He studied her with tortured eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know? There must have been something. Some clue I didn’t see or...”
“He looked a little pale to me, sir, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “You seemed so certain. But I couldn’t find anything, not a hint of a fever, no swollen glands or tender spot. I’m sure it wasn’t the flu. Did you see something? Feel something? A lump or a bruise... anything?”
She shook her head.
“Is it possible you accidentally dropped him? Or bumped his head on something?”
She drew in a sharp breath. It’d never crossed her mind that they might suspect her of harming Leo somehow. “No, sir,” she said, louder than she intended. “I swear, I didn’t do anything to him. I never would have hurt him. Never. And if something had happened by mistake, I would have told you. You can ask Sister Agnes at St. Vincent’s. I took care of babies all the time and I never—”
He raised his hand to quiet her. “It’s all right, Pia,” he said. “You can tell me. Accidents happen sometimes, even when you know what you’re doing.”
“I swear on my father’s life,” she said, her eyes flooding. “It wasn’t anything like that, sir.”
He stared at her, long and hard, as if judging her innocence or guilt by the color of her eyes. “Then what was it?”
Panic pounded inside her head. If he thought she’d caused Leo’s death, who knew what would happen? Then again, maybe that was why she’d been sent here. Maybe it was all an elaborate trick to throw her off guard and show her a comfortable life before she finally got what she deserved. She hung her head. “I don’t know, sir. I just... I just knew. I can’t explain it.”
“But how? How did you know?”
“When I held him, sir.”
“Are you saying you could feel he was ill when you touched him?”
She lifted her head, stunned by his words. Was he testing her to see if she was crazy? Or did he know something about the strange feelings that had bewildered her all her life? Either way, no matter what, she couldn’t let him think she’d had anything to do with Leo’s death. She looked him in the eyes. It was now or never. “Yes, sir,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve heard of situations like that, but I... Has anything similar ever happened to you before?”
She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes, sir, it has. Many times.”
“I see.” He glanced at the floor and shook his head slightly, his face lined with confusion and doubt. “And when did you first start sensing these things?”
“As far back as I can remember, sir. I wasn’t sure what it was for a long time, but it grew stronger after the flu started. Then, when my mother got sick and died, I knew what I was feeling was real.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before now?”
“Because I... I didn’t want you to think I was... unstable.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, as if suddenly suffering an excruciating headache. Was he frustrated, trying not to cry, or wondering how he had hired a crazy person to take care of his children? Maybe he was trying to decide between calling the police to arrest her or a doctor to commit her to an asylum. The hallway seemed to shrink as her panic grew. She had to prove she was telling the truth. But how?
Then she had an idea.
She reached up and gently took his hand away from his face, praying it would work. He opened his eyes, surprised, but let her take it. She wrapped her hands around his and waited for something to come to her, some inkling or sensation, even the slightest pain of an aching tooth or the tight thud of a headache. Hopefully she’d feel something more specific, but nothing that would threaten his life. She closed her eyes, pushed away her misery and fear, and tried to concentrate. His hand was twice the size of hers, with warm skin and a calloused palm. And then she felt it. A deep throbbing in her forearm. And a burning sensation in her groin.
She let go and looked at him. “You can still feel where the bullet hit your missing arm,” she said. “And you have pain when you... when you urinate.”
His mouth fell open. “How did you . . . ? I haven’t even told Mrs. Hudson about—”
“I felt it, sir.”
He gaped at her, clearly stunned. “That’s extraordinary,” he said. “I’ve been treating myself for the urinary infection and it’s getting better, so I’m surprised you could still...” He paused, scrubbed his hand down his face, and sighed loudly. “I just wish you had trusted me sooner, Pia. I worked with someone like you on the front lines once.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “You did?”
He nodded. “A nurse who somehow knew if gangrene was setting in before I could tell. She had a kind of sixth sense that could locate lodged bullets and bleeding veins. At first I thought the stress of everything she’d seen and experienced had taken a toll on her and she was imagining things, but after working with her for a while, I realized nine times out of ten she was right. I saved a lot more men because of her.”
Pia felt like weeping. All this time she’d thought she was the only one on earth who had such strange feelings—that she’d be locked up in the loony bin if she told the truth. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“What I’m trying to say is,” Dr. Hudson continued, “I believe you. I don’t know if I could have done anything for Leo even if you’d told me, but from now on, I’ll take you seriously if you feel something might be wrong with any of my family members. And most of all, I’m sorry for doubting you.”
She could only nod, afraid she might start crying and never stop. Losing Leo was too big a price to pay, but having someone validate and believe her felt like a miracle.
Now, Dr. Hudson stood beside the settee during his son’s wake, gripping the carved crest rail as if to keep from falling, his lips pressed together in a hard, thin line. Having brought the girls down from the playroom a few minutes prior, Pia awaited further instruction on the other side of the parlor, her watery eyes fixed on poor little Leo. No one spoke or moved.
While her heart broke for the Hudsons, she was helpless, it seemed, to stop picturing her own family at a wake for the twins—Mutti standing over Ollie and Max, Vater looking on with a tormented face. She imagined her parents finding out what she’d done, their disappointment and anger, their heartache and grief, and the blame aimed at her for her brothers’ deaths. She’d deserve every bit of it, and more. Just thinking about it, something cold and hard twisted in her chest and she bit her lip, swallowing the sobs that threatened to wrench from her throat.
As if noticing her for the first time, Mrs. Hudson gazed at her with haunted eyes. “How did you know?” she said in a weak voice.
Pia didn’t know what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Instead, she looked at Dr. Hudson, hoping he’d answer for her.
He stepped forward and put his arm around his wife. “Pia and I have talked about that,” he said. “And I believe what she said.”
“And?” Mrs. Hudson said. “What did she say? That she knew my baby was sick?”
“Yes, darling, but—”
Mrs. Hudson grimaced and pushed him away. “Then why didn’t you do something?” she cried. “Why didn’t you save him?”
Dr. Hudson put his hand to his chest. His face, filled with agony, looked shattered. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, nearly choking on his tears. “She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t know what exactly. And I couldn’t find anything. You were there. He seemed fine. Sometimes these things just happen, sweetheart. It might have been a physical defect he was born with, something we don’t understand yet. You know better than anyone that if there had been anything I could have done to save him, I would have done it. I would have laid down my life for my son.” He looked at the girls. “I’d lay down my life for every one of you.”
With that, Mrs. Hudson’s face folded in on itself. “I’m sorry,
” she sobbed. “I know it’s not your fault. It’s just... I miss him so much I don’t know if I can bear it.” She buried her face in her hands.
Dr. Hudson gathered her to him, kissing her cheek and forehead. “I know, darling. I know. I miss him too.” He motioned the girls over, and they got up from the settee and put their small arms around their parents’ legs, crying with grief and fear and relief. Pia lowered her flooding eyes and edged toward the door, ready to slip out of the room.
“Wait,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Don’t go.”
Pia stopped and pressed her nails into her palms. More than anything, she wanted to get out of there, to go hide in her bedroom, where she could fall apart in private. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Even if nothing could have been done, somehow you knew something was wrong with my Leo. I’m his mother and I...” She hesitated and swallowed, her chin trembling. “I’m his mother and I didn’t even know. I realize you were only trying to help, and I appreciate that. I truly do.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Pia said. “I’m very sorry about Leo and I... I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for him.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded, fresh tears filling her eyes. Then she turned back to her grieving family, shoulders convulsing. Pia left the room, slowly closing the door behind her. She started down the hall, trying to walk quietly, then ran the rest of the way upstairs, her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PIA
Despite Dr. Hudson’s multiple offers to take Leo to the undertakers himself to be buried in the family plot outside the city, Mrs. Hudson insisted her only son be interred in the backyard, in the far corner between her prized rose beds. She didn’t want to send him away, to let some stranger bury him in a cemetery overflowing with flu victims. Other people had graves in their backyards, she reasoned, and with the number of flu victims in the city over the past six months, certainly backyard burials had been happening even more frequently. She didn’t care that their yard was smaller than most. Only after she agreed to move his casket to the family plot outside the city when, or if, the third wave of the flu was ever over, did Dr. Hudson let her have her way.
After marking his grave with an angel statue borrowed from the dining room curio cabinet, Mrs. Hudson retreated to her bedroom for another four days while Pia took over the cooking and housecleaning along with looking after the girls. In between running after Margaret and Sophie, changing Elizabeth, keeping the house from complete disarray, trying to make sure everyone got fed, and delivering meals to Mrs. Hudson—who, despite her husband’s coaxing, ate little more than a few bites of toast or a mouthful of soup—Pia was exhausted. Now she understood why Mrs. Hudson had needed help in the first place.
Five days later, when Mrs. Hudson finally emerged from her bedroom, she was dressed, but her skirt was askew on her hips and her cheekbones jutted out from her haggard face. Snarled strands of dirty hair hung from the heavy pins holding her bun, and her skin looked thin as rice paper. She entered the playroom, gliding through the door like a ghost, and the girls ran to meet her with delighted cries, their arms outstretched. Mrs. Hudson knelt and kissed their faces and foreheads and cheeks, giving them a weary smile as they all talked at once.
“Are you feeling better, Mommy?” Margaret said.
Mrs. Hudson caressed her oldest daughter’s cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. Mommy is still sad, but I’m getting better, I promise.”
“I missed you,” Margaret said.
“I missed you too, darling,” Mrs. Hudson said.
“Is you hurt all done?” Sophie said.
Mrs. Hudson nodded. “Yes, baby girl, my hurt is almost gone.”
Elizabeth started to climb into her mother’s arms, nearly knocking her over.
Pia hurried over to help. “Hold on, little one,” she said, and held her back.
Mrs. Hudson got up, sat in a chair, and patted her lap with both hands. “All right,” she said. “Come here, my loves.”
Pia picked Elizabeth up and placed her in Mrs. Hudson’s lap, then moved out of the way so the other girls could get close to their mother. Mrs. Hudson hugged Elizabeth tight, her nose buried in her downy hair, and Margaret and Sophie lay their cheeks against her skirt.
“Is there anything I can get for you, ma’am?” Pia said. “Some hot tea? A little something to eat?”
Mrs. Hudson looked up, one pale hand on the back of Elizabeth’s small head. “Some tea would be lovely, Pia, thank you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Pia said. “Will you be taking it downstairs, or would you like me to bring it up here to the playroom?”
“Downstairs will be fine,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Will you please get a snack for the girls too? Maybe some fruit muffins or dried apricots?”
“Of course,” Pia said, and turned to leave.
“Pia,” Mrs. Hudson said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I don’t know what we would have done without you here. Thank you.”
Heat crawled up Pia’s cheeks. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
Just then the doorbell rang downstairs and Mrs. Hudson sat up with a start, her eyes wide. “Who in heaven’s name could that be?” she said. “Did someone take down the No Visitors sign?”
“No, ma’am,” Pia said. “It’s still there as far as I know, unless it fell off. I’ll see who it is and send them away.”
“Please do,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I don’t want anyone coming into this house.”
Pia hurried out of the playroom, along the hall, and down the stairs, her irritation growing. What kind of person would ignore the sign on the front door, not to mention the white crepe? Whoever it was, they had to be rude or dim-witted, or both. The doorbell chimed several more times, a little longer with each ring, until the bell sounded like it would shatter. When she reached the foyer, Pia drew back the sidelight window curtain to peer out, ready to give the doorbell ringer a piece of her mind. But then she saw who it was, and she gasped and stepped back.
Nurse Wallis stood on the porch with what looked like a medical bag in one hand. What was she doing there? Had she come to take her to an asylum, or send her away on a train? No, that didn’t make sense. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t get rid of her. She had just thanked her for taking care of the girls and helping out. Then she remembered what Mrs. Hudson had said, about not knowing anything was wrong with Leo even though she was his mother. Maybe Pia’s presence made her feel guilty. Maybe she couldn’t stand to look at her one more day.
“I know someone’s in there,” Nurse Wallis said from the other side of the door. “I saw you peeking out the window.” She pressed the doorbell again, this time leaving her finger on the buzzer.
“Can’t you read the sign?” Pia said. “It says no visitors.” Then she had another thought and her heart leapt in her chest. Maybe Nurse Wallis had found Ollie and Max. Maybe Mother Joe had sent her here to tell her the news. She fumbled with the lock and yanked the door open.
When Nurse Wallis saw who answered, her brows shot up in surprise. “Oh,” she said. She started to say something else, but paused, as if rethinking her words, then raised her chin. “I wondered what happened to you.”
Pia’s shoulders dropped. Nurse Wallis wasn’t there about the twins. She had no idea Pia even worked there. “Mother Joe sent me here to help with the children,” she said.
“I can see that. Lucky you.”
“I was hoping you were here because you had news about my brothers.”
Nurse Wallis glanced behind Pia, trying to see into the house. “No, I haven’t heard or seen a thing about them.”
“Did you talk to anyone? Did you ask about them at other orphanages? What about the hospitals?”
“I already told you, I didn’t find anything. And I’m not here to see you anyway. I’ve come to check on Mrs. Hudson. Her husband sent for me.”
Pia clenched her jaw. Why was she being so heartless? Either she didn’t care about the twins
, or she hadn’t looked for them. Even if she was still upset about Pia yelling at her the first time they met, her indifference seemed strange for someone who claimed to love helping children. But regardless of the reasons behind her behavior, Pia needed to decide whether or not to allow her inside. Mrs. Hudson would be upset if she did, and if Dr. Hudson sent for her, he might be upset if she refused.
“Well, are you going to let me in, or just stand there looking confused?” Nurse Wallis said.
Pia wasn’t sure what to do. Dr. Hudson had sent for help with the children without his wife knowing, so maybe he’d sent for Nurse Wallis too. She should run into his office and check. She stepped back and opened the door all the way. “You’ll have to wait in the foyer while I let Dr. Hudson know you’re here.”
“There’s no need for that,” Nurse Wallis said. She entered, set down her bag, and proceeded to take off her coat. “His instructions were very clear. I’m to meet with Mrs. Hudson while the nanny, that would be you, occupy the children.”
“But I—”
“Is she still in bed?”
“No, she was getting ready to come down for tea when you rang.”
Nurse Wallis smoothed the front of her uniform and picked up her bag again. “Very well, then. Where is she taking it?”
“In the kitchen, I think. But she doesn’t want anyone in the house. I’ll get Dr. Hudson. I’m sure he’ll want to speak to her first, to tell her what’s going on.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nurse Wallis said. “I can deal with Mrs. Hudson. Trust me when I say she doesn’t know what’s best for her right now. Dr. Hudson, on the other hand, does. He told me about their son, and what a hard time his wife has been having since he passed. She needs someone to talk to, someone who understands. Now show me to the kitchen, then you can fetch Mrs. Hudson.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pia said. “I don’t want to go against her wishes.”
Nurse Wallis scowled. “Why don’t you let me do my job and I’ll make sure you can keep doing yours. Otherwise, I’ll tell Dr. Hudson how uncooperative and troublesome you were at St. Vincent’s and recommend you be sent away.”
The Orphan Collector Page 30
