“But I know how they think,” he argued.
“So do I,” Frank replied acidly. “They think we want to put one of them in jail, and they’re right.”
Gino ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “Maybe Mrs. Brandt was the wrong person to deliver the message,” he said.
“I think we agree on that,” Frank said sarcastically. “Who else would you suggest? Maybe Commissioner Roosevelt would go down and talk to them.”
“They’d never listen to him, either,” Gino said as if Frank had made a serious suggestion. “They’d listen to Ugo, though.”
“Mrs. Brandt said he already told them to give the baby up, but they refused.”
“Things weren’t so bad then. The stakes are higher now.
He doesn’t want his men fighting the Irish in the streets any more than we do, and he must know he can’t beat Tammany Hall.”
“He’s not going to turn in one of his own family members, and his men won’t follow him anymore if he turns in one of them,” Frank pointed out.
“No, but he might force Maria to give up the baby to make peace, and then . . .”
“And then what?”
Gino grinned smugly. “And then she’ll hate all of them so much, she’ll help us find the killer.”
Sarah walked far enough to make Malloy believe she was going home, but as soon as she was out of sight, she cut over to Broadway and turned south again. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew that on a pleasant day like this, plenty of people would be out in the street, and someone would be able to give her directions.
Howard Street teemed with life. Teamsters guided their wagons through the narrow passage, shouting and swearing.
Homeless urchins darted in and out of the traffic, dodging wheels and horses’ hooves. Women argued with street vendors over prices and gossiped on porch steps.
Sarah only had to make three inquiries before she found the right tenement. As she made her way up the dark stairs, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over refuse and heaven knew what else, she could easily imagine how a young girl would grasp at any chance to escape such a dreary place. The Ruoccos weren’t really rich, unless you compared them to this.
The door to the flat stood open to catch the breeze, and Sarah saw a woman sitting at the kitchen table with her back to the door. The room held only the rickety table and chairs and a battered stove, which was cold on this spring day. Crates nailed to the walls held a few kitchen utensils and dishes. The walls were an indeterminate color beneath years of grime.
“Mrs. O’Hara?” she called, tapping lightly on the door frame.
Nainsi’s mother turned in her chair to see who was calling. “Mrs. Brandt,” she said in surprise, pushing herself to her feet. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing new,” Sarah said with a smile. “I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
“Is the baby all right? Have you seen him?” she asked anxiously. “They won’t let me near him, them damned murdering dagos.”
Sarah managed to maintain her cheerful smile. “He was a little colicky at first, but we tried feeding him goat’s milk, and that helped a lot. The last time I saw him, he seemed to be doing fine.”
She murmured something that might have been a prayer and crossed herself. “It ain’t right,” she said bitterly. “They got no claim to the boy at all. He’s nothing to them. Why would they even want him?”
“If it’s any comfort, Maria is taking very good care of him,” Sarah said.
“It’s a little comfort,” Mrs. O’Hara admitted. “I wouldn’t put it past the rest of them to let him die, just for spite, but that Maria, she wouldn’t let it happen, I know. She’s a good girl, for being Italian and all.”
“How are you doing, Mrs. O’Hara?” Sarah asked. “I know this has been very hard on you.”
She waved away Sarah’s concerns. “I’m doing all right, all things considered. Take more than this to do me in, I’ll tell you that. Well, now, where’s my manners? Come in and sit down. Can I get you something?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you,” Sarah said, knowing the woman wouldn’t have any food to spare. She took a seat at the table. She saw that Mrs. O’Hara had been working at making men’s ties.
“I won’t have to do this anymore once I get the baby,” she told Sarah, moving her work aside. “I don’t even have to take in lodgers anymore. Them politicians, they already give me some money, and they said they’d make sure I got a regular pension so I can take care of the boy proper.”
“That’s very nice of them,” Sarah remarked, wondering why the politicians would have taken such an active interest in a woman like Mrs. O’Hara, much less champion her cause.
“Ain’t nothing nice about it,” she sniffed. “They seen a chance to get a leg up on the Italians, and they took it. They gotta make folks think they’re doing something important, or they won’t get reelected.”
Sarah had to admit this was a rather astute observation from a female who couldn’t vote and probably couldn’t even read. “I would never have thought of asking for that kind of help,” she admitted.
“Don’t know why not,” Mrs. O’Hara said in amazement.
“That’s what everybody does. Got some trouble, you go down to Tammany Hall, and they fix you right up.”
“I had no idea!”
“Well, they can’t fix everything, mind you. But lots of things. A word here or there to the right people, and life goes a little better. That’s why people vote for ’em. I didn’t know what they’d’ve said about Nainsi’s baby, but I guess after I told my story to them reporters and it was in the papers, they didn’t have much choice.”
Once again, Sarah was impressed by Mrs. O’Hara’s political astuteness. “It’s a shame about the riots, though,” she tried, hoping to make Mrs. O’Hara see the unpleasant re-sults of her efforts. “A lot of the Irish boys ended up in jail.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mrs. O’Hara said philo-sophically. “If it wasn’t for that, they’d be in for something else. Besides, we need to scare them Ruoccos so they know they gotta give up the baby.”
Sarah still had one weapon left in her arsenal. “Yes, well, another reason I came today was to talk to you about taking care of him.”
“I know how to take care of a baby,” Mrs. O’Hara scoffed.
“I raised Nainsi, didn’t I? She had a brother, too. He’d be twenty now, but he got the diphtheria and died when he was four. I don’t need no lessons in how to take care of a baby.”
Sarah smiled sympathetically. “Of course you don’t, but taking care of this one will be a little different. I’m sure you nursed your children, but your grandson will have to be fed with a bottle unless you can afford a wet nurse for him. That means you’ve got to buy milk for him every day.”
“Every day?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes, because it needs to be fresh, and as I said, he needs to have goat’s milk or else he’ll get sick. You’ve probably never used baby bottles, so I wanted to be sure you understand that they have to be thoroughly washed and boiled after each use.”
“Boiled? Whatever for?”
“If you leave milk in the bottles, even just a little bit, it will go bad and make the baby sick. I know you don’t want that to happen.”
Mrs. O’Hara glanced around the kitchen, and Sarah knew what she was thinking. No one in the tenements used their stoves in the summertime. The buildings were already unbearably hot. The residents would buy their food from the vendors in the streets, which was actually cheaper than buying fuel and hauling it up to their flats.
“Well, maybe Tammany will help you pay for a wet nurse,”
Sarah went on. “That would be the best thing anyway.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. O’Hara with a frown. “I don’t know about any of this. Nobody said he needed anything special.”