by Penny Musco
Robert’s mouth went dry. How could this man, practically a stranger, know their situation? Could Hannah have told him? He dismissed the thought immediately. She could barely discuss it with him, and she would never bring up such an intimate subject with another man.
Mr. Halsmith looked at him curiously, awaiting his answer
“I suppose that the...the family without children should adopt the children without a family.”
“Ideally. But it’s not natural, is it?” He went on without waiting for a reply. “When a mother and father are blessed with a child, they don’t usually have much say in what they get: girl or boy, short, tall, happy or melancholy disposition, and so on. We have to take what we get, so to speak. But when a husband and wife decide to adopt—and I’ve been observing various orphanages to see how they are run, so I’ve seen this quite a bit lately—they get to choose. And believe me,” he added with a frown, “I’ve seen them come in with a very fixed idea of what they’re looking for, with a laundry list of desirable characteristics. They wander up and down the wards, indicating the children they’d like to know more about, or else the director parades suitable ‘candidates’ before the prospective parents, pointing out their good and bad points as if they were on the auction block.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s a terrible system, to say the least, at least for the little ones. It’s very unnatural.”
The waiter unobtrusively whisked away their soup plates, and placed roasted chicken in front of each.
The older man appeared lost in thought, and Robert waited for him to continue, curious about the conversation’s direction.
“The point I’m making is this: we’re all born once. Yet, like those unfortunate children who lack a family for whatever reason, we too are…separated from our Father. Scripture says, ‘There is none righteous, no, not one: There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God.’ We, like them, must be ‘born again’ into a new family. And that is the family of God. God gives us life, and yet we stray from Him. We do what we want and live the way we choose. We certainly have nothing to commend us to Him as far as righteousness goes. We’re not very suitable candidates. So His adoption of us isn’t ‘natural.’”
The chicken sat untouched on both men’s plates as Morton Halsmith went on. “But still we seek ways in which to belong. Some of the orphans act badly to get noticed. Others act too sweet, as if they’re trying to charm their way into your heart. Either way is painful to see. All they want is a little attention and love, for someone to take them in their arms and care for them. We adults try to earn our Heavenly Parent’s attention, too, only we’ve found more sophisticated ways to do it. We perform good works, we help our neighbors, we pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, all the while hoping that our ‘goodness’ will earn us God’s approval. But the Bible tells us that God regards all our good works as ‘filthy rags.’ It’s only because of His great love toward us that we can belong to Him. ‘God sent forth His Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.’ Just like these orphaned boys and girls, when they find the family made just for them, they are ‘born again’ into another family, a forever family, we hope. And this is what God does for His lost and lonely ones: He takes us in.”
Mr. Halsmith stopped suddenly. “Listen to me—here I’ve gone on and on preaching a sermon, and we’ve hardly eaten—or come to an agreement on the loan!” He paused. “But Mr. Jessup, the matter of doing business with the Lord is a serious matter and worthy of discussion, much more important than any financial deal could ever be. Would you think about what I’ve said? Would you consider that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ came to bring you home to God, so that you would be an orphan and stranger to Him no longer?”
“Yes,” Robert replied. “I—I will think about it. I promise.”
The waiter offered to warm their plates, and when he returned, the two men ate quickly. Over coffee they came to terms on the loan, and Robert assured Mr. Halsmith he would have the paperwork drawn up by next week.
“I’m so pleased. Our little group will be, too. With the funding, we anticipate breaking ground in the spring. I hope you’ll feel free to come ’round and see our progress.”
Robert smiled. “I intend to. That’s part of my job.”
The two men shook hands and parted.
Robert watched Mr. Halsmith walk briskly back to his temporary office, then flagged down a cab to carry him back downtown. A half hour later, he relayed the report on the successful transaction to his boss.
“Good.” Mr. Duff rubbed his hands together. “We’ve done our civic duty. The board will be delighted. Did Halsmith talk your ear off about his brand of Christianity?”
Robert smiled slightly. “We just talked about…orphans.”
“A dreary subject, no doubt. He’s got a bee in his bonnet on both subjects, I must say.”
Robert shuffled paperwork the rest of the afternoon, barely registering the columns of numbers before him, his mind in turmoil over Mr. Halsmith’s words. Was it merely coincidence that another person had come into his life to talk about his relationship with God?
Or…was Someone trying to get his attention?
6
Hannah bustled around the tree, rearranging ornaments and draping tinsel. Everything had to be perfect this Christmas Eve. She would let none of the worries and trials of the past two years intrude into this celebration of the Savior’s birth. She and Robert would start afresh in 1892.
She had given Caterina the entire day off, wanting to prepare everything herself. The roasting goose filled the house with a delicious aroma, and the side dishes waited to be heated. The table was set with the good china and stemware, tall candles, and even flowers. Tomorrow would be spent with their parents in Brooklyn, but tonight was hers and Robert’s alone.
A sharp rap on the front door interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Pushing aside the parlor window’s draperies, she caught only a flicker of dark skirt amid the swirling snow. Who could be out on such a dismal afternoon when most people’s thoughts were on home?
Caterina’s wide-eyed gaze greeted her on the stoop. “Il bambino!” she said urgently, grabbing Hannah’s arm. “Venite!”
Hannah had learned a little Italian, since Caterina’s command of English wasn’t nearly as good as Rosa’s, but all she understood was the word “baby.” Rosa must be about to give birth. She didn’t want to know anything about it. She had steeled herself against thinking of the child that would never be hers and had finally achieved a level of hard-won acceptance—at least most of the time. Robert had said no more on the subject, and raising the question a second time would only lead to further anger and hurt.
She had sent a note to Rosa through Caterina, firmly saying that while she would pray for her, she could not possibly take her baby. The letter had been difficult to write, and Hannah had agonized over the final surrender. But peace and reconciliation in her household had to come first. Still, a tiny corner of her heart ached over what would become of the child, and now Caterina’s frantic news threatened to stir up her emotions all over again.
“Come!” the distraught girl begged again.
“I can’t.” Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes. “She needs a doctor, not me.” To actually see the child would be more than she could bear.
“Non un medico, un’ ostetrica.”
“A...midwife?” Hannah guessed. Of course, the family couldn’t afford a doctor.
“Sí!”
“Then there’s nothing more I can do. I’m sorry.” Hannah began to shut the door.
“She ask for you. Per favore, she say.”
Her maid’s pleading look stayed her hand. Lord, please! Why me, why now, especially? She stared out at the snow beginning to stick to the streets and sidewalks. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. The pastor had preached from Philippians chapter four only last Sunday, and the verse had stayed with her. She swallo
wed hard. The least I can do is offer some comfort, even though it will cost me dearly…Hannah motioned for Caterina to step inside. “Wait.”
She scribbled a note for Robert, saying only that she had to go out on a last-minute errand. Then she tamped down the fires in the hearths. Hopefully, the coals would stay warm enough for him to stir them up again when he arrived home, and the goose wouldn’t dry out. After a longing glance at the well-set table and a quick prayer for help, she wrapped herself in her hooded cloak, took up her reticule, and the two of them went out into the rapidly chilling air.
Two doors down, she spied her neighbor just alighting from a cab, and she quickly hailed the driver and gave him the address.
“What’s a nice lady like you going there for?” he asked with a sidelong glance at her companion. “That’s where them wops live.”
“They’re Italians,” she corrected him sharply, surprising both her and Caterina with her uncharacteristic harshness. “And never mind what my business is. You just get us there as fast as you can, and perhaps you’ll earn a tip.”
The man grumbled, but he clucked at his horses, shook the reins, and set off at a good clip. He steered them quickly through the streets of lower Manhattan, skillfully weaving his way through the throngs of last-minute shoppers and workers anxious to get home before the weather worsened. Finally, they pulled up in front of row house badly in need of a fresh coat of paint.
“This the place?” the cabbie called over his shoulder.
“Sí.” Caterina let herself out.
When the driver showed no sign of helping her step down, Hannah waited. Finally, he climbed down and offered her a hand.
“And now you will wait for me,” she said as she drew money from her purse.
“What? Lady, it’s Christmas Eve, and the kiddies are expecting me home soon.”
“Will this help?” She handed him several bills.
“All right.” He reluctantly stuffed the cash in his coat pocket. “But not too late, see?”
The two women mounted the narrow wooden building’s well-worn steps. Inside, a sharp scent hung in the air, and her stomach lurched at the pungent, unfamiliar aroma. She fumbled for her lavender-scented handkerchief and pressed it to her nostrils.
The staircase canted slightly to the right, and she carefully followed Caterina up three flights. She was only slightly out of breath when her maid knocked briefly on a battered door and went in, motioning her to follow.
Three men looked up from a sturdy table, pausing in the act of deftly twirling what Hannah recognized as spaghetti around their forks. A dark sauce with a distinctly fishy odor coated the long strands.
Hannah breathed shallowly to quell the rising bile in her throat.
“Signore Angeleri, Giuseppe and Gaetano.” Caterina took her cloak and indicated Rosa’s father and what Hannah guessed were her two older brothers.
The men rose slightly from their chairs and nodded in acknowledgement.
Hannah glanced around the large room. Despite its few shabby furnishings, the home was spotless. But there was no sign of Christmas here, no lovely tree, no heap of presents. Her gaze came to rest on an older woman rocking in a corner, busily fingering a rosary. Three young girls, wide-eyed with alarm, sat on the floor around her.
Just then, a deep groan ending in a high-pitched cry sounded from a curtained-off area opposite.
The woman, undoubtedly Rosa’s mother, stood suddenly and strode rapidly toward Hannah.
She couldn’t understand much of the torrent of words that burst from the distraught mother, but its meaning was all too clear.
“Per favore, Signora!” she repeated over and over, clutching both of Hannah’s hands in her own.
The men, obviously uncomfortable, continued to eat, their eyes riveted to their food.
The girls said nothing.
Hannah looked beseechingly at Caterina, who gently pulled the agitated woman away, speaking to her in soothing tones while guiding her back to her chair. Clearly, Caterina was the one in charge on this night.
She turned back to Hannah, motioning to another seat at the table. “You eat?”
Hannah looked from the men’s dishes to the rough loaf from which large chunks had been torn. “Maybe a little bread, thank you.”
Caterina cut her several thick slices and pantomimed lowering it into a small dish filled with golden oil.
Hesitantly, Hannah dipped a crusty edge into the liquid and took a tiny bite. The mild flavor hinted at something she couldn’t quite identify—not unpleasant, just…different. All watched her as she swallowed the morsel with a tight smile.
Rosa’s father offered her a glass of a light-colored liquid that looked like wine, but Caterina waved it away and instead handed her a glass of water pumped from the tiny sink nearby. Hannah drank most of it down at once. No one spoke a word. The only sounds came from the click of utensils on china and the rocker’s steady creak.
Another wail ripped through the heavy silence, followed by a drawn-out moan. Behind the curtain, a woman spoke sharply in Italian.
The men paused in their eating.
Rosa’s mother stopped rocking, and the girls gripped her skirts.
Caterina paced and wrung her hands.
After several minutes, the lusty wail of a newborn broke through the silence, and as if on cue, they all exhaled a long breath. The family crossed themselves, and the men resumed their meal. Rosa’s mother again took up her beaded chain.
Hannah could hear the sound of water splashing, and she guessed the woman behind the curtain was washing the baby, crooning softly as she worked. Soon the crying faded into a whimper and then petered out.
The airless room with its heavy aromas and sad tableau began to close in on her. Why had she given in and come? The language barrier meant she had little to offer, and her continued refusal to take the baby would only lead to more heartache for all of them. She clutched her chipped glass and tried to still her wildly beating heart. She had to leave, now, before it was too late. She didn’t want to see the baby, couldn’t…
The curtain suddenly parted. An older woman, the midwife, fixed her with a disapproving stare. “Voi—Venite!”
Hannah started and rose from her seat. “Me? No, I can’t…”
The attendant motioned impatiently with one hand, holding the curtain open with the other.
Caterina gave her a small nudge.
Hannah had no choice but to step tentatively toward the bed pushed into the makeshift room’s gloomy recess. Rosa reclined on a sagging mattress, her black hair plastered against her forehead and neck, covered by a sheet that had been mended many times. Despite her resolve, Hannah glanced at the small bundle lying at the foot of the iron bed. Rosy cheeks and a mouth drawn up in a perfect bow were barely visible from within the cocoon of a worn shawl.
“She told me it was a girl, but I can’t bear to look at her.” Rosa sounded very tired. The new mother rose up on an elbow with an effort, her eyes pleading. “Per favore, ma’am, can’t you find it in your heart to take her?”
Hannah shook her head vehemently, and a sob tore from her throat as she backed out of the room. Snatching up her cloak and purse, she flew down the rickety steps, her breath ragged.
The cab was gone.
She half-ran from the dilapidated house, heedless of her direction. The snow fell thickly now. Her bare hands swiped at the tears streaming down her face. A cascade of emotions coursed through her: helplessness, anger, guilt. What kind of Christian was she to turn away from someone in such desperate need? She gladly would have taken in the child, but…it wasn’t her decision alone. Who was to blame? The despicable Vittorio, of course, but also…Robert? Was it fair to place the fault on him? The treacherous thought terrified her. Did she really believe that? And what would become of their marriage if she did?
Hannah’s steps slowed as her mind churned. Fat flakes drifted onto her eyelashes as she trod the snowy sidewalks. A scrawny dog approached her hopefully, but he slunk off i
n a whirl of white when she shooed him away.
She stopped short at the sudden appearance of a large dark building ahead. The Tombs! How had she gotten herself so far off course? Hannah spun around, momentarily frightened to find herself in front of the notorious prison. But even the criminals who supposedly roamed the area’s streets seemed to be inside this frigid Christmas Eve.
She pulled her cloak tighter and found her bearings. As she set out in the right direction, a nearby church bell tolled the hour. Ten o’clock! Robert would be frantic with worry.
Hannah hastened past a vagrant wrapped in a blanket, asleep in a doorway. Like him, Rosa’s baby girl would soon have no home. How could such misery exist next to her cozy world of plenty?
But God sent His Son for all of us, she reminded herself. That’s the hope we celebrate at Christmas. Hope…she caught her breath and her footsteps slowed. Hope…that the same God who adopted His children, might change Robert’s mind…
She hurried on again, desperate to speak to her husband. Soon after, she stumbled into Washington Square Park. Almost home…She slipped under the park’s soaring arch. Lights blazed from every room of her house just ahead.
Robert flung open the door before she even reached the top step. “Oh, Hannah, thank God, thank God, you’re back! I’ve been so worried. I saw the note that you’d gone out, but you didn’t give me many details. For once I was glad for our neighborhood busybody—Mrs. Jennings told me you’d gone off in a cab with the maid.” He noticed her sopping outer garment. “But what happened? Why did you end up walking on a night like this? I would have gone to get you, but I didn’t know where she lived.” He drew her inside and unbuttoned her cloak, flinging it aside. Then he led her to the warm parlor, rubbing her hands between his to warm them. “So is it a boy or a girl?”
