That was all—no apology, no regret. Anne returned to her papers, and Delphinia brought me to the recovery room to see Gina—who has had her baby! We were thrilled to see each other. Delphinia fetched us tea and oat biscuits from her private stores. As we relished them, I got a good look at Lucia, who has her mother’s dark hair and paleness—and, fortunately for her mother, a peaceful disposition.
When the matron left to supervise the inmates at their chores, Gina asked why I’d come. I described our plight, and here is the amazing consequence: Gina is going to nurse Charlotte along with Lucia! She’ll start soon, probably this coming Seventh Day, after she takes up occupancy with her dead lover’s parents. I offered one dollar fifty cents a week, which she said was ample. When she held Charlotte a moment, the change brought only pleasure to my baby—a promising sign.
Of course Clementina is dissatisfied and annoyed with the delay. Yet I’m certain this will be a safe situation, as Gina is healthy and good, unlike those who merely claim to be.
Fifth Month 12
Clementina called me down a short time ago and handed me a letter. I almost couldn’t bear to look, so badly do I crave news from Peter. But look I did. It was from Delphinia on behalf of Gina, who can’t read or write. Gina left yesterday for her new home and expects me and Charlotte this very afternoon! Delphinia supplied an address on Centre Street in Germantown that’s not more than a half-mile from Father and Patience.
Clementina said I can go, and of course I must. But I dread putting Charlotte outside my protection again. She’s not yet six weeks old, and delicate. A Holland bulb’s nascent flower, half-formed within its sheath. A damselfly only half-emerged from its casing, not yet able to stand or walk or find food, for whom the careless brush of a human finger could mean a lifetime of disfigurement.
If Henry were cast out so expeditiously, would his parents notice? It might take a day or two.
This parting from Charlotte is harder, now that I’ve seen her harmed. But there’s a world of difference between Gina and Gerda.
I hear Isaac Penington’s words of long ago, which as a child I’d recited when teachers bade us to:
Give over thine own willing,
give over thine own running,
give over thine own desiring to know or be anything,
and sink down to that seed
which God sows in thy heart
and let that be in thee, and grow in thee,
and breathe in thee, and act in thee….
I pray my seed can grow and breathe and act in me, and bring me toward a home where I can live with my own child.
*
The hour came when I could delay no longer. For speed, using coins that Frau Varschen pressed upon me, I took a train to Germantown, keeping my head hidden beneath my old gray shawl and Charlotte hidden beneath my yellow one. Perhaps due to the bouncing of the car, she fell to sleep. The other passengers, mostly workingmen, were reading papers or staring out the sides. No one but me stepped from the train near Chelten Avenue, which was relieving. I knew this section but a little; people called it the Yards.
I followed the tracks to the coal yard, which was rambunctious with noise. I asked a man with a coal-blackened face to help me find the correct block of Centre Street. He pointed behind me, so I doubled back toward a dirt road. I moved down a slight hill, past a wide-open area, and toward a stretch of recently built row-houses in good repair. I pulled the shawl off my perspiring head and undraped Charlotte, who shot up her head and looked about as if helping me to find the house.
The front doors of all the homes were propped open to let in the slight breeze. The buildings bore no numbers, so I walked toward one to ask for assistance. By luck, Gina herself sat in the foyer, dandling her baby!
We embraced, laughing at the awkwardness of doing so with babies in our arms, then examined one another’s darlings; she commented on Charlotte’s cheerful vitality, and I noted Lucia’s delicate features, which gave her the look of a living doll.
I pulled a chair from the foyer wall and sat beside Gina, who said she was tired but confident she’d have milk for two. She’d already been feasting on meals prepared by Angela, who works most days at the hosiery mill but cooks and helps with the baby at night. The house held the fragrances of garden herbs and the syrup of long-simmered tomatoes.
“Angela’s glad to have us,” Gina said. “She sings all the time.” She bent closer, whispering: “Everyone believes. They say, ‘Stefano and Gina married in secret before he died.’ Even Victor, her husband, believes.” Then she had me lean out the door and look to the border of the coal yard, to an area she called the piazza. A dozen men sat at tables, playing cards, smoking, and drinking from squat glasses. Now and then a man yelled out in Italian, and others shouted back. “Victor is there,” she said. “He is a stonemason, like my father. He is finished for this day.”
I asked where she would keep Charlotte, so she directed me to follow her into the room off the foyer. Two cradles stood against a wall, one of them reserved for Charlotte; a bed for Gina lay alongside. I marveled at the luck of having two cradles.
“People help us,” Gina said. “It’s good here.” Her eyes linked with mine, and we grew teary, knowing how unlikely such an outcome had appeared while we’d lived side by side.
“I’m glad for thee.” I looked down at Charlotte. “And for her!” Our eyes caught and we embraced once more, babies clutched to our chests.
The house was modest and clean; the air was fresh; its occupants, it seemed, were loving. All signs pointed to an excellent situation. I hated to hand Charlotte over, but hand her over I did. Gina stood on the front porch, a baby in each arm, to watch me go. My Lotte craned her head toward me, and I turned away. A sharp pang shot through my chest as I began walking alone up the dusty road toward the train. And then I heard her wail.
I closed my eyes and asked inwardly to be informed if I was making a mistake. I waited to hear words in my mind that might come from a deeper authority than my own worries.
“Turn back!” I expected to hear, or “Don’t leave her again!”
No warning came.
Fifth Month 13, First Day