The New Kid

By Bob Liddil

It was the devil's own night outdoors. A northeast wind howled through the trees outside the cottage, every once in a while rattling the windows, just to remind those inside of how bad it was without.

Mrs. Todd sat in a large wooden rocking chair, knitting, yarn neatly rolled in a ball, needles twitching methodically in her expert hands. She was not elderly, more like matronly, dressed plainly, round glasses perched at the end of her nose, an expression of intent shaping her face as she concentrated on her task.

By no means was she inattentive to her surroundings, though. 15 boys, between the ages of 7 and 10 lived in the cottage. That kind of explosive energy required an alertness and expertise of which only grandmothers and housemothers were capable. Mrs. Todd had, for the 34 years previous to that night, been the latter.

"Someone's coming." Connie Ray called from the front window ledge where he'd been sitting and watching the storm bend the trees. The muffled sound of a car door slamming, then a second, prompted him to add, "Social worker," with a little touch of reverence and fear edged into the comment, as though God drove a Chevy sedan and was parked out front.

All the kids felt that way about social workers. Each kid had one. Many had the same one. Each had been in the company of one upon his on arrival at the door of Mrs. Todd's cottage at the Methodist Children's Home. Social workers granted home visits. Social workers brought news of dads in jail, or moms missing and maybe found. Social workers could send someone home forever, or break the news that someone was now an official ward of the state.

Mrs. Todd put aside her knitting, even as the news of a social worker rippled through the cottage like a rock dropped into a reflection pool. From every part of the house came boys who had been doing homework for school, boys who had been folding clothes, and boys who had been reading for the fun of it. All tasks personal or productive were set aside as they quietly assembled in the oversized living room of the cottage.

The front door opened and a rush of frigid air preceded two figures into the foyer. It was indeed, exactly as Connie Ray had announced. Wrapped in a heavy navy pea coat, the social worker known as "Mr. M," due to an unpronounceable last name, grasped the door in one hand and by the collar, gripped a wriggling, tugging, trying to get loose, small boy.

The new kid's eyes were wild, and red from crying. His hair was unusually long and tangled, colored a dirty light brown and strewn helter-skelter down the front of a long thin face. When he caught sight of the kids and Mrs. Todd, he let out a feral scream that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his soul. Then he went completely limp sagging to the floor.

Mrs. Todd said, quietly and calmly, "All right children, you're dismissed. Go back to what you were doing."

The boys evaporated like ghosts, except for Connie Ray, who unobtrusively remained on his ledge, partially obscured by curtains.

"Temporary placement," said Mr. M, closing the front door. He carried the flaccid child to a nearby couch to lay him down. "Just got him an hour or so ago. Won't be any paperwork on him until tomorrow at the earliest."

Mrs. Todd nodded acknowledgement as she sat back down in her rocker.

"Coffee?" She queried.

"That'd hit the spot." He said. "Freezing out there."

Connie Ray took the cue and scooted across the room, disappearing down the center hallway toward the breakfast room.

"Murder-suicide," continued Mr. M. "Mom killed dad, then turned the gun on herself. Kid saw it, too." He made face and shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what some people think about. What a mess."

Connie Ray re-emerged with two hot cups of black coffee, handing one to each adult. He started for his window perch, but Mrs. Todd stopped him with a look. His shoulders slumped slightly, then he turned and left, knowing that this was going to be one of those "adult" things that always banished him from the living room whenever a social worker came.

The boy on the couch opened a cautious eye and studied Mrs. Todd, who was slowly rocking back and forth in her chair.

What's your name?" She asked quietly, and for a long moment, he did not answer. Then, finally, he said, "Ricky Mims."

Mrs. Todd smiled cheerfully at him and said, "Would you like to come sit with me for a while, Ricky?"

"Can't." The boy shot back quickly, hesitating, then adding, "I wet myself. I'm stinky."

Mrs. Todd opened her arms toward him and said, "That doesn't matter. I'll take care of you."

He sat up slowly, cast a furtive glance toward the social worker, who said nothing, and just sipped his coffee. Then, he got to his feet and took a single step toward the housemother, then another, until he reached her chair. He climbed into her lap, laid his head on her shoulder and began to cry softly. Her arms closed over him. She kissed him gently on the cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Mr. M. made a low throat clearing noise and rose, taking a long last sip from the coffee, then handing it to Connie Ray, who had magically reappeared at exactly the instant he was needed for that purpose. Hat in hand, he started for the door.

"Don't get too attached, Margaret," he cautioned, then, put on his hat and stepped out into the dark and cold.

The new kid was almost asleep now, to the gentle rocking of the chair.

The boys began to reappear once more in the living room. They were all very anxious to meet their new brother.