Chapter Text
Sunday…The Perfectly Awful Day.
I hated the first Sunday of every month at The Bowery Home. Every floor had to be scrubbed spotless, every chair dustless, and every bed without a wrinkle. Ninety-seven squirming little orphans must be scrubbed and combed and buttoned into freshly starched ginghams; and all ninety-seven reminded of their manners, and told to say, 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir,' whenever a trustee spoke.
As the oldest orphan, Mother Waller often dumped all of the preparation work on me. After sending the children to the waiting room to avoid getting dirty, I ran to the kitchen to finish the sandwiches and my lemon squares. My hair started to curl around my face from the heat of the kitchen and I had no doubt that I looked like a right mess. Having kept an ear out for the arriving engines, I knew as soon as the trustees arrive and I quickly ran back upstairs to make sure the kids had stayed presentable. They were straightened up and I marched them in an orderly line to the dining room.
As soon as the door closed behind the last child, I dropped down into the nearby window seat, letting the cool window soothe my throbbing temples. I had been on my feet since five this morning, doing everybody's bidding, scolded and hurried by a nervous matron. My hair could no longer be defined as a braid as half the hair had fallen out. As my eyes fluttered open, I saw one gentleman arriving later than most. It was hard to make him out through the snow, but even from a distance, I knew that this man was distinguished.
Success! The day was finally over and with minimal damages. The trustees and the visiting committee had made their rounds, and read their reports, and drank their tea, and now were hurrying home to their own cheerful firesides, to forget their bothersome little charges for another month. Again, I stared out the window and imagined what kind of life I would lead if I was in their position. I could see myself wrapped in a cloak with soft fur lining the neck, just like the one I think I remember my mother owning, and the dresses that fit her taller than average frame. I would gracefully slide into the back of the car and without a word, the chauffeur would take me back to my estate, where the maids would already have a warm bath ready by the fireplace and a library full of books ready for me to get lost in. I have a spectacular imagination. It is my one escape from the dreary orphanage I live in. While Mother Waller may not see the advantages of my imagination, I know someday that I will be renowned for it. It is my constant companion in the world of loneliness.
In the kitchen, Dick Grayson interrupts all my plans with his dreadful singing: “Julie! You’re the wanted in the office. The office! THE OFFICE!” I immediately know the deep line between my brows is back as worry descends on me. It is never a good sign when Mother Waller wants to see us after a trustee visit. What could have gone wrong, I wondered. Were the sandwiches not thin enough? Were there shells in the lemon cakes? Had a lady visitor seen the hole in Stephanie Brown’s stocking? Had—O horrors!—one of the cherubic little babes in my own Room F sassed a trustee? I bet it was Jason Todd.
Unfortunately, the entryway had not yet been lit for nighttime, so I stopped in front of the first mirror I could see and tried to beat the flour out of my skirt and quickly redo my braid, swinging the rope over my shoulder. In the rush to make myself presentable, I had failed to notice the tall figure also in the entryway who had been watching me since I’d come flying around the corner.
Only when a car finally pulled up, did he make himself known. I only caught another fleeting glance and again the impression consisted entirely of tallness. As the car approached, head on for an instant, the glaring headlights threw his shadow sharply against the wall inside. The shadow pictured grotesquely elongated legs and arms that ran along the floor and up the wall of the corridor. A gust of wind came through and his cloak went flying. It looked, for all the world, like a huge, wavering bat. The imagery cheered me for a moment before the worry set back in.
I would consider myself to be a fairly optimistic sort and I intend to always snatch the tiniest excuse to be amused. If one could derive any sort of entertainment out of the oppressive fact of a trustee, it was something unexpected to the good. I knocked on the door to Mother Waller’s office and was shocked to find her waiting for me with a smiling face. Affable was never the word used to describe our leader. Gesturing for me to take a seat, she immediately began a speech that had been given some thought, “Did you notice the gentleman who has just gone?'
“I saw his back.”
“He is one of our most affluent trustees, and has given large sums of money toward the home's support. I am not at liberty to mention his name; he expressly stipulated that he was to remain unknown.” I was not used to this kind of conversation. An invitation to the office to discuss the eccentricities of trustees with the matron was simply unheard of. “This gentleman has taken an interest in several of our boys. You remember Harvey Dent and Hal Jordan? They were both sent through college by Mr.—er—this trustee, and both have repaid with hard work and success the money that was so generously expended. Other payment the gentleman does not wish. Heretofore his philanthropies have been directed solely towards the boys; I have never been able to interest him in the slightest degree in any of the girls in the institution, no matter how deserving. He does not, I may tell you, care for girls.”
"No, ma'am," It seemed some reply was expected at this point. “To-day at the regular meeting, the question of your future was brought up.' Mother Waller allowed a moment of silence to fall, “Usually, as you know, the children are not kept after they are sixteen, but an exception was made in your case. You had finished our school at fourteen, and having done so well in your studies it was determined to let you go on in the village high school.”
I did not understand why the matron was retelling my own history to me, I had in fact been there and knew what happened. Some would even consider me the main character in that little tale. “Now you are finishing that, and of course, the asylum cannot be responsible any longer for your support. As it is, you have had two years more than most."
I chose not to comment on the fact that some details were overlooked. I had worked hard for my board these extra years. My education was not a priority, instead, my responsibility to the home came first. Today was a perfect example. “As I say, the question of your future was brought up and your record was discussed—thoroughly discussed.” She looked down at me with accusatory eyes as though she was a prosecutor and I a prisoner in the dock. I quickly switched to a guilty facade as that seemed to be what was expected.
“Of course, the usual disposition of one in your place would be to put you in a position where you could begin to work, but you have done well in school in certain branches; it seems that your work in English has even been brilliant. Miss Kyle, who is on our visiting committee, is also on the school board; she has been talking with your rhetoric teacher, and made a speech in your favor. She also read aloud an essay that you had written entitled, ‘Blue Sunday’.” Oh…this time I know why I look guilty. The essay in question had been about days such as this current one, where I was run from dawn to dusk.
Mother Waller continued on her tangent. “It seemed to me that you showed little gratitude in holding up to ridicule the institution that has done so much for you. Had you not managed to be funny I doubt if you would have been forgiven. But fortunately for you, Mr.—, that is, the gentleman who has just gone—appears to have an immoderate sense of humor. On the strength of that impertinent paper, he has offered to send you to college.'
“To college?” I thought my heart was going to burst with excitement. I was going to leave!
The matron nodded. 'He waited to discuss the terms with me. They are unusual. The gentleman, I may say, is erratic. He believes that you have originality, and he is planning to educate you to become a writer.”
“A writer?” At this moment, I was numb and dumb. Doomed to only repeat words spoken at me.
“That is his wish. Whether anything will come of it, the future will show. He is giving you a very liberal allowance, almost, for a girl who has never had any experience in taking care of money, too liberal. But he planned the matter in detail, and I did not feel free to make any suggestions. You are to remain here through the summer, and Miss Kyle has kindly offered to superintend your outfit. Your board and tuition will be paid directly to the college, and you will receive in addition during the four years of education, $35 a month. The money will be sent to you by the gentleman's private secretary once a month, and in return, you will write a letter of acknowledgment once a month with a report of your studies.”
She continued to talk, but I couldn’t pay attention. I was going to college! And I would be a writer! I only snapped out of my thoughts because the matron had stopped speaking. I nodded and like a little cloud, I floated out the door.