“I found this boy on the street,” she said, her voice tight. “Do you have room for him?”
“Is he healthy?” the nun said.
Bernice nodded. She had no idea if he was or not, and she didn’t care.
“We’re nearly overcapacity right now,” the nun said, “but I’ll check.” She stood, came around the desk, and rapped on the closed door in the middle of the hall. Without waiting for an answer, she opened it and stuck her head inside. “We have a drop-off.”
A voice on the other side mumbled something Bernice couldn’t make out. The nun nodded, then closed the door and pointed to the chairs against the wall.
“Have a seat,” she said. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
Bernice led Nelek over to the chairs, amazed to think it might be so simple to get an immigrant off the street. He took a seat, his hands still in his pockets, and the nun went back to her desk. Bernice wasn’t sure what to do. Should she sit down and wait, or go? Would they want to know her name or ask if she knew anything else about the boy? More than anything, she wanted to get out of the orphanage, to leave the horrible place behind, but departing now might look unprofessional. Nurses didn’t walk out. Nurses stayed and faced their fears.
The nun reached into a drawer, then came around the desk again to offer Nelek a package of Necco wafers. He smiled and took it.
“Thank you, miss,” he said, then yanked open the wrapper and popped a wafer into his mouth.
The nun regarded Bernice. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “We’ll take good care of him. Thank you for bringing him here, but there’s no need to stay. I know you’re needed by so many others, so feel free to go knowing the good Lord will surely bless you for helping this poor child.”
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Bernice only nodded because she didn’t know what to say. Nelek gave her a weary smile, his innocent eyes filled with gratitude. She turned away and headed for the door, a pang of guilt tugging at her heart. He had no idea what was in store for him. Her brother had told her how nuns used candy to lure children into believing they were nice; now she had seen it firsthand. Then again, why should she feel bad? It wasn’t her fault Nelek was on the street. Where were his parents? She’d heard stories about immigrants dying on their journey to America, so maybe something happened to them on their way here. And if that were the case, he would have eventually ended up in a poorhouse or orphanage, anyway. Maybe his parents should have thought of that before they tried coming here.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PIA
On a Monday afternoon a few days before Christmas, Pia was easing a sleeping infant into a crib when she looked up to see Sister Ernestine enter the baby ward and start toward her. She covered the baby with a blanket and waited for the nun to reach her, suddenly on edge. It was the first time she’d ever seen Sister Ernestine in the ward, and she couldn’t imagine why she was there. Had Pia done something wrong? With Sister Ernestine it was hard to tell, and she didn’t dare ask. The last thing she wanted was to be locked in the basement again.
Luckily, Mother Joe had let Pia out of the dungeon-like room after four days, but it felt like she was in there for an eternity. She’d never forget the dark shadows that had swallowed the cramped chamber as the weak light coming through the tiny window faded, leaving a blackness so complete she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Even now, she could still see and hear the rats scurrying along the rock floor, and feel the bone-chilling cold. And no matter how many times she washed her hair with cold water and lye soap, she could still smell the stale urine and mold from the straw mattress wafting from her pillow like a cloying, phantom perfume.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering what Sister Ernestine wanted. Sister Ernestine came to a halt a few feet away, stopping so abruptly her wattled chin shook. “Come with me, Miss Lange,” she said. Then she turned and headed back to the door.
Pia glanced over her shoulder at Edith, who was in the rocking chair feeding a baby, to make sure she knew she wasn’t abandoning her, and to see if she, too, was surprised by Sister Ernestine’s appearance. Edith jerked her chin in the air to acknowledge what was happening, but as usual, her face was impossible to read.
Pia took a deep breath and followed Sister Ernestine out of the baby ward, down the long corridor, and into another hall. She couldn’t imagine where they were going. When they turned left toward the front foyer instead of right toward the other wards, her heart beat faster. She hadn’t been in the foyer since her arrival. Was Mother Joe finally going to release her? Was Vater there, waiting to take her away? Had someone found Ollie and Max?
Sister Ernestine unlocked the door to the foyer and held it open, her face a blank slate. Pia hurried through it and scanned the room, her eyes darting from the front entrance to the reception desk and back again. Vater was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Mother Joe. A nurse waited at the reception desk, her dirty blond hair neatly combed into a low bun behind her military-style hat. She had a baby in her arms. Pia gasped and ran toward her, an overwhelming mix of relief and terror rushing through her chest. Someone had found one of the twins! But where was the other one?
When the nurse saw Pia hurrying toward her, her eyes went wide. She took a step back and clutched the baby protectively to her chest. Pia reached for him, but the nurse pulled him away. Pia couldn’t imagine what she was doing. Why wasn’t she giving her the baby? She stood there, panting and fighting the urge to rip her brother from this stranger’s arms.
“It’s all right,” Sister Ernestine said to the nurse. “Pia helps care for the babies here at St. Vincent’s. You can give him to her.”
“But I...” the nurse said. “I... She’s just a child herself.”
Sister Ernestine sighed long and loud. “I can assure you, Nurse...” she said. “I’m sorry, but you neglected to mention your name.”
A strange expression distorted the nurse’s features, as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to speak; then the odd look was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something that resembled apprehension. “I’m sorry, Sister,” she said. “Please forgive me. I’m Nurse Wallis.”
“Well, Nurse Wallis,” Sister Ernestine said, her tone short. “I can assure you it’s perfectly fine to give the child to Pia. I wouldn’t have brought her out here otherwise.”
Nurse Wallis eyed Pia warily, then reluctantly handed her the baby. Pia gathered the warm bundle in her arms, a soft laugh escaping her throat. She looked down at his face and rubbed a hand over the top of his small head, her flooding eyes blurring her vision. Overcome with relief that one of her brothers was alive, she paused for a moment to take in this miracle before asking about the other one, to breathe in his sweet scent and feel the weight of his body in her arms. She blinked back her tears so she could see his features more clearly, to figure out if it was Ollie or Max. She went to kiss his forehead. Then she stopped.
A note pinned to the baby’s blanket read: The mother of this child died of the flu last night. She was a Romanian beggar.
Pia gasped and examined the baby closer, her horror growing. His eyes were hazel, not blue, and the corners of his lids turned down. His nose was too wide and his chin too pointed. Her stomach dropped and her legs nearly gave out.
It wasn’t Max.
And it wasn’t Ollie.
She gaped at the nurse, panic-stricken. “This isn’t my brother!” she said, her voice quaking with fury. “Who are you, and why would you play such a cruel trick on me?”
Nurse Wallis recoiled, staring at Pia as if she’d lost her mind.
“Miss Lange!” Sister Ernestine barked. “Apologize this instant!” She took the baby and addressed the nurse. The baby woke up and started to fuss. “I’m sorry, Nurse Wallis. I can guarantee you this is not our usual procedure. Sister Agnes is under the weather today, otherwise she would have been here to meet you and take the child. I thought Pia could manage it, but apparently I was mistaken.” She gave Pia a withering glare.
&nb
sp; Pia’s eyes flooded again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought . . . I thought the baby was...” The words got stuck in her throat and she couldn’t go on.
Nurse Wallis smoothed the front of her uniform and pulled at her collar with shaky hands. Then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, trying to maintain her professional composure. “I apologize for the confusion,” she said. “I only know the boy’s mother was in the country less than a year and his name is Nicolai. I was asked to bring him here, and that’s the extent of my involvement.” She glanced down at her uniform again, as if gathering her courage, and cleared her throat. “But I have to say, I certainly never expected to be treated so rudely, especially by one of your orphans.” She gave Pia a disgusted look.
“I understand completely, Nurse Wallis,” Sister Ernestine said. “I have no idea what’s gotten into Miss Lange, but I can assure you she won’t misuse you again.” She looked down at the baby in her arms and adjusted the blanket around him, her face red, her temples pulsing in and out. Pia couldn’t tell if she was furious or embarrassed. And right now she didn’t care. It took all of her strength not to fall to her knees and sob.
“Well, I should hope not,” Nurse Wallis said. “Because I certainly don’t deserve it. I’m leaving now. Good day, Sister.” She started to turn away, as if about to storm out, then changed her mind. Her face had suddenly turned hard-bitten, her mineral-gray eyes full of cunning. “Before I go, I have to ask. Have you thought about having Miss Lange evaluated for a mental disturbance? She seems quite unstable to me, maybe even prone to violence. Perhaps she’d be better suited to an institution meant to help people like her.”
Pia’s mouth fell open and panic ignited her chest. Why would the nurse say such a thing? Was it possible she had learned about the strange things she felt when she touched people? Had the nurse discovered the horrible things she’d done? “No,” she said, louder than intended. “I’m not crazy. I just thought...” She hesitated and lowered her voice, choosing her words carefully. “I’m sorry for shouting at you, Nurse Wallis. It’s just, I don’t know where my brothers are, you see. And I thought... well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was mistaken and I hope you’ll accept my sincere apology for my offensive behavior.”
Nurse Wallis looked down her nose at Pia. “I suppose I will accept your apology,” she said. “You’re just an insolent child after all. But just so you know, more than likely I’ll be coming back here to help other orphans at some point, and if I see another outburst like that I’ll have no choice but to talk to Mother Joe about recommending you for a mental evaluation.”
Pia dropped her eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Thank you for accepting my apology, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome,” Nurse Wallis said. She pulled at her collar again and regarded Sister Ernestine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sister, I must be on my way. I hope next time we meet it will be under better circumstances.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Sister Ernestine said. “Thank you for bringing in this poor boy. We’ll take good care of him.”
Nurse Wallis nodded, then turned, marched across the foyer, and went out the door.
Sister Ernestine scowled at Pia, her expression murderous. “What in the devil is wrong with you, Miss Lange? You scared that poor nurse half to death. Haven’t we taught you anything about proper behavior?” The baby in her arms woke up and started to howl.
“I... I’m sorry, Sister Ernestine,” Pia said. “It won’t happen again.” She held out her trembling arms for the baby. “Here, I’ll take him back to the ward.”
Sister Ernestine made another disgusted face and passed the boy over to her with as little care as she’d give a sack of potatoes. “Get on with it, then,” she said. “And if I hear so much as one more cross word out of you, I’ll make sure Mother Joe sends you to the loony bin myself.”
“Yes, Sister Ernestine,” Pia said. “I’ll behave from now on, I promise.” She held the crying baby against her chest and turned to leave, struggling to stay upright, afraid she might fall into a sobbing heap on the floor. When she was alone on the other side of the foyer door, she buried her face in the baby’s soft neck and wept with him, their forlorn wails filling the empty hallway.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BERNICE
Twenty blocks from her old neighborhood in the Fifth Ward, Bernice entered the foyer of a two-story row house, went into the hall, and knocked on the first door. Practicing what she was going to say, she ran her hands along her coat pockets and squared her shoulders. Since finding Nelek in the stairwell, she’d picked up six more homeless immigrants—three boys and a girl, ages four to ten, and a fifteen-year-old boy with his three-year-old brother—and dropped them off at different orphanages around the city. She had to admit separating the fifteen-year-old from his little brother before taking him to a Home for Industrious Boys was harder than she thought it would be, what with both of them crying and her having to lie about reuniting them someday. But it was the right thing to do. Boys aged fourteen and older were hard to place.
Remembering the three-year-old’s tear-stained cheeks, she pressed a hand over her milk-filled breasts and thought about Owen and Mason, back home with Mr. and Mrs. Patterson. Were they sleeping? Eating? Crying? Hopefully they were happy and playing, and the Pattersons were watching them more closely now that they were reaching for things. They were also starting to babble and react to their names, and she couldn’t wait until they started saying mama. At the same time, her heart ached knowing she’d never hear Wallis call her that. And if she was being honest, she didn’t relish the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Patterson were trying to teach the twins to call them Gramma and Grampa, or that they got to spend so much time with the boys. But there was nothing she could do about any of it. She had no choice; she had work to do. And she couldn’t afford to upset the Pattersons.
On top of it all, she was still reeling from the shock of seeing Pia Lange at St. Vincent’s when she’d dropped off the Romanian baby. Just thinking about the headache she’d had for days afterward was enough to make her stomach turn. When Pia ran toward her at first, Bernice thought the girl had recognized her, or remembered her from the Fifth Ward. Then she reminded herself that Pia hadn’t witnessed the angry words she’d exchanged with Mrs. Lange, and she certainly didn’t know Bernice’s real name. Pia had never even made eye contact with her, let alone paid any attention to anyone besides that Duffy boy, who she looked at with dreamy eyes. When Pia wasn’t with him or in school or inside her apartment, she sat on the stoop with her nose in a book. Maybe she wondered where she’d seen Bernice before but was too upset over the Romanian baby to care. Hopefully the threat of a mental evaluation had frightened her enough to make her steer clear if they crossed paths again.
She had to admit she’d felt a twinge of remorse when Pia reacted the way she did, crying out so pitifully when she realized the baby wasn’t one of her brothers. But the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came, especially after Pia got cross and screamed at her. That was when Bernice remembered one of the reasons why she’d taken the twins in the first place, along with wanting to save them from their undesirable German heritage. Pia was too immature and unpredictable to take care of the boys; she’d proved that by putting them in the cubby and leaving them there. Just because she was their big sister didn’t mean she deserved them. Whatever happened to her afterward was her own fault. If anything, she deserved to be punished.
Bernice had to admit something else too, that she was surprised by how easily ideas came to her, like threatening Pia with the mental evaluation and using her son’s name when the nun asked who she was. Sometimes it felt like other, more mysterious forces were at work, helping her do what she needed to do. She’d certainly never thought of herself as clever or cunning, but something had certainly changed. Now she was about to find out if her latest plan for rescuing immigrant children from their parents’ bad influence was going to work. She’d chosen this neighborhood on
purpose. If only someone would answer the door. She knocked again, starting to get annoyed. Finally, the handle turned and the door opened a few inches. A young, dark-haired woman with brown skin peeked out.
“Yes?” the woman said.
Bernice gave her a warm smile. “Hello,” she said. “I’m with the Red Cross collecting donations to help the city orphanages, which, as I’m sure you’ve heard, have become overcrowded with children who lost their parents during the flu.”
The woman looked Bernice up and down, her brows knitted together, then opened the door all the way. The rank, animal aroma of boiled mutton drifted out into the hall, along with something that smelled like warm dust. “I’m sorry,” the woman said in heavily accented English. “But I cannot help. I have hard time taking care of my own children.”
“I understand,” Bernice said. “If you don’t mind me asking, how many do you have?”
“Three. A girl and two boys.”
“How nice. May I ask how old?”
“My daughter is three, my sons four and seven.”
Bernice raised her eyebrows. “Oh my. It sounds like you have your hands full.”
The woman looked slightly puzzled, but nodded anyway.
“I’m Nurse Wallis. And your name is?”
“Yasemin,” the woman said.
Bernice put a hand over her heart, feigning delight. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “What a beautiful name. How long have you been in the United States, Yasemin?”
Yasemin held up a finger. “One year.”
“And your husband? He works?”
Yasemin dropped her eyes.
“Please, don’t worry yourself,” Bernice said. “Along with collecting donations, the Red Cross has given me permission to offer help to those in need. There are so many families struggling during these difficult times, we want to do our part whenever we can.”
The Orphan Collector Page 20
