She approached it and ran her fingertips across the wood surface. Paul had sat there. But so had Susan. She’d taken his place once he’d left. “Left to where?”

Bellamy was a children’s asylum. It was never intended to be a permanent home. Parents would reclaim the children they had been forced to give up. New families would adopt in an effort to give them a better life. Any unclaimed children would be sent out to find work and their own home once they were old enough. But, as Leanne stared at Paul’s desk, she couldn’t remember why he had left.

She couldn’t remember why any of them had left. There had been no scenes of children greeting long-lost relatives. No families had ever been allowed into the home to adopt. There had never been any talk of jobs or leaving. Her last memory of Paul involved him sitting at that very desk.

The cane clicked on the hardwood floor as Patience approached. She paced along that hallway ceaselessly during their studies, watching over all of them.

Leanne could hear the cane coming well before it arrived. It was like a screw in her back, winding her tighter and tighter the nearer it came. She kept her head down, pretending to read a passage on European history in the tattered book she and Henry shared. If she kept still, the cane would pass, the way it always did, and she could breathe freely for another few minutes.

A cackling laugh came from two desks to her right. Paul clamped his hands over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. His desk-mate had doodled an image into their workbook. Leanne craned her neck. The drawing depicted Patience; the dark cane was unmistakable. But in this image, Patience’s head rolled on the floor.

The tapping was almost upon them. Leanne put her head back down, feigning focus on her book, but through her peripheral vision, she watched Paul. He rushed to flip the page, to hide the crude drawing, but mirth had him in its grip. His back shook, his eyes watered. Both hands were pressed across his mouth as he fought the cackling laughter that wanted to escape.

Patience’s tall frame moved into the doorway. Her black hair nearly reached the ceiling. Her shoulders blocked Leanne’s view of the hallway beyond. The cane clicked a final time as it was set down in front of her. She stared into the room, her face an expressionless mask.

Paul was trembling. He hunched, head nearly touching the desk. Leanne’s stomach turned cold and sick. She stayed so still that her muscles began to ache. There was not a single noise in the rest of the room, not even a drawn breath.