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“Why’d you want to talk so much last night?” Cooper stood behind me. I turned to look at him.

“What? Oh, right. I was angry at Lynch. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Patrick. Do you like Franklin?”

“Yes.” I turned and went into the refectory. Cooper looked at me. He looked puzzled.

“Did you talk at all last night?” Liam yawned and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired.

“Not really. He made me go to sleep early. Sorry you had to wait with me.” I felt bad.

“It’s fine.” He smiled, making me feel better. The other boys laughed, shoving us into the room. I got a serving of oatmeal and sat down, spooning the nasty, lumpy stuff into my mouth. They did not starve us at St. Jude’s. Simply, Brother Damien could not cook for all of us, and have the food come out well. Most of us made faces as we choked down the watery oatmeal.

“This is disgusting. Brother Damien could mix more oats in.” Peters paused for a second, to try to keep from gagging.

“Brother John stops him. He’ll buy enough oats for us, but when they’re boiled and strained, there’s not enough for it to keep from going watery. It’s the same with meat.”

“Please explain, O’Reilly.” Peters looked at him, challenging. We all waited, to see what would happen.

“Brother John buys enough meat for about a hundred, because we aren’t full grown yet. But then he has Brother Damien boil everything off, so then there’s only enough for about seventy-five.”

“How’d you know this?” Peters looked amazed, a first for him. O’Reilly gave a proud smile.

“Brother Damien told me.” He spooned the last of his milk into his mouth. We all nodded, understanding.

“All the brothers ever tell me is to shut up.” Downey faked a pout. We all laughed and swallowed the last of our breakfasts.

After another morning studying the alphabet, and being very bored, we went to Brother Whelan, in order to learn a trade. Mostly, he taught us woodworking and sewing, both of which were all right, if boring. Most of the things we made were used in the school, or sold. None of us cared, much. After sewing shirts and making rosaries day in, day out, you got tired of the same things. I would just work hard, as always. After spending three years at St. Jude’s, anybody could tell you working hard, with your head down, was the right thing. Only my brother, Liam, had disagreed.

“Stop, 743. Those stiches are too big. Take them out and redo them.” Brother Whelan touched my arm, lightly. He was a kind man, if strict.

“Yes, sir.” I worked on picking my stiches out. We were not allowed to use scissors and cut the thread. Brother John claimed it was a matter of expenses. But we all knew he just didn’t want to spend money on us.

“What’s the point of sewing?” Liam put down his needle.

“These happen to be our uniforms, smart one. Make it good. Do you want to wear something all stitched crooked?”

“No.”

“Sew well, then.” Liam made a face, but slowed down and actually attempted to straighten out his stiches.

“I dunno which I hate more, making rosaries or shirts.”

“Shirts. You stab yourself with the needle more.” I nodded. Liam smiled grimly and jammed the needle into the cloth, hard,

“I hate both of them equally.” His clear, pale face had a scowl embedded on it.

“You grow to like one, Liam.”

“I only like class with Mr. Franklin. You think I could move onto reading soon?”

“Dunno.”

“What’s reading like, Patrick?”

“Amazing. You can learn everything and understand it and be proud and all. Learn to read.”

“Will you teach me?”

“What?”

“Teach me to read.”

“Fine. I’ll have to get a book or something.”

“I can wait.”

“Good.”