Coal Ash and Sparrows

Joseph Schueller was the first boy from his orphanage to fight for his chance to ride the orphan trains west. At ten years old, he was already bigger than most of the other children there in that big white house south of the city. He knew that of the few prospective parents who came to visit the orphanage, his chances of being brought home with them were slim and none. With his unruly black hair and dark eyes, he also knew he was not adorable like some of the other Irish children with their milky skin and brilliant blue eyes. Joseph was a realistic ten-year-old. The trains were his only chance to get out of the orphanage.

Each child had a cardboard box for their belongings and papers. The orphanage provided them with clothing -- rough woolen shirts and scratchy cotton pants, two pairs of socks and undergarments, all browns and grays -- so their boxes symbolized all that mattered in each child's short life. The boxes were kept behind the front desk like the keys to the rooms in a hotel. Once a week, children were allowed to look at the contents of their boxes.

Joseph skipped his time with his box. He had the three pieces of paper memorized already, though he never let on to the others that he could read. In the months before his mother and father took him to the shipyards, his mother had taught him his letters and read with him every day. Joseph had learned quickly.

The box also contained a small white book. The book was a gift from their eccentric great-uncle, a great gray bear of a man who was well-known as a world traveler. Joseph had only known the man as "Mo," though he was sure -- despite the fogginess that filled his brain any time he tried to remember specific details about the man -- that "Mo" was not the man's real name. Mo had given the book to Joseph while Joseph's parents were busy in another room, and Joseph had told nobody about the book.

On the long, sickening ship ride from Ireland to London, then the even longer, nearly fatal trip from London to New York City that had taken the life of his mother and nearly killed his father, Joseph had filled his days with the words of the white book he'd been given by his great-uncle Mo.

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