“Of course.”
With good wishes from everyone, including Mrs. Melbourne, much to his surprise, Thomas and Garland walked out the door.
Garland directed his driver to the East End, and soon the carriage was threading its way through traffic toward the hostel.
Thomas read the message once more, doubt flooding him. “I hope this isn’t a waste of time.”
“If nothing else, it will give us the chance to ask a few more people if they know anything about the family.”
“True. I visited Handwerker Heim earlier this week without success but of course, I asked for Leon Schmidt.”
“I can’t imagine why there would be a difference in the name but who knows? Stranger circumstances have occurred.” Garland held Thomas’s gaze. “You have to admit what a fine idea distributing the flyers was.”
“Indeed. Frances is so clever. I wouldn’t have thought to do it, but thanks to her, word of the situation has spread more quickly than I could’ve managed on my own.”
“That poor lad. I can’t imagine what he’s been through these last few months. It’s pure luck that you noticed him and decided to lend a helping hand.”
“Fate has an interesting way of altering the course of our lives. However, I am still concerned as to how he came to be alone on the street so far from home.”
“Do you think his parents were told he was being shipped to America?”
“From what Peter says, I have my doubts. The family is close, which makes it seem unlikely they’d willingly let him go. Peter fell ill during the passage to America, and so he’s unclear as to the details about what happened when he arrived. Someone met him and the other boys at the ship. They were taken to a train station. There was an argument between the people in charge, and the next thing Peter remembers is being alone at the train station. It seems that he wandered to my neighborhood of his own accord in the days that followed.”
“Terrible. But with luck, this story will have a happy ending.”
“I hope so.” He shook his head. “After so many disappointments, I’m afraid to allow my hopes to rise.”
“Understandable.” Garland changed the subject, continuing to converse as the carriage made its way toward the East End.
Thomas appreciated his friend’s obvious attempt to distract him. It helped pass the time and kept him from dwelling on what might happen. And how unlikely anything would come to pass when Hoffman sounded nothing like Schmidt. Once they neared the area, Thomas directed the driver toward a three-story brick building with a black gabled roof.
Thomas alighted and strode toward the door, leaving Garland to follow.
The crowded interior was similar to some of the workhouses he’d visited except few spoke English here. It took several minutes before someone in charge greeted them in English.
“Leon Hoffman?” the man repeated. When Thomas nodded, he said, “One moment.”
After several long minutes of waiting, a man came forward, walking with a limp.
“Leon Hoffman?” Thomas asked.
The man studied him before nodding slowly.
“Do you speak English?”
Again, the man nodded.
Thomas searched his features for a similarity to Peter but found little. His straight brown hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders matched many of the other Germans he’d spoken with over the past week.
The man looked tired. Or perhaps defeated was a better description. The wariness in his eyes as he looked over Thomas suggested life had been difficult, and he wasn’t about to trust a stranger.
“Do you also use the name Schmidt?” Thomas asked.
The stranger stilled as his eyes widened in alarm. His gaze shifted to Garland before looking back at Thomas. “Why do you ask? What is this about?”
His faint hope that this was the right man took a firmer hold, and Thomas continued, “I’m looking for a Leon Schmidt who has a son seven years of age named Peter.”
“Peter? How do you know of Peter?”
