The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman
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Название: The Orphan Collector
Автор: Ellen Marie Wiseman
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9781496715876
isbn:
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she cringed. If Mrs. Duffy was punished for her sins, what about me? What did I do to deserve losing my husband and son? She gripped the staircase railing to keep from falling and went down the dark steps, around and around and around, like the dizzying notions inside her head. She was a moral woman and loving mother. She was fair-minded and kind, and she had been a virtuous wife to her husband. She hadn’t done anything to deserve losing him or Wallis. The flu took whomever it wanted. By the time she reached the bottom floor, she was woozy and breathless, and one of her headaches had started. She stopped in the foyer and rubbed her temples, trying to focus on the task at hand. She needed to find out why Pia had left her building, and if the twins were still alive. She wasn’t sure what she would do if the babies were dead from the flu, but she had to know one way or another. Then she had another thought. What if Mrs. Lange answered the door and wanted to know what she was doing there? How would she explain herself? Anger churned at the bottom of her rib cage again. If Mrs. Lange was there, Bernice would let her know in no uncertain terms that she was crazy and careless for letting her daughter outside at a time like this. If Pia were her child, she’d have kept her home, where she was safe.
Crossing the foyer, she grabbed the handle of the front door, ready to march across the street and give Mrs. Lange a piece of her mind. Then she hesitated. She needed to make sure the coast was clear and Pia wasn’t on her way back. She opened the front door a crack and peered out, checking left and right. The streets were empty. She hurried down the steps, across the cobblestones, and up the steps of the Langes’ building. Their rooms were in the front of the house, to the left of the fire escape. She knew because she’d seen Mrs. Lange hanging blankets and pillows over the sill. Germans were always hanging things outside—rugs, curtains, clothes—even in the winter. She didn’t understand it.
When she stepped inside the foyer, she clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. The Langes’ row house smelled worse than hers, as if it’d been closed up for years. But there was no time to waste wondering why. She climbed the stairs as quickly as possible, rapped her knuckles on the Langes’ door, and looked up and down the hallway. She was vibrating with nerves, every sense on high alert. If she heard someone coming into the building and up the stairs, she would scurry into the shadows at the end of the hall, then wait and see who it was. If it turned out to be Pia, she’d go home and try to forget about the twins. If she could.
She knocked again, leaned close to the door, and said as loudly as she dared, “Mrs. Lange? Are you in there?”
No answer.
“Mrs. Lange?”
No sound came from the other side. No talking or banging dishes. No radio played. She put an ear to the wood and held her breath, listening. And then she heard it.
Babies crying.
CHAPTER FIVE
PIA
Originally, Pia had planned on searching for food in her own building first, to ask the neighbors if they could spare a few potatoes or one or two eggs, hoping she could remember who had seemed friendly, who hadn’t scowled at Mutti or told the police they were German. Because the closer to her apartment she stayed, the sooner she could return home. But after hearing Ollie start to fuss before she left, she knew if she stayed in her building, no matter what floor she was on or how far away, she would hear her brothers cry. And if she could hear them cry, she’d go back. She’d go back, take them out of the cubby, and promise never to leave them again. And that was something she couldn’t do. Not until she found what they needed. Not until she could bring Ollie and Max something to eat and drink. She had to be strong. There was no other choice.
Now, she stood in the first-floor hallway of the row house next door, trying to decide where to start. Inky shadows filled the halls, growing darker toward the back of the building. Crepe ribbons—some gray, some white, some black—hung from all but one door. Maybe she’d picked the wrong building to begin her search. She went up the first flight of steps to check the second floor. No crepe hung in the hall. She stopped at the apartment nearest the staircase. If no one answered, she would see if it was locked. If the handle turned and the door opened, she would go inside. It would be all right to enter if the apartment was unlocked. And take food if no one was home. That’s what she told herself, anyway. She knocked on the peeling wood and waited. Hushed voices and muffled movements filtered through the door, and someone shushed everyone to be quiet. She tilted her head, trying to listen.
“Hello?” she said. “I’m looking for food for my brothers. They’re babies, only a few months old. Do you have anything to spare?”
A gruff voice called out, “Go away!”
“Please,” she said. “I can pay. I have money. Just a loaf of bread or tin of broth is all I need.”
“No!” the voice called out again. “Leave us alone!”
Pia sighed and moved down the hall, her shoulders bunched, her jaw clenched. She stopped in front of another door and listened. No sounds came from the other side, no whispering or crying or talking. She knocked and waited. Still nothing. She knocked again and tried the handle. It was locked.
“Is anyone there?” she said.
No answer.
A sudden image flashed in her mind: the people inside dead and rotting, sitting and lying in their chairs and beds, the table set for dinner, the coal stove empty and cold. A chill passed through her and she shivered. Why else would they not answer the door? They wouldn’t be out and about in the city at a time like this. Unless they were doing the same thing she was doing, searching for food and supplies. But they wouldn’t all leave at the same time, would they?
She pushed the gruesome images from her head and moved toward an apartment at the back of the building. If no one answered and it was unlocked, she would go inside, but the rooms had no windows, meaning it would be dark and hard to see. Still, she had to try. She knocked on the door, berating herself for not bringing a lantern. Then she reminded herself that a lantern would have been one more thing to carry. And with all the horrible things that had been going on—her mother dying; taking care of the twins alone; so many other people passing away all at once, maybe even Finn—she could barely remember what day it was, let alone remember to bring a lantern.
No one answered. She tried the handle. It was locked. Maybe she was wasting her time. Maybe she should search somewhere beside the Fifth Ward, where everyone had so little to begin with, let alone anything to spare. Not to mention it seemed like people were too scared to answer their doors. She couldn’t blame them. But the longer she looked for help where she wouldn’t find it, the longer her brothers would be shut in the cubby. Maybe the flu hadn’t spread to other parts of the city yet. Or maybe the churches were handing out food.
Refusing to give up completely before leaving, she decided to try a different floor. She climbed the second staircase and stopped at an apartment toward the front of the building, where the rooms had windows. She knocked and waited. No one answered or shuffled toward the other side of the door. No one yelled at her to go away. She knocked again, harder this time, then turned the knob. It was unlocked. She gave the door a gentle push. It swung open and a swirl of rank air sent a piece of crumpled paper over the cracked threshold. She clamped a hand over her scarf, instantly СКАЧАТЬ