Free All My Tomorrows by Al Lacy Page A

through the windows. They looked up and smiled as Letitia entered with the twins on her heels.
    Letitia smiled back. “Betsy, Margie, I have some new roommates for you. As you can see, they are identical twins. This is Donna and this is Deena. Their last name is Mitchell. They are thirteen years old. Donna, Deena, this young lady with the cast on her arm is Betsy Gilder. She’s twelve. This other young lady is Margie Lehman, and she is fourteen.”
    Donna and Deena noticed that not only was Betsy’s left arm in a cast, but there were purple bruises on her face.
    Betsy and Margie welcomed the twins, and Letitia could see that their warmth was pleasant to the twins. She showed the twins where to hang the clothes they had in the cloth bag, and while they were placing them in the closet, Letitia surreptitiously glanced at the threadbare clothing. She made a silent guess attheir size then excused herself, saying she would let them get acquainted and hurried away.
    Margie left her chair and went to where two other chairs stood and dragged them into the center of the room, telling the twins to sit down. As they did so, the twins looked around the room. After living in the cramped, dingy tenement flat, and more recently on the cold streets of Manhattan, the room seemed like a little corner of heaven. There were four single cots in the sunfilled room, each covered with a bright, colorful quilt and a soft pillow.
    Margie sat back down next to Betsy and looked into the faces of the twins. “Have you been orphans long?”
    “We’re really not orphans,” Donna said. “Our parents can’t afford to keep us any longer, so they sent us out onto the streets.”
    “I’m sorry it happened to you,” said Betsy, adjusting her left arm and the cast.
    “It’s been hard for us,” Deena said. “How did your arm get broken, Betsy? And how did you get those bruises?”
    Betsy’s eyes filled with tears and she put her free hand to her face.
    Deena’s jaw slacked. “Oh, I’m sorry, Betsy. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    Margie put an arm around Betsy. “It’s all right, Deena—you
are
Deena, aren’t you?”
    Deena nodded.
    Before Margie could say more, Betsy sniffled and said, “Don’t feel bad, Deena. I want you to know.” She turned to her friend. “Margie, would you tell them?”
    “Sure, honey,” said Margie, squeezing her shoulder firmly. “It happened just over three weeks ago. The Gilders lived on the fifth floor of a tenement on Manhattan’s north side. Betsy’s father, Lyle Gilder, is a heavy drinker. He came home in a drunken stuporlate one night. He and Betsy’s mother, Elizabeth, got into an argument. They were both very angry, and Betsy saw her father throw her mother off the balcony of the flat. Her mother was killed when she hit the ground.”
    The twins frowned, then Donna set sympathetic eyes on the battered girl. “Oh, Betsy, how awful!”
    Betsy bit down on her lips.
    Margie pulled her closer and said, “When the police came, Lyle Gilder told them his wife fell off the balcony, and they believed it. When the police had gone, he warned Betsy that if she ever told anyone what she really saw, he would beat her to death.”
    The twins shook their heads in silent pity.
    Margie went on. “The very next day, when Betsy’s father came home from work, he overheard two women who lived in the tenement discussing his wife’s death. One woman said to the other one that she had been told that Elizabeth didn’t fall, but that Lyle was drunk and threw her off the balcony. Lyle assumed it was Betsy who had told the woman and stormed into the flat. He swore loudly at Betsy and started beating on her. Neighbors heard Lyle’s loud profanity and Betsy’s cries, and summoned two policemen from the street.
    “Lyle was still beating Betsy when the officers burst through the door. They seized him, put him in handcuffs, and placed him under arrest. When they picked Betsy up off the floor, they found that her left arm