Orphan Train

Perhaps it’s the mother in me, but the story of the orphan trains has always captivated and dug into my innermost sympathies.  Images of dirty-faced, solemn-eyed children huddling together in the streets without parents to care for them would tug at anyone’s heartstrings.

Back in the 1850s, when New York was being flooded with immigrants, cheap housing became scarce. Poverty raged, and parents, either due to illness, death, or lack of jobs, compelled their children to fend for themselves on the streets.  These desperate children sold matches, rags, or newspapers to survive. As one would think inevitable, they fell victim to gangs and crimes. Overwhelmed police would capture the vagrant children and lock them up in jail with adults.

The Reverence Charles Brace, himself from an affluent family, took pity on the children and founded the Children’s Aid Society in 1853. He raised money for schools, lodging, and education.  Yet even with all this, the illiteracy and truancy was rampant, and the reverend’s solution was to get them out of the deplorable living conditions in New York and give them a new start by finding them fresh homes in the west, with good Christian families who would love and care for them.

Using funds donated by wealthy New Yorkers, the children were given new clothes and sturdy shoes, then put onto trains. With no formal social welfare system in place, parents signed agreements allowing the children to be taken to new homes, but with the caveat that they could return if the adoption didn’t work out.

Some children were pre-placed into homes and went directly to their new families upon arriving to the appropriate town.

For the others, however, handbills announced their impending arrival.  The public gathered in front of makeshift stages to check the children out. Reverend Brace’s intention was to place them in the country where they could work in farm families.

And this is what inspired my book, WYOMING WILDFLOWER. Here’s the scene where my hero, Lance Harmon, finally gets chosen:

The wind howled and whistled outside Omaha’s Old Opera House, but the men and women crowded inside had long ago forgotten the snow-driven cold. Children occupied their full attention, orphan children newly arrived on the train from New York.

Already, under the scrutinizing eyes of the adults, they’d paraded through the aisles before standing in a semicircle on the stage, and already most of them had been picked.

Only Lance remained. Unchosen. Alone.

Humiliation seared him. He stared straight ahead. So what if no one wanted him? So what if no one cared enough to take him in for a little while? He was fifteen, the oldest of the orphans here. Only two more years and he’d be on his own.

So what?

He’d survived nearly five years at the Children’s Aid Society. Nearly five years without Ma, of selling matches and newspapers and helping the Reverend Brace take care of the younger boys.

He could survive a couple more.

The western agent in charge would simply take him to the next scheduled stop. And there, as now, he’d stand perfectly still while everyone gawked at him in his stupid orphan uniform and tried to decide whether or not to take him.

Alone. He would survive.

Lance dragged his gaze to a burly-chested man waiting expectantly before him. Snow dusted the shoulders of his thick sheepskin coat and collected on the brim of his big hat. He moved closer, emanating an obscure vapor of cool, fresh air.

After a long moment, the man reached out and poked Lance’s biceps, then tilted his chin upward as if to inspect his coloring.

“A little scrawny,” he murmured. Offended, Lance stiffened and pulled away. The man smiled. “But nothing honest work and square meals won’t cure. You got a good appetite?”

Lance didn’t tell him he couldn’t get his fill at the orphanage, that there always seemed to be someone younger and hungrier than himself at the table. He tried to ignore the glimmer of hope flickering within him.

The man stroked his pencil-thin mustache. Lance, growing uneasy from the silence, shifted from one foot to the other.

“So you’re looking for a home, eh?” the man asked finally.

Lance swallowed his pride. “Yes, sir.”

“And I’m looking for a son.” His features softened, and he nodded in approval. He extended his hand. “Name’s Mancuso. Vince Mancuso.”

The Children’s Aid Society had many success stories of children placed in loving homes, notably Andrew Burke and John Brady who once lived on the streets, but were adopted out and grew up to become governors of North Dakota and of Alaska.  Other stories weren’t so happy and speak of abuse or rejection by adoptive parents, children used only as cheap labor who eventually just ran away.

All in all, the Reverend Brace’s vision endured until 1929. By then, 250,000 children had been placed on those trains and chugged down the tracks toward new homes.  After 75 years, his efforts were the forerunner of modern foster care.

Buy on AMAZON

#kindleunlimited

(Only 99¢ but this sale is ending VERY soon!)

WYOMING WILDFLOWER is one of my earlier releases that I have given significant edits to fit the sweet romance genre.  This book has once again come alive for me in a new market, and yet still depicts the grittiness of the Old West as well as plenty of romance between a hero and a heroine who couldn’t be more different.

The Reverence Brace is to be commended for his vision and passion to help orphaned children. If you could raise the money and resources, what passion or vision do YOU have that you could use those resources for?

You could win an ebook copy of WYOMING WILDFLOWER!