Emmett found himself in a large kitchen with two metal sinks, a ten-burner stove, and a walk-in refrigerator. Like most institutional kitchens, it had been put in order the night before—its counters cleared, its cabinets closed, and all of its pots hung on their hooks.
The only sign of disorder, other than the broken glass, was in a pantry area at the other side of the kitchen, where several drawers had been pulled open and spoons were scattered on the floor.
Passing through a swinging door Emmett entered a paneled dining room with six long tables like you’d expect to find in a monastery. Adding to the religious aura was a large stained-glass window that was casting patterns of yellow, red, and blue on the opposite wall. The window depicted the moment that Jesus, risen from the dead, displayed the wounds in His hands—only, in this depiction, the amazed disciples were accompanied by children.
Exiting the dining room’s main doors, Emmett stepped into a grand entrance hall. To his left was the impressive front door that he’d expected, while to his right was a staircase made of the same polished oak. Under different circumstances, Emmett would have liked to linger in order to study the carvings on the door panels and the balusters of the staircase, but even as he was noting the quality of the workmanship, he heard sounds of commotion coming from somewhere overhead.
Taking the steps two at a time, Emmett passed over an additional scattering of spoons. On the second-floor landing, hallways led in opposite directions, but from the one on the right came the unmistakable sound of children in turmoil. So that’s the way he went.
The first door Emmett came to opened on a dormitory. While the beds were arranged in two perfect rows, their linens were in disarray and they were empty. The next door led to a second dormitory with two more rows of beds and more linens in disarray. But in this room, sixty boys in blue pajamas were clustered in six raucous groups at the center of each of which was a jar of strawberry preserves.
In some of the groups, the boys were dutifully taking turns, while in others they were fighting for access, stabbing their spoons into the jam and transferring the contents into their mouths as quickly as possible, so they could get another crack at the jar before it was empty.
For the first time, it occurred to Emmett that this wasn’t a boarding school. It was an orphanage.
As Emmett was taking in the disorder, a ten-year-old boy with glasses who had noticed him, tugged at the sleeve of one of the older boys. Looking up at Emmett, the older boy signaled a peer. Without exchanging a word, the two advanced shoulder to shoulder in order to place themselves between Emmett and the others.
Emmett raised both of his hands in peace.
—I’m not here to bother you. I’m just looking for my friend. The one who brought the jam.
The two older boys stared at Emmett in silence, but the boy with the glasses pointed in the direction of the hallway.
—He went the way he came.
Emmett left the room and doubled back to the landing. He was about to head down the stairs when from the opposite hallway he heard the muted sound of a woman shouting, followed by the pounding of a fist on wood. Emmett paused, then proceeded to the hallway, where he found two doors with tilted chairs tucked under the knobs. The shouting and pounding were coming from behind the first one.
—Open this door right this minute!
When Emmett removed the chair and opened the door, a woman in her forties wearing a long white nightgown nearly fell into the hallway. Behind her, Emmett could see another woman sitting on a bed weeping.
—How dare you! the pounder shouted, once she had regained her footing.
Emmett ignored her and went to the second door to remove the second chair. Inside this room was a third woman kneeling beside her bed in prayer and an older woman sitting peacefully in a high-back chair smoking a cigarette.
—Ah! she said when she saw Emmett. How good of you to open the door. Come in, come in.
As the older woman tamped out her cigarette in the ashtray that was in her lap, Emmett took a step forward uncertainly. But even as he did so, the sister from the first room came in behind him.
—How dare you! she shouted again.
—Sister Berenice, said the older woman. Why are you raising your voice at this young man? Can’t you see that he is our liberator?
The weeping sister now came into the room still in tears, and the older woman turned to address the one who was kneeling.
—Compassion before prayers, Sister Ellen.
—Yes, Sister Agnes.
Sister Ellen rose from her place beside the bed and took the weeping sister in her arms, saying, Hush hush hush, while Sister Agnes turned her attention back to Emmett.