Page 4 of Hush Darling
James hesitated until she poked him forward. The room was frigid with exposed stone walls. Several copper tubs lined up like soldiers.
“Remove your clothes and place them in the rubbish bin. They’ll be incinerated in the morning.” She handed them a folded nightshirt, the material stiff and itchy. A bar of homemade soap rested on top. “Fill the tubs and wash your bodies, head to toe. Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
A pump protruded from the wall, and wooden buckets were available to transfer water. Peter followed him to the wall. They used the pails to fill the tubs, but there was no hot water, and when they removed their clothes, their teeth chattered.
Peter shivered. His bony shoulders shook as his spine protruded, making the bruises on his back all the more prominent. James hushed him before the old nun overheard his whimpering.
“Wash quickly. Then wait on the bench.”
James feared what the sleeping quarters might look like if this was the washroom.
She placed an ornate wooden box with gold corners on the table and lifted the lid, blocking the contents from view. From the guts of the box, she pulled a straightedge blade and the sharpest pair of scissors James had ever seen.
“Long hair attracts mites and other unwelcome guests,” she said, rounding the bench to stand behind them.
Shivering from their cold baths, they sat on the bench as Sister Nagina cut their hair. Dark hanks of James’ brown hair fell to the floor, mixing with the soft, flaxen ringlets of Peter’s. His neck and shoulders itched after the haircut, but they were not given anything to brush the pokey hairs away.
Once they were dressed and the tubs were emptied, Sister Nagina led them to the top floor, where the air was coldest. A steady draft seeped through what was likely a broken window, but James could not find the source of the steady current of cold.
She led them to an open dormitory filled with simple beds. The boys all wore the same vacant stare when they looked at James. They kneeled at the side of each bed. Heads shaved just like theirs bent over folded hands. There must have been forty of them, each boy’s thin body dressed in the same grey rags James and Peter now wore.
Below the howling moan of the London winds, words murmured like incantations from their lips, fading to silence as danger encroached. Their whispered prayers trembled from their lips in a soft babble too low to translate.
Sister Nagina dutifully inspected each boy’s cot with an observant glance as James and Peter followed her to the end of the long room. The other boys observed them, some with curiosity, others with motive.
She pointed to two stripped cots at the end of the long row and faced them. “Make your beds and say your prayers.”
James knew no prayers. But he didn’t dare admit such a shortcoming. He would learn from watching the others, and he would not stay here long.
She slithered back down the aisle like a cold-blooded reptile into the murk.
Peter’s chin trembled as he stared up at James. His mouth opened, and James hooked a finger across his lips, warning him to stay silent.
He showed Peter how to make his bed with the stiff sheet and coarse blanket. He was so exhausted he struggled to think of anything encouraging to say, failing even to remember happier times.
For tonight, James only wanted to dream of places where boys could fly away like mythical creatures on wings, away from the shouting, fighting, and life’s painful things. He didn’t know any prayers, so he made wishes in his head. He wished to be far from rigid rules and free of this prison for boys. He did not want to stay in a place where children were forbidden to laugh, sing, or play.
By the time the lights went out, James had Peter tucked into his bed. “Just try to think happy thoughts,” he told him as he placed a kiss on his head.
“This place is scary, James. I wanna go home.”
James didn’t know how to explain that this was their home now. “It’s only for a little while. I swear, you won’t have to stay here long.”
“Promise?” Peter held out his little hand, and James grinned. From the moment he taught his brother that a man’s handshake was equal to a vow, he clung to that security and used it whenever he wanted guarantees.
James placed his hand in his and squeezed. “I promise.”
That night, James dreamed of a place where they could escape. A place where they were never hit, and lost boys were free. He dreamed of wild adventures and long journeys at sea. He dreamed himself powerful, tall, strong, and honorable. He saw a man who could never be bested by monsters again.
It was a magical place he wasn’t sure existed. It called to him, stirring a sort of wanderlust in his soul, and when he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the salty sea air on his lips and the freedom promised by such a mammoth ship underfoot.
The clouds would never gather, and the wind would never blow cold. There would be no evil that could beat him because he would be the most powerful man of all.
He did not know if such a Never Land could exist, but he wanted to believe. He wanted to dream himself an untethered force, as free as the wild sea. But as his imagination drifted into a deep slumber, he sensed a siren’s kiss pulling him further under. And as his dreams took shame in his mind, a sharp ache formed within his wrist. Instinct tickled up his spine and warned there would be a price for such bliss.
Chapter 1
The Lost Hopes of Little Girls
