Maisie being only four was a problem. And little Eddie, who kept smiling that wide, too eager smile at every family who glanced his way. That smile, Agnes had noticed over three stops, was the kind of smile that made adults nervous, too desperate, too obvious. Nobody wanted a child who needed them that badly. One by one, the families made their choices.
A farmer and his wife from two counties over took a boy from the second group, who had not even been on Agnes' list, a healthy 11-year-old with broad shoulders and steady hands. Gone before noon, a woman with kind eyes lingered near Clara, and Clara stood very still, the way she had learned to stand very still when someone was considering her, like if she moved wrong, the moment would shatter. The woman's husband said something low near her ear. The woman's kind eyes went apologetic. They walked away.
Clara's expression did not change. She had learned how to keep her expression from changing, too. Wesley watched all of it from where he stood with Maisie still on his hip because Maisie had not woken up properly yet, and he was not going to put her down on a cold platform to sleep on the boards. He watched family after family looked toward the remaining nine, consider, and drift away. He had seen this before.
He knew how it ended. By 11:30, the platform was nearly empty. Agnes snapped her clipboard shut. "All right," she said with the tone of someone wrapping up a meeting that had run slightly long. "Back on the train.
Next stop is Milfield. They've arranged placement at the county house there until permanent situations can be. " The county house. Clara's voice came out before she could stop it. She was 12 and she knew what the county house meant. It meant a dormatory with 40 children and two caretakers and meals that were never quite enough and rules that were mostly about keeping quiet.
"Miss Hollowell," Clara said carefully, because she had also learned to be careful. "How long would we be at the county house? " Agnes did not look at her until arrangements are made. "But the last time we were told arrangements would be made, we waited. " Clara Agnes's voice had the particular flatness of someone who has decided not to be moved. I understand this is disappointing, but these are the circumstances. Now, please gather the younger ones and leftovers.
The word came out of Agnes's mouth before she had clearly meant to say it out loud. Or maybe she had meant to and simply did not care. She was looking down at her clipboard when she said it. Not at the children, at the paper. These nine are being returned as placement, she said, writing something.
Mark them as leftovers in the county file. No interest generated at Red Hollow. Stop. She said it the way you'd say no mail today or low water in the creek. A fact, a logistical note, nothing more.
The platform was so quiet after that that you could hear the steam still hissing slowly from the resting train engine at the far end of the track. 8-year-old Rose pressed her face against Ruth's shoulder. Jonah, 9 years old, stared at the floorboards like he was trying to disappear through them. Eddie's smile finally went out. Wesley felt Maisie shift against him, felt her small fingers grip the front of his shirt in her sleep.