“Fifty dollars?” Mrs. Toppan interrupted.
Matron Greene said nothing.
“That’s a significant sum.”
The Matron dipped her chin once. “After their seven years of service many girls decide to stay on, working for the family to which they are indentured even after they turn eighteen. At this point, it would be up to the ward to negotiate her wages, as she would then be an adult.”
“Do they not marry?”
“Some do. Many do not. Because they are of no stature, name, family, and engage in little social interaction, marriages are uncommon. They also feel indebted to the family who has given them so much opportunity, and the world outside of the home can be a terrifying place to a young girl of limited means. Most of our wards already know this, and they are not eager to return to it.”
Mrs. Toppan paused while Matron Greene stared at her. She let her gaze wander to Fiona while she schemed. “Matron Greene, may I be frank?”
“Certainly.”
“I have a daughter, Elizabeth, of sweet and fragile disposition. She’s at a tender age, very impressionable. I don’t want to bring a girl in the house to rival her. I need someone younger than she is. Someone who wouldn’t be old enough to be jealous. Someone who wouldn’t think of my daughter as her peer…do you have any younger girls with enough training to be placed already?”
Matron Greene blinked slowly. Because she could tell that Matron Greene soon would rise at the attempted exploitation and dismiss Mrs. Toppan, Fiona interrupted despite certain punishment. “Excuse me, madam,” Fiona said. “Pardon me. I may know of someone to fit Mrs. Toppan’s needs. Excuse me.”
Matron Greene’s narrow eyes flicked over to Fiona to silence her. Fiona’s shoulders jumped as if struck, and her hands wrung where they were clasped behind her back.
“You do?” Mrs. Toppan said, turning to Fiona. “Please. Go on.”
Fiona looked at the matron with apology. “Madam, her name is Nora Kelley—”
“She’s Irish?” Mrs. Toppan exclaimed.
“Madam, her parents only. She works better than the other girls. She likes when you tell her what a good job she’s done. She tells the most magical stories—”
“The ‘gift of gab.’”
Matron Greene interjected, “Honora is much younger than we place out.”
“How old is she?” Mrs. Toppan asked Fiona.
“Eight. Nearly nine, madam. But if anyone deserves the kind treatment of the Toppan house, it’s a sweet, hard worker like Nora. She would fit right in with the family. Everyone loves her. I’m sure Miss Elizabeth would, too.”
Mrs. Toppan turned to Matron Greene. “I’ll take Honora Kelley.”
“Do you have arrangements to house an indentured servant at this moment in your home?”
“Indeed I do. I would not have shown my face here if I was of limited means.”
“I meant no disrespect, Mrs. Toppan. Many of our patrons are merely unaware of the speed at which we prefer to place our wards. Fiona, gather Honora and her clothes.” She stood as Fiona exited and walked to the marble-top stand by the sofa on which Mrs. Toppan sat. From the drawer beneath the lamp she produced a starched document and went to the secretary desk in the back of the parlor. She saw Mrs. Toppan hesitate once when she saw that Peter Kelley was still living, and said sharply, “I wouldn’t worry about the living relatives. They won’t be coming for her. If they were to find her by the hand of God, she would not go back to them. We rescued the Kelleys from a truly miserable home.”
Mrs. Toppan signed, flowery, spindly, and illegibly.
Fiona walked past Delia soaping the baseboards and into the bunkroom where Honora stripped the beds. Honora pushed the bin in the aisle and smiled, her round cheeks rising when she saw Fiona. She waited for the praise of a job well done. When Fiona said nothing, Honora’s face fell. “Am I doing it wrong? It’s the way they taught me to do it.”
“No, Nora,” Fiona said, pulling her into a hug. “They’re placing you out.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re going to serve a family. To live with them.”
Honora’s face went blank. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing! It’s good! You’ll have your own room. You’ll have a sister. They’ll take better care of you than we can here.”
“I already have sisters,” Honora said.
“Now you have one more. Go gather your things.”
“I don’t want to go.”
Fiona’s face hardened. “Ungrateful. Get your things.”
“I don’t want to go,” Honora said. “What about Delia?”
“Get your things now. And dry up that crying. Don’t make her return you.” Fiona sank to kneeling beside Honora and slowed her speech. “Do you know what happens when they return you?” She paused while Honora stared at her. “Do you know? Do you have any idea?”
Honora shook her head.
“If you come back here, they beat you. Not just once. Not with just the paddle. Not just on the backside. Have you seen me legs, Nora?” she slipped back into her brogue, like she assumed the Kelleys had. “And do ye know what happens when ye turn eighteen? Ye don’t get fifty dollars like you would with them. Ye get a curbstone pillow and a cobblestone bed and you hope that some man finds ye pretty enough to give a pittance for dinner in exchange for a night of torture, and ye wait for ladies like this to have pity on you. Which they never will.” Fiona’s face was bright red. “Don’t be like me. Do you understand, Honora?” Fiona stared into the scared and now cold black eyes of the little girl until she remembered herself. She pawed at her face and blinked and said, “Don’t make her bring you back. Do what she says. Do what she says, and then one day if you do it well enough, you won’t have to anymore. Gather your things.”
Honora went to her bunk to find her second dress and primer. She folded her apron around her things and tied it to make a neat package. While she did it, Fiona stared at her own callused hands and neither girl noticed Delia’s electric-blue eyes staring vacantly into the bunkroom, sponge dripping dirty water in the doorway.
Fiona led Honora to the parlor office by the hand. “Don’t be afraid, Nora,” she murmured, though the girl would not look at her again. “Mrs. Toppan is a very nice woman. She wanted you because she knows how good your work is. She knows how sweet you are, and how your stories make everyone happy, and she wants you to make her little girl happy like you make the girls here happy,” she chattered on until they reached the door of the parlor office. “They’re going to love you, Nora,” she said, and pushed open the door. Mrs. Toppan and Matron Greene stood.
Matron Greene said, “Mrs. Toppan, this is Honora Kelley.”
Honora smiled hugely. She walked toward Mrs. Toppan as Mrs. Toppan said, “You may call me Auntie.” Honora curtsied in front of her new employer.
“They call me Nora,” she said, still smiling. “It’s short for my name, Honora, madam.”
Auntie smirked and kept her gaze level with the little girl. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all. You need a proper American name. We’ll call you Jane. Do you like that name, Jane?”
Honora frowned at first. She didn’t know of anyone named Jane. The only time she ever heard the name was when she was cleaning the parlor