Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) Read Online Free Page B

a live snake. She walked across the room and sat in front of the small vanity.
    Frowning at herself in the mirror, she poked at what was left of her hairdo. “Do you know how to braid?”
    “Darling,” Simon said. “I will help you get dressed. I will most happily help you get undressed. But doing your hair is where I have to draw the line.”
    Elizabeth laughed. “Fair enough. I see why people had ladies’ maids. The whole kit and kaboodle is designed to keep you reliant on others.” She raised her tiny fist and shook it in mock anger. “Down with the man!”
    Despite Elizabeth's protests, she managed quite well and before too long they were ready to face the day, and more importantly, that night.
    After a quick breakfast, they went to the church and eventually found the priest they were looking for at the building site of the new cathedral in town. He was more than happy to help them.
    Mary Stewart, as it turned out, was an orphan and the two women at her burial were associated with the orphanage. Mrs. Nolan ran the Children's Home and Miss Catherine Stanton was one of the Female Charitable Society volunteers.
    The orphanage was a fairly large building on the edge of town. Its stern Federal-style architecture gave it an aura of institutionalized living that the sign out front echoed loudly and sadly. Natchez Children's Home, Orphan Asylum for Destitute and Abandoned Children. All of that was in bold opposition to the beautiful old maple and sycamore trees that surrounded the property and the sound of children's laughter caught on the breeze.
    Elizabeth squinted up at him, shading her eyes from the bright morning sun that promised a hot day ahead and reached for his hand.
    “Remember, we can't save them all,” Simon warned her. With her heart, she'd want to adopt every child and take them back to the future. She nodded reluctantly, but he was worried about how the experience might affect her. And, if he were honest with himself, how it would affect him.
    Ever since Father Connelly had told them about the orphanage, Simon had been tense. He was not a sympathetic man by nature. Unlike Elizabeth, who threw herself with abandon at every lost cause, he was far more cautious. For the most part, he kept his heart neatly bound. There were few things that tugged at his heartstrings. Among them, however, were children. Perhaps it was the loneliness of his own youth, the lack of nurturing parents or hard lessons taught on cold nights at boarding school. Whatever the cause, Simon felt his heart constrict at the thought of a wounded or lonely child. Here on the footsteps of a 19th century orphanage, he knew he would see nothing else.
    Elizabeth squeezed his hand, and together they walked up the short set of steps to the front door. Just as Simon was about to ring the bell, the door opened and a dozen or so young boys burst out into the sunshine. Like prisoners furloughed for the first time, they whooped and hollered with joy at the sheer freedom of being outside. They shoved each other and scuffed at the dirt as they formed two rough lines at the bottom of the steps like a ragged bunch of little soldiers.
    In their wake, a large plump woman with a ruddy complexion and a bellowing voice followed. “Good. Stand up straight, Clayton James,” she said sternly at one boy who immediately pushed back his shoulders. “Y'all be back in your room in two hours. I've got a switch and I'm not afraid to use it. Isn't that right, Jimmy Davis ?”
    One of the boys, presumably Jimmy, looked up to face her. The angry set of his jaw faded into reluctant submission as the woman glared down at him from the top step.
    He was slightly taller than the others and reed thin. Most of the children's clothes were ill-fitting hand-me-downs, but his clothes were easily two sizes too small. His jacket strained to keep just one button closed at the front and pulled tightly against his chest and shoulders. His dirty, dark brown boots, ankle high, still didn't