“Papa?” Georgio asked, leaning closer from where he knelt beside Sarah.
“Georgio?” Donato replied weakly and tried to push himself up.
“Don’t move,” Sarah warned him. “Lie still for a few minutes.”
Donato looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“You had a fall,” Sarah explained. “I’m a nurse. You need to rest for a while, until we’re sure you’re all right.” She looked at Georgio. “Make sure he understands what I’m saying.”
Georgio translated, and the older man groaned again and closed his eyes. He was only resting this time, though.
“Did he hurt you when he fell?” she asked Georgio.
He shook his head, not taking his eyes off his father.
“What was he saying when he collapsed?”
Georgio gave her a look that said it was none of her business.
“I need to know if he was ...” She’d started to say incoherent, but realized Georgio probably wouldn’t recognize the word. “Was he talking crazy? I need to know if something is wrong with his brain ... his head,” she added, pointing to her own.
Georgio’s frown was puzzled. “He say Mama is a whore, too, and this is why Emilia is bad.”
This obviously made no sense to Georgio, but Sarah understood it. Somehow Mr. Donato had guessed that he wasn’t Emilia’s father and he had decided his wife had been unfaithful. Or so she assumed, but Mr. Donato was groaning again and muttering, “No, no.”
“Not Mama,” he insisted.
“Emilia’s
mama.”
Now Sarah was growing more alarmed. The man may have had a stroke. She’d have to get him to a hospital right away, although even that wouldn’t help him very much if he was paralyzed. She took his hands in hers. “Can you squeeze my hands, Mr. Donato?”
He did, with a grip so powerful it made her cry out.
“Emilia’s
mama is whore!” he cried, his gaze boring into hers, desperate to make her understand he wasn’t crazy.
She exchanged a glace with Georgio, who only shrugged.
“Mr. Donato, don’t excite yourself. I’ll send for a — ”
“No, Emilia not our baby. Midwife bring. Our baby die.”
Now she was sure he was confused. “I didn’t bring a baby,” she told him gently, thinking he was talking about her.
“No, when Emilia born! Our baby born, but he die. Mama so sad, all a time, sad. I think she die if baby die. Midwife have baby of whore. No want baby. She take away. I tell her we keep baby. She take dead baby away. Mama never know.”
“Are you saying Emilia wasn’t your child at all?” Sarah asked incredulously.
“Child of whore. She whore, like mother. No good.”
“She have yellow hair,” Georgio murmured, as if finally solving an old mystery.
“Sì,”
his father confirmed. “Yellow hair, like whore.”
All these years, Mrs. Donato had thought her daughter was the child of her rapist. Sarah finally understood. Mrs. Donato hadn’t been able to love her daughter because she’d believed her to be the result of her greatest shame. Mr. Donato had carried the guilt of an act of kindness that still hadn’t made his wife happy. Emilia had known only that she wasn’t loved and had sought that love from men who destroyed her.
Mr. Donato was weeping, and Sarah and Georgio helped him sit up. After determining that he was recovered from his faint, they got him into a chair. Sarah checked his pulse and his heart again, and found them normal. His color was good, and he seemed no worse for his experience.
“You should rest for a day or two, just to be sure you’re all right,” Sarah suggested.
He waved away the idea. “I work tomorrow, same as always.”
She glanced at Georgio, who shrugged again, promising nothing.
“I’ll go down to the morgue and see what I can find out about burying Emilia. I won’t let them put her into a pauper’s grave,” she promised. From the look Georgio was giving her, Sarah figured he felt no further obligation toward the woman he’d believed to be his sister. From what Sarah knew, Mrs. Donato probably wouldn’t either when she found out the truth about Emilia’s birth. “Do you want me to let you know ... ?” she began, but Georgio was already shaking his head.
“You go,” he said. “No come back.”
Sarah was only too glad to oblige.
By the time Sarah got home, she had decided what she must do for Emilia, but she didn’t have a chance to act on that decision. A message awaited her that one of her patients had gone into labor. The baby, the first for this mother, took his time arriving, and she didn’t get back home until almost noon the next day. Since she had to attend the party at her mother’s house that evening, she spent the rest of the afternoon napping.
Sarah wasn’t to learn which girls Mrs. Wells had chosen to accompany her to the party until the event itself. Perhaps the woman just had difficulty making the decision. Sarah hoped that was the reason. Or perhaps Mrs. Wells understood the intense rivalry among the girls and didn’t want to give anyone a reason to gloat any sooner than necessary. The only other possibility was that she was making the girls compete for the honor up to the very last minute. Whatever her real reason, Sarah was afraid the effect was the latter. She could just imagine how the girls would be preening and fawning, not to mention undermining each other, to win attention.
“You’re very quiet, my dear,” her mother observed as they checked the third-floor ballroom one last time. The gaslights cast the room in a warm glow that was reflected in the large mirrors, and vases of fresh flowers filled it with a sweet perfume. The wooden floor shone like glass, and the gilt chairs were grouped conveniently around the room for those who wanted to sit and chat or those who were too old or too fat to do anything
but
sit and chat. At one end of the room, a “light” buffet supper was being laid, which included enough food to feed the entire population of Mulberry Bend for a week. At the other end, a piano player and harpist were tuning up. “Are you worried about how the evening will go?”
Sarah gave her mother a reassuring smile. “How could I be? You’re the perfect hostess, Mother.”
“I don’t have any control over this Mrs. Wells, however,” she said. “Are you sure she’ll give a good account of herself?”
“I’m certain of it. She’s the most self-possessed female I’ve ever met.”
“In her own world, she may be, but what will happen when she’s faced with a crowd of her ...” She caught herself just in time. She’d almost said “her betters,” and Sarah would have had to reprove her for it. Chagrined by Sarah’s frown, she said, “You know what I mean, dear. Our friends can be very intimidating to others who are... less fortunate.”
“I doubt that Mrs. Wells considers herself less fortunate than your friends, Mother. She may not be wealthy in worldly terms, but she believes herself the equal of anyone on this earth.”
Her mother was not reassured by this information. “We should go downstairs. Our guests will be arriving soon.”
When they reached the front foyer, they found Felix Decker talking with Richard Dennis, who had just arrived. He greeted Sarah warmly, although she could see he was a bit nervous.
“I’m sure your wife would have been pleased at what you’re doing this evening,” she said to him when her parents were distracted by a question from one of the servants.
Richard’s smile was wan. “I hope so. I never really concerned myself with what would please her when she was alive, so I can’t be sure.”
“You must stop feeling guilty, Richard. We can’t change the past. We can only do better in the future.”
Was that what she was trying to do herself? Was that what had motivated her work at the mission? She hadn’t been aware of any guilt, but perhaps she felt some for her privileged upbringing. Did she feel some sort of debt that must be repaid? Or was it all about Emilia and her senseless death?
She didn’t have time to figure it out just then, because her mother was giving them instructions. “Your father and I will greet people here at the door. Why don’t you and Richard go upstairs and circulate among the guests?”
Richard followed her upstairs, his step heavy and his shoulders hunched against some invisible burden. She began to regret asking him to participate, but then the guests began to arrive, and she forgot to feel sorry for him. To his credit, he quickly assumed the role of host with the ease of long practice, and no one would have suspected he had any qualms about the event.
Sarah greeted many of her old friends and people she hadn’t seen in many years. The crowd included a sprinkling of Astors and Vanderbilts, along with some of the less famous but no less wealthy names from the social register. Then a tall woman came in whom Sarah didn’t recognize.
For all her expensive finery, she was very plain and somewhat awkward, as if uncomfortable in her own body. She looked as if she might be much more at home on horseback, riding with the hunt, than mingling with the idle rich. The man with her was a head shorter than she and almost as round as he was tall. His bald head shone in the reflected gaslight. Richard Dennis greeted them both with genuine affection and motioned Sarah over to meet them.
“Sarah, this is Opal and Charles Graves. Opal was Hazel’s dearest friend.” Sarah remembered that Richard had given her mother their names to add to the guest list.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said, shaking both their hands. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“And we’re glad you’ve agreed to accompany Richard to our party on Saturday night,” Opal Graves said. “I hope he warned you that you must wear a costume.”
Sarah managed not to wince. Richard had said nothing about a costume, although she should have guessed it would be expected at a Halloween party. “I’m looking forward to it,” she managed.
“So are we.” Mrs. Graves gave Richard a glance that said her true enjoyment would be seeing him with a female.
Sarah decided a change of subject was in order. “I suppose you already know all about the work of the mission.”
“Yes,” Opal Graves agreed. “I’ve supported their work for many years, since they first began in fact.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Wells will be happy to see a familiar face in the crowd,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Graves frowned ever so slightly. “I’m afraid I’m not well acquainted with Mrs. Wells. Her late husband was the one who first approached Charles and me about his dreams of starting a ministry.”
“He must have been an extraordinary man,” Sarah said.
“Hardly,” Charles Graves said with a chuckle. “He’d still be preaching on street corners if his wife hadn’t pushed him.”
“Now, darling, you mustn’t speak ill of the dead,” his wife chided him fondly. “Reverend Wells was a dedicated man of God. What he lacked in ambition, he more than made up for in his zeal to minister to others.”
“And his wife more than made up for his lack of ambition,” he chided right back, looking up at her with an adoring twinkle in his eyes. For all the difference in their physical appearances, they obviously shared a mutual affection that Sarah couldn’t help but envy.
“I understand you were the one who first introduced Mrs. Dennis to the work at the mission,” Sarah said, deciding she’d ask Mrs. Graves some more about Mrs. Wells when she could get her alone.
“Yes, I was,” she said with a rueful glance at Richard.
“She did enjoy her work there,” Richard assured her quickly. However much he might blame the mission for Hazel’s death, he held no grudge against his friends.
“And she is very kindly remembered there,” Sarah added.
“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Graves said. “Hazel was an exceptional person.”
Some more guests were arriving who needed Sarah’s attention, but she said to Mrs. Graves, “I’d love to hear more about how you became involved with the mission. Could we talk later?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Graves said. “I’d be happy to tell you everything I know about it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Graves went off to mingle and greet acquaintances while Sarah and Richard finished their duties. A short time later, Sarah’s parents joined the party, which meant that all the guests had arrived. Mrs. Wells was scheduled to make her appearance a little later in the evening, after the guests had a chance to sample the food and wine the Deckers had provided for them and were in a more generous mood.
Sarah found Opal Graves sitting in a corner, entertaining an elderly lady who could hardly hear a word she was saying. Sarah rescued her, taking her out into the corridor where they could speak without being overheard.
“I wanted to thank you for coming,” Sarah began.
“And I wanted to thank you for inviting us. It’s good to see Richard taking an interest in society again. He’s been far too solitary since Hazel died. I suppose we have you to thank for that, Mrs. Brandt,” she added with a twinkle.
“I don’t want to disappoint you, but Richard and I are merely friends,” Sarah said. “He knew that my work often takes me to the Lower East Side, and he asked me to go with him to the mission so he could find out what his wife had done there.”
“Forgive me if I sound like a hopeless romantic, but love has grown in rockier soil than that,” she said. “Now don’t look so panicked,” she added with a large grin. “I’m only teasing you.”
Sarah managed a smile in return. “It would take more than that to panic me,” she assured her companion. “I am grateful to Richard for introducing me to the mission, however. I’ve started volunteering there myself.”
“You mentioned your work takes you to that neighborhood. What type of work do you do?”
“I’m a midwife,” she said, fully expecting to see the frown of disapproval or even distaste that usually followed this admission, but Mrs. Graves simply looked intrigued. “Of course I don’t deliver babies at the mission,” Sarah assured her. “I’ve begun teaching the girls about hygiene and how to protect themselves against disease.”
“Mrs. Brandt, you astonish me! How did you ever escape the clutches of your adoring family to pursue such a career?”