She began writing longer passages in her daybook, listing questions that occurred to her while with one patient or another. And now she had the books that would make it possible to start.
Early Monday a surgery was scheduled that she was now determined to watch. As a nurse she had no claim on a spot in the gallery, but as a new medical student she could at least try. Along with every other doctor and medical student in the city, in this case. Dr. Shifra Rosenmeyer would begin with an orotracheal intubation, and then move on to resecting six-year-old Regina Sartore’s retropharyngeal tumor. With surgery the little girl’s chances of survival were poor; without surgery she would be dead in weeks, if not days. But she would have a chance.
Elise gathered a pile of books and sat down on the floor to begin sorting out everything there was to know about the operation to come.
? ? ?
AT NINE SHE got up to light the lamps and give her eyes a rest. The windows were open to the night breezes and city noises. Slowly she was learning to ignore the most common ones: iron wheels on steel tracks, hoofs on pavement, the huff of steam engines, the shouts of the boys playing stickball or craps in a nearby alley. She had wondered at first how children got any sleep at all, but Rosa and Lia rarely sat still, and by bedtime they never lasted long. When they begged for bedtime stories it was quite safe to agree to a chapter or three. To Elise’s certain knowledge they had yet to get past the first chapter of Little Women.
She was almost alone in the house: the little girls asleep, the older ladies sitting in the garden pergola watching fireflies and slapping at mosquitoes. Chiara had gone to spend the night with Celestina to work on some embroidery project that was giving her fits, and Laura Lee went home every day once supper was on the table.
In the daytime the house was usually overrun with busy people. The exception was Mrs. Quinlan, who spent a good part of the morning in her little study. Mrs. Lee gladly played the dragon before the moat; Chiara swore that even the quietest footsteps passing Mrs. Quinlan’s door would cause Mrs. Lee to appear with a wooden spoon that she tapped into an open palm. But then Chiara was very fond of a good story and believed that facts were there to be bent to the needs of the storyteller.
Elise decided she was thirsty enough to go in search of the cold mint tea Mrs. Lee made by the bucketful. Maybe she would sit in the garden for a little while, if the mosquitoes weren’t too bloodthirsty. She opened her door and stepped into the hallway, where she found Rosa poised for flight, her face pale with shock.
She wore a clean pinafore over a muslin dress and her sturdiest shoes. There was a shawl folded over her arm, half hiding a small basket.
In such a situation Elise would have expected flustered excuses and a quick retreat back into her room, but Rosa stood there without flinching.
She said, “If you stop me now, I’ll go another time. You can’t watch me forever.”
Confused, alarmed, Elise came closer and crouched down until their faces were on the same level. “But where is it you’re going?”
Relief flowed through the little girl, as visible as a storm tide dying out on a beach.
“To Staten Island,” she said with a note of impatience. “To get my little brother. Would you come with me?”
“Sit here with me a minute.” Elise tugged her to the staircase where they sat side by side, speaking in low whispers.
“Why do you think your brother—”
“Vittorio,” Rosa supplied. “The baby.”
“Why do you think he’s on Staten Island?”
From the basket Rosa took a single sheet of paper and held it out. Anna’s handwriting, with much crossing out and many insertions. The letter had not come easily to her.
Rather than take it in hand, Elise said, “Tell me what it says.”
Rosa bit her lip so hard that Elise expected to see blood.
“I have to go now before they come in from the garden. Won’t you come with me?”
“Wait,” Elise said.
“No,” Rosa said, getting up. “I’m not going to wait anymore.”
“Rosa—”
“You can’t stop me. It’s your fault that he got lost in the first place. You lost him, and now they know where he is but they aren’t doing anything about it. Well, I’ll do something.”
She began to run down the stairs.
“Rosa,” Elise said, trying to keep her voice calm. “There’s no ferry at this time of night. You can’t get to Staten Island until morning.” Which might not be strictly true, but she had nothing else to offer.
The girl paused to look over her shoulder. Elise had never seen such an expression on a child’s face, misery and anger and flint-hard determination.
“I’ll hide until morning,” she said. “I’ve done it before.”
Elise saw Jack coming out of the hall from the kitchen. Rosa followed her shifting gaze and then she was dashing for the door.