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Ezra’s Story
Ezra’s story begins in New York City in 1915, a volatile time during which droves of immigrants poured into an overly crowded city looking for housing, jobs, and the American dream.
Ezra’s father has lost his job at the docks and starts to drink heavily, which in turn has left the family fearful and hungry. After his parents have a violent argument, Ezra decides to run away and take his brother with him. Prior to their departure, Ezra is confronted by his father, who is very drunk and unable to control his temper. As the skirmish with his father becomes more intense, Ezra sends his little brother into the streets. Ezra follows shortly afterward, only to find himself alone in the crowded city and unable to find his brother.
As he frantically searches for his sibling, Ezra makes friends with an Irish immigrant who helps him navigate his new life. His new friend teaches him to open his eyes and his heart to the suffering of others, a lesson that seals his fate when an act of kindness sets him up to be sent west on an orphan train to find the life he thought he’d lost forever.
Orphan Train Extras is a series of novellas in which you will read the stories of some of your favorite side characters from The Orphan Train Saga. Each Orphan Train Extra can be read alone, or for a richer reading experience, read them in conjunction with the other books in The Orphan Train Saga. In this first book of Orphan Train Extra collection, Ezra’s Story, discover how the kindness of strangers helps one child journey to find the family he longs for.
Ezra’s story begins in New York City in 1915, a volatile time during which droves of immigrants poured into an overly crowded city looking for housing, jobs, and the American dream.
Ezra’s father has lost his job at the docks and starts to drink heavily, which in turn has left the family fearful and hungry. After his parents have a violent argument, Ezra decides to run away and take his brother with him. Prior to their departure, Ezra is confronted by his father, who is very drunk and unable to control his temper. As the skirmish with his father becomes more intense, Ezra sends his little brother into the streets. Ezra follows shortly afterward, only to find himself alone in the crowded city and unable to find his brother.
As he frantically searches for his sibling, Ezra makes friends with an Irish immigrant who helps him navigate his new life. His new friend teaches him to open his eyes and his heart to the suffering of others, a lesson that seals his fate when an act of kindness sets him up to be sent west on an orphan train to find the life he thought he’d lost forever.
Orphan Train Extras is a series of novellas in which you will read the stories of some of your favorite side characters from The Orphan Train Saga. Each Orphan Train Extra can be read alone, or for a richer reading experience, read them in conjunction with the other books in The Orphan Train Saga. In this first book of Orphan Train Extra collection, Ezra’s Story, discover how the kindness of strangers helps one child journey to find the family he longs for.
Chapter One
May, 1915
Ezra sat on the window sill in the front room of the family’s apartment watching as the sun inched over the rooftops of the nearby buildings. The beams of light added a welcoming glow to the dark room, suggesting the promise of a bright new day. He always clung to that hope until around suppertime, when Papa would arrive home with his clothes smelling of stale cigars, his skin leaching the stench of liquor, which seeped from his pores in bubbles of sweat. Ezra hated that smell and loathed the darkness that was sure to follow. His papa was a monster in a man’s body, quick to anger and ruling with a heavy hand. It hadn’t always been that way. He used to enjoy spending time with his papa. However, things had changed and seemed to be getting gradually worse of late.
Ezra blamed his sister, Anastasia. Anna, as she preferred to be called, had taken him and his younger brother, Tobias, to the market one day and had vanished seemingly into thin air, leaving him and Tobias to explain why she hadn’t returned home. Not that they’d had much to tell. One minute, she was at the applecart teaching both boys how to steal apples, and the next, she was gone. Even though he and Tobias left out the part about stealing apples, Papa had been furious. His momma tried to soothe Papa’s fury and in return had taken the brunt of his anger. Later, when Papa wasn’t around, Ezra asked her why she hadn’t cried upon hearing the news of his sister’s disappearance. His mother merely shushed him, telling him not to mention Anna again, especially if Papa was in the room. A year had passed since his sister disappeared, and in that time, no one dared say her name. He sometimes tried to remember what she looked like, only recalling that she had dark flowing hair and looked a lot like their mother, except for a thin scar that stretched the length of her face. If not for a coat hanging in the closet of Tobias’ bedroom, a room that once belonged to Anna, he would have wondered if he’d only dreamed of his sister’s existence. He was angry with her for leaving, but mostly, he was angry she hadn’t taken him and his brother with her.
Unable to sleep, Ezra waited for his papa to rise, hoping to catch him before he left for the day, aiming to tell him he didn’t like the way he was treating Momma. Even though he was only seven, he knew it best to speak to his father in the wee hours of the morning while he was still in his right mind. Once his father dove into the bottle, there would be no reasoning with the man.
The door to his parents’ bedroom opened and Papa emerged, work boots in hand. He always began the day looking put together, hair neatly combed, and his clothes, though worn, were clean, thanks to Momma. Still, they hung on him, and even in the dim lighting, the man appeared thin and haggard. Momma often told Ezra he was the spitting image of the man. She’d smile when saying it, as if it was something for him to be proud of. Ezra wasn’t impressed. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to look like a monster. Granted, the man in front of him didn’t look so fearful at the moment, but Ezra had witnessed it enough to know the monster was in there, waiting to be set free.
Papa looked up, saw him sitting on the windowsill, and pulled a chair close. “You’re up early,” he said, stuffing his foot into a boot.
It’s difficult to sleep when my stomach is empty. Keeping the thought to himself, Ezra shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Children should not have trouble sleeping,” his father said as he bent to lace his boots.
Ezra thought to tell him that no one could sleep with all the yelling and screaming behind his parents’ bedroom door, then decided against it. Instead, he opted for a different approach.
“Don’t leave.”
His father finished looping the lace and pulled it firm before straightening. “I’m going to work.”
Liar. “You don’t work. You go to the bar and drink until time to come home, and when you come home, you’re mean.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “You keeping tabs on me, boy?”
Ezra’s mouth went dry and he worked to swallow his fear. “I heard you and Momma fighting. You go down to the dock, but you don’t work. You wait ‘til the bar opens and you sit in there gambling and drinking until time to come home for dinner.”
“What I do is none of your concern.” His father’s voice was surprisingly calm.
Ezra pulled himself taller and gathered his courage. “You make Momma cry. That’s my concern.”
“Your mother should be ashamed of herself, putting you up to this,” Papa said, glancing toward the bedroom where Ezra’s mother slept.
“Momma doesn’t know. She’s never spoken badly about you, not even when you’re mean to her. She says it’s not your fault that you have a sickness. But you ain’t sick. You just drink too much.”
His father closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them once more. When he spoke, Ezra saw the man behind the monster. “You don’t know what it’s like, son.”
“I know some. Like you ain’t mean right now, but if you leave, then come home, you’ll be mean. So don’t leave.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. Once the drink’s got you, there’s no stopping it. If I were to stay, I’d eventually go to the cabinet where I keep my bottle.” He heaved a heavy sigh then stood to leave. “I’m afraid the devil’s got my soul.”
Ezra waited until his father neared the door before responding. “Then don’t come back.”
His father hesitated briefly before leaving without another word.
Ezra waited for him to return. When he didn’t, he went back to his bed and closed his eyes. Sometimes it was easier sleeping knowing the monster that claimed to be his father was gone.
***
Ezra sat on the floor next to Tobias, who was contentedly lining up marbles and rolling them along the hard floor like a snake. Now and then, one would break free and five-year-old Tobias would scamper to his knees, chasing it across the floor.
His mother stood at the kitchen stove, hair pulled high, showing deep worry lines that etched her face. He watched as she painstakingly peeled the smallest slivers of skin from two potatoes and, slicing them into small cubes, placed them into the cast-iron skillet. She dipped a cup into the cornmeal and put the contents into a bowl. His mouth watered as she added a teaspoon of sugar and a sprinkle of salt, then poured boiling water into the bowl before mixing everything together. He’d seen her do it often enough to know there would be johnnycakes served with dinner. She set the mixture aside then stirred the small pan of beans that bubbled on the stove. Using her apron to hold the skillet's handle, she shifted the potatoes, then wiped her forehead with the same grease-stained apron. His mother had grown exceedingly thin over the last few months, her dark hair had lost its luster, and her face looked pale and drawn. Something was terribly wrong, as just this morning, he’d heard her getting sick in the washroom. He’d wanted to ask her how she could throw up when she had nothing in her stomach to lose, but she’d given him a stern look when he approached, so he’d let the question go unasked.
His mother surveyed the stove, a frown flitting across her face as she studied the meager offerings. Instantly, he knew she would not be eating supper again this night.
Ezra tried to remember the last time he’d seen his mother smile and realized she hadn’t done so since before Anna had left. He glanced at Tobias, saw he was too enthralled with his marble game to notice his absence, and went to where his mother stood. Ezra thought to tell her she needn’t worry, that he’d spoken with his father, telling him not to come home. He refrained. As much as he wished it to be true, he knew his words had meant nothing to the man. Instead, he said the only truth he knew. “I hate Papa.”
The startled look on his mother’s face made him instantly regret his words. She glanced at the clock on the wall before lowering into a chair and motioning him closer. She placed her palm against his face. “You mustn't say things like that, Ezra.”
“It’s true. I hate Papa and wish he’d never come home!”
“Your papa loves you. He’s loved you from the moment I told him you were to be.”
“He’s mean!” Ezra retorted. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and struggled to contain them. “He makes you cry.”
“It has not always been that way. Ever since he lost his job at the docks…your papa is a proud man.” His mother’s eyes grew moist. “Everything will be all right when he finds another job. You’ll see.”
Ezra could tell she didn’t believe the words. He moved forward and sighed his relief as she gathered him into her arms, holding him while they both wept. After several moments, his mother released her hold on him, then used her apron to dry his tears. As Ezra watched his mother use the same stained apron to dry her own tears, he wondered why he’d never realized how useful the simple covering to be. He made up his mind right then and there that someday he would have a fine job and be able to buy his mother a new apron. Maybe blue, the color of the morning sky. That way, when he saw her with it on, it would remind him of the hope of the dawning day.
She turned, saw him smiling, and her lips curved ever so slightly. The rattle of the doorknob drew their attention and the moment was gone.
May, 1915
Ezra sat on the window sill in the front room of the family’s apartment watching as the sun inched over the rooftops of the nearby buildings. The beams of light added a welcoming glow to the dark room, suggesting the promise of a bright new day. He always clung to that hope until around suppertime, when Papa would arrive home with his clothes smelling of stale cigars, his skin leaching the stench of liquor, which seeped from his pores in bubbles of sweat. Ezra hated that smell and loathed the darkness that was sure to follow. His papa was a monster in a man’s body, quick to anger and ruling with a heavy hand. It hadn’t always been that way. He used to enjoy spending time with his papa. However, things had changed and seemed to be getting gradually worse of late.
Ezra blamed his sister, Anastasia. Anna, as she preferred to be called, had taken him and his younger brother, Tobias, to the market one day and had vanished seemingly into thin air, leaving him and Tobias to explain why she hadn’t returned home. Not that they’d had much to tell. One minute, she was at the applecart teaching both boys how to steal apples, and the next, she was gone. Even though he and Tobias left out the part about stealing apples, Papa had been furious. His momma tried to soothe Papa’s fury and in return had taken the brunt of his anger. Later, when Papa wasn’t around, Ezra asked her why she hadn’t cried upon hearing the news of his sister’s disappearance. His mother merely shushed him, telling him not to mention Anna again, especially if Papa was in the room. A year had passed since his sister disappeared, and in that time, no one dared say her name. He sometimes tried to remember what she looked like, only recalling that she had dark flowing hair and looked a lot like their mother, except for a thin scar that stretched the length of her face. If not for a coat hanging in the closet of Tobias’ bedroom, a room that once belonged to Anna, he would have wondered if he’d only dreamed of his sister’s existence. He was angry with her for leaving, but mostly, he was angry she hadn’t taken him and his brother with her.
Unable to sleep, Ezra waited for his papa to rise, hoping to catch him before he left for the day, aiming to tell him he didn’t like the way he was treating Momma. Even though he was only seven, he knew it best to speak to his father in the wee hours of the morning while he was still in his right mind. Once his father dove into the bottle, there would be no reasoning with the man.
The door to his parents’ bedroom opened and Papa emerged, work boots in hand. He always began the day looking put together, hair neatly combed, and his clothes, though worn, were clean, thanks to Momma. Still, they hung on him, and even in the dim lighting, the man appeared thin and haggard. Momma often told Ezra he was the spitting image of the man. She’d smile when saying it, as if it was something for him to be proud of. Ezra wasn’t impressed. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to look like a monster. Granted, the man in front of him didn’t look so fearful at the moment, but Ezra had witnessed it enough to know the monster was in there, waiting to be set free.
Papa looked up, saw him sitting on the windowsill, and pulled a chair close. “You’re up early,” he said, stuffing his foot into a boot.
It’s difficult to sleep when my stomach is empty. Keeping the thought to himself, Ezra shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Children should not have trouble sleeping,” his father said as he bent to lace his boots.
Ezra thought to tell him that no one could sleep with all the yelling and screaming behind his parents’ bedroom door, then decided against it. Instead, he opted for a different approach.
“Don’t leave.”
His father finished looping the lace and pulled it firm before straightening. “I’m going to work.”
Liar. “You don’t work. You go to the bar and drink until time to come home, and when you come home, you’re mean.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “You keeping tabs on me, boy?”
Ezra’s mouth went dry and he worked to swallow his fear. “I heard you and Momma fighting. You go down to the dock, but you don’t work. You wait ‘til the bar opens and you sit in there gambling and drinking until time to come home for dinner.”
“What I do is none of your concern.” His father’s voice was surprisingly calm.
Ezra pulled himself taller and gathered his courage. “You make Momma cry. That’s my concern.”
“Your mother should be ashamed of herself, putting you up to this,” Papa said, glancing toward the bedroom where Ezra’s mother slept.
“Momma doesn’t know. She’s never spoken badly about you, not even when you’re mean to her. She says it’s not your fault that you have a sickness. But you ain’t sick. You just drink too much.”
His father closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them once more. When he spoke, Ezra saw the man behind the monster. “You don’t know what it’s like, son.”
“I know some. Like you ain’t mean right now, but if you leave, then come home, you’ll be mean. So don’t leave.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. Once the drink’s got you, there’s no stopping it. If I were to stay, I’d eventually go to the cabinet where I keep my bottle.” He heaved a heavy sigh then stood to leave. “I’m afraid the devil’s got my soul.”
Ezra waited until his father neared the door before responding. “Then don’t come back.”
His father hesitated briefly before leaving without another word.
Ezra waited for him to return. When he didn’t, he went back to his bed and closed his eyes. Sometimes it was easier sleeping knowing the monster that claimed to be his father was gone.
***
Ezra sat on the floor next to Tobias, who was contentedly lining up marbles and rolling them along the hard floor like a snake. Now and then, one would break free and five-year-old Tobias would scamper to his knees, chasing it across the floor.
His mother stood at the kitchen stove, hair pulled high, showing deep worry lines that etched her face. He watched as she painstakingly peeled the smallest slivers of skin from two potatoes and, slicing them into small cubes, placed them into the cast-iron skillet. She dipped a cup into the cornmeal and put the contents into a bowl. His mouth watered as she added a teaspoon of sugar and a sprinkle of salt, then poured boiling water into the bowl before mixing everything together. He’d seen her do it often enough to know there would be johnnycakes served with dinner. She set the mixture aside then stirred the small pan of beans that bubbled on the stove. Using her apron to hold the skillet's handle, she shifted the potatoes, then wiped her forehead with the same grease-stained apron. His mother had grown exceedingly thin over the last few months, her dark hair had lost its luster, and her face looked pale and drawn. Something was terribly wrong, as just this morning, he’d heard her getting sick in the washroom. He’d wanted to ask her how she could throw up when she had nothing in her stomach to lose, but she’d given him a stern look when he approached, so he’d let the question go unasked.
His mother surveyed the stove, a frown flitting across her face as she studied the meager offerings. Instantly, he knew she would not be eating supper again this night.
Ezra tried to remember the last time he’d seen his mother smile and realized she hadn’t done so since before Anna had left. He glanced at Tobias, saw he was too enthralled with his marble game to notice his absence, and went to where his mother stood. Ezra thought to tell her she needn’t worry, that he’d spoken with his father, telling him not to come home. He refrained. As much as he wished it to be true, he knew his words had meant nothing to the man. Instead, he said the only truth he knew. “I hate Papa.”
The startled look on his mother’s face made him instantly regret his words. She glanced at the clock on the wall before lowering into a chair and motioning him closer. She placed her palm against his face. “You mustn't say things like that, Ezra.”
“It’s true. I hate Papa and wish he’d never come home!”
“Your papa loves you. He’s loved you from the moment I told him you were to be.”
“He’s mean!” Ezra retorted. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and struggled to contain them. “He makes you cry.”
“It has not always been that way. Ever since he lost his job at the docks…your papa is a proud man.” His mother’s eyes grew moist. “Everything will be all right when he finds another job. You’ll see.”
Ezra could tell she didn’t believe the words. He moved forward and sighed his relief as she gathered him into her arms, holding him while they both wept. After several moments, his mother released her hold on him, then used her apron to dry his tears. As Ezra watched his mother use the same stained apron to dry her own tears, he wondered why he’d never realized how useful the simple covering to be. He made up his mind right then and there that someday he would have a fine job and be able to buy his mother a new apron. Maybe blue, the color of the morning sky. That way, when he saw her with it on, it would remind him of the hope of the dawning day.
She turned, saw him smiling, and her lips curved ever so slightly. The rattle of the doorknob drew their attention and the moment was gone.
