My Orphan Train Girl

It's 1893. Matthew is a chaperone on a westward-bound train carrying parentless children. He falls in love with a delightful 14-year-old girl named Melanie.

Author’s Introduction

Harry Truman once said that the only thing new in the world is the history you don’t know. I’ve found that to be true many times. I had never heard of America’s “Orphan Trains” until about 20 years ago when I stumbled upon a fascinating story of a woman in her nineties who was researching her ancestry. She had ridden an “Orphan Train” as a toddler but had no memory of it.

Basically, the Orphan Train Movement was an American child welfare experiment that lasted 75 years. It ran from 1854 to 1929. It relocated an estimated 150,000 to 250,000 abandoned, destitute, or orphaned children from crowded eastern cities to rural families in America’s midwest and west. It aimed to alleviate city poverty and provide farm labor. Abandoned and orphaned children were living nightmarish lives on the street of New York City in the 1850s, when a man named Charles Loring Brace decided to do something about it. He founded the Children’s Aid Society in the United States. The original mandate of the CAS was to get these children safely off the streets and send them westward via trains to live with adoptive families, usually on farms. It was thought to be a win-win situation.

The following is a fictitious story about one of these Orphan Train riders.

Part One

My name is Matthew Eagles. In 1893, my widowed father, Gregory, worked for the Children’s Aid Society in New York City in an executive capacity. Often his work was done entirely by sitting behind a desk. However, every so often, he was asked to be a chaperone on an Orphan Train that was leaving New York and heading westward. He relished the opportunity because it was a hands-on experience that he enjoyed doing. He was a big advocate of the Orphan Trains and was only too happy to move children from dire situations in big eastern cities to the fresh air of America’s rural heartland. Therefore, he eagerly volunteered to be one of a dozen chaperones who would be escorting 30 orphans or abandoned children to Colorado, presumably leading them to more fulfilling lives.

To my surprise, Dad invited me to be an unofficial chaperone. I was 20 years old that year and busily living a life of luxury. Both my parents were from well-to-do families. Dad paid me a large allowance each month, so I did not worry about having to earn a living. I took occasional university courses just for fun. Since I was strong academically, Dad figured I could teach the children on the train arithmetic, spelling, geography and other topics to pass the time. Furthermore, I’d get to see much of the country via my window—and I was even paid a stipend for my time and efforts. I quickly agreed to the idea because I thought it was a marvelous thing to do.

When we boarded the train in Manhattan, I quickly became acquainted with the 30 youngsters, who ranged in age from two to 16. One caught my eye immediately. She was a girl named Melanie Davis who looked to be about 14. (I later found out my estimate was accurate.) She had been recently orphaned when both her parents were killed in a grisly accident when a speeding street car plowed into the horse-drawn buggy in which they were riding. This girl looked lost, which was completely understandable as her world had been turned upside down in one tragic instant. Dad told me to be especially nice to Melanie. He didn’t have to ask me twice. With her long eyelashes, pretty face, and curly brown hair, she was quite fetching despite being six years my junior.

I quickly learned that about half of the 30 children had zero interest at all in doing schoolwork during their long train journey. That was alright; it was absolutely optional. However, the other 15 or so were quite keen to learn things from me. Luckily, one of them was the lovely Melanie Davis. She was an excellent reader, so I gave her some poetry and short stories to read and then discuss with me. We hit it off immediately. She wrote a short essay comparing the melancholy one poem’s subject was experiencing to her own sadness since the sudden loss of her parents. It actually brought a tear to my eye—and I told her so.

“That’s so kind of you to say, Matthew,” she said. I saw she had tears in her eyes, too. I could only imagine the pain in her heart. It was bad enough for me four years earlier when my mother died suddenly one day of a ruptured appendix. Having both parents snatched away in an instant was unfathomable to me. We didn’t intend for it to happen, but we embraced. The hug lasted long enough to turn into a kiss. This amused and interested an eight-year-old orphan girl named Iris Johnston who asked me, “Can I get a hug and a kiss, too, Matthew?” Of course I obliged. Iris was delighted and henceforth insisted on hugging and kissing me at every possible opportunity. Melanie gave Iris frequent hugs, too.

As my lessons progressed, Melanie lingered longer and longer with me to do math problems and just to talk about life. We obviously were attracted to one another and neither one of us were secret about it. Dad disapproved of my romancing one of the orphans, but I asked him, “How does one control love? It can’t be controlled, can it?”

Dad explained to me that my connection with Melanie might be a very fleeting one. Before getting to its final destination of Aurora, Colorado, the train would make three stops along the way in various farming communities. To my amazement, farm couples were permitted to gather at the railroad station and promptly adopt the children who were not yet assigned to new parents. (In some cases, there were custom orders for children. On this particular train, a four-year-old girl named Sarah had already been assigned to adoptive parents in Colorado because they wanted a daughter her age who had blue eyes.) For children who were selected at these whistle stops, an adoption could be done literally in a moment’s notice without any vetting of the prospective parents whatsoever. Theoretically, a child could refuse to be adopted, but it was almost unheard of. It took more courage than most of them could muster. Amazingly, since the Orphan Trains began running in 1854, there had been very few negative stories about unfit parents harming the children they had adopted. It had been just the opposite, nothing short of a roaring success with literally thousands of youngsters being taken off the streets or out of orphanages and welcomed into loving families.

Dad informed me, “Usually, the farmers choose healthy boys who will be able to handle rigorous farm work. But sometimes they choose girls if their wives want daughters. Melanie is unassigned at the moment. Given how pretty she is, how long do you think it will take some farm couple in the middle of rural Missouri to adopt her? Maybe a lonely farmer might ‘adopt’ her and then decide to make Melanie his wife. I can see that happening.”

So could I—and I was crestfallen. I found Melanie and quickly asked her if she understood that she might be adopted at a moment’s notice in the middle of nowhere by farmers she’d never even heard of. “Yes,” she said without any emotion. “In fact, I expect that will be the case.”

I decided then and there I was in love with this wonderful girl whom I had known for only about 48 hours. I didn’t want to lose her if there was any way I could prevent it from happening. I told Melanie how I felt. She melted into tears and said she had developed similar feeling towards me, too. Hugs, kisses, and tears followed shortly thereafter.

Melanie and I went to a secluded part of the train to ponder our options. We decided to seek professional advice—or the closest thing on the train we had to it. We spoke to Reverend Klein, a Presbyterian minister. He was another CAS chaperone assigned to the trip. We explained our situation to him. He was surprisingly sympathetic. “There is one way of preventing Melanie from being adopted at the first whistle stop,” he informed us. “It’s a little bit radical, though.” Radical or not, Melanie and I eagerly wanted to hear this wise man’s solution.

“You can get married—and since I’m an ordained minister, I can legally perform the service to marry you. However, I can’t just marry you because you suddenly fell in love with each other. There must be extenuating circumstances.”

“Such as what?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh,” he replied with a fake casualness in his voice, “I suppose if the lovely young Miss Davis was carrying your child, Matthew, that would be an excellent example of the extenuating circumstances I’d need to marry the two of you. Of course, I can’t help you with that task. That’s a job for you two alone. And if you want to be alone to do that job, I’m not using my private bunk for the next hour. Of course, I’ll deny we ever had this conversation if I’m ever asked about it. My bunk number is 22. Now go fuck each other’s brains out and make a baby right this minute.” Reverend Klein flashed us a naughty grin and then quickly left us alone. For a man of the cloth, the reverend was quite a character!

Melanie and I just looked at one another and smiled. What a wonderful and sexy idea this was! And practical too! No words needed to be said between us. We ran off, hand-in-hand, to the railroad car that had the private bunks and looked for #22. Since it was the middle of the day, no one else was present. Frankly, I wouldn’t have cared if we had half the train gawking at us as wide-eyed spectators.

Part Two

The one thing I regret about that first sexual encounter I had with Melanie was how rushed it was. I really did adore this girl, and I wanted to make love to her—not just screw her silly as Reverend Klein so helpfully suggested.

When we got to Bunk #22, I felt the need to ask Melanie how sexually experienced she was. She had no trouble admitting she was a virgin—which I expected to be her answer. However, she did confess that her late mother had told her “many informative things” about human sexuality beginning when she began to blossom at age 11. “What about you, Matthew?” she asked me in return. I suppose it was a fair question since I had just asked her the same thing.

“I wish your mother had taught me many informative things, Melanie,” I informed her. She laughed at my remark, but I really wasn’t joking about it. Despite my being 20 years old, I said I knew the very basics about sex and procreation, but my practical experience was really zero. I told her honestly, “I hope I do this right.”
Melanie smiled lovingly at me, embraced me and said, “Together, I think we can figure out what to do.”
We both began to disrobe because we knew that was absolutely necessary. Melanie was a well-built girl. No amount of bulky, 1890s-style women’s clothing could hide that fact. When I glimpsed her bare breasts for the first time, I audibly gasped. “I guess that’s a compliment!” she said to me. It was indeed! I told Melanie she was “the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth.” We ascended a small ladder to get to elevated Bunk #22. It was designed for only one person, which made things pleasantly cozy for us.

“I suppose that’s a compliment too,” Melanie declared with a smile.

I had no idea what she was referring to until she pointed at my erection. I think I blushed and said, “Yes, you can put it that way.” I admitted. “You have me sexually aroused, Melanie. Let’s get started, please.”

Melanie was the assertive one. She climbed on top of me and quickly guided my firm penis into her vagina. We both giggled for some reason. The feeling was marvelous. It became even more enjoyable when Melanie slid up and down my shaft. She whispered to me, “This is called fucking, Matthew, in case you didn’t know. According to my late mother’s sexual advice, this is how babies are made.”

“Oh, is it?” I joked. “I guess I better take care of that essential business!” I firmly grabbed Melanie by her waist to assist her in riding my aroused dick. Occasionally, my hands strayed to her breasts. To me they were totally desirable objects just begging to be fondled. Melanie liked my romantic touch. She cooed her approval. At one point she literally placed one of her firm nipples by my mouth. I caught on to what she wanted me to do. Her mother had taught Melanie well.

I could feel an orgasm steadily building within my testicles. Based on years of masturbating alone in my bedroom to thoughts of imaginary pretty girls who weren’t anywhere nearly as attractive as the one sharing this bunk with me, I knew I was nearing an ejaculation. It was likely a very strong one.

“Here it comes, Melanie!” I warned her seconds before I erupted.

“Good!” she replied. “I knew we’d figure this out together.”

I let loose with a tremendous blast of semen, and I felt myself get noticeably tired. Melanie had a blissful look overspread her face. Perhaps she sensed that we had successfully completed our important biological task. She was far from satisfied, though. “That’s just one ejaculation, Matthew. Let’s try for a couple more to make sure you’ve impregnated me.”

Despite my sudden weariness, I was totally in favor of that idea! Within five or six minutes, my penis had regained its hardness. This time I decided to be the person on top. Melanie happily complied as I rode her. I liked the feeling of being the dominant sexual partner this time. I really liked seeing Melanie’s breasts jiggle as we created something akin to a rhythmic movement. “This is a lot of fun, Matthew,” she told me. “It’s no wonder so many couples have more children than they can afford to have.”

I paid little attention to Melanie’s musing. I was too busy fucking her for my pleasure. After a series of long, loving thrusts, my penis came through for me again, firing more semen into Melanie’s moist vagina. I grunted loudly as I came. I promptly apologized to Melanie in case I had been too rough with her.

“Why are you apologizing, Matthew?” she sincerely asked me. “That’s what males and females were designed to do together. Besides, I really enjoyed it. Thank you very much for the sex. I love you.”
If I didn’t already know it, that comment confirmed it: My young, beautiful and soon-to-be wife was a true gem!

After two strong ejaculations, I was thoroughly exhausted. I sincerely doubted I had the capacity for a third one, but Melanie insisted that we try—bless her heart. It took my equipment a while to regain its stiff stature. While lying side-by-side, Melanie helped it along with some deft, sexual touches. They were so good, in fact, that I impolitely asked her, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before? You’re excellent at this, Melanie!”

“Honest, this is my first sexual experience,” she confirmed. “However, I guess I’ve practiced a lot in my mind since my mother had that important chat with me when I was 11 years old.”

I did my best to reciprocate. I began fingering Melanie’s vagina to please her as much as she was pleasing me with her hand. Melanie responded very favorably to my action, so I did it to excess. Eventually, from both giving and receiving, I became fully aroused again. We stayed in a side-by-side position as I re-entered my phallus into Melanie’s most private body part. Within a few seconds I had come for a third time in about 40 minutes. However, all my penis could manage to eject was a few dribbles of semen. I was truly spent. I apologized again to my bedmate for any disappointment. “That was rather pitiful,” I admitted. “I hope the first two shots did the trick.”

Melanie kissed me sweetly on the cheek and said, “Not to worry, dear. I suspect Reverend Klein will have to marry us. I have a strong feeling we accomplished what we needed to do—and we did it quite fine.”

I lovingly fondled her breasts for a few moments more and said, “Nine months from now, Melanie, please put these to good use. What a waste it would be if you didn’t breastfeed our son or daughter.”

“Maybe I’ll have twins,” Melanie said with a grin. “One for each breast.”

Part Three

We vacated Bunk #22 after tidying it as best we could. We tracked down Reverend Klein in the dining car, told him what we had so joyfully done, and asked to be married as soon as it was practical.

He said, “I understand the train will be making a whistle stop in about 40 minutes, so I think there’s no time like the present.”

I found my father next on the train’s observation platform. He was gazing at the vast, flat prairie we were presently traveling through.

“Please come with me, Dad,” I said. “You are invited to observe a wedding ceremony that will take place in a few minutes.”

“Whose wedding?” he asked.

“Mine and Melanie’s,” I responded. “We have to get married because she’s pregnant with my child.”

“What!” he exclaimed in absolute shock. “When did this happen?”

I looked at my pocket watch and said, “Oh, about half an hour ago, I suppose. It was great fun, too.”

Dad was basically too dumbfounded to object. He stood quietly, serving as my groomsman, as Reverend Klein went through the formalities of marrying Melanie and me in the dining car. Half a dozen total strangers eating lunch served as our witnesses. Melanie and I shared a long, passionate kiss to start our married life.

“Okay, what do we do now?” I asked out loud to anyone who might have an answer.

Dad said we absolutely needed to fill out some CAS documents to cover this highly irregular situation.

“There are official CAS forms for a chaperone marrying an orphan?” I asked with incredulity.

“No,” Dad said without emotion. “I have plenty of blank adoption forms, though. When we get done filling in all the paperwork, you will have basically adopted 14-year-old Melanie Davis...and then made her your wife.”