Onions in Unlikely Place

ONIONS

Sad, sick, solo. These are three negative S words. I was in a hospital bed after kidney stone surgery. The doctor who removed the 6 millimeter kidney stone from my kidney tube was kind enough to inform me that he was the best urologist in all of Portland, Oregon.

I had told the surgeon that I have an extensive allergy list to medicines. I suggested two medicine that work marvelously well for me after surgery. Unfortunately, I knew this information by a quantity of negative medical experience. The good doctor (did I mention that he knew that he was the best urologist in all of Portland, Oregon)? Refused to give me those two medicines. He gave me two others. They didn't work for me, and my body went into shock from the severe pain.

One of our two daughters was several states away at college. The other daughter was unreachable at a church activity. My husband was too ill to come. My beloved Papa had been dead for years. My sweet Mama was in her 80's and she was also several states away. I had never felt so lonely in all of my improbable life.

One of the nurses asked me if I could call a friend. They could the reach the “Best Urologist in all of Portland, Oregon.” It might be easier to refer to him by his acronym, buiaopo. (Stop and say it out loud. It also sounds good if you adapt the letters just a little bit into bwahpo or bwahpoo). Apparently since buiaopo never makes mistakes he is precluded from needing to answer either his landline or cell phone. (I don't sound bitter do I)?

After several hours of suffering, I called a dear friend. I had already thought of calling her but because of physical disability she struggles constantly with mobility and money. I knew that it would be very difficult for her to get to the hospital where I was. When I called her I apologized but she didn't even hesitate. She said that she would be there as quickly as possible.

While I waited for her I distracted myself by thinking about my childhood. I was born with severe allergy asthma. I also had very little immune system. My allergies would trigger infections, and infections would trigger my allergies. I was in and out of the hospital constantly. The only treatment for asthma at that point in time was to give oxygen. My parents struggled constantly with the negative financial realities of having a severely ill child.

I continued to be medically fragile as I grew older. Somehow through all of this I never felt as though I were a burden. Both of my parents told me over and over that I was a miracle. They made my difficult childhood a blessing for them and for me. In this hour of pain and illness, counting my blessings such as, my remarkable husband, children, parents, and siblings made this difficult time pass faster.

When my friend Joni arrived she walked in the door with both of her hands behind her back. Joni usually walks in with her hands behind her back. She will open those hands and in them will be nestled some homemade treasure. Sometimes it's a fridge magnet with a glorious panoramic picture, or a delicious cookie, but Joni's loving hands are never empty. This time when she pulled her hands out she held a large, yellow, onion.

She was concerned when I began to laugh and cry simultaneously. When I could speak again I asked Joni why on earth she had brought an onion. She told me, “Three times I felt impressed to pick up the onion and bring it. Two times I put it down. I was certain that it was a crazy thing to bring to someone sick in the hospital. The third time the impression was too strong to deny and so I brought the onion.”

Joni had never known my Father. He died many years before Joni and I became friends. My Father LOVED onions. He grew them in our enormous garden. He ate them on bread, sometimes with cheese, or sometimes he ate them fresh out of the garden, like most people would eat an apple. He put onions in our Christmas stockings. He also put fruit and candy, but I believe that in his mind the onion was the best thing in the stocking.

When my brother married Louise, my beloved sister-in-law, she HATED onions. Soon it became a joke back and forth from my Dad to Louise, and from Louise to my Dad. When Louise had surgery and was in the hospital Dad had a florist make her a beautiful floral bouquet. Alas it was made entirely out of flowering onions. It was gorgeous, but didn't smell very aromatic.

The next Christmas Louise made Papa some homemade chocolate covered onions. One year for Christmas Papa gave Louise 50 pounds of onions. Louise was perplexed. She said, “I rarely even use one onion in an entire year! What was I going to do with one hundred pounds of them?”

When my Papa died Louise said that she was certain he would find a way to make onions grow in her lawn.

When I saw that onion in Joni's hand I knew what it meant. It meant that even death couldn't stop my Papa. It also meant that I had an amazing friend who is deeply spiritual.

Two days later when I spoke to my Mama I told her about the experience. She started to cry. Through her tears she told me that the night when I was so sick she had felt that something was wrong with me. At eighty-five and two states away she couldn't be there in person to help. She prayed and asked God to let my Papa find some way to help. Has God ever answered your prayers with an onion?

The story doesn't end there. My husband and I moved when our daughters were both grown up and gone to college. We were very excited to buy a new bed. We wanted a four-poster bed. We looked everywhere. We used the classifieds, the online computer advertisements, and word of mouth from friends. We looked for months. Either the bed was too expensive, or it wasn't what we wanted, etc. etc.

My husband found a one-day sale of solid wood furniture in the newspaper. We went to the sale and found a lovely four poster bed. It was perfect, just what we were looking for. The posts were about eight feet high. I didn't notice what was on the top of each poster. Imagine my surprise when we put the bed together at home and discovered that on top of each of the posts was a hand carved onion. I've looked ever since and have never seen another four poster bed with onions on the posters. The bed was made in India. Any statisticians out there who would like to tell me the odds that we would happen to find a four-poster bed with onions on the posts?

I'm not finished yet. Nyle and I loved thrift shopping. We once spent four hours in a shop. Nyle would troll up and down the aisles sifting through the trash to find treasures. I finally was weary. I sat down in an old chair with a book that I was going to buy. Nyle continued his quest.

After reading a chapter of the book, Nyle suddenly appeared by my side. He seemed excited as he held a wooden decorative plaque towards me. I looked at the plaque. It was attractive but it didn't inspire excitement for me.

Nyle said, “Look closer.”

I looked closer, and then I WAS EXCITED! The plaque was the same wood finish as our onion posted bed, and there in the middle of the wooden plaque was a hand carved, bas-relief onion in all its wooden glory!

Nyle and I talked again about the odds of finding this onion-laden piece of furniture to go with our onion laden bed. It did feel suspiciously as though Papa was still letting us know that he was close.

Every night that I climb into my onion bed I grin. I think of my beloved Papa and the joyous time when I will hug him again. I remember him tucking me into bed as a child. I feel the same sense of safety and protection now that I did then. Before I go to sleep, I thank God for a deeply spiritual friend named Joni, my Mother's faith, my Papa who loves me beyond death, my husband's patient quest for treasures, and my gratitude for onions.

Angela - Part 2

Henry had taken Angela's one dress out of his backpack the day before.  It was hopelessly wrinkled.  Henry took a rock from the fire and putting the dress on a large flat topped boulder he put an old mitten on and used the hot rock to press out the worst of the wrinkles in the dress. 

Growling at Angela, Henry said, "Put this on, and then sit still.  If you get this dress dirty, or wrinkle it again...well you aren't hungry are you?"

Angela carefully, oh so carefully put the dress on.  She turned to Henry for him to fasten the dress in the back.  When he laced up the dress it was quickly apparent that it was straining at the seams to cover Angela.

Henry made an impatient sound.  "You had best stop yer growin' girlie.  If you get any bigger ya won't be any help ta me!  We both know what I do with people who have served their purpose to me, and don't any more, right?"

Angela nodded silently.  She was afraid that any words she used would be the wrong words.  She knew all too well that Henry had no patience, none at all.

Next Henry pulled out her Sunday shoes.  They were scuffed and dusty.  Henry pulled out some fat that he had saved from a seagull they had eaten the day before.  He rubbed the fat in the shoes.  Next he pulled out an old shirt of his.  Using the shirt he polished the shoes.

Finished with the ablutions he handed the shoes to Angela.  She sat down on a log to put them on.  She had to squeeze really hard.  The shoes were quite obviously too small.  She did not utter a complaint.  Growth had become a fearful thing to her.  Nightmares were filled with Henry's murderous wrath as she grew to be too large for usefulness.

Now Angela and Henry sat in the Cafe.  Angela had noticed that there was a crowd gathering outside.  It seemed as though they were all dressed in their Sunday best.  Angela spoke solemnly, "Henry, why are we here in town today?"

Henry finished his mouth full of food slowly before responding, "It's a town event.  Everybody who is anybody will be there.  That means that you and I will make lots of money picking pockets."

Angela sighed within her own mind.  She knew better than to make the smallest sign of defiance to Henry.  He had never struck her, or shown any sign of physical violence.  That was not his way.  Instead he preyed upon Angela's young, sensitive mind.  For punishment, Henry  also stopped any and all food.  The longest he had gone without feeding her was five days so far.

After that five days Henry cussed and grumbled because it took Angela a week of eating and drinking to regain her strength.  He didn't really care about her illness, other than how it affected him, and his growing bank account.

The crowd began to push forward eagerly.  Henry dropped a penny at his plate, and said, "Come on Ang, the action will begin shortly."

Angela needed no prompting.  She knew exactly what was expected of her in a large crowd of people.  Energy of a nervous, excited, type seemed to pump from all the people.  The crowd was densely packed looking north.

When Angela saw the gallows her heart felt as though it had dropped from her chest.  She tried to push her way backwards.  She had no desire to witness someone's death.

Grabbed by Henry he whispered in her ear gruffly, "What's a matter?  Too chicken to see a criminal die?  This man deserves to die.  He killed another man."

Angela felt it best not to comment on Henry's hypocrisy in the situation.

"Git to work you!  I think you WOULD like to eat.  There is going to be a really big picnic tonight.  The whole town will be there.  I hear that they will have fried chicken, and your favorite chocolate cake."

Henry pushed her roughly forwards, "Git to work!"

Angela slowly, unobtrusively, began to work the crowd.  Her dress had deep, large pockets.  She targeted first the men.  It always seemed silly to her that men would carry their wallets in their back pockets.  That made them easy prey.

Women were not much better.  They had frilly, foolish, fragments of frippery,  hanging from a cord off their wrists.  Angela had a small pair of scissors that allowed her to cut the cords easily.  The women did not even notice that their pocketbook was gone until much later.

It was easy pickings today.  Everyone was preoccupied as a young boy was pushed forward to the stairs, and then onward to the noose.  Angela tried to pay attention to her work, and not what was happening in the front of the crowd.  For once Angela was grateful that she was too short to see over people.

She didn't hear the last words of the minister, or the young man.  There was such noise in the crowd that it covered what was happening on the gallows stand.  Unfortunately, when the hangman pulled the long handle that dropped the floor out from under the boy's feet, the crowd became completely silent.

Angela heard the sound of the drop, and then she heard the young boy.  In building the gallows they had not prepared for a skinny, teenage, boy.  It took a very long time for him to die.  Angela heard him crying, and choking. 

Then she heard a woman's scream, and hysterical crying.  The woman screamed, "God in Heaven, why have you forsaken us?"

Henry grabbed her arm.  He whispered harshly in her ear,  "Why have ya stopped?  Get busy.  This is prime time for workin'!  Remember there will be delicious food at the picnic this evening!"

Angela couldn't say a word.  Leaning over, the only thing that came from her heaving stomach was a bitter bile.  All of it fell directly on Henry's brand new, shiny boots.  Then blessedly, Angela fainted, and knew no more.

Angela--Part 1 of a 2 part section

Angela was excited, and nervous.  Correction.  She was as excited as she ever was with Henry.  There always seemed to be some dreadful experience waiting to trap her in endless woe.  After witnessing Henry shooting and killing the woman that he had help him adopt Angela she was aware of Henry Butler's depraved nature.  Angela knew that if she did not do what he bid he would have no sorrow in killing her.

So she did her best to act nonchalant.  Happy, positive, emotions seemed to touch a threadbare nerve in Henry's wretched soul.  Angela had no desire to light his all too sensitive fuse.

Angela was starving.  Henry found each and every excuse to keep from feeding her.  He did this on purpose.  Fighting with nature he tried in every way he knew, to keep Angela from growing.  He knew that once she was taller than five foot two she would be useless to him.  At that point he could no longer use her to climb into the small spaces that helped him rob others. 

Henry also knew that he saved a great deal of money when he purchased food for only one.  He was not thrifty, he was not even just cheap.  No, he was penny pinching, bone deep, stingy.  No matter how much money they stole, to Henry it was never enough.  Angela knew nothing about Henry's large growing savings account in a national bank.  He never volunteered to share the proceeds of their robberies with her.
 
Angela had learned to live vicariously.  When Henry ate at a restaurant, and gave
her only water, Angela would smell the smells wafting through the café.  She would watch every mouthful that Henry ingested, and she would pretend that she felt the textures, and tastes in her own mouth. 

Henry once saw her glancing at his food with rapture.  He covered the dish with his arm and said, "What are you mooning over?"

Angela shook herself mentally.  It never did any good to get Henry's attention.  She had not meant to do so now, but she was just SO HUNGRY!  Thinking quickly she said, "I was just imagining how I would cook that beef.  I was thinking about the natural seasonings that exist all around us in the wild."

Henry looked from the tip of her tiny toes, to the top of her strawberry blond hair.  "Well, well," he said in a rough whisper, "I guess I'll leave the cooking to you now!"

Angela did NOT smile but a warmth filled her heart.  If she could do the cooking, surely she could sneak a tiny bit now and then.  That's all she needed, just a small bite to keep her from feeling so awful.

Angela

Sunshine seemed to fill each plant from the inside out.  Angela felt as close to happy as she ever did. 

Henry had gone to town to purchase groceries.  It was the first time that he had ever trusted her to stay alone.  He had gruffly said, "You know that you can't possibly escape me.  If you aren't here when I return, I will find you.  You will die.  Don't leave, and I won't have to kill you."  Then he gathered his things and left.


Angela stood in the clearing.  She threw out her skinny arms and sang at the top of her lungs.  The music felt so good rising through her throat and out into the brilliant spring day.  Nobody had ever taught Angela about music, not in the orphanage and certainly not with Henry.  He loathed (the word that he had used) music.  He called it "The noise of misery."


Angela knew that when she sang, it raised her spirit.  That was enough for her.  She made up words and tunes as she went along.  It was extremely rare that she got to hear any music. 

Henry did not usually take Angela where there was other people.  He said, "You can't trust anyone!  Nobody even sees me anymore.  I'm absolutely careful to blend in.  I look like most of the men on this planet.  You, do NOT blend in.  Even if I put you in boys clothes, and make you look good and dirty, you still stand out in a group."


Music comforted Angela so she sang.  She sang to the sun, she sang to the cheerfully burbling brook, then she sang back to the bird that sang to her.  Very still she stood below a tree and listened to the magical warbling that a Robin was causing.  She sang back the same notes that the bird sang.  Finally the bird grew tired of the game and flew away.


Henry had left Angela one stingy strip of jerky, and one piece of dried apple.  Angela ate them sitting by the brook.  The water flowed musically.  The washing of water over rocks and old tree stumps created rhythm, melody, and even a unique version of harmony.


After slowly eating and enjoying her meal Angela drank her fill from the brook.  She had learned that drinking water after eating dried food filled her too thin belly better.


She wanted to stay awake.  Treasuring each precious moment that Henry was gone had become a game to her.  She did all the things that she enjoyed that he never would have tolerated.  She climbed high into a tree and sang to the tree.  She skipped stones on the brook and listened for those sounds. 


As happiness bubbled up into her heart she felt a smile burst forth on her face.  She danced up and down the hills nearby.  Angela wished that this moment could last forever.


Finally, exhausted, she lay down and fell asleep. 


Her luxurious nap was brutally stolen from her.  Henry snarled, "Wake up!  Here you are sleeping while I work to feed your fat belly!" 


Angela looked down at her stomach, trying to see if she had missed a change in her painfully skinny status.  Her ribs still stuck out further than the skin that was stretched over them.  Her belly went far in instead of sticking out.


She shook her head.  Henry made it a point of ridiculing each and every person that they ever saw.  Angela discovered quickly that there was not really anything wrong with the other people.  The flaws all lay in Henry's sick. twisted, miserable mind. 


Angela vowed that she would not accept Henry's unhappy view of life.  She was determined that the first opportunity that came her way she would escape.  She smoothed her hair as she stood up slowly.  "Henry, why don't I make you dinner?"

Dirt Soup

Henry Butler sat next to the fire.  He had carefully caught, skinned, and cleaned a small fish.  He puts a long stick through the fish and then carves two more stick with a y shape at the top.  Into the Y he puts the long pole with the fish.  He occasionally turns the stick slowly, ever so slowly to evenly cook the fish over the small flames but mostly red-hot coals.

Angela feels her mouth water.  She thinks to herself.  "Really, really?  Is he going to give me some of that fish?  I'm so hungry.  How I would love to feel the texture of the cooked fish in my mouth, to smell it, and most of all to taste each bite."

Then Angela saw Henry pull out the big pot and her heart sank.  "This fish is only big enough for me.  So, if you want something to eat you will have to forage.  Dirt soup is good enough for you.  Remember that if the earth is good enough for a lowly earth worm, it's good enough for you.  So, stones, dirt, leaves, any thing that you can find to add to the water you will put in this pot.  That will be your dinner."

Angela walked about 1/4 of a mile to a small creek.  There she fills the pot.  Looking around her are some late blackberries growing on a bush.  She picks each and every one very carefully and eats them.  They taste of the woods that they grow in.  The wild sweetness makes her far too empty stomach gurgle and churn.  "I ain't going to throw up, I AIN'T."  She tries to convince herself.

Now she looks about desperately to find something, anything that she can add to her pot that so far is more about warm water with dirt than soup.  She adds the leaves of the wild blackberries.  She has learned the hard way to be careful with the leaves that she adds.  Once she added poison ivy.  She itched for weeks!

She's excited when she finds a small patch of potatoes.  Imagining the poor farmer that had once lived there she thanks him in her mind.  She also finds a tiny patch of little green onions.  These also fly into the pot.

Now her body craves protein.  She hates the very idea of ending life, even life as lowly as a fish or a squirrel.  Yet she is desperate.  Henry rarely shares his food with her.  It has been days since she has eaten any real protein.  So she sits quietly by the side of the creek and waits.  Finally a tiny fish swims by.

With the speed that desperate adrenaline fuels Angela grabs the fish and flings him out of the water.  She looks about and finally finds a large heavy rock.  She uses this rock to crush the fishes head.  Next she slices the fish open and cleans it.  She chops off the head and fin with her very sharp rock.
 
Now she begins to gather wood to start a fire.  She will NOT take the pot back to Henry.  Angela knows he will use some excuse to steal her food.

After gathering kindling and wood Angela busily begins to use two rough rocks to create friction and a spark.  Henry actually taught her this skill shortly after he adopted her.  He didn't want to make fire himself so he taught her how to do it. 

Quickly her rocks cause spark.  The spark finds welcome in a pile of dry moss.  Wisely she adds wood slowly to the fire.  Soon she has the perfect blaze to begin cooking her soup.  She dumps the fish in with all of the other ingredients in the soup. 

Far enough from Henry to be safe she begins to sing at the top of her lungs, "Oh Don't You Remember Sweet Betsey From Pike."  She has no idea where Pike was or who the crazy Sweet Betsey was.  She just like the movement of the melody. 

The water soon begins bubbling, boiling, cooking the fish, potatoes, and onions.  As the smells of the cooking waft through the air, Angela's mouth begins to water. 

Trying to distract herself long enough for the food to cook she continues singing.  "Buffalo Girl Won't You Come Out Tonight?"  She loves the idea of "Dancing by the light of the moon."  So she begins to move, swaying back and forth through her impromptu campsite.  She kicks up her heels, and sings at the top of her lungs.

Finally, finally, the meal is finished.  Angela has savored each and every bite of her soup.  The best part is that Henry is no where to be seen.  She has come to understand that Henry's greatest joy is in taking any and all joy away from her. 

Finishing her feast she cleans the pot.  Next she adds water to it, and puts some earth, a stone, and  blackberry leaves in it.  Henry would be very suspicious if she came back with an empty pot.  He knew that she was very hungry.

Angela put out the fire.  She stirred and stirred hoping that Henry would not notice the tiny bit of smoke that rose upwards.  Finally she worked her way back through the woods. 

Henry snarled when he saw her coming.  "Where'd you go that took so long?"

"I couldn't find anything for the pot.  I finally just put some stones, dirt, and leaves in it."

Henry grinned.  His grin was not the result of amusement.  This grin, Henry's grin made Angela think of an old skull that they had once found in a cave.  The lips pulled back revealing dark and damaged teeth.  Angela turned her head.

She put the pot on the coals to cook.  She did not leave the pot for very long.  Drinking her stone tea she acted as though every mouthful was heaven. 

Henry was annoyed.  He had done his best, once more, to deprive Angela of nutrition but he could tell that some how, some way she had found food.  He was convinced that someone who was truly hungry could not eat stone soup with such enjoyment.  Angrily he strode to Angela and knocked the pan over. 

Angela jumped up and said, "Why did you do that?" 

Henry snarled, "You don't deserve to eat.  You are a miserable thief, a miserable, idiotic girl child with no brains.  I don't know why I don't just shoot you.  You're no good to me."

Angela smiled slowly.  "Shoot me then.  It won't take you long to train someone else.  It only took you three years to train me well, and I learn really fast."

There was a long, heated, silence as Henry considered his options.  Finally Henry turned on his heal and strode away.

Angela cleaned out the pot, and silently counted her blessings that for once she had a full stomach.

Angela

Sweat ran down Angela's back as she came upright.  Another nightmare, the same nightmare that had troubled her all of her life.  In the dream she is in a forest, and she can hear a sweet woman's voice singing, singing to her.  She knows that the sweet woman is her Mother.  The features of the woman are teasingly lost in a foggy mist.  One minute she sees a nose that is absolutely perfect.  Then the nose is covered and one eye peers out of the mist.  She can't tell the color of the eye.  On the other hand the eye is lovely, perfectly formed, with a strong brow framing it, and lush eyelashes decorating it.

Then the woman is gone...lost in the mist.  Yet Angela hears the song continuing...sweet, low, and joyous.  Then gradually the voice changes.  The song is no longer sung by a woman mysterious and beautiful.  Now the song is harsh, rough, the voice singing it is Henry's.  The words are completely different.  Instead of singing her a soothing lullaby he's screaming at her, "You're worthless.  You haven't a single brain in your poor knot head.  I don't know why I bother with you.  I knew that a girl child was not as clever as a boy child.  I should have adopted a boy.  He would have quickly adapted to the lessons that I taught him.  You never will...never will...NEVER WILL!"

 Often the dream would bring Angela to wakefulness with the sound of her own screaming.  At first she can't remember where she is, and sometimes who she is.  If she has awakened Henry he begins to scream the same words at her that he wields as a club in the dream.  Confused, Angela is not certain what is real, the dream, or the wakefulness.

She turns to her stomach, and does her best to again coax slumber back.  The worst nights are when she has the dream multiple times.  She knows that having awakened Henry more than once he will NOT feed her.  

Henry uses every excuse that he can gain to keep food from Angela.  He is determined to keep her small, small enough to be mistaken for a child.  He is aware that most people are more forgiving of a child if the child is caught with a hand in their pocket. 

Henry feeds her, just enough to keep starvation at bay.  He has a long term goal.  That goal involves keeping Angela so small that she will pass for a child for the rest of her miserable life.  He works to achieve this by limiting her food, and giving her Herculean physical tasks to achieve.  He does not wish to go through the pain of training another child.  He has decided that if Angela grows regardless of her food intake he will kill her.  At that point she will be of no use to him, and only a drain on his assets.

Henry has long since lost any spark of human decency.  Instead of facing his challenges and trials with courage and determination he blames every single problem in his life on someone, something, else.  Nothing is his fault.  This makes him blessed.  Every person on the planet makes mistakes.  Henry NEVER makes a mistake.  The situations that are less than positive in his life are ALWAYS someone else's fault.

Angela fails in her efforts to sleep.  After a very long hour of attempting to sleep she gives up.  She has long since learned to walk silently.  She tiptoes far past Henry.  Reaching the crudely built shelter for their cache of food Angela helps herself.  She takes a piece of beef jerky, a piece of bread, and a large dollop of butter.  She is excited when she discovers some dried fruit.

Taking these treasures she creeps out beyond the clearing where Henry sleeps.  She sits on a large boulder overlooking a river.  The gurgling noises of the water comfort her anxious feelings. 

Angela is not yet ten years of age but already she has faced abandonment, neglect, starvation, privation, and many other difficulties.  The remarkable thing about Angela is that she has not allowed her situation to crush her native jubilant spirit.  She clings to each and every positive experience that comes her way.  Tiny things that most people would not even notice bring Angela surges of the purest joy.  A small blossom pushing it's way through the spring encouraged earth brings joy to her heart.  Having a few stolen minutes to leave Henry and bathe in the iciest of water makes her wish to sing, and often she does. 

If Angela can leave Henry for a time she races to get as far away as she can.  There she sings, sings, and then sings more at the top of her lungs.  Her only exposure to songs has been at the orphanage.  One of the caregivers that she had known there had sung constantly.  Angela treasures those few songs, those glimpses into a completely different life that she has never known.  "You Are My Sunshine," "Today While the Sun Shines," and "All Things Bright and Beautiful." 

At the orphanage the orphans were dressed in their very best on Sundays.  That even included a somber black hair ribbon.  She had seen a picture of a penguin once and felt that she and the other orphans looked like a train of penguins marching along single file.

At church Angela treasured the time to sing.  Each and every hymn became emblazoned in her heart and mind.  She does not sing much at the orphanage.  It is highly discouraged. 

Soon after Henry adopts her she makes the mistake of singing in front of him.  Sharply Henry barks, "Stop that noise!"  She only makes the mistake twice.  The second time she sang in front of Henry he refused to feed her or let her drink for a day.

Angela NEVER makes that same mistake.  On the rare moments when Henry tells her to get lost, she does just that.  She finds a place where she can sing, sing, and sing some more.  Angela doesn't believe that she sings well, but the music and words fill her soul with hope, an emotion that Henry does his best to deny her.