And later, at the restaurant they'd gone to for lunch, his father had flirted with the waitress. Usually it bothered Cole when his father paid attention to young women, which he did any time Cole's mother wasn't around. But that day for some reason Cole hadn't minded. His father was having a good day. He'd had a good run, taught a good cla.s.s, and in the s.p.a.ce of an hour two pretty young women had shown their attraction to him. Cole knew his father was proud of his fit body and his still-thick, mostly still-black hair, and how happy it made him when people thought he was much younger than he was. That day, he was wearing a turquoise shirt that made his blue eyes almost glow. People were always saying what beautiful eyes he had. The kind of eyes, his mother said, that flirt all by themselves.

There would be a time when the thought that he'd never see his father again would crush Cole with a weight he feared he could not survive. But what he felt mostly in those first hours of grief was overwhelming sadness for his father himself. He felt sorry for his father, who would never see or do anything in the world again-more sorry than he had ever felt for anybody in his life. He saw how terrible it must be to be afraid to die, to want to live and live, and to not have any power to change what was going to happen to you. He told himself he would have been willing to die in his father's place-he would have done anything to save his father! And maybe if he had gone downstairs last night instead of going back to sleep, maybe he could have done something.

Why was he trying so hard to stop crying when he knew there was nothing wrong with crying, when the wrong thing would have been for him not not to cry, and anyway there was no one to see? What did it say about him that he had an overwhelming desire to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e and that he did not think he was going to be able to resist? to cry, and anyway there was no one to see? What did it say about him that he had an overwhelming desire to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e and that he did not think he was going to be able to resist?

They were on a motorcycle, it was nighttime, and Cole was very tired-too tired to hold on tight to his father's waist. He kept falling asleep. His father had to keep reaching back with one arm to catch him, and each time he did this the bike veered and wobbled and they nearly crashed, until they did crash, and Cole sat up with a splitting head and a shout loud enough to wake his mother.

It was completely up to him, she said. If he didn't want her to go, she'd stay home.

"I know it must seem weird to you that I'd want to be with a bunch of strangers right now, but my sitting around here crying isn't going to help anyone. And you know the best thing for me is to keep my hands busy. But you still come first, Cole. You just have to tell me if you don't want to be alone, even for a couple of hours."

She asked him if he was feeling okay and he lied and said yes, hoping she wouldn't feel his forehead. If she knew the truth, she'd never leave.

She made him promise to keep the door locked and not let anyone in. "Even if they tell you Jesus sent them."

"There's still some raisin bread and some peanut b.u.t.ter, I think, though unfortunately not much else. I'll try to bring some food back with me. My G.o.d." She shook her head rapidly back and forth, as if to throw off her own unbearable thoughts. "It's like we're in a movie, isn't it? Or some crazy survival show. Oh, Cole, do you absolutely swear to me you'll be okay?"

He nodded, and she went to hug him. He twisted awkwardly in her embrace, hating himself when she pulled away and he saw her eyes brim.

It was hard, but he said it. "Bye, Mom. Love you."

"I love you, too," she said with a look she might have given someone who'd just saved her from drowning.

He wanted to ask her something, but he couldn't. He wanted to ask if sleeping in his father's sheets could have given him the flu. He hadn't thought about it yesterday when he crawled into bed. It had struck him only after he woke up, and he'd left the room in a hurry so his mother wouldn't find him there. He thought of the story about the American pioneers who gave blankets infested with smallpox to the Indians in the hope of killing them all off. The idea that he might have caught the flu from his father and that he, too, might soon be dead was both thrilling and terrifying.

If it was true-if he really was infected-he wanted to keep it from his mother as long as possible. But now he saw that this could not be very long: his mother was hardly gone from the house when he started coughing.

PART TWO.

He had missed so much school, he figured he was going to have to repeat seventh grade. But since this had to be true for so many other kids as well, it didn't really bother him. He was even feeling a little excited about being back in school again. Then Pastor Wyatt told him to get ready for something different.

"I know the idea of homeschooling probably scares you somewhat. I'll bet you've heard all kinds of nonsense on the subject, but you've just got to give it a chance. And anyhow, the nearest school still open round here is so far away you'd have to spend a couple hours just getting there and back each day. And I'm pretty sure you wouldn't like that, now, would you, son."

Back when he was still in school, in Little Leap-and before that, in Chicago-Cole had been aware of kids who were taught at home by their parents, even though their parents weren't real teachers. But he'd never actually known anyone who was being homeschooled. Now it was just the opposite. Cole didn't know any kid in Salvation City who wasn't being homeschooled. Most of their parents had been homeschooled when they were growing up, too.

From now on his teachers would be Tracy and Pastor Wyatt. But it turned out the only subject he studied with PW was the Bible.

"I know all this is new to you, so I have to explain some. But if you aren't studying the the Book, there isn't much point in studying any other book. When we're reading Scripture, that is one of the times-another is when we pray-when we're able to bring ourselves closer to G.o.d. It's when he sees we're paying attention to him and trying to get at his truth. In fact, when we're engaged in reading the Bible with our absolute undivided attention, it really amounts to the same thing as prayer. We're not saying that math and science and all the other subjects aren't important. We're saying the Bible is altogether something else. Those other subjects will teach you plenty of things that are good to know, but all of them put together can't teach you how you should live." Book, there isn't much point in studying any other book. When we're reading Scripture, that is one of the times-another is when we pray-when we're able to bring ourselves closer to G.o.d. It's when he sees we're paying attention to him and trying to get at his truth. In fact, when we're engaged in reading the Bible with our absolute undivided attention, it really amounts to the same thing as prayer. We're not saying that math and science and all the other subjects aren't important. We're saying the Bible is altogether something else. Those other subjects will teach you plenty of things that are good to know, but all of them put together can't teach you how you should live."

Among the many books in Cole's parents' library had been a Bible, but the only thing he remembered about it was that it was the most ridiculously long book he'd ever seen. He could not imagine anyone reading it.

"Uh-oh," said PW. "I see that look on your face, and you can just chill right there. n.o.body's saying you've got to learn everything in a day. We're going to take things slow, and trust me, n.o.body's going to make you sit in a corner and read the whole Bible cover to cover like some kind of punishment. So wipe that frown off and come give me a hug."

It had taken some getting used to, PW's eagerness to hug and be hugged. At first Cole had dreaded these moments, when he never knew quite where to place his hands or which way to turn his head. His face would color and he would hold his breath and stare at the floor. After a while, though, he lost his excruciating shyness and awkwardness, and now there were times when he wished it weren't over so quickly, that PW would keep holding him longer.

They do not start with Genesis. The first thing Cole learns is the Lord's Prayer. Some of it sounds familiar to him, though he knows he has never learned it before, he has never learned any prayer before. PW shows him where in the Bible the Lord's Prayer is from.

"You see, it didn't make sense for people to go on praying in the same old ways as before. Because Jesus' coming changed everything. What he was bringing to the world was something completely new, so there had to be a new way of praying, too. And Jesus told his disciples not to pray like hypocrites, making a big deal out of it, making sure everyone sees them doing it and using a lot of show-offy words. Pray like this, he said, and he taught them these very words you're learning now, over two thousand years later. Short and simple, yet somehow encompa.s.sing all: thankfulness, forgiveness, a plea for help in avoiding sin, and praise of G.o.d."

Cole learns the prayer easily, and then PW teaches him another prayer, or psalm, rather, from another part of the Bible. Again, Cole recognizes some of the words. The valley of the shadow of death. Fear no evil. The valley of the shadow of death. Fear no evil. He has come across those words many times before, in movies and comics and video games, but without ever knowing where they were from. He has come across those words many times before, in movies and comics and video games, but without ever knowing where they were from.

Cole is amazed that anyone could do what PW does: open that ginormous book to exactly whatever pa.s.sage he is looking for. And he is amazed that anyone would spend hours every day studying something he already knows so well.

"Ah," said PW. "Your mistake there is in thinking the Bible is just another-albeit ginormous-book. Even those of us who've read and reread every word, we don't ever put the Bible away. Why? Because G.o.d inspired Scripture precisely so he and us could always be in communication with each other. The Bible may be ancient, but it ain't 'history.' It's today's news, every day. And we call the story of Jesus the Gospel, or Evangel, because those words mean 'good news.'"

They do not have set hours for their Bible study-they have to work around PW's busy schedule-but often they sit down together for a half-hour or so after supper. Tracy never joins them, but she reads the Bible on her own every day, and every Wednesday night she meets with her women's Bible group.

Cole also has a Bible study group, which is only for boys and girls his age and meets on Sat.u.r.day mornings. There is Bible study for children of every age, even those who haven't yet learned to read, and several different groups for adults. Besides one for only women, there is one for only men. There is one for couples and one for singles, and there are other groups, called workshops, for people in some particular kind of trouble, such as drinking too much or post-traumatic stress from the panflu. Most of the groups meet at the church, but some, like the women's group, meet at different persons' homes. Whenever it's Tracy's turn to host, she bakes a red velvet cake and, for the dieters, Weight Watchers' brownies.

When Cole hears about a workshop to help married people stay together, he thinks about his parents. He wonders, if they hadn't died . . .

But it is becoming harder and harder for Cole to remember his parents clearly. Partly because of his illness, which burned away or distorted so much of his memory. (He understands better now what his father meant when he explained what Alzheimer's disease had done to Cole's grandfather.) Partly because his life today is so different from his life before. He has a new home, he lives in a new town-still in southern Indiana but east of Little Leap. Called Salvation City, though not a city, not like Chicago, and not even as big as Little Leap.

And, for the first time, Cole has a church. The Church of Salvation City, which Cole figured was named after the town, but in fact it was the other way around. As the story goes, the church had been founded in 1995. It was for the millennium five years later that the residents voted to change the town's name from whatever it was (Cole can never recall) to Salvation City, too. Not every Salvation Citian belongs to the church, though even some who do not might come hear Pastor Wyatt preach at one of the three worship services offered on Sunday. Some people go to the Baptist church in the next town, and some don't go to any church at all. Cole has little to do with those who don't go to church, but when he sees them, downtown, say, or at the mall, he can't tell any difference about them. Many greet Pastor Wyatt as warmly as any member of his flock. There are times when PW will approach a person in public, whether it's someone he knows or not, and say, "Are you ready?" or "Have you thought about the Ten Commandments today?" And if the answer is no and the person gives him a chance, he'll explain what horrible danger the person is in and how they can be saved. There are some who've been approached by PW so often already that when they see him they try to avoid him. Mr. Hix, who owns the hardware store, always grins broadly at PW but stops him before he can even open his mouth: "Not today, brother, I got work to do."

Most things Cole remembers about the near past seem to have happened much longer ago-years and years ago-and to have less and less to do with him as the days go by. He does not always feel that he belongs in Salvation City-at least, not the way he thinks everyone else belongs-but he has no desire to leave, either. And anyway, where would he go? Back to the orphanage?

But there are moments when he is struck by a sense of loss so keen, it's like an ax splitting him down the middle. The agony of seeing his parents become more and more ghostly. He has dreamed of them, standing side by side and waving to him from across some kind of empty stadium. Their waves are strikingly different: his father's arm almost straight, making slow, sweeping arcs, as if he were guiding a kite; his mother's hand close to her body and moving rapidly back and forth, like someone trying to rub out a stain. Then, although it's indoors, there is smoke, or fog. Closing in, making it harder and harder to see, denser and denser until it's impossible to tell if his parents are still waving, or if they're even still there. A dream turned throat-clogging nightmare.

"It might help," the woman called Eden had told him, "if you talked to them. You know, imagine your mom or dad is right there with you and you're having a chat. A good time to do this might be at night, right before you go to sleep."

And that night he had tried, but it had felt too strange. He couldn't pretend like that-it was not his way. And then he dreamed that he was indeed trying to talk with his father. But his father was speaking the language of the dead. He kept getting madder and madder at Cole for not understanding him. Finally, he punched Cole in the face. In real life his father had never hit him, but the dream punch came as no surprise. To Cole it seemed woeful but natural, even inevitable. Deserved. He'd half woken up, and when he drifted off again he dreamed that his parents had shrunk to the size of gerbils. He carried them around with him in a Tupperware bowl. He fed them jelly beans and nuts.

At first glance anybody-not just the kids in Bible group-would have found the group leader scary. One of his eyes is dead and lies buried under a patch of purple scar tissue. He has some fierce tattoos-snakeheads, skulls-and his head is shaved like a skinhead's. A silver stud through his right earlobe reminds Cole of a bullet.

Everyone knows Mason Boyle's story because he has told it during the part of Sunday worship when members of the congregation are invited to testify. They know about the fight in the bar where he lost his eye to "this other punk" wielding a broken bottle, and how that was even worse luck than it sounded. As a child Mason had been afflicted with lazy eye, and the vision in that eye had always been blurred and weak. The eye he lost in the fight was his other eye, the one with 20/20 vision.

"I was cast down so low, I hoped to die. I was so mad at the world, if I could've seen 'em I'd have punched out everyone who dared cross my path."

But then Mason started noticing something.

"My left eye-my bad, lazy eye-seemed to be getting stronger."

It took about a year, Mason's hardworking eye making a little more progress each day, until it was as good as his dead eye used to be.

"And then, man, it just kept going! I mean, my left eye actually got better better. Doctor said she never saw anything like it, but today this here eye is twenty-ten!"

Even if they'd already heard the story, people would roar when Mason got to this part. And they would hoot and stomp and clap as he told the rest so that he had to raise his voice louder and louder.

"It was like G.o.d had taken pity on me, and not just a little-bitty pity but enough to forgive the fact that I had only myself to blame. Because, don't you know, I picked picked the fight in the bar that night. And I started thinking it was a miracle, and that within that miracle was a message for me. A message about blindness and healing. A message about laziness and strength. A message about work-about doing double duty and being rewarded with brand-new vision. the fight in the bar that night. And I started thinking it was a miracle, and that within that miracle was a message for me. A message about blindness and healing. A message about laziness and strength. A message about work-about doing double duty and being rewarded with brand-new vision.

"And I knew that G.o.d was calling on me to put aside all my lazy, shameful, devil-delighting habits and to receive what he was holding out: a chance to accept his love and forgiveness and make myself worthy of the vision with which he'd blessed me. Mason the sinner had a new life, and Mason had a mission. Mason was blind no more. Now he must help the blind."

Mason earns his worldly living fixing cars. But as part of his selfless service, he helps make Braille Bibles.

Cole likes Mason-all the kids do-and he feels foolish for ever having found him scary. But secretly he wishes he did not have to study Bible with him.

Whenever Pastor Wyatt talks about the Bible, whether he's preaching a sermon or talking on Heaven's A-Poppin'! Heaven's A-Poppin'! or studying at home alone with Cole, he always makes it sound as if it had all just happened yesterday and he himself had been there. When he tells the story of Jesus, it's as if he'd seen it all with his own eyes-the miracles, the Crucifixion-and Cole is captivated by his big voice and the way he moves his hands, floating them up and down like white birds. or studying at home alone with Cole, he always makes it sound as if it had all just happened yesterday and he himself had been there. When he tells the story of Jesus, it's as if he'd seen it all with his own eyes-the miracles, the Crucifixion-and Cole is captivated by his big voice and the way he moves his hands, floating them up and down like white birds.

"I'm too deaf to catch most of what he's saying," Cole has heard an old lady sitting behind him in church say. "But I feel blessed just watching him."

"You want to teach folks, you got to hold their attention," says PW. "Won't do if they're bored."

But in Bible group Cole is often bored. In fact, Bible group reminds him a lot of school and of the kind of a.s.signment he never liked. (Imagine that you, like the narrator, are drafted into the army to fight a war that you think is wrong. What would (Imagine that you, like the narrator, are drafted into the army to fight a war that you think is wrong. What would you you do?) do?) There is always a topic with a peppy t.i.tle ("The Beat.i.tudes vs. Bad Att.i.tudes"), and though Mason picks the topic he has a rule about not doing much of the talking. He has another rule, about everyone having to write something about every topic. There is always a topic with a peppy t.i.tle ("The Beat.i.tudes vs. Bad Att.i.tudes"), and though Mason picks the topic he has a rule about not doing much of the talking. He has another rule, about everyone having to write something about every topic.

"Okay, dudes, listen up. Say a Martian lands on Earth and this Martian comes up to you and he goes, 'What's this thing you Earthlings call Gospel?' How would you define it for him? Say a secular kid tells you his mama told him Jesus' story is nothing but a myth. How would you prove to this kid-without dissing his mama!-that she's wrong? Cite verses but use your own words."

But the worst a.s.signments are the ones that are supposed to be fun. Rewrite the Beat.i.tudes as hip-hop verses Rewrite the Beat.i.tudes as hip-hop verses. The kind of thing that used to make Cole hate school.

But the other kids do do have fun writing the hip-hop verses. And even when they might not like an a.s.signment, they never get sullen or sarcastic or make a big show of how bored they are. And in this way Bible study is totally different from school. The other kids are happy to be there, and most of them throw themselves into the work. They want to please Mason, and they want to please G.o.d. Doesn't Cole? have fun writing the hip-hop verses. And even when they might not like an a.s.signment, they never get sullen or sarcastic or make a big show of how bored they are. And in this way Bible study is totally different from school. The other kids are happy to be there, and most of them throw themselves into the work. They want to please Mason, and they want to please G.o.d. Doesn't Cole?

Mason sees all. Mason is not fooled. Mason teases Cole for not paying attention, for not really trying, and though he does it gently Cole is humiliated, he is ashamed, he knows it's his same old problem. He has always been a bad student. Lazy, like Mason's left eye. He will always be an underachiever. Everything has changed, but not this.

Mason sees all. "Never give up on yourself, little bruh. Moses was once a basket case."

And in fact, it isn't that Cole doesn't want to learn. He loves the Bible stories. He thinks Daniel and Samson and David are superheroes. Every day he looks forward to the half-hour after supper that he spends with PW in the den. Cole has his own Bible, of course, but at these times they share an ill.u.s.trated coffee-table-book-sized edition laid open on PW's desk. They sit close together, and sometimes PW drapes his arm around Cole, and the weight and warmth of that thick arm on his narrow shoulders (like a friendly boa constrictor, Cole thinks) calm whatever jitters he might be having. When they are finished for the evening, PW kisses the side of Cole's head. Once, he kept his lips pressed to Cole's temple an extra beat and sniffed, saying, "You smell like a good boy to me," and though Cole was embarra.s.sed he was also pleased.

At first, when the inspiration comes to him, he puts off telling PW, afraid he might disapprove. But PW could not be more enthusiastic, and though Tracy's response is not as important to him as PW's, Cole is thrilled to hear her gush.

"Such a fine likeness of a lion! Nothing cowardly 'bout him him, is there? And if that ain't the darnedest scariest Goliath I've ever seen. Look, WyWy, he went and made Samson look like our Mason."

Soon everyone in Salvation City knows about Cole's gift, and besides his Bible-hero comics he is emboldened to try sketches-some cartoonish, some not-from life.

He is skillful beyond his years, and he knows it. The only good thing to come out of his days at Here Be Hope.

Two strokes of luck in that place where luck was essential to survive. First, he happened to be right there when a donation of art supplies arrived, and he'd managed to grab a supply of sketch pads and colored pens and pencils before they ran out (in that place where everything everything could be expected, almost instantly, to run out). Second, he had found a spot no one else seemed to know about (a cavity under some back stairs), where he could hide for hours without being disturbed. could be expected, almost instantly, to run out). Second, he had found a spot no one else seemed to know about (a cavity under some back stairs), where he could hide for hours without being disturbed.

In that hiding place he drew and drew. He hadn't drawn anything in a while-not since the awful business with Mr. Gert. Now, in a flash, he finished a whole book about gladiators and was working on another one about mutant girl samurai. Works he was extremely proud of. Lost!

Sadly, those drawings had not made it to Salvation City. But Cole had let himself cry over this only once. For a while he consoled himself with the fantasy that they would be found by someone who would immediately recognize Cole's talent. Then, no stone would be left unturned until the artist had been tracked down. And when they saw how young he was, he imagined people would shake their heads in disbelief. Probably this would all happen soon. Any day now, Cole Abrams Vining, boy wonder, would be discovered. From this, everything a boy could wish for would follow. But success would not spoil him. In fact, riches and fame would only increase his natural-born goodness. He would never forget the little people. And despite his own terrible childhood, how unfair life had been to him and all the suffering he'd had to endure, he would always be loving and generous, n.o.ble and kind.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN ORPHAN, says Pastor Wyatt. Everyone has a father in G.o.d. But Cole knows it's because he's an orphan that everyone is so nice to him. His whole life, people have never been so nice to him as they are in Salvation City. There are other children here who've lost parents. There is a girl named Michaela, who, like Cole, lost both. But unlike Cole, Michaela has family who survived the flu: a sister and a brother. Michaela's case is unique, though, because she never knew her birth parents. A janitor found her in a high school gym locker when she was just a day old. So in a way Michaela has been orphaned twice.

Cole has heard it said that Michaela might be a rapture child. He has heard Tracy say it to PW. "Sometimes I think I can see her aura."

The first time Cole ever heard of rapture children was at the orphanage, where there were three: a boy and two girls. Rapture children had been around before, but since the pandemic there were lots more of them. Rapture children were children who'd been sent by G.o.d to be lights in the coming dark. They would be among the first of the living to be caught up to Jesus' side (right after the holy dead). G.o.d had endowed them with special spiritual powers so they could lead others in the countdown to the final battle. Though PW says there is nothing in the Bible to justify this, Tracy is among those who believe it.

Tracy has a niece named Starlyn who is a rapture child.

The rapture children at Here Be Hope got so much attention, naturally everyone wanted to be one. Some kids declared themselves raptures and would do almost anything-including lie through their teeth-to prove it. But only grown-ups could say who was or was not a rapture child.

Cole has heard about rapture children performing heroic deeds and even miracles-the boy at the orphanage was said to have run into a burning house to rescue a baby when he was hardly more than a baby himself-but Cole has never seen anything like that. The older of the two girls said that every night when she knelt to pray, Jesus came and stroked her hair. But Cole has learned that seeing Jesus, or at least conversing with him, is not such a rare event.

Some rapture children are unusually gifted. Michaela plays music without having been taught and sings like an angel (there are those who insist rapture children are are angels). But though everyone says Cole is gifted, too, no one has ever said he might be a rapture child. angels). But though everyone says Cole is gifted, too, no one has ever said he might be a rapture child.

One thing all the rapture children Cole has met have in common is that they are good-looking. Almost every one of them is blond. (Michaela's hair is so pale it's more white than yellow; from the back you might even mistake her for an old woman.) The biggest difference Cole can tell between rapture children and other children is that raptures have a way of making adults happy without even trying. He has seen Starlyn walk into a room and people light up as they do when dessert is set in front of them. He has heard grown men and women pour out their hearts to twelve-year-old Michaela, asking for her advice about grown-up things-should they take this new job, should they have another baby-or for her blessing. The same kind of thing that had happened in the orphanage. Some of the other orphans were a little afraid of the rapture children because of this power they had with the adults. And Cole is a little afraid of Michaela. The way she always seems to be either laughing or crying. The way, in church, she is able to keep singing out strong even with tears streaming down her face. A girl with almost no meat on her bones and enormous hungry-looking eyes. There would not be enough hours in the day for her to fill all the requests she got from people to pray for them.

Cole is afraid of Starlyn, too. But that is love (and a secret).

Though there is no Bible story about them, Cole would like to do a comic book about rapture children.

"Did you used to be one?" Even before he asks PW this, Cole knows the answer is yes. But PW gives a loud whoop as if Cole had said something crazy.

"Me? Oh my, no, no, no. I was-my mama would tell you-I was more of a-of a reptile reptile child." And when Cole looks confused, PW stops laughing and says, "It don't matter, Cole. It don't matter what kind of child a person is. Like the song goes, Jesus loves all the little children." And he opens the Bible to Mark 10:13, to show Cole where it is written. child." And when Cole looks confused, PW stops laughing and says, "It don't matter, Cole. It don't matter what kind of child a person is. Like the song goes, Jesus loves all the little children." And he opens the Bible to Mark 10:13, to show Cole where it is written.

"CHILDREN TELL TALE OF REAL-LIFE 'LORD OF THE FLIES.'"

Pastor Wyatt had saved a copy of the article that had set him on the path leading to Cole. But long before that story appeared, he'd been preaching against the new orphanages.

"First we had all these horror stories about our inefficient and overburdened foster-care system resulting in all these abused and neglected kids. Then we had people saying why not bring back the old inst.i.tutions? Why not dump all those kids in a group home and have the government be in charge? Can't possibly be worse than what we got now. As if the solution to 'the system's broken' was 'break it some other how.' But Jesus tells us straight out how he felt about children: the kingdom of G.o.d is theirs. And whoever seeks to live in the kingdom must love the children as he loved them. Meaning it is our inescapable duty to find Christian families for each and every child. And if that means moving children from parts of the country where good Christian families are hard to find to parts of the country where they are the majority, then I say that's what we should do."

Most people avoided calling them orphanages. They called them children's homes instead. And in the beginning, most home children weren't orphans at all but kids who'd been taken away from their parents. And although the homes might not have been the happiest places in the world for a young child to be, at least in the beginning they were safe and clean, the children got three meals a day and decent clothes, and, like other children, they were sent to school.

Before the pandemic the homes were kept as small as possible, and there were people who were angry about the expense, who complained about their tax dollars going to buy home children things they couldn't afford to buy their own children-though, of course, this was worse than an exaggeration.

But most people would have been too ashamed to complain. These were just kids, after all, poor and unlucky but innocent of crime, and they touched the heart in a way that people rotting in nursing homes, or in prisons (as was the sad case with many home children's parents), never could. In fact, in the beginning Americans everywhere opened their wallets. It didn't take long for the new orphanages to become one of the nation's top charities. Besides money, there were donations of everything from toys and computers to musical instruments and gym equipment. (One home in New Jersey found itself blessed with a stable of retired racehorses.) It was not unusual for a home to have more volunteers than were actually needed, and celebrities of all types could always be counted on to help raise funds or pay visits, especially at holiday time.

"An unlikely success story," reported Time Time magazine. "What began as a bold and risky experiment soon turned into a trend. Now people are calling it a movement. At first, many Americans were appalled at the thought of bringing back state-run shelters for parentless children. Visions of d.i.c.kensian h.e.l.lholes danced in their heads. But by involving community organizations and local school boards and insisting on rigorous oversight, child welfare authorities are reinventing the orphanage into something d.i.c.kens would not recognize." magazine. "What began as a bold and risky experiment soon turned into a trend. Now people are calling it a movement. At first, many Americans were appalled at the thought of bringing back state-run shelters for parentless children. Visions of d.i.c.kensian h.e.l.lholes danced in their heads. But by involving community organizations and local school boards and insisting on rigorous oversight, child welfare authorities are reinventing the orphanage into something d.i.c.kens would not recognize."

Nothing is perfect. Not every children's home everywhere ran smoothly all of the time. A scandal here, a scandal there-no one was saying it didn't happen. But overall the new system was hailed as a great improvement over the old, offering a better deal for all America's cast-off and mistreated children.

But who would ever envy these children? A lot of people, it seemed. At school, home children-especially boys-were among the most popular, the ones who set the style. Young people all over the world had taken razors, bleach, and lit cigarettes to their brand-new clothing to create the "diddy rags" American home kids were the first to wear, and when The New York Times Style Magazine The New York Times Style Magazine did a spread, it used real home kids as models. did a spread, it used real home kids as models.

It was a bleak but inescapable fact that most home children remained at the bottom of their cla.s.s, with a growing number expected to leave school without having learned to read or write. But everyone knew this was because there was no way you could be mad chill and a good student, too-and how many kids anywhere nowadays were convinced that reading and writing were the most important things in life?