The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman

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СКАЧАТЬ weak shaft of daylight reached across the floor, illuminating the gloomy interior of a room nearly identical to her home, from the coal stove to the rough-hewn shelves filled with dishes to the bedroom door. Taking a step inside, she had to fight the urge to run into the back room and look for her brothers, to kiss them and hug them and make sure they were all right. Even the narrow iron bed under the window looked the same.

      The only things missing were Mutti’s vase and Oma’s tablecloth. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Had someone taken their things? What if Ollie and Max were gone too? She shook her head. No. This wasn’t home. The table was bigger, with wooden stools around it instead of chairs. And a fringed rug with a strange design covered the floor, not layers of threadbare throw rugs.

      Trying to remind herself where she was and what she was doing there, she struggled to stay calm. She was in the row house next door, searching for food for her brothers. She needed to keep going so she could get back to them as soon as possible. Then the room seemed to rotate and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Confusion and panic jittered inside her head. Except for the fear of finding dead bodies and the guilt over leaving Ollie and Max, she had felt fine a minute ago. Maybe that, combined with the worry of not finding food, was too overwhelming. Then her stomach clenched with hunger and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. When, or if, she found food, she needed to eat something straightaway. She wouldn’t be able to take anything back to Ollie and Max if she passed out from hunger. Gritting her teeth, she waited for her head to stop spinning.

      Dead bodies or no dead bodies, she had to search the apartment for food. She had no choice. She edged in farther, ready to run if anyone appeared. And then she saw a pair of brown buckle boots on the floor, one pointed up, the other flopped on its side. Above the boots, beige stockings covered a pair of swollen ankles.

      Pia chewed her lip. A clear path led to the kitchen area. If she kept her eyes straight ahead, she’d be fine. She could make it past whoever lay on the floor. She steeled herself and moved forward, her arms and hands tight to her body. Except. Except. She had to look.

      The remains of a blond woman lay shriveled on the rug, her head propped crookedly against a coal bucket. Black blood caked her hands and face, and her eyes had sunken into her skull. Maggots crawled around her swollen mouth and nose. Pia looked away, toward the kitchen, but it was too late. She pulled the scarf down from her face, bent over, and threw up what little she had in her stomach, then dry-heaved until there was nothing left but bile. When she could breathe again without gagging, she wiped her mouth on her coat sleeve, put the scarf back up, and stumbled toward the stove, praying she would find something, anything, to eat.

      Moving dishes and plates out of the way, she searched the shelves for a jar of applesauce or can of beans, trying not to make too much noise. More than anything, she needed to find some Mellin’s Infant Food. Suddenly another wave of dizziness swept over her. She grabbed the shelf to keep from falling and knocked off a flowered teacup. It hit the floor and shattered everywhere, tiny shards of porcelain flying over the hardwood planks. She froze, terrified someone else might be in the apartment, or a neighbor might hear and wonder what was going on. She let go of the shelf and waited, unnerved by the sudden silence.

      A faint groaning came from the other room.

      She turned toward it, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

      Another groan.

      She edged over to the door and peeked around the frame. A man lay on the bed in a fetal position, his face swollen and black, his chest rising and falling in shallow, shuddering breaths. Beside him on the floor, a baby and little girl lay on a pile of soiled blankets, both of them dead. The man locked red, weepy eyes on Pia, then moaned and lifted a blue hand, reaching out with blood-caked fingers. She started to tremble, the urge to run like fire in her chest.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t help you.”

      Seeing the dead family, hopelessness fell over her like a shroud, weighing her down with despair. Tears filled her eyes and her lungs felt heavy, her blood like lead. Part of her wanted to give up and give in, to go home and lay down with Ollie and Max, to let the flu or starvation take them, whichever came first. Because what was the sense in surviving if everyone else was dead?

      The other part of her refused to give up, couldn’t begin to imagine letting her brothers die. She didn’t know what was going to happen to any of them, if and when this nightmare ever came to an end, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t stop fighting. She loved Ollie and Max too much. And how would she face Mutti and Vater again, in heaven or otherwise, if she didn’t try?

      She turned back to the kitchen on watery legs, desperate to find food so she could get out of there. Then she noticed a squat cupboard next to the stove, partly concealed behind a worn paisley curtain. She hurried over to it, fell to her knees, and yanked the curtain aside. A jar of Mellin’s sat on the top shelf, along with a can of black-eyed peas and something wrapped in brown paper. She put the Mellin’s and peas in her coat pocket and tore open the paper. Inside were two slices of bread. She pulled one out, lowered her scarf, and took a bite.

      The crust was stale and hard, but it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. She swallowed and took another bite, then did a quick search of the rest of the kitchen. Finding nothing more, she took a wide berth around the dead woman and headed for the front door.

      In the bedroom, the man went on groaning.

      CHAPTER SIX

      BERNICE

      Standing in the hallway outside the Langes’ apartment, Bernice couldn’t decide what to do. The twins were still crying inside, and no one was answering the door. She knocked a third time.

      “Mrs. Lange?” she said again. “Are you in there?”

      Still no answer.

      “It’s Bernice Groves, your neighbor from across the street. I saw your daughter leave the building and wanted to make sure you’re all right.” She hesitated and tried to think of something else to say. Flu or no flu, she was probably the last person Mrs. Lange wanted to see at her door. “I know we’ve had a few cross words between us,” she said, “but at times like this we need to look out for each other.”

      The babies’ wails seemed to grow more frantic.

      Bernice felt like screaming. She had to get inside. Even if it meant breaking down the door. She knocked again, frustration pounding inside her head, then tried the handle. To her astonishment, it turned and the latch clicked open. She gasped, surprised and angry at the same time. What kind of mother leaves an apartment unlocked with two babies inside? Then she remembered Pia was the one who had left the building. Maybe she forgot to use her key. That, at least, would be understandable. She was just a young girl, likely frightened by the horrible things that had been happening. Bernice was a grown woman and she was horrified. And even though they were too young to understand, Pia’s brothers could probably sense something was wrong and were scared too. Thinking of the twins, a flood of maternal instinct surged through her and she pushed the door open and hurried inside.

      The smell of rotting flesh instantly filled her nostrils, making her gag. She clamped a hand over her nose and mouth, and looked around the dim apartment. Flour-sack curtains swelled out from a half-open window above a crumpled bed, then blew in again when she closed the door. Baby clothes hung, haphazard and crooked, from clotheslines draped along the ceiling—clothespins clamped to a sleeve here, a leg there, the collar of a nightdress somewhere else. Dirty dishes filled the table, and a washtub full of soiled diapers sat next to the stove. Either Mrs. СКАЧАТЬ