Champagne Weather

Author's Note: The following story contains sensitive topics such as loss and bullying. Thank you for reading with an open mind and being respectful.

Sarah and I arrived at the Queen Victoria Orphanage on a rainy London morning. We were being transferred from a smaller orphanage because nobody wanted us. I overheard one of the caretakers say that this was sort of a “last stop” kind of orphanage, a place for “girls to go who didn't have a friend in the world.”

I don't think that's fair. I do have a friend; Sarah, and she has me. We're not family, but we may as well be one with how close we've become.

“I don't like this place, Emily,” Sarah said to me, giving my arm a squeeze for comfort. “It looks dreary.”

She's right. The orphanage is huge and scary; we could see it from afar on our walk down Shirland Road.

“Come now, you've only just arrived,” said the custodian who'd escorted us. The man raised his hand to the door knocker and gave it three loud knocks. “It's not as bad as it looks, and they'll take real good care of you.”

Sarah squeezed my arm again, this time tighter. I can tell she's on the verge of tears. Sarah was told only a few days ago that her father died in South Africa fighting in the Boer's War. Apparently he died last year, in December of 1980, a few months back, but it took a while for word to get to Sarah since she had been orphaned by her mom’s passing from smallpox in November.

The door creaked open to reveal an old lady dressed in a nun's outfit. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each a story of the years past and a look into what our future would be. The old nun smiled down at us and crouched slightly. “And who do we have here?”

Sarah and I can't seem to find our voices despite her friendliness.

“Come on then, say a little something,” our custodian chided. “It'll be a long stay otherwise.”

“Hello,” Sarah whispered.

“Well hello there, dear. My name is Sister Eileen. Welcome. What might your name be?”

Sarah looked down at the ground. “Sarah.”

“Sarah's a pretty name, although we'll have to work on your eye contact,” Sister Eileen said. Sarah turned a shade of red from embarrassment. Sisten Eileen looked over at me. “And this one?”

I've never been able to talk to anyone but Sarah; she gets me, and I her. I'm unable to respond.

“Her name is Emily,” Sarah said in a firm voice. Sarah always stands up for me. I don't know what I'd be without her.

“Kind of a packaged deal,” our custodian added with a chuckle.

“Well, Emily, Sarah, nice to meet the both of you,” Sister Eileen said to us. “If you'll follow me without delay I'll see that you’re welcomed in properly and outfitted accordingly.”

Emily and I gave our custodian one last look before he closed the door behind him. Before the door shut, I could swear the look he had on his face in regards to us was one of relief.

Inside, Sarah and I are led throughout the orphanage while Sister Eileen explains the layout and expectations of our new home. The place was a lot bigger than I anticipated.

“It's a lot to take in,” Sister Eileen said, leading us past a large common area and continuing down a hallway, “but rest assured, you'll adjust and find yourselves most pleased to be here. Depending on your aptitude in certain areas, you'll be trained as either a domestic servant, a school mistress, or even chosen for the Sisterhood.”

A cold chill ran through my body and I think Sarah sensed my displeasure at the idea of becoming a nun. I couldn't think of a worse fate.

“This first day you'll settle in, be shown your quarters and the living area that you'll share with the other girls,” Sister Eileen continued. “We're a Sisterhood here, you'll be expected to be supportive of your fellow woman and help out with chores such as cooking, cleaning, sewing, as well as attending the various classes and duties we require to stay here.” 

Sister Eileen stopped at a closed wooden door; beyond, I could hear a raucous noise, the din of laughter and banter from dozens of girls. Sister Eileen said, “If you have any questions or just need to talk, I'm always around to help,” and with that she threw open the door and the volume of noise went up threefold. “Sarah, your bed is at the far end,” Sister Eileen said,” although I was only expecting one of you…”

Sarah immediately spoke up. “It's okay Sister Eileen, Emily can sleep with me.”

“That'll do for now,” Sister Eileen said, squinting at us. “We'll find a more permanent solution soon. Go on. Make yourself at home. You’ll find fresh linen on your bed and a couple outfits for your daily use. Please change out and be ready for supper in the dining hall in a few hours.”

With that, Sister Eileen left us to our own devices, to meet the other girls of the Queen Victoria Orphanage. We stood there a moment, unsure of what to expect as we listened to the girls at play. They sounded happy, boisterous, unlike orphans but rather like regular children on a school yard, perhaps at recess. It felt reassuring. Sarah gave me another squeeze before throwing open the door to our new living quarters.

If before it was a playground, now it was a mausoleum, silence greeting us as thick as a wall. Sarah and I stood there in the doorway, dozens of mute girls staring back at us, judgment in their eyes, like they were embarrassed for us, and I think I saw a couple who even looked afraid, although of what, I cannot say.

“What do I do?” Sarah whispered to me.

I urged her to go inside–the only thing we could do–and find her bed. She needed to be brave at this moment. Sarah's body was tensed next to mine, ready to flee . The silence stretched, and just when I thought Sarah was going to run, she took the first step inside and kept on walking.

The girls around us remained silent as we walked past them, their eyes following our movement through the dormitory and to the back of the room. I could feel their eyes on me–on us–and it made me hate them. They didn’t know the first thing about us, about Sarah, about what she had been through and what she meant to me as a person. I wanted to explain her story–our story–but I felt like they wouldn't listen. The damage had been done on the first impression.

We arrived at Sarah's bed and tried to occupy ourselves by taking stock of what we had been given: two pairs of fresh bed linen and two pairs of clothes for day-wear, cleaning, and sleep-wear.

I could feel Sarah's disappointment, the thought of this sedentary lifestyle was quite unappealing. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sarah said, still looking down at the small pile of our new existence. I hadn't seen a bathroom on our walk through the orphanage, but I was overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all. Sarah knew she'd have to ask one of the other girls for directions, but before she could, we could hear what the girls were saying about us behind our backs.

“Did you see the two of them?”

“You think that's her friend?”

“I wouldn't be caught dead being seen with her.”

I think Sarah and I figured out that they were talking about me at the same time. I knew Sarah wanted to reassure me, tell me not to listen to the hurtful things they were saying about us but all she could manage was another small squeeze. How could these girls not understand our loss? Our pain? Weren't they also orphaned, in the same situation if not here for the same reason?

We sat on Sarah's bed until dinner, all the while listening to the girls around us come up with new jokes and comments to say about us, all the while Sarah having to pee.

Dinner was announced by a large bell, at which point the girls left single file and headed towards the dining hall. Sarah and I left last which means we arrived last. By the time we went through the line and got our bowl of porridge, all the tables had been filled. Sarah and I stood looking out to the dining hall with a sinking feeling.

“I believe there's an open spot over there,” Sister Eileen said from nearby, indicating a table in the middle of the hall. She had been walking throughout the dining hall ensuring things were in order.

“Thank you, Sister Eileen,” Sarah said, eyes low and voice even lower.

“Everything okay, Sarah? Settling in alright?” Sister Eileen inquired.

Sarah bit her lip and nodded.

“If anything's amiss, you can tell me,” Sister Eileen added.”

Sarah thought a second but shook her head. I wish I had spoken up then; maybe things wouldn't have gone how they had.

Sarah and I went over to the table Sister Eileen had indicated. I could feel the energy of the table shift, warmth turning cold at the prospect of us joining their meal.

One of the girls had the nerve to speak up. “Find another table.”

Sarah cast her eyes down. “There's no other table. Sister Eileen said–”

“Said what?” the girl mocked. “That you and your friend could sit with us? We don't like freaks.” The girl rolled her eyes and continued. “Don't cry, you'll ruin dinner. Just sit down already.”

I could tell Sarah didn't know what to do because she just sat down at the table as she was told. She didn't bother touching her food, even when the girls at the table shifted away from being mean and started being neutral, as if the game had lost all sport. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to encourage Sarah to eat, and try to be normal. 

It was at that moment that the girl next to Sarah jumped up and exclaimed, “Oh, gross! She peed herself!”

I had forgotten that Sarah hadn't gone to the bathroom yet because she was too embarrassed, too afraid to ask for help. If she had been embarrassed then, this moment would be shame multiplied by a thousand. Sarah burst into tears and grabbed me by the wrist. Before I knew it we had fled the dining hall and retreated to the only place we knew: Sarah's small bed.

Sarah held me in her arms with her back to the door, away from anyone who would enter. I let her hold me tight as she sobbed, her chest heaving with labored breaths and moans filled with loss and sadness. 

“I want my mommy and daddy,” Sarah cried, soaking my hair with her tears. I let her cry it out, let her share her hurt with me, her pain.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” came a voice from behind us. It was the girl from the dining hall, the one that had told Sarah to find another table. “Sister Eileen scolded us and told us about your parents. I didn’t know you'd just found out. I didn't mean to call you a freak.”

Sarah sniffed back a few tears to calm herself down. I could tell she was receptive to the apology; even I felt better after hearing it. It was the first positive thing all day.

“There's some free time before we have to turn in for the night,” the girl continued. “You should come play hopscotch in the courtyard with us. Just… you know…,” the girl hesitated. “...lose the doll.”

I felt Sarah go rigid next to me, air sucked in quickly.

“I know it's a comfort thing,” the girl added quickly, “Sister Eileen told us, but it's creepy. You don’t need it. I'll be your friend.”

What was this girl saying? Doll? Creepy? Even for a joke, these girls were taking it too far; first offering Sarah friendship, and then toying with her head?

“Come on, Sarah,” the girl said. “Just leave it.”

I felt Sarah hesitate. I knew she was summoning the words to tell this girl off, but instead, she gave me a weak squeeze and rolled away from me and off of the bed. 

I could hear the two of them walking away from me, Sarah sniffling the last of her tears away. No. Sarah wouldn't leave me like that. She needs me, and I need her. 

I called out, “Come back, Sarah,” more of a plea than a request.

“Did you hear that?” Sarah’s new friend asked.

Sarah and the girl turned back to see me standing there with what I had thought to be a look of utter sadness on my face, but after one look at me they screamed and screamed.

“It's alive!” the girl shrieked.

Sarah fell back and scrambled away from me with a look of terror that pierced my soul. I could feel everything Sarah felt since the beginning, the trauma of her stacked losses coalescing into a small form she called Emily. Now all I felt was her horror–her fear, her repulsion–of me, the same as the treatment of her bullies towards something they didn’t understand, except it was coming from Sarah. My Sarah.

I can’t remember what happened next, I only remember that I wanted to stop that girl from screaming, stop her from taking Sarah away from me and turning her into someone she wasn't, a hurtful, spiteful girl like herself. Once her screaming stopped, I realized I was alone, and later still, I realized that Sarah wasn't coming back. 

I overheard some adults talking about the new girl Sarah having killed one of the other orphans here. “Be sent to an asylum, I ‘spect,” I heard them say. 

I feel bad that Sarah got in trouble for what I did. I didn’t mean to, even if it was justified. But who can blame me, a doll? An innocent plaything, waiting for a friend.