Stones on a Grave Read online

  IN EARLY JUNE 1964, the Benevolent Home for Necessitous Girls burns to the ground, and its vulnerable residents are thrust out into the world. The orphans, who know no other home, find their lives changed in an instant. Arrangements are made for the youngest residents, but the seven oldest girls are sent on their way with little more than a clue or two to their pasts and the hope of learning about the families they have never known. On their own for the first time in their lives, they are about to experience the world in ways they never imagined…

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  STONES

  ON A GRAVE

  Kathy Kacer

  O R C A B O O K P U B L I S H E R S

  For Zac, Jesse, Leila, Izzy and Zoe—

  a new generation that will need to remember

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  One

  THE SMOKE WAS choking Sara, sucking the air out of her lungs. It billowed in massive clouds from the orphanage roof, exploding like lava and pouring across the sky. Sara stood on the lawn facing the disintegrating building, shaking uncontrollably. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders, wondering briefly how it had gotten there. Had she grabbed it when she ran from her room? Everything was a blur. Who had awoken her, screaming in the middle of the night? She had a vague recollection of one of the girls—was it Toni?—pounding on her door and calling out frantically, “Fire! Sara! Dot! Tess! Get out of the house! Run! Ruuuunnn!”

  Sara had staggered from her bed. She remembered clutching her roommate Dot’s arm before scrambling down the long staircase, faltering in the dark. They had practiced fire drills a thousand times in the past. But no one ever paid much attention. This was no rehearsal. This was real. Girls pushed up behind Sara as she stumbled against the ones in front.

  “What about Tess?” Dot yelled.

  “Not here.” Sara had known without even checking that their roommate would not be in her bed. She would be out roaming, as she often did in the middle of the night.

  No time to dress, Sara realized, glancing down at her nightgown and bare feet. No time to take anything, except the tin box under her bed. It held all the money she had been saving. She didn’t even know how much was there—had resisted the urge to count it these last couple of years. She was waiting for a special occasion, maybe her birthday, to see how much she had saved.

  If you ever had to leave this place, what would be the one thing you would take with you? Dot had once asked.

  This box! Sara clutched it to her body and gagged, struggling to find a taste of something clean in the sooty night air.

  “Are all the girls out of the house?” Mrs. Hazelton, their matron, was pacing, her eyes scanning the lawn where the girls were huddled in twos and threes. She too was wrapped in a blanket; her hair, usually so neat, was wildly disheveled. This was the first time Sara had ever seen the administrator of the orphanage in a nightgown. Mrs. Hazelton was always so wellgroomed, so perfectly put together. Sara couldn’t even imagine the woman actually sleeping!

  “Don’t you worry, ma’am, everyone’s out.” It was Joe who responded. Their cook held two of the littlest girls in his arms. Their faces were buried in his shoulder. Sara watched their bodies writhe and tremble against his chest. “I’m countin’ them all, just to make sure. And Miz Webster is here too.” Their home economics teacher lived on the first floor of the house. “She’s got a couple of the young ones with her—Donna and Jen.”

  Sara was counting as well. First the Seven. They were always called the Seven: herself, Toni, Betty, Dot, Malou, Cady and Tess, who had now mysteriously appeared, fully clothed, along with the younger girls. Were they all there? It would be okay as long as everyone was there. Please be there!

  Others were gathering on the lawn—townspeople who usually kept their distance from the orphans. But now they looked concerned. They moved in between the girls, handing out blankets. Perhaps that’s how Sara’s had found its way around her shoulders.

  She searched the crowd for a sign of Luke but couldn’t see him. Did he even know what was happening? Would he come if he did know? Sara pushed that thought away.

  “He’s not coming, you know.” Dot was standing next to her, holding little Debbie in her arms, a sobbing bundle of tangled hair and twitching limbs. Dot could always guess what Sara was thinking. “I keep telling you, he could care less.”

  Sara shook her head. It was true that her boyfriend didn’t have the best reputation in town. But deep down she’d always believed that he cared—more than that: he loved her, even though it was hard at times to explain that to her roommate. “He probably doesn’t know about the fire, or he’d be here for sure,” she shouted back to Dot. That was it. Luke just hadn’t heard yet.

  “Are the fire engines coming? Can you see them?” Toni called out, always anxious, plagued with nightmares. Her face was silhouetted against the sky. Only a sliver of a moon still glowed above, disappearing in and out of the billows of smoke. What time was it? Two o’clock? Perhaps three?

  “They’re coming. I can hear them coming,” Betty replied, calmly, protectively.

  “Are they coming?” Toni repeated, eyes wide, shaking.

  “Joe said they were on their way,” Sara heard herself call out above the other cries, though she felt disconnected from her response. She was trying to keep her voice even. Maybe that would help still Toni and the others. But Sara’s heart was galloping, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She clasped her hands together and rubbed them hard—a nervous habit. If she wasn’t careful, she would rub them raw.

  And the smoke kept pouring out of the building. It didn’t help that the stench was nearly as suffocating. Acrid, sour, foul—like the burned dinner that Joe had served up a week earlier, but multiplied by a thousand, tens of thousands. The flames were next, breaking through the back part of the house where the rooms were—her room—and arcing up into the blackened sky. And the sounds! Who knew a fire could be so noisy—metal twisting and melting, wood crumbling—a cacophony of noises reaching a deafening crescendo. It howled like someone gone mad, pounding inside Sara’s head.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  Sara, startled, looked into the eyes of an elderly woman who had appeared with the other folks from town. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “The building was old and run-down. Everyone knew that,” the woman continued, shouting above the sound of crackling timber. “This was bound to happen.”

  Sara nodded again. What are we going to do? Where was Luke?

  “You’re not hurt?”

  Sara shook her head. Not in any way you can see.

  “It’s just a building,” the woman said. “So old and rickety. It’s a wonder this didn’t happen years ago. Glad everyone’s out. That’s the most important thing.”

  Sara nodded. Still no words. It’s not just a building, she thought, defiantly—and sadly. It’s my home—our home. And it’s disappearing.

  She clutched her tin of money closer to her chest and glanced back at the house just as the sign above the doorway—The Benevolent Home for Necessitous Girls—began to crumble. And then, in front of her eyes, it disintegrated, letter by letter, and tumble
d to the ground, the pieces floating almost in slow motion, held aloft by a spring wind that whipped across the lawn.

  “Stand back!” Malou shouted.

  “I’m scared!” cried Dot.

  “Hold on to someone.” This came from Cady.

  A fireball exploded high in the sky. Toni screamed and bolted for the river. Betty tried to go after her, but two of the younger girls were clinging to her as well, laminated against her legs.

  And then, in the sudden stillness after the blast, Mrs. Hazelton’s voice reached out into the night air, singing, “Amazing grace! How sweet the sound…” Others joined in. “That saved a wretch like me…”

  Sara stood stunned and out of breath. What’s going to happen to us? Where will we go?

  “Stand back, everyone,” Joe shouted. “It’s comin’ down.”

  Two

  THE FIREFIGHTERS DID eventually arrive. They trained their hoses on what was left of the building, blasting it with jets of water. Pieces of wood, glass and siding hung suspended by the force of the liquid spewing from the fire-engine hoses and then eventually thudded to the ground. Sections of the house lay smoldering in unrecognizable piles. Sara remained speechless as she watched the building crumble. The sky turned from black to gray to hazy blue as dawn approached.

  When it appeared that the worst of the fire was over, the girls turned to one another, not sure what to do next. After her burst of hymn singing, Mrs. Hazelton, usually so in command and full of orders, had become almost mute.

  “How could this have happened?” she muttered, staring at the space that had once held the home she had presided over for years.

  “Mrs. Hazelton?” Sara found her voice again and approached the matron to stand in front of her. At first, she didn’t seem to be aware of Sara’s presence. “Mrs. Hazelton,” Sara repeated.

  “What? Oh, Sara. Where are the others? Is everyone here?”

  “Yes, we’re all fine. A couple of girls inhaled a bit of smoke. But other than that, everyone is okay. And you?”

  Mrs. Hazelton’s gaze came back to rest on Sara. “What? Oh yes, I’m fine, dear, fine.”

  That was a lie, Sara knew. This place was as much Mrs. Hazelton’s as it was the orphans’—probably more so! No one was going to be fine after this. Sara waited another moment. She could feel the other girls lining up behind her, also waiting. For what? Instructions? Reassurance? A bit of both, perhaps. Sara took another step forward. At eighteen, she was the oldest of the bunch—perhaps by just a few months, but even that meant something. Like the twin who always talks about being first, if only by minutes, it was time for her to act like the oldest.

  “I think we’re going to have to figure out what we’re going to do now.”

  But before she could say another word, the townspeople took over. Someone grabbed Mrs. Hazelton by the arm and led her away. Someone else told the girls to get into waiting cars so they could be driven to the church. It was there that six of the seven girls who had shared a space in the orphanage for as long as they could remember were sprawled across wooden pews in the chapel and trying to settle in for a few hours of rest. Toni had not reappeared after her sprint to the river. No one was particularly worried about that, not even Betty. Toni was a wanderer and had stayed out until dawn many times, especially when she was anxious about something. Sara knew she was bound to reappear when things settled down.

  A few of the younger orphans were scattered here and there. Most of them had cried themselves to sleep. But the older girls were still awake, staring at one another over the wooden benches, propped up by pillows and more blankets. Sara sipped a cup of tea that had been handed to her by another mysterious pair of helping hands. She wondered where these people had been over the years. Funny how no one from town has ever paid much attention to us, Sara thought. Some of them had openly showed their contempt—like it’s our fault our parents abandoned us. None of that made sense to Sara. But now everyone was tripping over themselves to help. Disasters did that, she figured.

  No one said a word. Each girl seemed lost in her own thoughts. Sara wanted to speak up; she wanted to say something wise and reassuring. She may have kept to herself a lot of the time, but she cared deeply about the others. After all, she had lived next to these girls ever since she had been brought to the orphanage as a baby. Her whole lifetime. She knew these girls like she knew herself; she understood their moods and dispositions. She knew that Betty was gentle and trusting and that Toni was scarred and haunted by nightmares. She knew that Tess was itching to get away from everyone and would be on the prowl as soon as she could get out. She understood that Malou was everyone’s favorite, and Cady was usually distant and impatient. And she knew that even though she and Dot were almost the same age, Dot appeared to be so much younger. Sara wanted to say something to each of them, to tell them that she understood how they must be feeling and that she was feeling the same way. She wanted to let everyone know that they would be fine. But she barely believed that. She had no words. They had disappeared into some black hole in her head.

  Miss Webster appeared, drifting into the chapel from another room. Sara noted the deep lines around their teacher’s eyes and across her brow. Her face was pale despite the presence of two round dots of rouge that she had applied to her cheeks. Reverend Messervey stood behind her, there to make sure everyone was settled in for what was left of the night. Miss Webster was dressed, and her hair was combed into place. Your first impression is what counts, she always told the girls. She would never have wanted to look frazzled for too long.

  “Girls, may I have your attention.” Miss Webster spoke softly, peering around at the younger children, whose snores and soft breaths rose and fell in the church sanctuary. The six older girls sat up, instantly alert. “I know this is a shock for all of you—for all of us. For now, I want all of you to try and get some sleep.” When Miss Webster spoke, she had this habit of waving her finger in the air, weaving it up and around like the baton that the music teacher, Mr. Rainey, used when he conducted the choir at the orphanage.

  “Where’s Mrs. Hazelton? Is she all right?” Sara asked. She knew it was a question that was on everyone’s mind.

  “The matron is fine. Don’t any of you worry about that,” Miss Webster replied. “She’s gone back to her cottage to rest, which is what all of you should be doing as well.” The cottage next to the Benevolent Home was where Mrs. Hazelton lived. Sara knew that it hadn’t been touched by the fire.

  “What’s going to happen to us? I mean, we can’t stay here in the church, can we?” Dot asked the question that Sara had been thinking.

  “Here’s what I can tell you for now,” Miss Webster continued. “The fire has pretty much destroyed the house. It’s burned almost to the ground, and it’s not possible for any of you—any of us—to go back there.” Murmurs exploded from the girls. Miss Webster’s finger stopped in midair as she raised her hands to command silence. “Yes, it’s not what we expected. But all of you know that the Home has been in the process of closing down for some time.” Her finger resumed conducting.

  That part Sara knew to be true. More and more of the younger children had left the Benevolent Home for Necessitous Girls in the preceding four years, adopted out to families who were eager to take a young child into their care. Now, in 1964, the Home, like other orphanages across the province, was being scaled down, phased out, closed. They were going the way of the Woodward’s eagle—extinct!

  Sara smiled in spite of herself. Of all things to remember at this moment. She had learned that bit of irrelevant information from the strange teacher who had drifted through town to give lessons to the girls on bird-watching—one of many instructors who had come for a short time and then moved on. What good would that piece of information do her in her life, Sara had wondered. But somehow, she had retained it.

  “Nobody cares about what’s going to happen to us. We were too old to give away when the orphanage started to close down, and we’re even older now.” This comment came from
Cady—always sounding so annoyed.

  Sara understood the irritation that burned inside of Cady. Sara’s stomach also blistered at times, but not from anger. Sara felt a constant, creeping anxiety that nestled under her skin and festered there, like food gone bad or an infected scrape. It wasn’t like Toni’s anxiety. Toni was paralyzed with fear as obvious as a bad hairdo. Sara kept hers inside—concealed it with a smile and a nod of her head. Only her hands gave it away, rubbing together when she was agitated. And if she ignored the burn in her belly, it sometimes disappeared or settled into the background. If provoked, the feeling only got worse. That was how Sara felt a lot of the time, like a mosquito bite begging to be scratched.

  “We all know that the house has needed some fixing for years,” Miss Webster continued.

  That’s an understatement if there ever was one, thought Sara. Pipes leaked, lights flickered and went out, the old furnace banged and popped, sometimes so loudly that it woke the girls in the middle of the night. Was that why the fire had started? Because the house was so run-down?

  “And Mrs. Hazelton has told me that the founders of the Home have had fewer funds to support us these past years.” Miss Webster paused. “But she assures me that decisions are being made, and that she will be working to prepare for you as best she can.” Her finger rose and fell in sync with that statement.

  What did that mean? Preparing how? Sara had watched the younger girls leave, one by one, over the last few years. She’d known that after they turned eighteen, she and the other girls would also have to go. And she’d known, as Miss Webster had pointed out, that the home was slowly being phased out. But she had pushed those realities far into the back of her mind. The fire had brought what had seemed only probable into the realm of absolutely necessary. But there was another problem here, one that Cady had already alluded to. The girls who had left the orphanage for homes in other cities and towns were the Little Ones—the wanted ones, as Sara called them. No one wanted the Seven—too old to be welcomed as daughters for a newly married couple, but too young to be on their own.