But those were all rather simple designs made to conserve as much cloth as possible. This however, was one of Jay’s own personal crafts.
Other than the handkerchief, there were only a handful other items he made for himself. All of them were about the same size too— no clothes, and no accessories. Just small, simple items, which all had detailed patterns sewn into it. Once again, probably to not waste too much material over a hobby.
I pulled open a wardrobe, and stared at the objects lying inside it.
Next to the unused embroidery hoop was a small, black hat. About half the size of my palm. It was unfinished, and I couldn't clearly tell that was what kind of hat it was supposed to be. If I had to guess, I would say it was a top hat.
"Oh, so that’s what he was working on last night. I was wondering why he stayed up so late."
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what this is?"
"Indeed," Ms Sharity said, beaming. "It’s the Plague Doctor’s hat."
Blinking, I looked back down at the small hat. It really did not look like a miniscule version of the wide brimmed hat the Plague Doctor wore. Maybe that was because it was still unfinished, but I doubted it. The proportions were all off!
"That boy. He’s so considerate, really. Even though he always acts like he doesn’t care." The woman shook her head, placing her hands on her hip.
"Is he making this for someone?" I asked. It was too small to fit on anyone but a baby’s head— and even then it would barely fit.
"Yes." She nodded her head. "It’s for Mister Will."
My blank stare needed no words to accompany it as Ms Sharity quickly began to elaborate.
"Mister Will is the mole Callie brings with her wherever she goes. The stuffed animal. It was one of the donations we got back when our orphanage still was… well, it’s nothing you should worry about. But she brings him around almost everywhere she goes, and doesn’t like sharing him with anyone."
I was just going to assume Callie was the crying girl I saw when I first arrived in the orphanage house. "And she wanted to give Mister Will the same hat as the Plague Doctor?" I wagered another guess.
"Well, no. You see, Callie never likes sharing Mister Will with anyone. But after Patty got sick, she must’ve been so worried, she’s now sharing him with her. And after the Plague Doctor cured us— praise Her light, I still don’t know how he did that— Patty wanted the hat that he wore. However, we can’t really afford it, so she’s been down since last night."
Hasn’t it only been a day since she met the Plague Doctor? I would have assumed she would be more grateful that she was alive. But she did look like she was barely even two years old. So maybe her priorities were vastly different than mine.
Whatever it was, I did not even need to fill in the blanks this time; although Ms Sharity still felt the need to explain it to me. "Since we couldn’t get a real one, Jay must have figured that this was the next best thing."
"He’s such a kind boy," I remarked.
"He really is."
There was a moment of silence as the woman stared deeply into the tiny, incomplete hat; I could tell that she loved her children very much. The moment ended when a girl opened the door to the room.
"Hey Ms Sharity, have you seen Jay?" Hannah— the girl who found the Plague Doctor— poked her head in.
"He said he was buying some materials he needed for sewing," Ms Sharity replied. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"He should have been back by now." The girl frowned. "He better not have gotten into trouble. I’ll go find him."
"You be safe too, ok?" The middle aged woman called out, as Hannah left. She turned back to me, and smiled in assurance. "I’m sure he’s fine. Don’t worry."
"Mhm." I made a noise in acknowledgement.
Then I decided to ask a question that had been on my mind for a while.
"Ms Sharity, can I ask why does everyone call you that and not, well, ‘mom’? You treat them like they’re your own children, and they clearly think of you as their mother. So why the formality?"
Apparently that was not the best question to ask, as the woman’s demeanour immediately became apprehensive.
"It might not be something you’d enjoy talking about, Melas. It might be… boring to hear."
"I’m fine as long as you’re comfortable with it."
I knew that ‘boring’ did not actually mean boring, and that it was a code word adults used to get kids to talk about something else. I was not a kid though, so it did not work on me.
Ms Sharity chewed on her lip, considering what I said. Before finally speaking. "It’s from back when we were more well funded. When there was an actual director managing the orphanage, and I was just a helper."
"What happened?" I asked, seeing the direction where the conversation was going.
"It was nothing that could have been prevented. People simply… stopped donating as much. The director quit their job as a result, but I couldn’t just leave all these children alone. Well, back then, Eaton was the youngest one here— he’s really grown so much." The woman sighed wistfully, before shaking her head. "The children would always refer to the director with respect. Like he was their teacher. So when I became the director of the orphanage, they were just too used
