Rory's Promise (2 page)

R
ORY S
A
T DOWN GR
A
TEFULLY,
A
LRE
A
DY EXH
A
USTED,
A
ND IT wasn't even breakfast yet. The children were clean and dressed and off to the dining room on the first floor of the main building. Despite all the morning hurry, Rory had found a few extra seconds to make sure that the purple bow in Violet's curly red hair was placed just so. The time it took was repaid by the sweet kiss Violet gave her as she joined the long queue of children hurrying downstairs to their first meal of the day.

Now Rory finally had some time to herself. Moments alone were rare and to be cherished. Another reason to avoid the dormitory! She braided her long red hair into a neat plait; her fingers had grown nimble taking care of so many small children. Rory slipped into a clean pinafore skirt she had pulled from the dresser she shared with Violet. The skirt fell only a few inches below the knee—too short to be quite respectable. As she tugged on her leather boots, she could see
where her big toes had stretched the leather. No wonder her toes always hurt.

What she wouldn't give for a new dress! Or shoes that had never been worn before. There was a scarcity of donated clothing in the nursery box to fit a girl as tall as she, and shoes for her size feet were always in short supply. Rory dared not draw attention to her constantly increasing height because it always led to questions about her age. Girls in the dormitory had clothing that fit—the shoes too. But once Rory admitted that she was growing, the Sisters would insist that she move in with the older kids. The Sisters hated anything that interfered with their rules and sense of order. That was Rory Fitzpatrick in a nutshell. So Rory kept her head down and did what was best for her and Vi.

The street noises grew louder, full of the voices of women and the cries of babies. Tugging at the hem of her skirt, Rory braced herself. Every other day Rory would go to the Foundling school, but not on the first Wednesday of the month. Today was payday for the one thousand wet nurses employed by the Foundling Hospital. The wet nurses had babies of their own at home but they provided mother's milk to orphaned babies for a substantial fee each month. Rory had assumed the duty of ensuring that no one cheated the Sisters. It was just one more way to show the Sisters how much they needed her.

The line of women and babies snaked from the main entrance of the Foundling on East Sixty-Ninth around the
corner to Third Avenue. The sight of so many women and babies was remarkable enough that drivers of private cars and carriages slowed down to stare.

Rory began with the women at the front of the line, waiting to enter the building. The first was a woman in her thirties, with a broad face and pale eyes, holding a swaddled baby against her breast.

“Mrs. Healy,” she scolded, “little Brian looks pale. Is he getting enough fresh air? The Sisters say that's important.”

“Look at you, little miss bossy.” Mrs. Healy laughed. “For all you're only thirteen, you talk like one of the nuns.”

“I'm just twelve,” Rory corrected her.

“You look older.”

Rory glanced about to make sure none of the nuns had overheard Mrs. Healy. “Just mind that Brian gets out at least once a day. Your eldest can take him—he's nine now, isn't he?”

“When my eldest gets home from the shoe factory, he's too tired to mind a baby, especially a stranger.”

“This stranger,” Rory stressed the word, “is worth ten dollars hard cash a month to your family. Remind him of that.”

She moved on. The Sisters had never asked her to play policeman to the wet nurses, but Rory knew firsthand how deceitful people could be. It made Rory angry to think of the Sisters being taken advantage of. Babes in the wood, they were. Besides, Rory was the closest person these children had to family. She would take care of them as well as she took care of Violet, as long as she was able.

No trickery caught her eye until she reached Mrs.
O'Flanagan, who had worked with Rory's Ma in the shirt factory before she started taking babies for the Foundling. Mrs. O'Flanagan was an old hand at wet nursing. She always had a baby of her own, so she was happy to take in orphans for the stipend. When she saw Rory, she quickly turned her tall, straight body away from Rory's view.

“Hello, Mrs. O'Flanagan,” Rory said loudly. Reluctantly, the wet nurse turned round. “How is Danny?” she asked.

“Just fine,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said, in the thick brogue of Ireland. “He's a little love.”

“Let me hold him, he's a favorite of mine.” Rory planted herself in front of Mrs. O'Flanagan and waited.

“Look at you, grown so tall,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said. “You're the spitting image of your mother.”

“Thanks, Mrs. O'Flanagan.” Now Rory knew something was wrong. Mrs. O'Flanagan and her mother had never gotten along. “But we were talking about Danny.”

“Are the Sisters taking good care of you? They promised they would.”

“The Sisters don't lie,” Rory said. As firmly as she could manage, she said, “Let me see him.” She held out her arms.

Mrs. O'Flanagan held tight to the baby. “He's just fallen asleep,” she said, looking down severely at Rory.

“I won't wake him,” Rory assured her.

Slowly, Mrs. O'Flanagan handed the baby over. Rory snuggled the baby and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“A lovely babe,” Rory said, very quietly so only Mrs. O'Flanagan could hear. “But he's not Danny. He looks like
your own boy. Brendan, isn't it? Where's Danny?”

Mrs. O'Flanagan's eyes took on a shifty look.

“Mrs. O'Flanagan, don't lie to me. I know Danny and that's not him.” Rory braced herself; so many things could happen to these defenseless babies.

Finally Mrs. O'Flanagan slumped, as though Rory had pricked her and let all the air out. “The babe is just fine, Rory. He's at home. But he's got a rash. A bad one—it fair turns your stomach to look at. The nuns are so fussy they might take him away and I can't afford to lose the money.”

“Where's the rash? In the diaper?”

Mrs. O'Flanagan nodded. “And on his back.”

“I'm sure it's nothing that an ointment won't cure,” Rory said. “Go get Danny and I'll make sure Sister Kathleen is fair with you.”

“But I don't want to lose my place!”

“I'll wait in the line for you,” Rory said. “But bring Danny right now or else I'll have to tell the Sisters and then you'll lose any chance of working for them again.”

“You're fiercer than the nuns, you are. I won't be long,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said, but she was already edging past the other mothers. Rory leaned against the wall, knowing she wouldn't have long to wait. Mrs. O'Flanagan lived in a tenement a short horsecar ride away, decent lodging for her family paid for with the money from the Foundling. She knew she had done the right thing
.
Mrs. O'Flanagan would be back soon with the correct baby.

“Well done.” A familiar voice at her back startled Rory. “I couldn't have handled it better.” Rory whirled around to see Sister Anna, the nun in charge of all the children. She had a nose for a lie; all the kids, including Rory, were wary of her.

“Truly?” Rory kept her eyes fixed on Sister Anna's folded hands.

“Tell me, how did you know that baby wasn't Danny? We see so many.”

Rory looked up, eager to explain. “Danny has a birthmark here.” Rory indicated under her left ear. “But I'm sure the baby is fine. You'll see.”

“I believe you, my dear. You've an instinct for the good in people.” In a sadder tone, she added, “And the evil.”

“After all the Foundling has done for me and Violet, the least I can do is make sure you don't get swindled.”

“I don't know what we would do without you, Rory.” A slight smile played on Sister Anna's lips. “But shouldn't you be in class?”

“Sister, anyone can do arithmetic, but I'm the only one who knows the difference between Danny and Brendan.”

“Just for today, then,” Sister Anna conceded. “But I think it's high time we had a talk about your future.”

“Now?” Rory gulped.

“Soon.” In the way all the nuns had, Sister Anna glided away, almost as if she was skating on ice.

Rory narrowed her eyes as she watched Sister Anna leave. Had Sister Anna finally decided that she was too old to stay in the nursery with Violet? Rory trembled; tomorrow was the time to worry about the future.

R
ORY ONLY H
A
D TO HOLD
M
RS.
O'F
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G
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N'S PL
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CE FOR a few minutes before she returned with a plump and bright-eyed Danny. They quickly reached the head of the line, at an alcove off the main entrance of the Foundling, where Sister Kathleen looked like a giant seated at her small desk. Rory whispered to Mrs. O'Flanagan, “Let me do the talking.”

Rory stepped in front of the desk. “Good morning, Sister Kathleen!” she said cheerily.

Sister Kathleen was a tall, thin woman who rarely smiled. Her eyes darted past Rory to the baby. “Who do we have here?” she asked.

Rory marveled that the Sisters saw these women and babies every month but couldn't tell them apart. Rory knew everyone's name and history. She could no more mistake one child for another than she could switch her own head with Sister Anna's. Little Willie had the longest eyelashes, and tiny Mary Dolan had been born too early and still wasn't a
proper size. “This is Mrs. O'Flanagan, Sister. And the baby is Danny. Mrs. O'Flanagan is a bit concerned about his rash and wonders if you could take a look.”

Sister Kathleen was the Foundling's expert on childhood ailments, in charge of ensuring that each baby was being well cared for by his wet nurse. She removed her ledger from the desk, whipped out a clean cloth to cover the wooden surface, and indicated the baby should be placed there. The chubby little boy gurgled and threw out his fists. Sister Kathleen undid the large pin holding the cloth diaper together. “What do we have here? Oh my …” Her voice trailed off. She looked sharply at Mrs. O'Flanagan. “Have you been changing his diaper regularly?”

“Of course she has,” Rory said quickly, holding up the clean diaper. “I know it looks awful, Sister Kathleen, but you know that Mrs. O'Flanagan has always done right by the Foundling.” Rory turned to the older woman. “This is the fourth babe you've taken?” Mrs. O'Flanagan nodded. “And as soon as she saw the baby was ailing, she asked for help. Why, a babe's own ma couldn't do more!”

Sister Kathleen pursed her lips and considered. She examined the babe's clothes, grudgingly admitting they were clean. “When did the rash start?”

“Just a few days ago,” Mrs. O'Flanagan hurried to get the words out of her mouth.

“Is there anything new in the house? A different kind of food, perhaps?”

“No.” Mrs. O'Flanagan was regretful, as if she wished she
could say the family had started to eat nettles. Anything to protect the family's income.

Rory was peering over Sister Kathleen's shoulder. She reached in and rubbed the unsoiled diaper between her fingers. “Sister, look.” Rory held out her fingers covered with fine white powder.

Sister Kathleen's mournful face brightened. “Have you tried a new soap?”

“That I did!” Mrs. O'Flanagan said. “I ran out and my neighbor gave me some of that Ivory soap. It smelled ever so nice.”

Sister Kathleen's head bobbed, certain of her diagnosis. “The baby—”

“Danny,” prompted Rory.

“Danny's skin is reacting to the new soap,” Sister Kathleen went on. “Try your old soap and see if the rash goes away. If it doesn't, then be sure you come back. Don't wait until next month.” She gave Danny back to Mrs. O'Flanagan, made an entry in her ledger, and handed over ten one-dollar bills.

“I will,” Mrs. O'Flanagan promised, clutching her money. The Foundling had discovered long ago that a decent wage ensured that the wet nurses took good care of the babies.

Rory continued her watchful patrol of the line. The last woman didn't collect her money for several more hours. By the time the bells began to toll for the afternoon Mass, Rory was dead on her feet in her too-small boots. She groaned; she'd never get any rest in the chapel. The priest was sure to have them jumping up and down with every prayer. She glanced
to the side of the imposing entrance at Sister Kathleen's cozy nook. Rory imagined herself napping comfortably in that quiet place. She smiled to herself and sidled up to Sister Kathleen. “Sister, did you hear that the Archbishop of New York is saying Mass today?”

“I had heard that,” Sister Kathleen said wistfully. “I would love to hear him but I'm scheduled to sit at the intake desk this afternoon.”

“You shouldn't miss it, Sister,” Rory said earnestly. “I'd be happy to mind the desk for you.”

“Would you?” Sister Kathleen's solemn face looked hopeful. “I couldn't ask …”

“Go, Sister,” Rory insisted. “I'll wait here until after Mass.”

“Bless you, child.” Sister Kathleen hurried away just as the bells fell silent.

The formerly busy entry hall was deserted; everyone except Rory was at Mass. Rory sat at Sister Kathleen's desk and watched the dust motes drift in the light from the tall windows. It wasn't long before she put her head on her forearms and dozed.

A touch on her arm startled her awake.

“Miss,” asked a timid voice. “Is this where I leave my baby?”