the reason she had never been adopted. No one wanted a daughter with one hand, especially when there were so many girls who still had all their parts. Elizabeth was not alone in her struggle. There were boys and girls disfigured by small pox who also would never be adopted, but they could still sew and make shoes.She found Sister Mary near the front entrance, waiting for her. The nun’s hands were folded in front of her, and her elderly face sagged with emotion. Elizabeth wanted to hug her, but the old woman rarely ever bestowed a physical contact more intimate than a touch on the shoulder. Instead, she took the Sister’s hand in her own and squeezed it briefly."ฉันจะคิดถึงมากทั้งหมด อลิซาเบธกล่าว พยายามเก็บน้ำตาจากดวงตาของเธอ "เด็กส่วนใหญ่ของทั้งหมด...ที่ทำไมออกในขณะที่พวกเขากำลังที่ทำ ฉันไม่สามารถยืนลา จะคุณบอกพวกเขา"น้องแมรี่ลงศีรษะของเธอ "แน่นอน และยินดีเสมอเพื่อมา เยี่ยม ชม รักเอลิซาเบธ เราจะไม่ banishing คุณตลอดไป""ฉันรู้" อลิซาเบธมองออก และทาสีน้ำตาจากตาของเธอ "แต่ดูเหมือนสุดท้าย ไม่มัน""ชีวิตนั้นเต็มไปด้วยช่วงเวลาสุดท้าย รัก ไม่บ่อยเราตระหนักถึงพวกเขา เราควรขอบคุณเมื่อเรา เป็นครั้งสุดท้ายที่คุณจะอยู่ใน Protectory เป็นที่อาศัย แต่ครั้งต่อไปจะเป็นแขก ไม่เลว มัน"อลิซาเบธจับศีรษะของเธอ เธอมีปัญหาในการพูดน้องแมรี่ผลิตแพคเกจขนาดเล็ก สี่เหลี่ยมในกระดาษสีน้ำตาล เธอจะออกไปเอลิซาเบธจัด"นี่คืออะไร""เป็นของขวัญอวย รัก""โอ้ น้องแมรี่ ฉันไม่...""คุณจะ แล้วคุณจะเปิดหลัง ไม่นี่ บอกตอนนี้ คุณจะไปไหนนี่" หญิงชราเบา ๆ แต่ประฝ่อแพคเกจเป็นอลิซาเบธกระเป๋า"ฉันจะไปพักบ้านพักที่นี่ใน Parkchester ฉันจะมองหางาน อาจจะเป็นแม่บ้านที่ อลิซาเบธกล่าว เธอไม่ได้ฟังมีความหวัง"พระเจ้าจะตั้งคุณบนเส้นทางขวา เรียน เพียงได้ฟังเขา"Sister Mary opened the large front door of the Protectory and let in the day’s cheerful sunlight. The light didn’t match Elizabeth’s mood, nor did it help to warm her up very much. As she stood in the doorway, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a high cliff, preparing to jump. Sister Mary gave Elizabeth’s dress a needless tweak and folded her arms again.“God bless you, child,” she said.“And you,” said Elizabeth. She raised one foot, set it down on the paving stones, and with a huge effort did the same with the other. She gave Sister Mary a final sad smile, and walked out into the busy New York street. She carried her bag at her side. Her broken appendage swung at her other side. Her sleeves were long and frilled, and anyone passing her by in the street would probably fail to realize that anything was amiss. If those same people were judging her by her gait they would find nothing lacking. But if they stopped to look into Elizabeth’s eyes and to ponder her strained expression, they would be pressed to stop and inquire if they could help her, for Elizabeth’s face was an open book of passing emotions.But even in these early days, New Yorkers kept to themselves. They looked straight ahead, rushing to unknown destinations. Elizabeth tried her hardest to imitate them. She set her feet in the direction of the boarding house and stepped carefully through the frenetic streets filled with pedestrians, snorting horses, and speeding wagons. The city swirled around her.She spent the first day on her own in a panic, flitting from street to crowded street, on the lookout for help wanted signs. She was certain no shop would hire her, but she needed desperately to be occupied, to be moving forward. She bought a morning addition of the paper and read it over a hurried lunch of oysters. Later she bought the evening addition and brought it with her to the boarding house. By the time she donned her nightgown and tucked herself into bed, she had a neat stack of advertisements that she’d torn from her papers.The boarding house was comfortable in that it was very similar to the orphanage. She shared a room with fifteen other women, mostly around her own age, but some much older than herself. Elizabeth listened to a few of them say their nightly prayers. When all the candles were extinguished, and Elizabeth was drifting off, she heard someone crying. Lifting her head from her lumpy pillow, she listened and heard soft sobbing come from the far end of the hall. Whoever was crying tried to hide their sorrow, but their choked sobs escaped in sad bursts. After a few minutes, they got control over themselves, and fell silent. Elizabeth remained awake for a long time after that.The next morning she set out to look for work. The first of her newspaper clippings was an advertisement for a nanny position at a large house in Yorkville. It was an hour’s walk and she had to stop and inquire for directions several times. Eventually she came to a huge brick house with a short, cobblestone walkway. Elizabeth felt intimidated by the sheer size of the house and
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