The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

How Pia longed to be back in Hazleton, Pennsylvania, where open spaces were filled with blue skies, swaths of wildflowers, and herds of deer, instead of miles of pavement, side-by-side buildings, and hordes of people.

Rumors were flying that German spies were poisoning food, and German-Americans were secretly hoarding arms. Some Germans had even been sent to jail or internment camps.

windows were being kept open to ward off the grippe.

“greep” is flu in Russian

A block from the school, a Red Cross ambulance sped by, and a man on a bench was reading a newspaper with the headline: ALL CITIZENS ORDERED TO WEAR GAUZE MASKS IN PUBLIC. On the streetlamp above him, an advertisement for masks read: “Obey the laws and wear the gauze, protect your jaws from septic paws.”

A sign in the pharmacy window read: “Formaldehyde tablets. Melt under your tongue. Proven to kill germs and prevent infection and contagion. Fifty tablets for fifty cents.”

“You’re not getting on without a mask,” the conductor said. He let the other man on, then blocked the maskless man from boarding. Anger hardened the man’s face. “I have a meeting and I can’t be late,” he said. “I insist you allow me to get on.” “Sorry,” the conductor said. “Those are the rules.”

“The churches and schools are to be closed,” she said. “All places for gathering, even the factories and moving picture houses, will not be open. No funerals are to be allowed either. Many people are getting sick, so everyone is to stay home.” She moved across the dim foyer, scrubbing her hand on her apron. Pia followed.

“A sugar cube soaking in...” Mutti furrowed her brow. “I cannot think of the word. Kar . . . karo . . .” “Kerosene?”