Murder on Sisters' Row

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.”

Amy simply glared back at her.

“Ring for Beulah when you’re ready to leave,” Mrs. Walker told Sarah. “She’ll pay you and have Jake bring the carriage around to take you home.”

When Mrs. Walker was gone, Sarah realized she hadn’t bothered to even notice the baby. Obviously, he meant nothing to her.

“Amy, they can’t keep you here against your will,” Sarah said. “You have the right to leave.”

Amy looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Of course they can keep me here. You should see what they do to girls who try to leave on their own. You can’t get far, not alone with no money, and they never let us have any of the money we earn. So they always catch you and bring you back. They only have to beat up one girl and let the others see it. Then nobody ever tries to get away again.”

Sarah swallowed down her outrage. She needed to be practical, like Mrs. Walker. “Do you have any idea how long they’ll let you keep your baby?”

“No. I heard Mrs. Walker telling Beulah the other day to watch for when my milk came in. I don’t know how long that takes, though.”

“A few days, maybe a week. Do you know where they’ll take the baby?”

“No, I don’t know anything. And if they take it before Mrs. Van Orner can get me out of here, how will I find it again?” She looked down in dismay at the baby nursing hungrily at her breast. So far, Sarah hadn’t seen her show any tenderness toward the boy, so Sarah was glad to see her showing some concern at last.

“I could offer to take him,” Sarah realized. “I know a place where he’d be safe. It’s a mission, a refuge for young girls. They’d take good care of him.”

“A mission? They’re church people then?”

“Yes, they’re Christians. They think it’s their duty to take care of the poor.”

Amy didn’t like it, but she really had few options. “Do you think they’ll keep him until I come for him?”

“I’ll make sure they do. Now tell me everything you know about this Mrs. Van Orner. You said all the girls know about her?”

“Yes, they talk about her. She has a group of friends, and they go into a house like this and rescue the girls who want to leave. The trouble is, nobody knows how to get a message to her.”

“I’ll do that for you. I’m sure I can find out how to get in touch with her.”

“I think she has an office in a building someplace with a lot of other do-gooders. That’s what I’ve heard anyway.”

“Oh, I know the building you mean. The Charity Organization Society.”

“I don’t know. I’ve only heard it called by some letters.”

“The COS, that’s what they call it for short.”

“Yes, that’s it! Oh, Mrs. Brandt, can you find it? Can you go there and tell Mrs. Van Orner about me?”

“Of course I can. I won’t leave you here, Amy. You can trust me.”

Amy sighed and closed her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, as if she’d been bearing the weight of the world and someone had suddenly lifted it for her. “You don’t know what this means to me,” she whispered, and a tear slid down her cheek.

“I think I do,” Sarah said.

“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS WHERE YOU WANT TO GO?” JAKE asked with a frown when he’d opened the carriage door for Sarah. They were on Mulberry Street, in one of the poorest sections of the city. Decrepit buildings loomed on both sides of the filthy street, and hordes of ragged children played disorganized games of tag and kick the can, shrieking wildly as they raced past.

“Yes, I do volunteer work at the Mission here,” Sarah said. She indicated the Old Dutch Colonial house with the newly painted sign that said, DAUGHTERS OF HOPE. The women whom Sarah had recruited to take over the management of the Prodigal Son Mission had decided to change the name to something more appropriate.

“If you’re sure,” Jake said doubtfully, lunging to scare away a filthy boy who looked as if he wanted to pick his pocket. “Do you want me to get you tomorrow at your house?”

“No, I’ll find my own way,” Sarah said.

“Best come around noontime,” he said. “Everybody sleeps all morning, and I guess you want to get there before the customers start coming.”

“Yes, I do,” Sarah said, trying not to let her disgust show. “Thank you for your help.”

“Glad to be of service, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a small bow and an insolent smile.

Sarah couldn’t help recalling how Amy had said he would kill her if she tried to help the girl get away. She managed not to shudder. He handed out her black medical bag and waited until she was safely inside before climbing up onto the carriage and driving away.

The girl who answered the door at the Mission greeted her warmly and scurried away to find the matron, Mrs. Keller.

Sarah set her bag down in the front hallway and glanced around. She’d come to know the place well since first discovering it a little over a year ago. In spite of its shabby furnishings and worn carpets, this truly was a refuge for girls. How could she have mistaken the house she’d visited last night for anything other than it was? No one would decorate a refuge for wayward girls the way Mrs. Walker’s house was furnished.

Mrs. Keller was walking toward her from the back of the house, drying her hands on her apron as she came. “Mrs. Brandt, we’re so glad to see you. How are Catherine and Maeve doing?” she added.

“Catherine is growing like a weed, and Maeve has blossomed into quite a young lady. I’ll bring them for a visit very soon.”

“Please do. Have you come to see me about something? I’ve got bread in the oven, and I was just cleaning up the kitchen, so I have a few minutes if you need me.”

“No, I don’t need to see you, but I do need to ask you a favor. I was wondering if one of the girls would take a message to Police Headquarters for me.” Police Headquarters was located just a block down Mulberry Street.

Mrs. Keller smiled. “I’m sure any one of them would. Is the message by any chance for Detective Sergeant Malloy?”

Sarah smiled back. The residents at the Mission had many reasons to be grateful to Malloy. “Yes, it is, and if his fellow officers find out I sent him a message, he’ll never hear the end of it.”

Sarah and Malloy had worked together on quite a few murder cases in the past year and a half since they’d first met, and their relationship had made Malloy the butt of many jokes, not all of them good-natured. Sarah didn’t want to cause him any unnecessary embarrassment, but she desperately needed to speak to him about what she’d learned from Amy last night.

“Come back to my office and write your note. We’ll say it’s from me, that I need to see Malloy right away. They’ll think I’ve got a troublesome girl here.”

A few minutes later, one of the girls had been dispatched with Sarah’s note and her instructions to say it was from Mrs. Keller. Sarah didn’t really expect Malloy to be available, but she’d wait until the girl got back, just in case they knew when to expect him. She was too tired to wait long, however. She’d either have to go home soon or ask Mrs. Keller if she had a spare bed.

To her surprise, however, the girl returned in short order with Malloy on her heels. He pulled off his hat as he entered the foyer, looking around for her. She’d been waiting in the parlor, and she went to meet him.

“Malloy,” she said, absurdly glad to see him, and she felt her fatigue falling away. His solid figure seemed to dominate the foyer.

“Mrs. Brandt,” he replied, as he always did. His dark eyes examined her critically.

She touched her hair self-consciously. She must look a fright after being up all night.

“Your note said you needed to see me,” he said, mindful of the girl still standing there, hanging on every word, and Mrs. Keller, who’d followed Sarah out of the parlor.

“Yes, I have some questions I need to ask you, if you have a few minutes.”

“Hilda and I will get you some coffee,” Mrs. Keller said tactfully, ushering the reluctant girl down the hallway toward the kitchen and leaving them alone.

Sarah led him into the parlor and closed the pocket doors behind them.

When she turned toward him, he was frowning in apparent disapproval. “And where have you been all night?”

“In a whorehouse,” Sarah replied baldly, in no mood to be disapproved of.

If she’d hoped to shock him, she’d more than succeeded. “My God, are you serious?”

“Perfectly. I was called to a birth yesterday, and the mother happens to live in a brothel.” She took a seat on the horsehair sofa that someone had donated to the Mission long after its usefulness was over.

Malloy plopped down beside her as if his knees had suddenly come unhinged. “Where?”

“In the Tenderloin,” she said, naming the triangular neighborhood north of Twenty-third Street between Ninth Avenue and Broadway whose northern portion was Longacre Square.

“My God,” he said again, looking at her in utter amazement. “Why did you let them take you there?” Now he sounded outraged.

“The young man picked me up in a carriage. All the curtains were drawn, and I enjoyed the privacy and didn’t pay much attention to where we were going. We stopped in the alley behind the house, and they took me in through the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs to the girl’s bedroom. I thought it was a boardinghouse.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and muttered something that was either a prayer or a curse.

She pretended not to hear. “As you can see, I emerged unscathed, but I do have something I want to ask you about.”

His dark eyes were nearly black when he turned to her. “You’re not going back there. And you’re going to start paying attention to where people are taking you when you go to deliver babies. And furthermore—”

“Stop it, Malloy,” she snapped. “I already have a father whose opinions I have to ignore. I don’t need another one. Now stop lecturing me and listen. I’m very tired and my patience is wearing thin.”

He didn’t like it, but he pressed his lips together into a thin line and just glared.

“Good,” she said, seeing his compliance. “The girl whose baby I delivered asked me to help her escape.”

This time he did curse, making Sarah jump. “Are you crazy?” he almost roared. “Do you know what happens to people who try to get girls out of places like that?”

“Yes, they get killed.”

He’d already opened his mouth to continue, but her reply stopped him dead. “What?”

“You were going to tell me that I could get killed. I know that. Amy told me.”

“Who’s Amy?”

“The girl who had the baby. It’s a little boy, Malloy, and they’re going to take him from her.”

“Of course they are. A brothel is no place for a baby.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Sarah agreed. “It would be awfully bad for business, I imagine.”

Malloy glared at her again. “If you’re going to ask me to rescue this girl or something—”

“No, I wouldn’t ask you that. If they’d kill me, they’d probably kill you, too.”

“They wouldn’t kill me, but I’d lose my job. Places like that pay the police to protect them, not kidnap their girls.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot of things you hadn’t thought of, like not going to a brothel in the first place.”

“You don’t have any reason to be angry with me. I already told you, it wasn’t my fault.”

He rubbed his face again. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just . . . angry.”

Sarah bit back a smile. She knew he wouldn’t be so mad if he didn’t care about her. “You don’t need to be. I’m not going to do anything foolish.”

He frowned, obviously not believing her for a minute.

“I know I don’t stand a chance of helping Amy, and so does she. She asked me to contact a Mrs. Van Orner for her.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who’s that?”

“She has a charity that takes care of girls like Amy. She helps them get away and—”

He groaned. “One of those rich do-gooders. I thought the name sounded familiar. She’s going to get herself killed one of these days, too.”

“She has people who help her, I understand.”

“Other rich do-gooders,” Malloy said in disgust.

“I’m going to ask her to help Amy.”

Malloy half turned on the sofa so he was facing her, his dark eyes nearly glowing with the strength of his emotion. “Sarah, leave it alone. I’m warning you, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“But that poor girl and her baby! She’s obviously from a good family, and she hates it there, hates the things she has to do. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for her.”

“She’s not what you think, Sarah. Those girls are all liars. They’ll say anything to get what they want.”

“But you didn’t see her. She’s terrified of Mrs. Walker—”

“Who?” he asked sharply.

“Mrs. Walker. She’s the . . .” Sarah tried to think of a nice word and failed.

“The madam,” Malloy supplied, rolling his eyes. “Of all the madams in New York, you had to pick one of the Sisters, didn’t you?”

“The Sisters?”

“Yeah. Maybe you didn’t notice, but the house you were in is one of seven that are just alike. They say seven sisters came to the city from New England years ago and each one set up her own house of ill repute . . . Well, I don’t think the madams at the houses next door are really Mrs. Walker’s sisters, but they call that street Sisters’ Row.”

“I have to admit, I was surprised at how well appointed the house was.”

“It has to be,” Malloy said. “They cater to the wealthiest men in the city, which means they pay lots of protection money to the police. If you get in trouble there, no one will help you, Sarah.”

She heard the fear underlying the harshness in his tone. “I told you, I’m not going to do anything foolish.”

“You’re going to help that girl. That’s foolish.”

“I can’t turn my back on her, Malloy. How could I live with myself?”

Malloy sighed. “You don’t know what those women are like. She’s not an innocent country girl who got kidnapped and forced into a life of shame—and even if she was once, she’s not innocent anymore,” he added when she would have protested.

“What about her baby?” Sarah argued. “She can’t bear the thought of being separated from him.”

“So she said, but she probably figured that was the easiest way to get you to help her. Look, do I have to lock you up to keep you from getting involved in this?”

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the idle threat. “Just try, Malloy,” she taunted. “And no, you don’t. I told you, I’m going to find this Mrs. Van Orner and turn the matter over to her. I’m not going to put myself in danger. I’ve got a family to think about now, you know.”

“Don’t forget it either. How are the girls doing?”

Sarah gave him a report on Catherine and Maeve, then asked, “How is Brian getting along in school?”

“Almost as well as his grandmother.” Malloy’s young son was deaf, and he attended a special school. Malloy’s mother escorted him there and back and helped out in the classroom.

“Is she learning to sign, too?” Sarah asked, delighted.

“She says somebody needs to be able to talk to the boy.”

A knock at the door announced Mrs. Keller’s return with a tray of coffee and some freshly baked cookies. Malloy begged off, saying he had to get back to Police Headquarters, but he took a handful of cookies with him.

He stopped in the doorway on his way out and turned back to Sarah one last time. “Don’t forget what you promised.”

Sarah couldn’t remember exactly what she’d promised.

THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH AWOKE EARLY AND PUT ON the suit she wore when she wanted people to take her seriously. She’d had it for a long time, since she’d left her parents’ mansion to marry Dr. Tom Brandt, but since she hardly ever wore it, it was still presentable, if a bit out of style.

“You’re pretty dressed up to be going to see a new mother,” Maeve observed over breakfast. She knew Sarah’s routines after living in her house for so many months.

“I have an errand to run first.”

“You look pretty, Mama,” Catherine said softly, looking up at her with shining eyes.

“So do you, my darling,” Sarah said, bending down to give her a peck on the forehead.

“Will that boy be fetching you in the carriage again?” Maeve asked.

Sarah looked at her, trying to judge the reason for the question. Jake was a handsome young man, after all, and Sarah didn’t want Maeve getting ideas about him. “Are you hoping to see him again?”

Maeve looked genuinely shocked. “No! And I don’t think you should see him again either.”

“Why?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“He’s a bad one. You can always tell. He’s too cocky and full of himself. He’s mean, too. You can see by the way he treats the horses.”

“You’re right,” Sarah said, impressed. “He’s a bad one. If he ever comes here again, don’t let him in the house.”

“But you’re going to that house where he works again, aren’t you?”

Sarah hadn’t said a thing about her experiences on Sisters’ Row, not wanting to frighten Maeve. But she tended to forget what kind of life the girl had lived before going to the Mission and then coming here to live. Maeve knew more about the world than Sarah ever would.

“I’ll be fine.”

Maeve didn’t argue, but she didn’t smile either.

SARAH TOOK THE NINTH AVENUE ELEVATED TRAIN UP TO the Twenty-third Street Station, then walked across town to Fourth Avenue and back down one block to Twenty-second Street. A check of the City Directory that morning had revealed the address of the Charity Organization Society. The United Charities Building, she knew, had been built with donations from the wealthiest families in the city, with an eye to organizing the charitable relief of the poor and solving the problem of poverty once and for all. Many charities were housed here, offering a variety of services. Sarah’s socially elite parents had doubtless contributed to the construction.

The building was modest but impressive, and Sarah discovered a beehive of activity inside. A young man sat at a reception desk, greeting visitors and directing them to the correct office. For some reason, Sarah had expected to see the needy lined up here to receive assistance, but she saw no trace of the needy. Everyone was well dressed and moving with purpose.

“Good morning,” the young man said cautiously, as if afraid she was going to make some demand of him. He looked to be about twenty and hadn’t yet filled out. He stared up at her with large, watery eyes. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to see Mrs. Van Orner.”

Sarah saw the slightest flicker of emotion passing over his young face, but she couldn’t identify it. He hesitated another second as he examined her more closely, his gaze darting over her as if to form some sort of judgment. She couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not, but he said, “Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but you may speak with her secretary, Miss Yingling.” He directed her to an office on the third floor.

As she made her way up, Sarah passed several young women and another young man on the stairs. They all carried papers or folders and seemed bent on a mission of some importance. They did not greet her or even meet her eye, Sarah noticed. Such behavior was typical in the city, but somehow she’d expected the people here to be friendlier.

She found the office easily, but the words painted on the door stopped her: “Rahab’s Daughters.” Sarah had learned the story of Rahab the Harlot in Sunday school, although she hadn’t known exactly what a harlot was back then. Rahab had hidden the Israelite spies whom Joshua had sent to Jericho. In exchange for protecting them from her own people, she asked them to spare her and her family when they took the city. Rahab had done well for herself afterward, Sarah recalled, although she couldn’t remember the details.

She supposed the name was appropriate, considering the work Mrs. Van Orner did, but Sarah couldn’t help thinking that “Daughters of Hope” was a bit more inspiring. She opened the door. A young woman looked up from her typewriter.

Like the fellow in the lobby and the people on the stairs, she was young, probably in her early twenties. Sarah could tell that she could be a beauty if she took some pains with her hair and her clothing, but apparently, she cared nothing for that. She wore her dark hair scraped back into a severe and unflattering bun, and her suit was ill-fitting and a sickly shade of olive green that turned her skin sallow. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I need to see Mrs. Van Orner.”

“Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but I will be happy to give her a message.”

“I’m afraid this is a rather urgent matter.”

The girl smiled slightly, or at least her lips curved upward. Nothing else of her expression changed though. “It’s always an urgent matter.”

“A young woman’s life is at stake,” Sarah tried.

“Then perhaps you will tell me what you need so I can give that information to Mrs. Van Orner.”

Sarah could see that she had no choice. “All right.”

“Please, sit down,” Miss Yingling said, indicating the wooden chair placed beside her desk.

Sarah did so.

The girl had taken a piece of paper and a pencil out of her desk, and she looked up expectantly. “What is your name?”

Sarah told her. The girl then asked for her address.

“Is all this really necessary?” Sarah asked impatiently.

Miss Yingling looked up, her eyes calm, completely unaffected by Sarah’s urgency.

“I’m afraid it’s very necessary. All of the charities in this building cooperate with each other very closely. We keep careful records of everyone we help and share that information with each other, so that people can’t just go from one charity to another every time they get into difficulty. That would encourage them to be dependent and weak instead of forcing them to take responsibility for their own lives.”

This seemed so unfair, Sarah hardly knew where to begin asking questions. “You mean people can’t get assistance from more than one of the charities in this building?”

“With some rare exceptions, yes. As I said, our resources are limited, and we can’t waste them on people who are too lazy to improve themselves. Not everyone agrees with these rules, of course,” she added, “but we must abide by them nevertheless. So yes, I do need this information. What is your address?”

Still stinging with outrage, Sarah provided it.

Miss Yingling took down the information in neat handwriting. Then she looked up again. “This girl you want us to help, what is her relation to you?”

“She’s no relation to me at all. I’m a midwife, and two days ago, a young man came to take me to a birth at what I thought was a boardinghouse. I eventually realized I was in a house of ill repute. The young woman whose baby I delivered begged me to help her get away.”

“Did you try?” Miss Yingling asked with interest.

“No, she warned me not to. She said . . . Well, she said it wasn’t safe. She asked me to find Mrs. Van Orner and ask her for help.”

Miss Yingling was intrigued. “How did she know about Mrs. Van Orner?”

“She said all the . . . the girls who worked there knew about her.”

Miss Yingling nodded. “That’s good. Word of our work is spreading.”

“Can you help her?”

“Do you know where the house is?”

“Yes, it’s on Sisters’ Row.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, my.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, it’s just . . . The police protect these places, you know, and Sisters’ Row . . .”

“I’ve been told it serves very wealthy clients.”

“And that’s another problem.”

“In what way?”

Miss Yingling seemed surprised by the question. “I . . . Oh, I mean . . . Well, because the place earns a tremendous amount of money, and they can bribe just about anyone they want.”

Sarah didn’t believe her. “Are you afraid of offending someone wealthy?”

“No, no, not at all. Mrs. Van Orner isn’t afraid of anything,” the girl insisted. “We’ll just need to be more careful than usual.”

“We also have to rescue the baby,” Sarah said.

“Baby?”

“The baby I delivered,” Sarah reminded her. “Mrs. Walker, the woman who runs the place, is going to take him away from his mother in a few days, and the mother is very concerned that she won’t be able to find him again.”

Miss Yingling frowned. “That’s very odd. They don’t usually allow the girls to have babies.”

“What do you mean?”

Miss Yingling shrugged. “Interestingly enough, very few of these women conceive at all, but when they do, they see an abortionist.”

Sarah remembered a remark Mrs. Walker had made about Amy lying to her. Had she managed to keep her pregnancy a secret until it was too late to end it? But none of that really mattered now. “Can you help this girl and her baby or not?”

“I’ll have to discuss the case with Mrs. Van Orner, of course—”

“I’m going to see the girl today. It may be my last chance to visit with her, and I’d like to tell her some good news.”

“I can’t promise anything without Mrs. Van Orner’s approval.”

Sarah seldom used her family’s power to her own advantage, but this time she saw it was necessary. “Perhaps Mrs. Van Orner knows my mother, Mrs. Felix Decker.”

Miss Yingling’s eyes widened again. “Mrs. Decker is your mother?” Like the fellow downstairs, she looked Sarah over and found nothing to impress her. “But you’re a . . .”

“A midwife. Yes, I earn my own living. Do you know if my parents are donors to your cause? They’re very generous, and I could certainly put in a good word with them about the work you do.”

Miss Yingling carefully wrote, “Mrs. Felix Decker,” on the paper beneath her notes about Amy’s case. When she looked up again, she seemed much more eager to help. “Did you say this girl had a baby two days ago?”

“Early yesterday morning.”

“How soon will it be safe to move her?”

Sarah knew that most doctors wouldn’t even allow a woman out of bed for two weeks after she delivered, but she also knew few women could afford such a lengthy time of idleness. Most of her clients were up doing housework after a week, some even sooner. “I’d like to say a week, but if you need to get her sooner . . . I’d say the day after tomorrow at the earliest, and she’ll need a safe place to go where she can finish recovering.”

“We have a house in the city where the women can stay until they find honest work.”

“This is a wonderful thing you’re doing,” Sarah said, feeling absurdly grateful even though Miss Yingling hadn’t even agreed to anything yet.

“Yes, it is,” the younger woman said, but for some reason, she didn’t look as if she believed it. “Now tell me everything you know about this girl and the house where she lives.”

SARAH REACHED SISTERS’ ROW JUST BEFORE NOON. SHE went to the back door again so she wouldn’t be seen. Few respectable women would want her to attend them if they knew she’d been in a place like this, and she couldn’t risk her livelihood.

Beulah let her in. “Didn’t expect to see you again,” she remarked.

“I wanted to make sure Amy and the baby are all right. I always visit new mothers the next day.”

Beulah sniffed. “I’ll tell Miz Walker you’s here.”

“I’ll just go on up to see Amy,” Sarah said, hoping she could get some time alone with the girl before the madam joined them. “I know the way.”

Before Beulah could object, if she really was going to object, Sarah found the back stairway and went up. The house was eerily quiet, and she recalled Jake’s reminder about the girls sleeping late. She saw no sign of anyone stirring on the second floor. All the doors were shut. Sarah tapped lightly on Amy’s door, then entered without waiting for an invitation.

Amy lay in bed, supported by pillows, and she looked up in alarm when Sarah entered.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said with a sigh. “I’m as nervous as a cat. I’m afraid they’re going to come get the baby.”

Sarah hurried over to the bed. She saw that the baby lay beside her, wrapped tightly in a blanket and sound asleep. “I spoke with Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary this morning.”

“Why didn’t you see her?” Amy cried. “I told you to see Mrs. Van Orner!”

“Shhh,” Sarah cautioned, aware that Mrs. Walker could appear at any moment. “She wasn’t in, but the secretary was going to tell her your story today. You can’t be moved for at least a few more days yet, and they need some time to make plans. But they’re coming for you, Amy. I promise you they are.”

“What if they take the baby before they get here? I’ll never find him!”

“I told you, I’ll take him. I’ll speak to Mrs. Walker today about it.”

“What if she won’t let you? What if I lose him!” Tears flooded her eyes, and Sarah was afraid she would get hysterical. She’d have a difficult time explaining that to Mrs. Walker.

“You have to be strong, Amy,” Sarah told her. “Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”

Amy didn’t look willing to trust anyone, but Sarah heard the door opening.

“How often is the baby feeding?” she asked in a normal voice.

Amy looked at her stupidly for a second before she noticed Mrs. Walker had come in. “He kept me up half the night,” she said. “He’s a greedy little thing.”

“That’s good.” Sarah put her hand on the girl’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. I’ll need to—”

“So you came back,” Mrs. Walker said.

Sarah turned, feigning surprise. “I told you I would.”

This morning Mrs. Walker wore a red silk kimono. She looked weary, as if she hadn’t slept well since the last time Sarah saw her. “I always assume people are lying to me, Mrs. Brandt, and I’m usually right.” She nodded at Amy. “How’s she doing?”

“I haven’t had a chance to examine her yet, but I’ll be happy to give you a full report when I’m finished.”

“You do that. I want her healthy so she can get back to work real soon.”

Sarah flinched and Amy made a small sound of protest, but if Mrs. Walker noticed, she gave no sign. She just turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

“I hate her!” Amy whispered.

“You won’t have to be here much longer,” Sarah promised. “Now let me examine you and the baby.”

“And tell me everything that secretary person said.”

Half an hour later, Sarah could delay her departure no longer. She left Amy with a promise to return as soon as possible. When she reached the kitchen, Beulah led her down a hallway to what she discovered was Mrs. Walker’s office, a modestly decorated room in stark contrast to the rest of the house.

The woman sat at an elaborately carved desk, still wearing her kimono. She’d been making a list of some sort, and she looked up when Beulah brought Sarah in. When the cook had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Walker said, “Don’t believe anything that little whore told you.”