activities during the rest of the week.”
She took them to the room where the girls had been singing earlier. They sat in rows and were bowed over their Bibles now, struggling with various degrees of success to read them. They all looked up when their visitors entered. Sarah scanned the faces and saw they represented many nations of origin and ranged in age from about twelve to perhaps sixteen or seventeen. Girls much older than that were either safely married or hopelessly lost – either to prostitution or death. The choices in life for impoverished females were severely limited.
These girls were as well scrubbed as the hallway, their hair braided or pinned up, their clothes neat and clean, if not new or stylish. The blond girl who had met them at the door, Emilia, sat on a stool at the front of the room, and she smiled at them. Again Sarah noticed how the smile brightened her face.
“These are the girls who live here with us at the present time,” Mrs. Wells explained. “They have no place else to go except back to lives of sin and abomination, but they are safe here with us.”
Sarah winced at the fact that she’d said this in front of them, but if any of them minded, they gave no indication. Probably, they’d heard it before. Sarah had to admit it was also true. A ministry that saved destitute girls from the streets was a haven indeed.
Mrs. Wells then took her visitors through the kitchen, a large room as spotless as the rest of the house, and out to the small plot of ground behind the house that had been turned into a playground. Here a couple dozen children played on swings and slides and seesaws, things that existed no place else in this part of town. They weren’t as clean or as well dressed as the girls inside. Obviously, they were children from the neighborhood who had come to this amazing refuge to enjoy a few hours of idyllic childhood. Then Sarah noticed other small faces pressed longingly against the slats on the other side of the fence, peering in at their fellows.
True, the yard was already swarming with children, but Sarah couldn’t imagine locking others out and cheating them of this unique opportunity. “How do you decide who gets to come in to play and who doesn’t?” Sarah asked, indicating the pathetic onlookers.
“We can’t allow them all in at once, of course,” Mrs. Wells explained, her gaze settling lovingly on the children. “If we did, none of them could enjoy the yard. So we let a group of them come in for an hour, and then we send them out and admit the next group. It’s the only fair way.”
Sarah looked at the older woman with admiration. She might be a bit rigid in her religious views, but she obviously cared deeply for the people in the neighborhood.
A few adult women stood around, watching over the children as they played, stepping in to settle disputes and helping the smaller children when they needed it. Their clothes identified them as belonging to a higher social class than the children they tended, so Sarah assumed they were volunteers. She imagined Hazel Dennis standing in this yard, doing the same thing. Had she found being with the children fulfilling or had they only reminded her of what she did not have? Surely, visiting the mission couldn’t have been painful, or she wouldn’t have continued to come.
Sarah glanced up at Richard and wondered what he was thinking as he watched the grubby children at their play. Could he imagine his wife finding joy and satisfaction here?
“Would you like to go upstairs and see the work rooms and the dormitory?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“Yes,” Richard said, still deep in thought. “Yes, I would.”
When they reentered the house, they found Emilia waiting for them. “The
“They certainly appear to be,” Sarah said. The girl seemed eager for their approval, and Sarah knew how much attention from outsiders could mean to someone in her position in life. “How long have you been here, Emilia?”
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise that Sarah knew her name. “I am here five months,” she said carefully, glancing at Mrs. Wells for confirmation. “I learn to sew.”
“Emilia hopes to find a job making clothes,” Mrs. Wells explained. “She’s been doing very well.”
“I’m sure she is,” Sarah said with an encouraging smile. The girl beamed.
“Are the girls finished with their Bible study, Emilia?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“Si, they have gone to eat.”
Sarah hoped Mrs. Wells would invite Emilia to join them upstairs, but she left the girl standing in the kitchen, staring longingly after them. Mrs. Wells didn’t speak again until they reached the top of the stairs. Then she turned to face Sarah and Richard.
“Emilia is a perfect example of what we have been able to accomplish here,” she said softly, so no one could overhear. “She was seduced by a wicked man who had no intention of marrying her. When her family found out, they disowned her for her wantonness. You can imagine what she had to do to survive. By the time she came to us, she was completely degraded, but I’m happy to say that she has since repented both of her sins and of her popish ways. She is now a true child of God.”
Dennis nodded in approval, but Sarah couldn’t help wondering what her Irish friend Malloy would have to say about Mrs. Wells’s opinion of Roman Catholics. Of course, the prejudice was practically universal among Protestants, so Sarah couldn’t single the woman out for disapproval.
Upstairs they saw the workrooms where the girls learned various skills. Mrs. Wells pointed out the two sewing machines she’d been able to provide for the girls to practice on. The attic had been converted into a dormitory where the residents slept on rows of identical cots under the sloping roof, all neatly made up with identical blankets.
“What exactly did my wife do when she came here?” Richard asked as they made their way back down the stairs to the first floor.
“Let’s see,” Mrs. Wells said, considering. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m not sure, but I believe she led the singing. She had a fine voice, if I recall.”
“Yes, she did,” Richard confirmed eagerly. “Our friends always enjoyed hearing her sing.”
“I seem to remember she may also have taught sewing. Did she do needlework?”
“She… I believe she did.” He was less confident of this.
They had reached the front hallway, and Mrs. Wells turned to face them. “Mr. Dennis, what your wife did here exactly really isn’t important. The fact that she came at all is what matters. The work she did here helped to save young girls from the streets and prepare them for heaven. You can comfort yourself with knowing her life had meaning and purpose, even if it was shorter than we might have wished. You may also comfort yourself that she is with God. I’m certain of that.”
Her words transformed Richard, finally giving him the consolation he’d sought. “Thank you, Mrs. Wells,” he said gratefully. “You’ve been very kind.”
“Not at all, Mr. Dennis. I’ve simply told the truth,” she said. “Do you have any other questions that I can answer?”
Richard glanced at Sarah, giving her the opportunity to respond. She couldn’t think of any questions, but she did remember something else. “I brought a few things of mine that I thought your residents might be able to use,” she said, indicating the bundle that still sat on the floor in the front parlor.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Brandt. I know the girls will appreciate your generosity,” Mrs. Wells said with her sweet smile.
“I didn’t bring anything with me,” Richard said, “but you will be receiving a donation from me very soon.”
“That really isn’t necessary, but we will accept it gratefully, in your wife’s memory, Mr. Dennis,” Mrs. Wells said. She could not have said anything that could have pleased Richard more, and to Sarah’s amazement, her voice held no hint that she considered Richard’s money any more important to her ministry than Sarah’s old clothes.
As they walked back down Mulberry Street after taking their leave of Mrs. Wells, Sarah allowed Richard some time to reflect on what he had learned. The noise and activity in the neighborhood didn’t allow for much conversation anyway, so he didn’t really say anything until they were back in the relative quiet of the El station, waiting for the next train to arrive.
“I had no idea,” he finally said. “What would happen to those girls if the mission wasn’t there?”
“Many of them would probably become prostitutes,” Sarah said. “And most of those would die young.”
He frowned, probably not certain whether he should be shocked by the facts or by hearing Sarah say them aloud. Ladies of her class studiously avoided acknowledging that prostitution existed. “I still can’t imagine Hazel in a place like that. I guess you’re right, I didn’t know her at all.”
“I didn’t say that,” Sarah hastily reminded him. “Sometimes we hide things from the people we love. She might not have allowed you to see that side of her. Maybe she thought you’d disapprove.”
