Murder on Sisters' Row

3

“PARDON ME?” SARAH SAID IN SURPRISE.

“I already told you, I always assume people are lying to me, and I’m usually right. That’s because I spend so much time with whores, Mrs. Brandt. They’ll say anything to get what they want.”

“Amy wants her baby to be safe.”

Mrs. Walker raised her eyebrows. “Nobody’s going to hurt it.”

“She’s afraid you’re going to take it away.”

She sighed impatiently. “Of course I’m going to take it away. This is no place for a baby. If men wanted to hear babies crying, they’d stay at home.”

“Where are you going to take him?”

“What business is it of yours?”

Sarah clenched her fists until the fingernails bit into the skin of her palms, but somehow she managed not to scream at this horrible woman. “None, but I know what happens to abandoned babies in the city. I’d like to take him someplace where he’ll be taken care of and perhaps even adopted.”

“You have high hopes for the little brat, don’t you?”

“I just think he deserves a chance to survive. He didn’t choose to be born here.”

“Nobody chooses where they’re born,” Mrs. Walker said. “A midwife should know that. How is Amy?”

“She’s doing well. She should stay in bed for at least two weeks.” Sarah hoped the girl would be gone long before then.

“Since she works on her back, that’s not a hardship,” Mrs. Walker said.

Sarah felt the heat rising in her face, but she refused to let Mrs. Walker make her angry. “She shouldn’t have relations for at least two months.”

“Two months?” Mrs. Walker echoed in outrage.

“She could get childbed fever and die. You told me yourself she’s valuable to you.”

“She’s not valuable if she can’t work for two months.” Mrs. Walker sighed again, this time in disgust. “All right. If you’re finished with Amy, you can go.” She turned back to her list making, but Sarah didn’t move.

“Will you let me take the baby?”

Mrs. Walker looked up, annoyed. “What on earth do you want him for?”

“I told you, I want to make sure he has a chance. I know an orphanage where they’ll take good care of him.”

“I’m not giving you any money to take him,” she warned.

“I haven’t asked for any.”

“Are you going to sell him?”

“Whom would I sell him to?” Sarah asked in surprise.

Mrs. Walker smiled unpleasantly. “Lots of people would pay to get their hands on a little baby boy.”

“Even if that’s true, I don’t know any of them.”

“You aren’t going to give up, are you?” Mrs. Walker asked.

“No.”

“All right then, you can have him. You’ll save me the trouble.” She turned back to her desk again.

“When should I come for him?”

Mrs. Walker’s expression turned cunning. “How long until Amy’s milk comes in good?”

Sarah remembered what Amy had said about that and managed not to flinch. “A week.”

“Come back when he’s a week old then.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Walker. That’s very kind of you,” Sarah said sincerely.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the color rose in her pale cheeks. “I don’t mean the child any harm,” she said gruffly. “And I don’t know what she told you, but Amy has a good life here. I take care of all my girls. They get the best of everything.”

Unless they try to leave, Sarah thought, but she said, “I’m sure they do. Will you tell Amy you’ve agreed to let me take her baby?”

“Of course I will. It’ll keep her from crying and carrying on. Men don’t like to hear women crying either. You can go now, Mrs. Brandt. I’ve given you everything you’re going to get.”

WHEN SARAH GOT HOME, SHE FOUND A MESSAGE FROM Mrs. Van Orner, asking Sarah to meet her at the Rahab’s Daughters’ office the next morning. Miss Yingling hadn’t wasted any time in contacting her. As much as Sarah hated using her family’s name, the ploy had worked very well this time. Now she supposed she’d have to ask her mother to make a donation. Sarah would make one herself if Mrs. Van Orner and her people could get Amy out of that place.

Sarah spent the rest of the day with her family, enjoying Catherine’s antics and the relief of knowing there was hope for Amy’s predicament. The next morning, she put on her good suit again and made her way to the United Charities Building.

The young man at the front desk remembered her and greeted her by name with much more warmth than she had expected. Miss Yingling must have told him about Sarah’s family connections. Even Miss Yingling welcomed her, although Sarah suspected she was never warm to anyone.

“I’m so glad you could come, Mrs. Brandt,” she said. Her lips curved upward without really forming a smile in the odd way Sarah had noted before. “I’ll announce you.”

She went to a door on the side of the room and knocked, then opened it and told someone Sarah had arrived. She turned back to Sarah and said, “Mrs. Van Orner will see you now.”

She stepped aside so Sarah could enter the adjoining office, and then she closed the door behind Sarah. Mrs. Van Orner had risen from her chair and came around from behind her desk to greet her. Sarah caught a whiff of something clean and minty. Mrs. Van Orner offered her hand, and Sarah took it.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brandt. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.” Mrs. Van Orner was nearing forty, but she was still a lovely woman and had maintained her youthful figure. She wore a blue serge walking skirt and a matching bolero jacket over a fashionable Gibson girl shirtwaist, but her light brown hair had been pulled into a simple bun. Her hand was smooth, befitting her status in life as the wife of a wealthy man. The line of her jaw had just begun to soften with age, but grief had carved deep lines into the otherwise fine skin of her face. She had known disappointment in her life. Even wealth could not prevent that, as Sarah knew.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Sarah said when she’d taken a seat in one of the straight-backed chairs that had been placed in front of Mrs. Van Orner’s desk. This room was also simply furnished. A plain wooden cross hung on the wall behind Mrs. Van Orner, the only decoration. The desk and chairs had probably been purchased new but were cheaply made. Mrs. Van Orner wasted nothing on appearances.

Mrs. Van Orner sat down behind her desk again. “Tamar—Miss Yingling—told me about the young woman whose baby you delivered. She’s in one of the houses on Sisters’ Row, I believe?”

“That’s right. I had no idea where I was going that day. I thought it was a boardinghouse.”

“So Miss Yingling said. I’m surprised you stayed once you realized the truth.”

Did Mrs. Van Orner disapprove? Sarah thought perhaps she did, but she didn’t particularly care. “I’m a midwife, Mrs. Van Orner. I couldn’t leave until I knew the young woman and her baby were all right.”

“That’s commendable,” she said, although she didn’t sound as if she really thought so. She’d reached into a desk drawer and she drew out a small tin. “Would you like a peppermint?” She removed the lid and offered the tin to Sarah, who took one.

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Van Orner popped one in her mouth and replaced the lid on the tin. Sarah thought she must suffer from digestive troubles.

“How did this young woman know to send you to me?” Mrs. Van Orner asked.

“She said the other women who work in the house talk about you all the time, about how you rescue girls from brothels.”

“I wish we did,” she said with a sigh, “but we seldom have an opportunity to do so. The women are watched so closely, it’s difficult for them to ask for help, and it’s even more difficult for us to get inside, so we mostly work with streetwalkers. They may have a man who protects them, but it’s still much easier to approach them and get them to safety than to break into a brothel.”

“How will you get into this house?”

“We’ll figure out a plan. We’ll probably go in the morning, when everyone is still sleeping, and catch them by surprise. We’ll have to have a carriage waiting to take the girl away, I suppose.”

“Yes, she won’t be able to walk very far. What about the other women in the house?”

“What about them?”

“Will you rescue them, too?”

Mrs. Van Orner folded her hands on the desktop and leaned forward slightly, her expression solemn as she stared right into Sarah’s eyes. “Mrs. Brandt, this is very difficult work, made more so by the fact that few of the women in these places truly want to be rescued.”

“I can’t believe that!”

“I couldn’t believe it either, when I first started. I assumed that all of them longed to live respectable lives and would gratefully accept my help to free them from their bondage. What I have learned, however, is that even those who do accept my help in escaping will very often return to their lives of shame. They find they prefer that to earning their bread through honest labor.”

“But Miss Yingling said you have a house where they can stay,” Sarah remembered.

“We do, but we can’t keep them forever. Gratuitous charity works evil rather than good, you see. If we continue to support these women, they will learn the dreadful lesson that it’s easy to get a day’s living without working for it.”

Sarah didn’t know where to begin to argue with that philosophy. “What about a woman like Amy, who has a baby? Surely, you can’t expect her to go out and earn her living.”

“The Salvation Army has a crèche where women can leave their children while they work. We wouldn’t expect her to go to work immediately, of course, but eventually she would have to. You earn your own living, do you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“You do have advantages these women do not, however,” Mrs. Van Orner continued. “You could have returned to your parents’ house when you were widowed. You might even eventually remarry and have a husband to support you. If these women do have families—and they usually do not—the families don’t want them back. And I assure you, Mrs. Brandt, there are few men in the world who would knowingly marry a woman who has been a prostitute.”

She was right, of course, as difficult as it was to accept. “But you will try to rescue Amy.”

“Of course. This is a wonderful opportunity. Her story would bring all sorts of attention to the cause.”

Sarah would have preferred her to want to rescue Amy for the girl’s sake, but she would take what she could get. “What can I do to help?”

“As I said, we have to make a plan. First we’ll have to decide when the girl can safely be moved.”

“I’ve arranged with Mrs. Walker, the madam, to take the baby next Tuesday.”

“She’s going to let you have the child?” Mrs. Van Orner asked in surprise.

“Yes, I made a nuisance of myself until she agreed. Amy was terrified that they would take the baby and she’d never see him again, so I wanted to be able to keep him safe.”

Mrs. Van Orner seemed to be seeing Sarah in an entirely new light. “That was very clever of you.”

“I don’t feel very clever. I feel helpless.”

“You won’t feel helpless when this is over, Mrs. Brandt. You are going to be of tremendous assistance to us. You will need to meet with the people who work with me and tell them everything you remember about the house and the people in it.”

“I’ll be happy to do that. When can we meet?”

“Would you be available on Monday?”

“I’ll make a point of it.”

“I’ll gather my associates, and we’ll meet here at ten o’clock. That will give us adequate time to arrange for the carriage and whatever else we will need.”

“Is this going to be dangerous?”

“Extremely.”

Sarah looked at Mrs. Van Orner and wondered what had motivated her to take up such a mission. “I must admit, I admire you very much.”

“Please don’t. We all do our duty. ‘Faith without works is dead,’ ” she added, quoting a scripture verse.

“Yes, but a woman of your position in life could be considered a ‘faithful servant’ by just rolling bandages for a leper colony or filling barrels of old clothes for foreign missionaries.”

“A woman of your position could do the same, yet you’ve chosen to be a midwife.”

Sarah had to smile. “You’re right. I didn’t think of it that way.”

“There’s no need to think of it at all. I do what I must. Don’t admire me for it, Mrs. Brandt. It is my cross to bear.”

SARAH WAS STILL TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT MRS. VAN Orner had meant by that odd comment as she walked to the United Charities Building on Monday morning. She’d been worried that a birth might prevent her from keeping the appointment, but she’d delivered a baby on Saturday and found herself free when the time came.

Several people were already at the Rahab’s Daughters’ office when Sarah entered. A tall, muscular gentleman and a shorter, plump man appeared to be in their thirties. The taller man wore a tailor-made suit and had the well-tended look of the very rich. She’d known no other type of men when she was growing up. The other man seemed less affluent, but perhaps that was just because his suit was rumpled and his hair a little disheveled. A lady, dressed in a deceptively simple but hideously expensive gown and a hat with a large white bird perched on it, had been chatting with them, but they all stopped and turned to her as she closed the office door. Miss Yingling, Sarah noticed, sat behind her desk, apparently absorbed in some papers lying on its top.

“You must be Mrs. Brandt,” the lady said. “I’m Mrs. Spratt-Williams. This is Mr. Porter.” She indicated the tall man. “And Mr. Quimby.”

Both gentlemen bowed.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Sarah said.

Miss Yingling rose from her chair and went to the door of Mrs. Van Orner’s office. She tapped lightly, then opened it. “Mrs. Brandt is here.” She turned to the people gathered in the outer office. “Please go in.”

Mrs. Spratt-Williams went ahead, and Sarah followed. The two men came up behind, and Miss Yingling also came in and closed the door. Someone had gathered additional chairs and placed them in a semicircle around the desk.

As everyone took a seat, Mrs. Van Orner greeted them and thanked them for coming. Miss Yingling, Sarah noticed, pulled her chair slightly away from the desk. She sat down and balanced a small notebook on her knee, apparently prepared to take notes of some kind.

“Mrs. Brandt, have you met everyone?”

Sarah could smell the peppermint on her breath. “Yes, I have.”

“Then let’s begin by asking you to tell your story once again, so Mrs. Spratt-Williams and the gentlemen know the situation.”

Sarah started at the beginning, when Jake had come to fetch her. Mrs. Van Orner and the others stopped her occasionally to ask a clarifying question. They wanted to know every detail, including her impressions of each of the people she had encountered at the house. Mrs. Van Orner produced paper and a pencil and asked Sarah to sketch out the floor plan of the house showing the location of outside doors, Amy’s room, and Mrs. Walker’s office.

When she was finally finished and had answered all of their questions, Sarah sat back and studied the faces of each person gathered around the desk. Miss Yingling continued to scribble in her notebook. The others exchanged glances, silently communicating as good friends often do.

After a long moment, Mrs. Van Orner said, “I believe this Jake person will present the greatest obstacle.”

“Yes,” Mr. Porter agreed. “If we can get rid of him, we shouldn’t have too much difficulty.”

Mrs. Spratt-Williams turned to Sarah. “You’re going to get the baby tomorrow, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Spratt-Williams turned back to Mrs. Van Orner. “She could ask this Jake to drive her home in the carriage. She’ll be carrying the baby, so this would seem like a logical request.”

“I wasn’t going to take the baby to my home,” Sarah said. “There’s a mission on—”

“Your destination doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Van Orner said, “so long as you make sure he takes you in the carriage and is gone at least an hour.”

“That’s an excellent plan. As soon as they are out of sight, we can act,” Mr. Porter said.

“I’m sure the cook, Beulah, will offer resistance,” Sarah said.

“I’ll go to the front door and ring the bell, the way I did the last time we tried a rescue,” Mr. Quimby said. “She’ll go to answer it, and while she’s doing that, Mr. Porter and Mrs. Van Orner will enter through the back door and go up the stairs to Amy’s room.”

“What shall I do?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked almost eagerly.

“You’ll wait in the carriage and be ready to cause a distraction if anyone takes notice of what we’re doing,” Mrs. Van Orner said.

This assignment didn’t please Mrs. Spratt-Williams. “But I could help you in the house. If some of the other women wake up—”

“You’ll be a tremendous help to us out in the carriage, Tonya,” Mrs. Van Orner said a little too sharply. She saw Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s hand tighten into a fist, the only outward sign of her true reaction.

“What about the other women in the house?” Sarah asked quickly to distract them.

“We’ll go early in the morning, while the household is still asleep,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said. “If all goes well, they may never know we were there.”

“I mean, what if some of them want to be rescued, too?”

Sarah felt their resistance to this like a physical force. They exchanged glances again, their expressions grim.

Mrs. Van Orner cleared her throat. “Then they will have to make themselves known to us.”

“But if they’re asleep and they don’t even know you’re coming or why you’re there—”

“Mrs. Brandt,” Mr. Porter said kindly, “the truth is that it’s unlikely any of these women will want to be rescued, even if they know why we have come.”

“And they’re very likely to stop us from taking Amy if they have the chance,” Mr. Quimby said. “The last time we attempted a rescue in a brothel, the women themselves drove us away before we could locate the one we’d come for.”

“Good heavens!”

“So you see,” Mrs. Van Orner said, “if we hope to rescue this Amy, we can’t risk alarming the other women or we may not even be able to get her out.”

“I know it’s disappointing,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said, reaching over to pat Sarah’s hand. She’d obviously forgotten her own earlier frustration. “We’d like to save them all, but we must be content to do what we can.”

Sarah knew that feeling only too well from her volunteer work at the Daughters of Hope Mission. “Shall I tell Amy you’re coming when I get the baby?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Van Orner said. “She might say or do something to give it away.”

“They may not even allow you to see her again, in any case,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams added. “They might be afraid she’ll get hysterical if she sees you taking the baby away.”

“You must be prepared for anything,” Mr. Porter added. “One never knows how these people will behave. They might not give you the baby after all, or the girl might change her mind at the last minute and refuse to go at all.”

Mr. Quimby nodded vigorously. “Yes, indeed, we’ve seen that happen, haven’t we?”

Sarah gazed at them in dismay. “Then I suppose I should ask what I should do if Jake won’t take me in the carriage?”

“You should do nothing,” Mrs. Van Orner said. “Simply take the baby away, if they do give him to you. Let us worry about Jake.”

SARAH FELT DISTRACTED AND IRRITABLE THE REST OF the day. Even spending time with Catherine and Maeve couldn’t keep her mind off what was going to happen the next morning. Maeve asked her several times if she was all right, and she’d lied and said yes, she was fine. She went to bed early, wanting to get a good night’s sleep, and then lay awake most of the night, too tense to rest.

“What’s going on?” Maeve asked her after breakfast, when Catherine had gone upstairs to play.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Well, I am worried, and whatever it is can’t be worse than I’m imagining, so just tell me so I’ll know!”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to spare you, but I see I’ve done just the opposite. I’m going to a brothel this morning to take the baby I delivered last week from his mother.”

Maeve’s mouth dropped open. “Dear heaven! What were you doing delivering a baby in a brothel? And why are you taking it away?”

Sarah quickly explained what had happened and how Mrs. Van Orner and her friends were going to help Amy escape.

“Does Mr. Malloy know about this?” Maeve asked with a frown.

Sarah hated the heat that rose in her face. “Of course not, and he won’t ever hear about it either.”

“Do you know how dangerous this is?”

“Not for me. The madam expects me to come and take the baby this morning. I’ll be perfectly safe, and nothing else is going to happen until after I’m gone.”

“Will you bring the baby here?”

“No, I don’t want you and Catherine involved in this at all. I’ll take him to the Mission, but only for a few hours. Mrs. Van Orner has a house in the city where these women can stay, and as soon as Amy is safely there, I’ll take the baby to her.”

“You’d better get him away faster than that. Jake will know where the baby is because he took you there, and they’ll probably try to get the baby to force Amy to go back to the brothel.”

“Oh, my, I never thought of that.”

Maeve gave her a pitying glance. “Of course you didn’t, because you’re a good person. As soon as Jake drops you off, you need to go right back out again. Go straight to this house where they’re taking the girl. That’s the safest thing.”

“You’re right. I’ll do that.”

“And don’t say a word to Amy about them coming to get her. She’ll never be able to keep it a secret. She’s probably told half the girls in the house already anyway.”

“They warned me not to tell her, but how can I just leave her there without any hope?”

“It’s only for a little while. Better she doesn’t have any hope than Catherine doesn’t have any mother.”

Sarah scowled at her, but Maeve ignored it.

“You know I’m right.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you, Maeve, for giving me very good advice.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Just be sure you take it.”

SARAH WALKED ALL THE WAY TO SISTERS’ ROW, HOPING the exercise would help her burn off some of the tension she’d been feeling all night. By the time she reached the house on Twenty-fifth Street, she felt calm enough to carry out her mission. At least she hoped she was.

As she had before, she approached the house from the rear. She looked around, but saw no sign that she was observed or that the rescue party was anywhere nearby.

Beulah answered her knock. The cook looked her up and down. “I told Mrs. Walker you’d come. She didn’t think you would.”

Sarah stepped into the kitchen. “I hope she hasn’t changed her mind about letting me take the baby.”

“He’s still here. That’s all I know. You stay right here. I’ll get Mrs. Walker.”

“I’d like to check on Amy.”

Beulah glared at her through narrowed eyes. “You stay right here,” she repeated sternly.

Sarah decided she’d best obey. She didn’t want to antagonize anyone and fail to get the baby away. While she waited, she listened for any sounds of activity, but she heard nothing. The stillness was almost eerie, as if the very house itself was sleeping.

In a few moments, Beulah returned and told her Mrs. Walker wanted to see her.

This morning, Mrs. Walker was in her nightdress and robe, with her hair still braided for sleep. Her heavy eyelids and creased face told Sarah that Beulah had awakened her.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I thought I should come before the other girls were awake.”

“I wish you’d waited until I was awake,” Mrs. Walker said, “but you’re right. There’s no sense in getting everybody stirred up.”

“I’d like to see Amy, to make sure she’s doing well.”

“She’s doing fine, and if she sees you, she’ll know why you’re here. I don’t want her upset.”

“She’ll be upset when she finds out the baby is gone.”

“Yes, but it’ll be too late then, and she’ll get over it quick enough.”

Sarah wondered if a woman could ever get over the loss of her baby, but she didn’t dare express her doubt to Mrs. Walker. She had to avoid antagonizing her at all costs. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. You can tell Amy that.”

“I’ll tell her what I please,” Mrs. Walker said. “And I hope never to see your face again.”

Sarah hoped the same thing.

The office door opened, and Beulah came in, carrying a small bundle. “He’s sleeping like a lamb.”

“What did you tell Amy?” Mrs. Walker asked.

“Nothing. She’s sound asleep, too.”

“Good.”

Beulah handed the infant to Sarah. A wave of tenderness swept over her as she gazed down into his sweet face.

“You can go now,” Mrs. Walker said. “And be quick.”

Sarah had almost forgotten the most important part of her task. “Oh, dear, I was wondering, could your man Jake take me in the carriage? It’s a long walk to where I’m taking him, you see, and—”

Mrs. Walker muttered something under her breath, but she said, “Beulah, go wake Jake up and have him take her wherever she wants to go. But take her with you. She can wait in the stable. I don’t want Amy to wake up and have the baby still in the house.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Walker,” Sarah began, but the woman waved her off.

“Get out of here.”

Sarah obediently followed Beulah out, onto the back porch, through the yard, across the alley, and into the stable. She waited just inside the door, holding the tiny, almost weightless bundle, while Beulah went up the stairs to what was apparently Jake’s quarters over the stable. She heard some loud grumbling and a lot of thumping around, but in a few minutes, Beulah came down the stairs with a groggy and furious Jake behind her. He was still buttoning the jacket of his uniform, and he glared at Sarah.

“I’m very sorry,” Sarah said, trying to sound sincere, “but you were the one who told me to come early in the day.”

He made a rude noise, and silently went about the task of harnessing the matching horses to the carriage.

Beulah came over to Sarah and, using one finger, pushed the blanket back from the baby’s face so she could take one last look. “Good luck to you, boy. You’ll need it.” She stepped back. “You really think somebody’ll adopt him?”

“It’s possible.”

Beulah shook her head. “But not likely. You’re doing a good thing, though, getting him away from here. That’s a start.”

Sarah tried to think of an appropriate response, but before she could, Beulah turned and walked away. She didn’t look back.

Jake wasted no time getting the horses hitched, moving with practiced ease in spite of his groggy state. When he was finished, he moved to the carriage door and held it open for Sarah, indicating with a wave of his hand that she could enter. He made no effort to assist her, though, crossing his arms in silent rebellion against good manners.

Sarah struggled a bit climbing in with the babe in her arms, but she managed. When she was settled, he said, “Where do you want to go?”

“To the Mission, the same place you took me last time.”

His expression told her he thought this was crazy, but he slammed the door shut and climbed up to the driver’s seat. Sarah hastily opened the curtains at the windows in hopes of seeing some indication that the rescuers were nearby and waiting. At least they would see her and know she’d gotten away. She even held the baby high against her chest, so the bundle he made would be visible. As they turned onto Seventh Street, she saw a shabby carriage stopped on the next block, its driver slumped over as if drunk or sleeping. Could that be them?

Her carriage started down the street, and she caught a glimpse of a gentleman strolling leisurely on the opposite sidewalk, a walking stick in his hand. She recognized him. Mr. Quimby. She held the baby up even higher, so he’d know she had him. He didn’t seem to take any notice, and then they were gone, rattling away. Sarah lowered the baby to her lap and sank back against the cushions and started to pray.

NEARLY TWO HOURS LATER, SARAH ARRIVED AT THE house where Mrs. Van Orner had provided a refuge for the women she rescued. Mrs. Keller, at the Daughters of Hope, had loaned her a market basket in which to carry the baby. She’d be less noticeable, they’d decided, if Jake did return and started asking if anyone in the neighborhood had seen a woman carrying an infant. By the time she arrived at the modest clapboard house in the Lower East Side, however, she was extremely noticeable. The baby was screaming bloody murder, drawing looks varying from pity to outrage from the people passing her in the street.

Having only the address and seeing nothing about the house to distinguish it from its neighbors, Sarah breathed a silent prayer that she was at the right place and pounded on the door. A young woman opened it, her astonished gaze taking in Sarah and the screaming baby in the basket with one glance, then sticking her head out to hastily check the street before drawing Sarah inside and closing the door securely behind them.

“Are you Mrs. Brandt?” the girl asked.

“Yes, I—”

“Thank heaven you’ve come. That girl Amy, she’s half out of her mind worrying about what happened to you and the baby.” She reached into the basket and snatched up the squalling child. “He’s soaking wet!”

“I was in such a hurry to get him away, I didn’t even think to ask them for spare diapers,” Sarah said by way of apology, but the girl was gone, hurrying toward the stairs at the end of the front hallway.

Sarah stood there stupidly, watching her disappear up the stairs. Then she looked around. The place reminded her of the Daughters of Hope Mission, an old house furnished with threadbare rugs and castoff furniture. Faded wallpaper covered the walls, unrelieved by a single picture. A far cry from the house on Sisters’ Row.

She heard a door open upstairs and a woman’s voice raised in anguish, the words indistinguishable. The door closed, muffling the baby’s cries, and then they ceased altogether. Sarah sighed with relief.

“Not exactly what you expected, was it?” a familiar voice asked.