SANTA FE – APRIL 1903
That spring, Mr. Dunn had retired as superintendent of the St. Vincent lodging house in Brooklyn. He received a stack of letter shortly after his last week on the job, which he passed along to Tide. Unable to read the letters, which were drafted in German, Tide had sent the pile of correspondence to Grim in California, who passed them to Jack in New Mexico.
Grim, who couldn't read English or German, had brought the stack of letters with him when he and Henry made the train trip to Santa Fe for their first visit in two years. The reunion had initially been a joyous occasion, with Jack proudly presenting the two with a cake he'd made from scratch with Sarah's guidance. Over dinner, Grim gave Jack the slightly wrinkled letters.
While the two giggling children played outside – with Henry now eight years old, and Jack and Sarah's own son Jacob aged two – Grim sat with the couple at the kitchen table, pouring over the letters. Though Sarah's first language was English, she knew enough German to translate the letters, thanks to her father's side of the family.
"There's no forwarding postmark," Jack said, sliding one of the envelopes to Grim. "I don't know where this is from. Do you?"
Grim shook his head. "Tide doesn't either."
Jack looked at the recipient address. "61 Poplar Street in Brooklyn?"
"That's St. Vincent's lodging house," Grim said with a nod. "Where Tide, Calico, No Name, and I stayed."
Sarah scanned the first letter, dated October of 1893, reading it aloud for Grim and Jack, and then pausing further down.
"I can sort of make out the name," Jack muttered to himself, prompting Grim to lean over. "It's a letter from…is that a name?" He pointed at the signature at the bottom.
"Mame?" Sarah repeated in confusion. "That means 'mama' in Yiddish."
"Well, it's from someone's mother. Tide and No Name ain't German," Jack said, looking up at him. "Oh, shit, I hope it isn't Calico's."
"1893," Grim said, closing his eyes as he tried to think back. "Calico's mother died after he was born, so it couldn't be her."
"Perhaps these letters were meant for someone else entirely." Sarah took a deep breath, reading over the rest of the letter. "Whoever she is, she writes: My shepsele, I am too sick to see you. They've sent me home, though I did not wish to leave you. The city was not kind to me or your father, but I hope you have found solace within charity's embrace. Your older brothers have found employment in Munich. Your uncle's apartment is vacant and miserable. Food is scarce. Neighbors are moving out of the country. Your sister Talia is to marry…" Sarah stumbled over the name. "Elias Müller in July. When I am well enough, I will come back to collect you. A nurse was kind enough to give me your address before I left. I understand you are staying at a boarding house for…" Sarah scrunched her eyebrows, shaking her head.
"What?" Jack asked.
"She uses a funny word here, but I think she's trying to say newsboys," Sarah said, continuing. "I hope you are working hard. I will see you soon, my baby."
Jack and Grim exchanged a confused look as Sarah took the second letter.
"This one is dated December 1894, but it's addressed to E. New York City Islands, 'The House of Reform.' To Miles Krause." Sarah eyed Jack over the letter as it dawned on her as to where this letter had been sent. "My shepsele. The Society tells me you have gotten yourself in a bit of trouble. They won't say what exactly you've done. Despite this, I pray you are happy and getting enough to eat. Your brother Noah has also landed in hot water here. I suppose it runs in the family. The winter is already brutal. It's hard to stay warm. Talia has twins, a girl, and a boy – she's named her son after you. I hope to sail soon to see you. I'll bring you home, and we'll be a family once again."
Sarah paused, flipping the letter over and setting it atop the first letter. Grim stared at the table, wide-eyed, looking as though he wanted to say something. Sarah asked if he'd like to, but Grim urged her to keep reading, handing her the third letter.
"September 1895, addressed to the same House of Reform," Sarah read uneasily. "My shepsele. It breaks my heart to tell you that your father has died. He has a grave beside your grandparents.' Talia and your brothers came to the funeral with me. But do not feel sad, my baby. He passed on without any pain. You might say a prayer for his soul. He was a good man. Noah is free again, and he's got himself a farm. Everyone is in trouble these days. Many are leaving."
As Sarah accepted the fourth letter, Jack felt sort of uncomfortable. "I almost feel like we shouldn't be reading these."
Grim was quiet. He'd flinched a little at the word 'shepsele.'
"May 1896, to the House of Reform. My shepsele. I suppose you're about eighteen now. It's been fourteen years since I've held you in my arms. I hope the money I've sent has reached you. I live alone now. Noah has a wife and children, and Talia's twins have grown up to be brilliant. I've received a letter on behalf of the reformatory superintendent – Snyder – who says you are a fast learner and that you're getting on well. He says you'll be released soon, and that he'll personally arrange the fare for you to come home. I cannot wait to see you on that ship…"
Sarah trailed off, looking up from the letter to see tears in Grim's eyes. Shakily, Grim handed her the final letter – a pained but determined expression on his face.
"December 1897, to the House of Reform." Sarah cleared her throat, unsure if she should go on, but Jack gave a small nod. "Dear Miles. So, you're the Yankee brother I've never met. I wish I could've met you on a happier occasion. I'm sorry for not writing to you immediately, as you deserve to know that our mother has died. When she got sick again, your sister Talia took her in. She said Mame was brave and resilient as ever. I wish you could've seen her telling stories to your nieces and nephews. Her grave is next to Papa's. She was a tough and spirited woman, and she was gone too soon." Sarah peeked up at Grim who had let a few tears slide down his cheeks, resting his head in his hands as he stared down at the table. "She spoke of you often in those final days. She cried for you a lot." Sarah kept her voice low and steady. "Write us back as soon as you can. I will come get you if you want to leave the city. Though from the letters Herr Snyder writes, you have a better life there than anything I could ever offer you. Love, your brother, Noah."
Sarah set down the final letter and looked across the table at Jack. Grim pulled his hands away, his eyes red as he sniffled, masking his sadness.
"Grim," Jack said, watching him take a letter and run his fingertips over the cursive writing. "Are those your mother's letters?"
Grim nodded shakily, tracing the wobbly penmanship gently.
"Have you ever seen these before?"
Grim shook his head slowly, sniffling again, trying to smile. "Never even knew I had living relatives, let alone parents." He wiped at his eyes. "I just assumed my father ran off, and my mother died. Never knew she made it off Blackwell Island."
Sarah looked at him sympathetically. "Snyder never told you about any of these letters?" She asked, taking his hand.
"No," he replied quietly. He forced a half-hearted laugh, shrugging. "Sarah, that man wouldn't even tell me if my son was dead or alive. Why would he tell me about my family?"
Jack and Sarah shared a worried expression.
"I suppose it's just as well," Grim said with a sigh. "My mother never knew the truth about the Refuge. She died knowing I was taken care of. I hope that was a comfort to her."
"Oh, Miles," Sarah said, squeezing his hand. "I'm so sorry."
The back door flew open, and Henry came running in, having scraped his knee. Though he wasn't crying, Henry was clearly upset and immediately jumped into Grim's limp arms. Having to snap himself back to reality, Grim turned Henry around on his lap and inspected his knee, noticing the blood.
Jacob teetered behind him, repeating 'oh no' as he pointed to Henry's injury, even after Sarah scooped him up.
"Do I have to get stitches?" Henry asked, clearly horrified at the notion.
Grim accepted the wet cloth Jack handed him and began dabbing at the scrape. "Maybe," he teased Henry, desperately trying to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling. He furtively rubbed his eyes on his sleeve before tending to Henry's wound. "We might have to amputate."
"Are you serious?" Henry asked, turning around to look at his father.
Grim smiled a little, shaking his head. "No. I'm your dad. Did you already forget?"
Henry rolled his eyes. "That's not funny anymore."
"Oh, it's not?" Grim asked, grabbing Henry's sides and tickling his ribs. "Are you sure about that?"
Henry screamed with laughter, forgetting all about his injured knee. "Okay! Okay!" Henry cried out as Grim stopped, kissing his fluffy blonde hair.
"Are you playing nicely with Jacob?" Grim asked, wrapping his arms around his son. "He's younger than you, kid, so you be a good example. No pushing, no shoving. And no bad words."
"I didn't say anything this time," Henry said, frowning.
"I didn't say you did," Grim replied, mocking Henry's whine as the boy cracked a smile.
Jacob squirmed out of Sarah's arms and hopped over to Henry, pulling on his arm. "Outside!" He cheered hopefully and then hugged Henry's arm. "Outside!"
Jack stood up from the table, slamming his hands on the table playfully, making Jacob scream excitedly. "That's it. I'm going to get you now," he said, coming around the other side of the table, prompting Henry to jump down from Grim's lap and run out the back door, calling for Jacob to follow him.
"You have to get away from the monster, Jacob! Run!" Henry shouted.
Jack raised his arms above his head, making like he was a bear about to grab Jacob. The little boy didn't flinch. He just giggled and look up at Jack admiringly. "No monster," Jacob said, raising his arms up to be held. "That's Daddy."
Jack dropped his arms, looking amused at Jacob as Sarah and Grim laughed. "Nothing gets past you, kid."