A Child Lost (Henrietta and Inspector Howard #5) - Michelle Cox Page 0,6

died on the way over, my mother. I very much grieved her, as did Anna. Very much,” he said hoarsely. “Ach, Elsie. What is worse is that it has been for nothing. Look at us. No closer to finding Fraulein Klinkhammer than the day we first arrived.”

Elsie was at a loss for what to say to this poor man in front of her. “It must have been terrible, Gunther. What did you do? When you landed, that is. How did you come to be here?”

Gunther let out another sigh. “We docked in New York and made our way, me and little Anna, on the train to Chicago. I . . . I must say I did not understand how big America is, how big the cities are. I was . . . how do you say it? Overwhelmed? I felt despair of ever finding the fraulein, but I have no choice but try. At train station, I asked someone to direct me to Mundelein, and so we arrive here. It is what Fraulein Klinkhammer said in letter, no? That she had found work at a school? I asked many people . . . many of the girls as they walk by . . . if they know of a Fraulein . . . Miss . . . Liesel Klinkhammer. No one has heard this name, they say. I grow more and more upset. Finally, someone had pity on us and took us to see Sister Bernard. This sister welcomed us in, even though we were very dirty and shabby. I did not realize this until we were standing outside her office, how dirty we are.

“I tried to explain that I am seeking Anna’s mother. She tells me that this name of ‘Liesel Klinkhammer’ she has not heard before. She is not student and not worker at this school. I am made very low by this, as I am thinking that my searching is to be nearing an end. Sister Bernard asks me then if maybe this woman is using different name? Or if maybe she moved on to different place? I have no answer to this. Then Sister asked where we are to stay, and I say that I do not know. I was no longer thinking so clear. We had just come from train station. We have nothing and nowhere to go. She has pity on me, I am thinking, and says that we can stay for time in small house behind dormitories. It is small like a hut. It is where old Hausmeister? . . . caretaker? . . . once lived. In exchange, she says, maybe I can do odd jobs for them. I agreed, and Anna and I moved in right away, that day. I cleaned the place,” he said, looking around the room, “and unpacked our things, which was not much. We have little to bring. Thankfully, I know English because of my mother. She taught me this as child. It is not perfect, I know, but it is enough for me to get by,” he said with a small shrug.

“It is very good,” Elsie encouraged with a smile. She looked down at Anna and gently brushed her fine hair back from her eyes. “Then what?” Elsie prodded, looking back up at him.

“I . . . I work very hard at new job,” he said, pulling his mutual gaze away. “Though I admit I am not skilled at jobs mechanical, but most of work is not hard. Most of it is cleaning. I think constantly about Fraulein Klinkhammer—how I can find her. But I have not much time free and no . . . no help. On evenings off, I take Anna by hand, and we explore neighborhood. I go into shop after shop, asking if anyone has heard of woman with Fraulein Klinkhammer’s description. But there is nothing. No one.

“As time goes on, Sister Bernard offered me a permanent job as caretaker if I want. I was happy with this; I have nothing else,” he said with a shrug. “But she has condition, she says. Anna, she says, cannot stay. I am shocked by this—angered, too. I say I will refuse, but Sister explained. She says that living in a hut in back of school with man who claims not to be her father is not good life for a child. There is a place, she tells me, called the Bohemian Home for the Aged and Orphans. Not too far away, on Foster Avenue.