P.T. Barnum's Oddities

Chapter 7: Anne and W.D.

"Blacks sleep here." The strict old lady pushed them into a dirty room.
The officer had taken them to an orphanage, of course. Anne and W.D. didn't think it was a bad idea after all once they saw the bedrooms but apparently those weren't for them. They were for the other children. The "whites".
Now they stare at their own bedroom: a musty room with nothing but a mattress and torn blanket, an old wooden chair, and something covered in a white sheet in the corner.
"Blacks are only allowed to come out at supper and breakfast." The woman informed them.
"What about lunch?" Anne asked.
"You are to call me 'ma'am'! It is the polite title to address any woman! Didn't your parents have the decency to teach you your manners?" She snapped, making Anne jump and lean toward her brother for protection. "And to answer your question, Ms. Wheeler, blacks don't have the privilege to eat lunch."
At that W.D. scowled, and began to address the woman.
"Privilege? We don't have privilege? Just because of the color of our skin?" W.D. answered the woman harshly.
She gasped and took a step back before striking W.D. across the face with the palm of her hand.
Tears grew in Anne's eyes at the sight of her brother collapsing to the floor, but before she had any time to help him up the woman interrupted.
"That ought to teach you a lesson, young sir! Never question your elders! Either call me by the name Mistress Eleanor or by ma'am!" She hollered, and before leaving she added, "And if you're thinking about socializing with the other kids, don't."
She slammed the door and that was it.
"Are you okay?" Anne crouched down by the 12 year old boy and touched his face gently.
"Let's just say that woman has a wicked hard hit!" He chuckled, but Anne remained serious.
"I don't like it here!" She whined, standing up and stomping her foot slightly.
"Annie, maybe this is the best for us. Maybe this was where we were supposed to come along. To a place where someone can care for us, someone who can-"
"Care for us? Care for us? You think that Mistress Eleanor, that woman, will actually care for us?!" The 7 year old was practically having a fit now, pacing around the room in frantic circles.
She collapsed on the mattress and began to sob into her dress.
"Annie, all I'm sayin' is that we gotta make the best of our situation while we're here. Find something to keep us occupied."
But Anne wasn't listening to W.D. She was staring at something else, something far more entertaining than what he was talking about.
A hook. A hook in the ceiling that she presumed was for a long gone chandelier.
To any ordinary girl her age this wouldn't mean anything.
But to her, it meant glory.