I count myself very lucky. We needn’t fear sickness for there is a good doctor and an apothecary in town and we can pay them. Hannes will start at the little school in the village in the fall with new shoes and a primer and whatever else children need these days. The boys are my life’s work, now, and I intend to do it proper. Good food and fresh air and a bit of work around the place for each of them (excepting the baby, of course). And a hug and kiss at bedtime, the way their mam would want.
If Henry was clear in his mind he would write himself to thank you and say how much we appreciate the kindness you all showed us in our hour of need. There are good people in the world, after all. We pray every day for our dearest girl, gone forever but never forgot.
Yours truly,
May Steinmauer
Anna tried to remember the last time there had been a mention in the papers about the Campbell boys but could not. It was as if they had used up their portion of the public’s interest and concern and would not get any more attention unless they earned it. In a city where thousands of children lived on the streets, that would be hard to do.
On the desk in front of her she had the draft of a letter she had been meaning to finish and mail since the fruitless meeting with Father McKinnawae. She had revised it multiple times, and had yet to copy it in its final form on to her personal stationery.
Mr. and Mrs. Eamon Mullen
Tottenville, Staten Island, NY
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mullen,
I am Anna Savard Mezzanotte, of New York city. On May 26th my husband and I met your family very briefly on the beach near Mount Loretto. Your daughter Theresa Ann introduced us to you and her baby brother, you may recall.
We hope you might be willing to grant a favor. May we stop by and visit with you one Saturday or Sunday afternoon, at your convenience? This has to do with a family connection, one I would prefer not to spell out in a letter. I realize this sounds very mysterious, but let me assure you that our designs are friendly, and we mean you only well. In all probability we will visit for less than an hour.
Of course, you may well want to check references before you reply this letter. I provide the following information to that end:
I am physician and surgeon, a graduate of the Woman’s Medical School here in New York, and registered at Sanitary Headquarters, as required by law. I am on staff at the New Amsterdam Charity Hospital. My husband, Detective Sergeant Giancarlo Mezzanotte, is on the New York City police force and is stationed at Police Headquarters on Mulberry Street. We live at No. 18 Waverly Place.
With very best wishes to you and your family.
I am most sincerely yours,
Dr. Anna Savard
She knew she needed to show the letter to Aunt Quinlan and Jack and maybe even Conrad Belmont and take advice before sending it. Anna asked herself what these people might say, if they would disapprove.
With considerable effort she tried to clear her mind and read the letter as Mrs. Mullen might read it. Would she be affronted, afraid, insulted, or simply curious? The only thing Anna knew for certain was that the situation had to be addressed soon.
She sat for a moment looking at a blank sheet of stationery. Engraved across the top in an elegant typeface was her full name: Dr. Liliane Mathilde Savard. A graduation present from Margaret. Anna had thanked her and then put the box away, only to find that she did have a use for stationery like this. It put a certain distance between herself and the person she was writing to. A private individual requesting a consultation, a colleague asking her to read the draft of a journal article, invitations to conferences and meetings, a request for a contribution to an educational fund: in each case she had to balance interest and concern with the demands on her time and energy.
The house was dim and cool and very quiet. Before she could change her mind, she got out a pen and ink and a fresh sheet of stationery. In a fluid hand she copied out the final version of the letter to the Mullens. While the ink dried she addressed an envelope. She folded the letter neatly, went over the creases with the letter opener, put it in the envelope, and set it aside.
Then she started another, far more pleasant letter, one that would cheer up both Sophie and Cap. This letter she wanted to write. A letter with answers instead of questions. She thought of them sitting on a terrace overlooking mountains and pastures, and she wrote down for them the rest of Janine Campbell’s story.
? ? ?
SHE DIDN’T REALIZE it, Elise was sure, but with a simple statement Anna had handed her what felt like keys to a vast kingdom.
“There are books and journals enough in the house,” she had said. “You’re free to take any of them to your room. You can start studying now, and you’ll be that much more prepared when classes start.”
The idea of going to medical school still struck Elise as alternately ridiculous and overwhelming, but it was now a fact. She carried the acceptance letter with its offer of a scholarship on her person, folded small and tucked in the waistband of her uniform skirt. As if it were a ticket that once lost, could never be replaced.