A Switch Before Christmas
1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Truth be told, Jane Shaw was not looking forward to Christmas this year. Most families had been struggling financially ever since the beginning of the Depression, but Christmas at the Sheridan Girls’ Home in 1935 was another thing entirely. No presents of course, but there would be small treats and a change of routine. Of the fifty girls at the home, twenty-year-old Jane was in charge of half of them. Every child at the home worked for her keep, and as one of the lead girls, for her, every minute of every day was full of chores. When her small charges were in school, she cooked, cleaned, and did laundry until her hands were nearly raw.
At night, after seeing them all to bed, she was so tired that her own sleep came quickly and the morning arrived in a blink. That was her usual routine, but Christmas changed everything. This year, the matron, Mrs. Irving, had taken a week off to visit her sister in Minneapolis. With her absence, Jane and the other lead girl, Mary, had added responsibilities.
The next two days were going to be very trying.
Later that morning, Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan, their benefactors, were coming for their annual Christmas Eve visit. An inspection of sorts, to make sure their money had been well spent.
“You girls must be on your best behavior,” Jane had told them. Wearing their uniforms, their hair neatly braided in two plaits, one might think they all looked the same, but to Jane, each one was as different as a snowflake.
“And then they’ll give us candy canes?” little Dorothy piped up.
Jane nodded. “Very often they do bring candy, but you mustn’t ask, and you should not talk at all unless you’re spoken to.”
“Except when we greet them, right?” Dorothy asked.
“That’s correct.”
“Maybe they’ll bring Santa with them and he’ll have a sack full of gifts,” Frances said, her voice tinged with hope.
“Santa doesn’t visit orphans,” Ruth said, giving her a poke. Jane had learned to keep an eye on Ruth. She’d been sleeping in the streets before someone brought her to the home, and upon her arrival she’d acted as unpredictable and wild as a stray cat. Even now, years later, bad behavior sometimes bubbled to the surface.
“I’m not an orphan,” Frances said, sticking out her lip in defiance. “I have a mother.”
It was true. Only about half of the girls were orphans. The rest of them had become residents of the home because of some sort of family despair. The actual reason didn’t matter. Whether it was money, death, or sickness, the truth of it was that their parents couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of them.
Jane still remembered her own arrival when she was six. Her mother had taken ill with influenza and died two months earlier. She had no memory of her father, who’d taken off long before, supposedly to find work out west, but he never came back or sent money. He was just gone. None of her relatives had the wherewithal for one more mouth to feed, so it was off to the home in rural Newtonville, Wisconsin. “You’ll love it there,” Aunt Gladys had said. “Lots of girls to play with and miles and miles of woods.”
When the bus had dropped her off and she’d walked from the stop to the home, the sight of the brick building had filled her with awe. Inside, it was a different story. The tile floors, plain furniture, and white walls made the place feel cold and austere, and she felt like an outsider. Even though the staff had been kind and the other girls welcoming, she’d cried herself to sleep for the first week. Eventually, she did make friends and became used to the routine. Before long, the communal lavatories and group bedrooms felt like home. Her aunt regularly wrote letters at first, but after she married and had children of her own, those missives dwindled to birthday cards and Christmas greetings. When Jane graduated from high school, she’d stayed on at the Sheridan Girls’ Home as a matter of practicality. She’d had no place to go and no job prospects. Luckily, she had an affection for these little girls and enjoyed caring for them .
Frances, who most decidedly was not an orphan, directed her next question to Jane. “My mother is coming to see me the day after Christmas, isn’t she, Miss Shaw?”
“Yes, she is.” Jane gave the little girl a smile. Frances’s mother worked at the mill and lived in a boardinghouse. The family who ran the boardinghouse did not allow children.
Dorothy’s smile faded. “I wish someone would come to visit me.”
“We’ll have lots of fun here,” Jane promised. “Hot chocolate and singing carols. And if everyone is good during the inspection today, I’ll tell you the Christmas story at bedtime tonight.” The girls perked up at this news. Jane had a knack for telling stories that kept them enthralled, and the telling of the Christmas story had become a tradition.
“I can’t wait for Christmas,” Frances said, her eyes shining. “It’s the best time of the year.”