Post-War Dreams by Brenda Whiteside

Author:Brenda Whiteside [Whiteside, Brenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, vintage, postwar, 1945, silver screen
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

There’s No Place Like Home

Before sitting down to lunch at the beginning of the second week at the Good Shepherd’s Home, the nun who oversaw our noon meal sent me to retrieve our newest addition from the dorm. My feet dragged as I made my way through the maze of halls. I didn’t relish meeting another smart-mouthed, pregnant teenager.

Relief and sadness flooded through me when I entered the quiet dorm hall. A waif of a child perched on the edge of the bunk next to mine. Thin and pale, no more than four years old, she sat in silence and stared at the stained glass reflections. A green ribbon held her brown hair at the nape of her neck. A few stray strands brushed her sallow cheeks and high forehead. She glanced up, not smiling or frowning.

“Hi.” I sat beside her. “My name is Claire. What’s yours?”

She blinked without expression. “Amy.”

A worn, yellow dress obviously in need of washing lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. A doll, missing an eye, snuggled down in the folds of the dress.

“Is she your doll?”

Amy’s lip quivered. “She said I can’t keep her.”

“We’ll ask about that after lunch.” I patted her hand. The required gray dress hung on her small frame and the buttoned front was askew. “Let me see if I can fix this for you. Looks like you might have missed a button.”

I studied her face as I fixed her dress. Her cheeks were still damp from washing, and some dirt smudges remained on her chin and forehead. The washrag was crumpled on her shelf. She allowed me to do another cleaning of her face and hands. Together, we walked to the lunchroom, her small hand in mine.

That night, after lights were out, Amy’s tears concerned me more than my own.

I tiptoed the three steps to the child’s bed and knelt. “Amy, are you okay?

“I want my doll,” she whispered and sniffed.

I gripped the side of her bed. Why the hell did the nuns have to take her doll? What did it hurt for a young child to hang on to the one thing she had for comfort?

“Was it a special doll?”

She sniffed again. “She’s all I have.” A tiny sob followed her words. “I always have her no matter where I am. I can’t s…sleep with…without her. She’ll be s…scared.” Amy barely got the last word out before her crying renewed with more emotion.

“What’s her name?”

“A…Amy. Just like me.”

“I happen to know where they keep dolls they take from little girls.” I waited as she choked in a sob then quieted to listen. “It’s a very special place. She’ll have lots of other dolls to keep her company. Amy has her own bed and her own doll pillow.”

“She does?” Her wet eyes opened wide.

“Yes, and when you leave here, she’ll be so happy to see you again. They tell all the dolls that, too, you know.”

“Really?” She sniffed and her tears slowed.

“Really. I’m not very sleepy right now, so I think I’ll just stay here for a few minutes.

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