The man looked surprised, then shrugged. “Didn’t pay him much attention,” he said. “He got on the train the same stop you did. That’s all I know.”
Puzzled, Frances returned to the children. It wasn’t likely the man had jumped off the moving train. He’d probably just moved to another car. And he most likely wasn’t Seth at all but just another exsoldier making his way home.
Every few minutes one of the children would ask, “Will it be long until we get to Springbrook?” or “Are we almost there now?”
“In a little while,” she answered over and over again. “In just a little while.”
Finally it was time to brush hair and straighten jackets.
Belle smiled shyly. “Miss Kelly, the ribbon you gave me got lost somewhere.”
“Belle loses everything,” Jessie piped up.
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“We have more ribbons,” Frances said. She handed one to Belle, then retied the drooping bow in Daisy’s hair.
Frances glanced over at Aggie. “Would you like a ribbon, Aggie? I’ve got a lovely white ribbon that would match the collar on your dress.”
Aggie shook her head angrily. “I don’t need a ribbon. Are people going to want me just because I’m wearing a ribbon?”
“Miss Kelly wants to make your hair look better,” Jessie said, “although I don’t think anything will help.”
Aggie would have fit into Sheriff Malloy’s storm prediction. Her eyebrows dipped in a scowl, and her cheeks turned red.
Frances put an arm around Aggie’s shoulders. As she smoothed Aggie’s skirts, she skillfully turned her so that her back was to Jessie. “You look perfectly lovely,” she said.
Aggie’s anger hadn’t abated. “People aren’t supposed to want to adopt me because of what I’m like on the outside. They’re supposed to care about what’s on the inside. They’re supposed to care about me!”
Frances looked deeply into Aggie’s eyes. “You’re right,” she said, “and that’s the way you’re supposed to care about them.”
Flustered, Aggie took a step backward. The anger had disappeared, replaced by confusion.
Maybe I’ve given her a new direction to think about, Frances thought hopefully.
The conductor strode through the car. “Springbrook, next stop. Springbrook, five minutes.”
Frances made sure all their baggage was piled by the door, and as soon as the train stopped, she led the children to the platform.
As before, a number of people were clustered on the platform, waiting for the children to arrive. A tall, thin woman stepped forward and thrust out her hand. “Miss Kelly? I’m Isabelle Domain, chairman of the placing-out committee,” she said. “The train will be here in Springbrook for half an hour, so we’ll do the choosing right here and now on the platform and get the waifs no one wants back on board.”
The waifs no one wants? Frances winced at Mrs. Domain’s words and the hardness in her voice, but before she could speak, Mrs. Domain said, “I—that is, we—can vouch for everybody who’s come to see the children.”
Taken aback by Mrs. Domain’s rushed manner, Frances said, “But the children and the potential foster parents must have time to get to know one another.”
“Hummph!” Mrs. Domain said. “The longer things take, the less gets done. Line up the children, please, and introduce them. We’d better get started.”
Frances, realizing she had no other choice, took the children by their hands and placed them with their backs to the train, facing the adults who had gathered.
Smiling, she rested her hands on the shoulders of George and Earl Babcock. “George and Earl are brothers,” she said. “They want very much to be placed together.”
She moved to Harry and his little brother, Adam, who had wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and clung to him in terror. “Harry and Adam are brothers, too, and they’re also hoping for a family who’ll take both of them.”
She introduced Belle, Daisy, Lucy, Aggie, and Jessie; Jack, Eddie, and Shane; and once again—although Mrs. Domain fussed impatiently—Frances gave her short speech about the Children’s Aid Society and what the foster parents must promise to do in raising the children.
Frances stood back, allowing the adults to talk with the children. In the shade at one side of the depot, she caught a glimpse of the man she had seen on the train. This time his hat was pulled low to shade his eyes from the sun, so it wasn’t possible to see his face. He was watching her, Frances knew. Why? He couldn’t be Seth. He was too short, wasn’t he? Or did the distance create that illusion? He’s not Seth, she told herself firmly.