“Don’t worry about a thing,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “We’ll even save you some of the pudding.”
Still, Sarah felt the same regret she always felt over leaving Aggie.
Lorenzo was more considerate than his brother had been and slowed his pace to match hers. Sarah had no trouble keeping up with him, even though he was just as anxious to get back as Joe had been to get her there the other day to deliver Nainsi’s baby.
“I can understand why your mother would be so upset. A baby’s cry is the most disturbing sound in the world,” Sarah said conversationally. She wasn’t sure what she could find out from Lorenzo, but she’d try to get him talking anyway.
“That’s so people won’t be able to ignore it and will do whatever they can to make the baby stop.”
Lorenzo almost smiled. “We couldn’t ignore him last night.”
“I’m sure he kept everyone awake.”
“Maria took him downstairs so they could sleep,” he said.
“But you didn’t sleep,” she guessed. The shadows under his eyes betrayed him.
He shrugged, embarrassed. “She . . . she needed help.”
“Not many men would sit up with a screaming baby,”
Sarah observed, meaning it as a compliment.
He did smile this time, sheepishly, and made a small, helpless gesture.
Sarah smiled back. Lorenzo wasn’t the first grown man to be captivated by an infant. He hardly seemed the type, but as Malloy had said, Italians were very fond of children.
“Could he be sick? The baby, I mean,” he asked, growing solemn again.
“Maybe it’s the milk. I warned Maria that some babies don’t do well when they’re fed from a bottle.”
“He cannot die,” Lorenzo said gravely. “Maria would. . . .
Just tell me what you need, and I will do it, but he cannot die.”
Sarah had no answer for that. She could make no promises, and she didn’t think Lorenzo’s efforts would make much difference. A wet nurse would be the best solution, of course, but even if they could find one and could afford her services, would Mrs. Ruocco allow it? Surely not for a baby she despised.
When they reached the restaurant, they found it doing bustling business with people coming in for their noon meals.
Lorenzo took her around to the alley and up the rear staircase to avoid the crowd. This was the staircase Malloy had told her about, the one they had used to carry Nainsi’s body out. The wooden steps had been enclosed so they were protected from the weather. An intruder could have climbed them without worrying about being seen, either going or coming. Malloy was right, anyone could have gotten into the house.
Halfway up the stairs, she could hear the baby crying.
Poor little thing.
Maria must have heard them coming. She was waiting for them in the hallway when Lorenzo opened the door.
“Mrs. Brandt, you must help,” she cried over the baby’s screams. She held him in both arms and was swinging him back and forth in a futile attempt to calm him.
Sarah could see Maria was on the verge of hysteria. Her eyes were bloodshot and so shadowed they looked bruised.
Sarah started crooning meaningless phrases of reassurance to her while she quickly set down her medical bag, shed her cape and thrust it at Lorenzo. Then she took the baby from Maria’s arms.
The sudden shift startled him into silence for a moment, and he looked up at her in surprise. “There, now,” she said softly. “You must be tired of crying.”
He whimpered but didn’t start screaming again. Sarah knew that sometimes just being held by someone calm could quiet a hysterical infant.
“Have you tried feeding him?” Sarah asked.
“He ate no more than an hour ago. Then he started screaming. I tried offering him more, but he wouldn’t take it.”
She’d been right, it was probably the milk. “Lorenzo, would you go out and try to find some goat’s milk?”
“Goat’s milk?” he echoed stupidly.
“Yes, some babies don’t do well on cow’s milk, and goat’s milk seems to be easier on their stomachs. You said you’d do anything to help,” she reminded him gently.
“Oh, yes, of course. I will. I will get it,” he said, handing Sarah’s cloak to Maria and heading back down the stairs.
Maria pushed the door shut behind him. Sarah noticed she didn’t lock it.
“Will that help?” Maria asked, her voice taut with exhaustion and fear.
“It might,” was all Sarah could promise. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll try something else.” The baby was starting to fuss again, screwing up his face for a full-fledged scream. “In the meantime, could you fix a hot water bottle? A small one to hold on his tummy?”
While Sarah walked the baby and let him suck on her finger, Maria went and found a small glass bottle, filled it with warm water, and wrapped it in a diaper.
The hot water bottle seemed to relieve some of the baby’s discomfort, and Sarah continued to walk with him. She made Maria sit down, but the poor woman couldn’t relax. She perched on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up the instant the baby might need something. After a while, the child finally fell into a fitful sleep, and Sarah laid him in his cradle, which Maria had put in the bedroom across from the room where Nainsi had died.
Maria gave a shuddering sigh and fought back tears. “He must stop crying. Mama doesn’t want him here, and if he cries all the time . . .” She bit back a sob.
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said, patting her shoulder. “And I want you to get some rest, too. Lorenzo said you were awake all night, and you look it.”
Maria automatically touched a hand to her hair as if to check the validity of Sarah’s assessment. “Lorenzo was with me,” she said, as if that had somehow made a sleepless night less of a sacrifice.
“He’s a good man,” Sarah said. “Not many men would tolerate a screaming infant all night.”
“No,” she agreed, a far away look in her eye. Fatigue was claiming her. “Not many would.”
“You need to take a nap now, while he’s sleeping,” Sarah said.
“I could not,” Maria protested. “Sleeping in the daytime?
Mama would never allow it.”
“She doesn’t have to know. Besides, the baby could be up all night again, and how will you stay awake if you don’t get any sleep at all?”
“What if he wakes up while I’m sleeping?” Maria asked, the edge of desperation back in her voice.
“I’ll sit with him and wait for Lorenzo to get back. Is there another room where you can lie down?”
She frowned, not wanting to cooperate. “Valentina’s room, I suppose,” she said reluctantly.
“Good, then go there. I’ll call you when he wakes up,”
she lied. He might wake up in just a few minutes, but she’d let Maria sleep as long as possible.
After a bit more coaxing, Maria finally went down the hall and retreated into one of the other rooms, closing the door behind her. Sarah checked on the baby and found him sleeping, although he didn’t look content. If his stomach was bothering him as much as she guessed, he’d have suc-cumbed to sheer exhaustion for the moment, but it wouldn’t last long. His little body jerked, as if he’d dreamed he was falling, but the movement set the cradle rocking lazily, and the motion soothed him again. A wonderful invention, cradles, Sarah mused.
Satisfied she could do nothing more for the baby, she took the opportunity to look around the room. The double bed and large dresser were fairly new and of good quality.
The shaving stand gave silent proof that one of the room’s usual occupants was a man, while the brushes and hairpins on the dresser belonged to a woman. This must be the room where Maria and Joe slept. Maria had naturally put the cradle in here.
The door to Nainsi’s room was closed, and Sarah had no desire to open it. The girl would have shared that room with Antonio for the few months they were married. What would that marriage have been like? Had Nainsi really thought no one would discover her secret, and that she could pass off her baby as Antonio’s? Sarah remembered how confident the girl had been the afternoon before she died. Why had she been so sure Mrs. Ruocco would let her and her baby stay here? Could she really have been that naïve?