Cora gave Siobhan a look that told her not to argue. “I don’t have to do nothing I don’t want to. Sit.”
Siobhan sat. “Smells delicious, Ms. Smith.”
Cora smiled as she dished bowls of stew and put them on the table, one in front of Siobhan and one at an empty place. She brought out more fresh tortillas and then Cora sat, crossed herself, and said a blessing. Then she smiled when Siobhan said “amen” and motioned for her to eat.
Halfway through the meal Cora said, “You want to know about the dead girl.”
Siobhan nearly dropped her spoon. “Yes. I think she’ll lead me to Marisol and Ana.” She explained who they were and why she was looking for them.
“It’s a sad situation, and I don’t know exactly how the girls found themselves in it.” Cora seemed to be picking her words carefully. Siobhan wondered if she knew more than she planned on saying. “Suffice it to say, I have been a midwife for more than sixty years. I’ve delivered nearly two thousand babies. Some didn’t survive. I know when I can’t help, when they need a doctor. Some don’t want to go, but I tell them, they go. Because life is precious, and a baby is God’s hope in a troubled world.”
Siobhan believed Cora had the ability to make anyone do anything even if they didn’t want to. She had that quiet, serene confidence that inspired loyalty and trust.
“Two weeks ago, I was called to a house in the middle of the night near Our Lady of Sorrows.”
Siobhan’s ears perked up. Father Sebastian’s church.
“It was far for me to go, but one of my neighborhood boys took me. An old friend, Loretta Martinez, had a complication with one of her clients. I told her go to the hospital. That wasn’t an option. Against my better judgment, I went to help.”
She sipped black coffee, then continued. “The baby was breech, the girl was unconscious when I got there. There was excessive bleeding and tearing and I thought we’d lose them both. I urged Loretta to call an ambulance and was told that would not happen. This made me suspicious, but there are many young women who come to America illegally in order to deliver their babies. I don’t condone it, because who is to help them if they trust no one? But sometimes, life is harder back home. I don’t turn my back on God’s children when asked to help. I care about the girl, the baby, that’s it. Yet, when it’s a matter of life or death, I always choose life.
“I would have called, but my phone was taken away and this man”—she said man as if she were saying the word Satan—“threatened me. He said, I will never forget, ‘Save the baby, I don’t care about the girl.’” Cora’s thin jaw clenched, and she rose from her seat. She moved a few bottles, then retrieved what she was looking for and came back to the table. She poured red wine into her empty water glass, then sipped. “He didn’t use the word girl, but I don’t allow swearing in my house.”
Siobhan almost couldn’t speak. She whispered, “What happened?”
“Loretta is good, but not as good as me. I was able to turn the baby in the womb and deliver a beautiful baby boy. He was a large baby, over nine pounds, and the girl was so small. It’s no wonder she tore so miserably.”
“Small as in young?”
“She was eighteen, maybe nineteen. I thought we’d lose her, but we didn’t. I sewed her up and Loretta and I watched her for twenty-four hours. She finally regained consciousness.”
“Did you have any medical supplies?” Siobhan thought about the small room in the house that she walked through Sunday night. The IV, the tools.