Murder on Sisters' Row (2 page)

“Help me,” the girl begged, grabbing Sarah’s hand. “Please, get it out of me!”

“We’ll have to wait for the baby to come out on his own, I’m afraid, but I can help you be more comfortable while it’s happening.”

“Just tell me what you need,” Mrs. Walker said, “and I’ll have Beulah get it for you.”

Sarah requested a rubber undersheet and clean sheets to start. In a few minutes Beulah, the cook, brought them. Sarah got Amy out of bed and helped Beulah change it. Although this took only a few minutes, Amy began complaining almost immediately.

“I have to lay down. I can’t stand this pain! Give me some laudanum or something!”

Sarah left Beulah to finish the bed and hurried over to where Amy was reclining on the chaise. “You shouldn’t take any laudanum,” she cautioned. “It can affect the baby.”

“I don’t care about the baby,” Amy insisted. “I can’t stand this any longer!”

“What an awful thing to say, Amy,” Mrs. Walker said, glancing at Sarah with an embarrassed shrug. “You don’t mean that, and of course you can stand it. Thousands of women before you have stood it, and you will, too.”

“I promised I could make you more comfortable,” Sarah said. “The first thing we need to do is get you up and walking around.”

“Walking around?”
Amy fairly screeched. “How can that make me more comfortable?”

“It will make your labor go faster. And do you have a . . . a
plainer
nightdress? One that’s looser? This one is so pretty, it’s a pity to get it stained,” Sarah added tactfully.

The young woman looked at Sarah for a long moment, as if she were seeing her for the first time. Then she threw back her head and started laughing hysterically.

Sarah’s mind was racing, frantically trying to decide what to do, but before she could, Mrs. Walker drew back her arm and slapped the girl smartly across the face. Sarah cried out in protest, but neither of the other women appeared to notice. Amy’s laughter ceased abruptly, and she stared at Mrs. Walker with mingled surprise and . . . Sarah needed a moment to identify the other emotion she saw in Amy’s clear blue eyes: fear.

The girl reached up and cradled her cheek and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Now stop acting like a child. Mrs. Brandt will lose patience with you and leave, and then what will you do? You can’t have this baby on your own, you know.”

Amy turned to Sarah in alarm. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, more fervently this time. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Sarah assured her. “But you need to do what I tell you. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies, and you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

The girl glanced at Mrs. Walker, who was still glaring at her. Amy turned back to Sarah. “I’ll do what you say. I don’t have another nightdress, though. A plainer one, I mean.”

“That’s all right. I meant what I said about walking. It will make the baby come faster. Your mother and I can take turns walking with you.”

“My
mother
?” she echoed in surprise, looking at Mrs. Walker.

Mrs. Walker smiled rather stiffly. “I think she means me,” she said, an odd expression on her face. “I’m not her mother,” she told Sarah, “just her . . . hostess. She boards here, you see.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I misunderstood.” Now she recalled that Jake had said one of Mrs. Walker’s
guests
was having a baby. She should have remembered that.

“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Walker said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boardinghouse this . . .” Sarah groped for the right word, not certain how to say what she was thinking without giving offense.

“Fancy?” Amy offered, earning a disapproving glare from Mrs. Walker.

“Yes,” Sarah agreed.

“Mrs. Walker does run a
fancy house
,” Amy said with mock innocence.

Some silent communication passed between Mrs. Walker and Amy, a warning of sorts, and then Amy clutched her stomach and moaned again.

“Let’s get you up and walking,” Sarah said when the contraction had passed.

For at least an hour, Sarah and Mrs. Walker took turns holding Amy’s arm as she paced around the room. During that time Sarah asked her questions about her health and the progress of the pregnancy and the details of her labor thus far. One thing she didn’t learn about was the baby’s father. No one had mentioned him at all. Beulah had remarked that the other
ladies
were still sleeping, indicating the other boarders were all female. Sarah began to wonder if Mrs. Walker was actually running a refuge for other girls like Amy, unmarried girls from good families who had gotten with child and needed a place to have their babies secretly. She’d heard of such places, but she’d never been called to one before. She had always assumed they had arrangements with midwives whom they knew and trusted. She wondered why she’d been chosen today.

Beulah brought them some luncheon, an elegant arrangement of sandwiches and tea cakes. Amy could manage only a few bites, but Sarah ate heartily, not sure when she’d have another chance. Mrs. Walker nibbled a bit, but she seemed preoccupied.

When Beulah came to remove the tray, a young woman appeared in the open doorway. She was about Amy’s age, barefoot, and clad only in a silk nightdress like Amy’s, her dark hair tied up in rags, the way girls did to make it curl. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she peered into the room.

“Is the baby coming?” she asked of no one in particular.

Amy paused in her pacing and groaned, clutching her stomach as another contraction seized her.

“What does it look like?” Mrs. Walker snapped. “Go on and mind your own business, Dolly.”

The girl sniffed, offended. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Be friendly someplace else,” Mrs. Walker said.

The girl turned with a toss of her head, but the flopping rags spoiled the effect. Only when she was gone did Sarah realize that she didn’t look as if she were with child. Of course, she might not be showing yet. Some women didn’t begin to show until late in the pregnancy, especially with their first baby. Perhaps even more curious was Mrs. Walker’s rudeness to the girl. Somehow Sarah would have expected a “hostess” to be kinder to the unfortunate girls in her care.

After an hour of walking, Amy wanted to rest for a while. Sarah helped her lie down on the chaise lounge.

“I could brush your hair out for you, if you like,” Sarah offered. “We should probably braid it so it’s easier to manage.”

“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.