Murder on Sisters' Row gm-13

by Victoria Thompson

  “I’m not going to braid my hair,” Amy snapped. “It’ll look like a washboard!”

  “Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Walker warned her. “Mrs. Brandt is only trying to help. It won’t matter anyway. No one will see you for a while. Let her braid it.”

  Once again Amy’s gaze glinted with what could have been fear, but only for a moment. Then she turned to Sarah. “All right,” she said grudgingly, then grimaced as another contraction claimed her.

  Sarah got a brush from the dressing table, and when the contraction was over, she began to brush the tangles out of Amy’s hair. Unlike the other girl, Dolly, Amy had natural curls that needed only a little encouragement to appear out of the rat’s nest her hair had become. Sarah found some stray hairpins in the mess and set them aside. Amy had obviously not used any care when she took her hair down the last time.

  “Oh, that feels so good,” Amy said after a few minutes. “My mother always made me cry when she brushed out the rats.”

  “You have beautiful hair. I can see why you don’t want to braid it,” Sarah said, remembering her childhood and the way her braided hair would hold the crinkly waves for days after being undone. “If you have a hairnet or something, we can tie it up instead of braiding it.”

  “I think there’s one in the top drawer in the dressing table,” Amy said.

  Sarah found it jumbled in with the various odds and ends Amy had stuffed into the drawer. She worked it free and found it reasonably intact. In another minute, she’d gathered Amy’s fall of hair securely into it and out of the way.

  “How much longer is it going to take?” Amy asked as she relaxed again after another contraction.

  “Hours yet, I’m afraid.”

  “Hours?” Amy said, her voice rising until she caught the warning look from Mrs. Walker. She clamped her mouth shut. “I guess I better walk some more then.”

  She and Sarah began the circuit around the room again. Mrs. Walker sat and observed them, her patience apparently endless. Didn’t she have anything better to do than watch over Amy? If Sarah hadn’t seen the way Amy reacted to her, she’d think Mrs. Walker genuinely cared for the girl or at least felt a responsibility for her. But no, she gave no indication of any tender emotion at all. She just sat, more like a reluctant chaperone than a concerned friend.

  When Amy tired again, Sarah rubbed her feet and legs, using a lavender-scented lotion she found on the dressing table.

  “Have you decided on names yet?” Sarah asked as she massaged Amy’s swollen ankles.

  Oddly, Amy glanced at Mrs. Walker before answering, almost as if she were silently asking approval or perhaps checking to make sure she didn’t disapprove. Whatever the reason, her expression was guarded when she looked back at Sarah.

  “No, I . . . I haven’t.”

  “She wants to wait until she sees if it’s a boy or a girl,” Mrs. Walker said. “Don’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Amy agreed quickly. Too quickly.

  Sarah knew she was lying, but she couldn’t imagine why she would lie about such an ordinary thing. Unless . . .

  Of course. If Amy was an unwed mother, she wouldn’t be able to keep her baby. The whole point of coming to a place like this to give birth in secret was so no one would know about her transgression. Bringing a baby home with her would defeat the whole purpose. Her friends probably thought she was on a trip someplace far away. When she returned, she’d tell stories about the wonderful adventure she’d had, but she couldn’t bring a baby back as a souvenir.

  No, her family had probably already made some kind of arrangements. Perhaps a distant relative would adopt the child. Then Amy might see it from time to time and know it was all right and loved and cared for properly. Or maybe they intended to send it to a foundling home, where its future was more uncertain. Perhaps a loving couple would adopt the baby and give it a good home. Or maybe it would grow up in an orphanage, unwanted and unloved. Or maybe it wouldn’t grow up at all. Abandoned infants sometimes died of disease or neglect.

  All these possibilities went through Sarah’s mind in a matter of seconds as she finished up the foot massage. A wave of pity for the girl washed over Sarah.

  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep before the contractions get worse,” she suggested.

  “Worse! Are you saying they’re going to get worse!” Amy cried, tears springing to her eyes.

  Mrs. Walker was on her feet in an instant. “Of course they are, you silly girl. Don’t you know anything? Now do as Mrs. Brandt said and get some rest. You won’t do anybody any good if you wear yourself out.”

  Amy’s full lips tightened into a thin, white line, as if she were biting back words she didn’t dare say. She let Sarah help her up from the chaise and lead her over to the bed and tuck her in. Sarah had her roll over onto her side, and Sarah gently rubbed the small of her back until she dozed off.

  Sarah went back to the chaise and took this opportunity to get some rest herself. She stretched out, glad to be off her feet for a few minutes. Mrs. Walker still sat perfectly straight in one of the chairs, her gaze wandering to Amy every few minutes, as if to make sure she hadn’t disappeared.

  “You really don’t have to wait here,” Sarah said softly, so as not to wake Amy. “You probably have things to do, and the baby won’t be here for hours, maybe not until morning. I can send for you when it’s getting close.”

  Mrs. Walker folded her well-tended hands in her lap and gave Sarah a long, steady stare. “I couldn’t leave Amy at a time like this. Beulah can take care of things for me.”

  “Suit yourself, but if you don’t mind, I’ll try to rest a bit while Amy’s asleep.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mrs. Walker echoed sarcastically.

  What an odd woman, Sarah thought, but she didn’t think about it for long. She closed her eyes and emptied her mind, a trick she’d used many times to force a catnap.

  She was at a concert. A musicale at her mother’s house. Some of her old friends were there, and someone was playing the piano. She couldn’t hear it very well. She needed to get closer so she could hear the music, but every time she tried, someone stopped her and wanted to talk. They wanted to know the name of Amy’s baby and where her husband was. Sarah didn’t know, but they kept asking her anyway. They seemed angry when she couldn’t tell them, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hear the music. She could see the piano now and the man playing. His back was to her, but she knew him just the same. She didn’t even know he could play the piano. She reached out to touch his shoulder and called his name.

  “Frank.”

  Sarah awoke with a start, disoriented and aware that she’d spoken aloud. She needed a moment to remember where she was. Then she quickly sat up and looked around to get her bearings. Amy was moaning softly. Mrs. Walker was sitting exactly where she’d been, and she was looking at Sarah curiously. She probably wondered who Frank was. Sarah had no intention of enlightening her.

  “I should check on Amy.” Sarah got up and saw that the girl was awake.

  “I think I wet the bed,” she said in alarm.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just your water breaking,” Sarah said with relief. “That’s why we put the rubber sheet on the bed. Things should go faster now.”

  Mrs. Walker rang for Beulah to change the sheets again, and Sarah helped Amy get up and change her nightdress. The new one was just as impractical as the old one. While they were waiting for Beulah, Sarah realized the piano music from her dream was real. “Who’s that playing the piano?” she asked.

  “One of the girls,” Mrs. Walker said quickly. “They have some guests this evening.”

  How odd that they’d be entertaining in a place like this. But perhaps family members came to visit the girls. Sarah imagined they would get lonely, being confined here for months.

  Beulah arrived and helped Sarah change the sheets again.

  “How are things going?” Sarah heard Mrs. Walker ask the cook while she was helping Amy get settled again.

 
“Just fine. The girls is taking care of everything.”

  “If there’s any trouble, come get me.”

  “Won’t be no trouble. I’ll see to that. You want some supper now?”

  Mrs. Walker said they did, and a few minutes later, Beulah brought up some roast beef with rich gravy, potatoes baked in their skins, apple dumplings, and coffee. The roast beef was remarkably tender. Her neighbor Mrs. Ellsworth would want to speak to the cook about how she’d managed it.

  Sarah encouraged Amy to eat, but she said the smell was making her sick, and she didn’t even try.

  The piano stopped for a while, then started again. The hours slipped by. Amy walked for a while, then rested and walked some more. Sarah thought she heard voices in the hall, a man and woman laughing, but the sound was probably coming up from downstairs. Sarah thought it odd that the young ladies were permitted to have visitors so late, but Mrs. Walker didn’t seem concerned.

  Amy paused and grabbed hold of one of the bedposts as a contraction seized her, and Sarah glanced over at Mrs. Walker. The older woman had finally nodded off. Her chin rested on her chest, and she was snoring softly.

  As Amy straightened, Sarah nodded at where Mrs. Walker was dozing in the chair. To Sarah’s surprise, Amy grabbed her arm.

  “You have to get me out of here,” she whispered urgently.

  “You can’t go anywhere right now,” Sarah said in surprise. “You’re going to have a baby any time.”

  “No, no, not now!” she said, her fingers digging painfully into Sarah’s arm and her blue eyes filled with anguish. “After the baby’s born. I have to get out of here! You have to help me.”

  Sarah couldn’t understand her distress. “But won’t they let you go home after the baby is born?”

  Amy’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, they’ll never let me leave here, not ever. They’ll kill me if I try!”

  “What?” This made no sense. Why would they kill her?

  Amy’s anxious gaze kept darting to Mrs. Walker, checking to make sure she was still asleep. “They’re going to take the baby away and then—” Her words twisted into a cry as an especially strong contraction claimed her, and she doubled over with the pain.

  The cry woke Mrs. Walker, who snorted in surprise and jumped to her feet. “What is it?”

  “Something’s wrong!” Amy said, her eyes wild with fear.

  “Do you feel like you need to bear down?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, yes, that’s it! What’s happening?”

  Sarah smiled. “Your baby is coming, that’s what’s happening. It’s time to start pushing. Come on, I’ll show you just what to do.”

  Sarah got Amy back into the bed and gave her the necessary instructions. Sarah had fashioned fabric loops attached to the headboard that the girl could hold on to as she bore down. In a few minutes she was laboring in earnest, falling back against the pillows propped against the headboard and gasping between contractions.

  “It won’t be long now,” Sarah said, and lifted Amy’s nightdress to check on her progress. “Look, Mrs. Walker, you can see the top of the baby’s head.”

  The unflappable Mrs. Walker looked, and all the color drained from her face. Sarah hurried to grab her in case she fainted, but she turned away, both hands clamped over her mouth.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, I . . . I just . . . I’ll go and get Beulah. She can help you.” She hurried to the door and in another second she was gone.

  “Close the door, quick, before Beulah comes,” Amy whispered. “I have to tell you what to do!”

  Sarah hurried to close the door, and Amy was already instructing her before she started back to the bed.

  “You have to help me get away from this place. You have to contact Mrs. Van Orner.”

  The name was familiar, but Sarah couldn’t place it. “Is she a relative?”

  “No, no!” Amy said desperately. Then a contraction started, and she couldn’t talk.

  Sarah supported her through it, and as soon as she could speak again, she said, “Mrs. Van Orner helps girls like me. Tell her I want to be rescued. She’ll know what to do.”

  “If you want to leave here, I’ll help you,” Sarah said. “As soon as the baby is born, I can take you to my house for a few days and—”

  “No, no! You can’t help me. They’d never let you take me. They’d kill you!”

  “Who’d kill me?” Sarah asked in confusion, wondering if Amy had lost her senses.

  “Jake will. Mrs. Walker will tell him to. They never let any of us leave, and I hate it here! I hate what I have to do, and after they take the baby, they’re going to make me do the most disgusting things!”

  “Amy, what are you talking about? What kinds of things do they make you do?”

  “With the men,” she gasped, going into another contraction. “With the customers!”

  Customers? Sarah’s head was spinning. Suddenly, all the little things that hadn’t made sense before came together. The piano music. The company that stayed very late. The man’s voice. The large, fancy house full of young women. The hostess wasn’t a hostess at all. She was a madam!

  “Is this a brothel?” Sarah asked, feeling incredibly stupid.

  “Of course!” Amy panted, falling back against the headboard again. “What did you think?”

  “I thought it was a refuge for unwed mothers.”

  Amy gave a bark of bitter laughter.

  The door opened. Beulah came in and looked around. “Miz Walker said you was about to pop that baby out.”

  “Yes, she is,” Sarah said, managing to regain her composure.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Sarah said quickly, wondering if she’d be as weak stomached as Mrs. Walker. “And don’t watch if you don’t want to.”

  “Ain’t nothing I ain’t seen before,” she said, stepping to the foot of the bed as Sarah checked Amy’s progress again. “Oh, look there. You’ll have that baby out in a couple more tries.”

  “Really?” Amy asked desperately.

  “Yes, really,” Sarah said. “Push really hard this next time.”

  Amy did, and just as Beulah had predicted, she pushed out her son just a few minutes later.

  Sarah held him upside down by his ankles and cleared his mouth with her finger. She didn’t even need to slap him. He started screaming bloody murder all on his own. “Listen to that, Amy,” she said. “A healthy boy!” Sarah turned him upright and held him out for his mother to see.

  Amy stared at him from where she lay against the headboard. Her hair was matted with sweat, and her face was red from exertion, but her eyes glowed with some inner fire. Not the pride or the joy Sarah usually saw from new mothers, but something primal and raw, something almost angry.

  “Cut that cord so I can take care of the baby,” Beulah said.

  Sarah looked up in alarm. “You’re not going to take him away, are you?”

  “Lord, no, whatever give you an idea like that?” she asked in genuine surprise. “I just wanna get him cleaned up for his mama.”

  Sarah turned to Amy, who nodded almost imperceptively. Sarah took care of the cord and placed him in the blanket Beulah held out. The cook took him over and laid him on the chaise, where she started to clean him up. Meanwhile, Sarah helped Amy deliver the afterbirth and got her cleaned up and comfortable again.

  “Here now,” Beulah said, bringing the swaddled infant back over to the bed. “You wanna put him to the breast right away. We wanna get your milk started real good.”

  Amy’s face looked as if it had been carved in stone. She took the baby, but she didn’t look at him. She was glaring at Beulah.

  “Don’t look at me like that, girl,” the cook said. “Ain’t my fault you got yourself in trouble. Now you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “Why don’t you go tell Mrs. Walker that the baby is born?” Sarah suggested, wanting a few more minutes with Amy. “I’m sure she’ll want to see f
or herself.”

  Beulah sniffed, aware that Sarah was trying to get rid of her, but she left, closing the door behind her.

  Sarah turned back to Amy, who still wasn’t looking at her baby.

  “Do you know how to find Mrs. Van Orner?” the girl asked. “Mrs. Gregory Van Orner. She helps prostitutes get out of the life. The girls all talk about her.”

  “I told you, I can help you.”

  “No, you can’t. It’s too dangerous. Mrs. Van Orner has people who help her, though. She knows how to do it. Can you find her?”

  “Yes, I think I can.” Sarah had heard about the women who did that kind of work. “But what about the baby? You said they were going to take him away.”

  “They’ll let me keep it for a few days. They want my milk to come in. Some of the customers like that,” she said, her lip curling in distaste.

  Sarah felt nauseated, but she swallowed it down. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you get out of here.”

  2

  WHEN THE DOOR OPENED AGAIN, MRS. WALKER STEPPED into the room. She’d recovered somewhat from her earlier unease. She glanced at Amy, who, after instruction from Sarah, had started nursing her baby. Then she looked at Sarah, who made no effort to hide her anger.

  “I see you finally figured it out,” Mrs. Walker said.

  “I don’t appreciate being tricked.”

  “I needed a midwife, and you wouldn’t have come to a whorehouse,” Mrs. Walker said with a shrug.

  “I’ve never refused to help any woman.”

  Mrs. Walker didn’t seem to care if that was true or not. “I guess you want to leave now.”

  “I’ll stay until I’m sure Amy is all right. And I’ll need to come back again to check on her in a day or so.”

  “If you’re willing to come, you’re welcome. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “You’re very kind,” Sarah said sarcastically.

  “No, I’m not,” Mrs. Walker said. “I’m practical. Amy is very valuable to me. I take good care of all my girls.” She gave Amy a meaningful look. “Even when they lie to me.”