I sent a note asking to come right away, and the woman sent back a rough but legible note saying yes. Clementina granted me freedom to go and gave me a dollar-fifty advance on pay. So now I owe two dollars to her, which she noted in a leather-bound account book on her desk.
With dread I packed the light cotton clothes and blankets and other things I’d sewed for Charlotte, dressed her, and plunged us down the alley and into the street. Every noise fascinated her—the clacking of horses’ feet on cobbles, the carriages and wagons bouncing past. As we drew nearer to the nurse’s address, vendors called vigorously from their carts, offering oysters or pepper pot, asking to grind scissors or fix an umbrella or buy a household’s rags. A woman stepped out her door to pour a bucket of filth into the street, and I had to jump aside to keep my boots from being flooded. We passed a factory emitting smoke and an awful grinding sound. Yet Charlotte’s eyes never stopped roving with joyous vigor. Holding her neck high, she graced the area with her gleeful smile. I began to suspect that there’s a kind of ecstacy to be found in giving oneself over to a clamor.
At the nurse’s address sat a brick row-house—far better than Gerda’s shack, and on a block of solid buildings. I raised the knocker and dropped it. Charlotte gave a start as the door swung open. A weary face peered upward at us, the woman being even smaller than me.
“Ye must be Miss Freid,” she said. Black eyebrows formed a thick line above her squinting eyes. Her straggly hair was pulled loosely back, and her clothing sagged on her narrow frame.
“No, I’m Miss de Jong,” I said, “and this is Charlotte.” I tried to incline Charlotte’s face outward, but she pushed firmly into me and drew her head down, tightening her little fists on her blanket wrap. “I was sorry to read of thy baby’s passing,” I said, expecting to hear of a recent loss and meaning to investigate its cause.
The woman nodded, pushing her mouth into a frown. “Three years ago next month.” When I said nothing, she continued, “Ya don’t forget.”
“No,” I said, and we stood there. Three years? Could she even have much milk to offer? If she did, it wouldn’t have the right composition for a newborn. Dr. Snowe had indicated the importance of this.
“I feeds ’em plenty, as if they was my own,” she said. “I’d be as a mother to your baby. Yes, I would.”
My heart stepped up its pace, bringing on a flush.
“Such full hair the baby has.” As she reached an arm, the sleeve of her dress pushed upward, revealing a suppurating sore on the wrist. “Ye don’t have ta be skittish! Let me hold her.”
I reached Charlotte halfway, my throat so clamped it let out an involuntary squeak. What if this woman had some contagious disease, such as syphilis? An unclean scent arose from her. I pulled my darling close again, turned around, and plunged us into the dusty street.
“Come back, miss,” the woman yelled, but I didn’t turn. I ran for as long as I could, the sack of Charlotte’s clothing banging my leg, until she began to cry. I sat on a stoop and held her body to my pounding chest, aiming not to succumb to hysteria. My uneven pulse sounded in my ears. I swallowed, trying to moisten my mouth. Sweat came to my skin and cooled me slightly.
Charlotte wanted to feed. I walked between two houses into an alley, sat on an overturned barrel, and opened my clothing beneath my shawl. While she took comfort, my muscles began to loosen. I became aware of my own hunger and chewed a hunk of bread from my pocket. She finished quickly. Opening her blanket across my lap, I changed her diaper and clothes in the warm, humid air.
Where was I to go?
The Haven was at least two miles away. But it was the only friendly place I knew.
I disliked being viewed by strangers as I traveled the residential streets. The women seated together on their stoops grew quieter when I passed, and I heard some whispering after. What secrets might they have seen written upon me? My appearance was no doubt peculiar, for I’d combined rich women’s hand-me-downs with my plain attire. I probably had spit-up milk down my back, as I’ve often found it there when I undress. And when was the last time I’d combed out my hair? Even the features on my face might have been in disarray—for how could they look right, when powerful feelings were coursing and tumbling through me like leaves and sticks in a swollen stream?
At last we reached the Haven’s door. I rang the bell. Delphinia pulled back the curtain at the nearest window; on recognizing me, her look moved from suspicion to pleasure. She undid the several locks from a circlet of keys at her waist.
“What joy!” she said. “We hardly get to see a girl after she leaves. You both look well!” She reached through the doorway to stroke Charlotte’s head.
For a moment my heart unclenched at seeing her pink face framed by wisps of white. Then all at once I grew righteous. If she’d seen Charlotte when I’d first rescued her from Gerda’s…
“Thee sent her to a baby farmer,” I said. “She nearly died.”
Delphinia’s face blanched. “She went to a fine place.” She straightened her back and lifted her head. “Three dollars for two weeks, it turned out, and you’d left only two, so I put in my own dollar, which was a hardship.”
“I’m very sorry. But if thee calls that a fine place, then I’m the queen of England. That woman was a baby farmer, with two other infants who won’t live out the month.” I paused to choke back a sob. “She robbed us both of every penny.”
Delphinia scrutinized me, apparently deciding I was too upset to reason with. “Don’t stand in the doorway,” she scolded. “Come this way.” She wrested the sack from my sweating fingers and ushered me through the hall to the office.
Anne sat at her desk, neat and serious, and beheld me with curiosity.
“Lilli says her baby went to a baby farmer,” said Delphinia, eyebrows raised.
“Sit, my dear.” Anne indicated the bench where—full of na?ve hope—I’d sat but three weeks earlier to be interviewed by Albert Burnham and Dr. Snowe. “We can’t be held responsible for what happens to the babies,” Anne told me. “A servant of one of our benefactors brought your girl to his sister and vouched for her.”
“Well, thee was sorely misled.” I explained what I’d found.
“Surely it wasn’t that bad,” said Delphinia, reaching her arm to pat my shoulder.
I pulled away. “In ten days, Charlotte became nearly a skeleton.”
Anne sighed and addressed the matron. “We’ll have to tell the Hollingers. Apparently their man’s judgment can’t be trusted.”