The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I smile at Hawkins and pull Samantha into a tight hug, thanking her for wanting me to stay, but it’s time to go meet my new family. She opens her mouth to protest, then closes it again, nodding sadly. Elsa bustles in, my bath is drawn, and I give Samantha a reassuring glance before following her down the long hall.

Upstairs, Elsa helps me out of the scratchy gray dress and into the warm water, steam curling up around me. I take my locket off and let it fall to the floor next to the tub. Elsa takes my dress away to press so I’ll look presentable for the train. It’s her way of being kind, maybe, now that she’s off the hook for making a proper servant out of me. A twenty-first-century city girl was never cut out for this work, and part of me wants to tell her she really did try her best, even if it never quite took.

An hour later, after a sad goodbye with Samantha, I stand at the busy station with Elsa, my stomach in knots, as if I really am an orphaned girl bound for an unknown family. A tall brunette in black approaches, and I shrink back, the woman from the orphanage. Elsa tugs me forward by the sleeve and introduces Mrs. Davis, trailed by two frightened-looking children clutching small bundles, the younger a gray-eyed blond boy I can barely look at without feeling sad for him.

Someone taps my shoulder: Samantha, holding a basket of Mrs. Hawkins’s gingerbread, still warm from the oven. The train arrives with a hiss of steam, and I have to say goodbye all over again, fierce hug and all. I tell her I’ll be okay. She says she knows, though real doubt clouds her eyes as she hugs me once more. Elsa almost hugs me, too, thinks better of it, and instead pats my arm awkwardly, guiding me toward the train steps.

Once aboard, Mrs. Davis hands me a thin cardboard suitcase for my bundled clothes, capris, t-shirt, tennis shoes, the same kind the other two children carry. What must it be like, fitting everything you own into a box that small? I settle in beside the blond boy, who turns away shyly before glancing back at my basket, clearly smelling the food. I offer him a thick slice of gingerbread, and his face eases into a smile at the first bite, maybe remembering some home of his own. Reaching for my locket, wondering how I’ll get home myself now, I find nothing at my throat.

Then it hits me: I took the necklace off before my bath, and never put it back on.