Murder On Mulberry Bend

breaking the cake in half. Then she sat down at the table, too.

“Please,” she said, “eat just a little to be polite.”

Mrs. Donato looked up at her in surprise, and Sarah smiled encouragingly.

“It really is delicious,” she added, breaking off a small piece of the cake and popping it into her mouth to demonstrate.

Slowly, almost grudgingly, the other woman reached out and did the same, bringing the morsel cautiously to her lips.

“Isn’t it good?” Sarah asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “I didn’t know Emilia very well. I only met her once. Someone asked me to visit the mission to see the kind of work they do there, and that’s when I saw her. She seemed like a lovely girl.”

Mrs. Donato wasn’t gratified at the compliment as most mothers would have been. “Emilia… mistake,” she said after searching for the correct word.

“I know she made mistakes,” Sarah commiserated. “But many young girls get fooled by evil men. She was trying to change, though. She’d learned how to sew, so she could get honest work.”

The eyes that stared back at her were full of suppressed rage. “No,” she said slowly and deliberately, trying to make sure Sarah understood. “She mistake, from before born!”

“Because she was a girl?” Sarah asked, not really certain what the other woman meant. She knew many people, especially the foreign born, preferred sons.

“No, because she is!”

Now Sarah thought she understood. “You didn’t want another child after… I know your son is crippled.”

But that wasn’t it either. She leaned forward, desperate for Sarah to comprehend. “Emilia child of Devil!”

Sarah couldn’t let Mrs. Donato remember her daughter only for the tragic mistakes she’d made in her short life. “No child is born evil,” she tried.

Mrs. Donato made a growling sound in her throat. “She child of Devil,” she repeated. “On ship to America, I get lost one day. Sailors find me.” The pain in her eyes left no doubt as to what the sailors had done to her. Sarah instinctively reached out, laying a hand on the other woman’s arm in comfort. She didn’t even seem to notice. “I never tell what they do. I too ashamed. I never tell. Then I get baby.”

How horrible that must have been for her! She hadn’t been able to share the pain of being raped, and then to get pregnant from it. If the child was the result of the rape, she’d be a constant reminder of it for the rest of her life. “She could have been your husband’s child,” Sarah tried.

“I pray it is so. I do not know until I see her. I afraid, all a time afraid. Then I see her, and I know. One sailor, yellow hair. Baby with yellow hair. I know. Child of Devil.”

No wonder Emilia had felt unloved. Her own mother had seen her as a symbol of shame and degradation. “Did your husband know, too?”

She shook her head vehemently. “I never tell. Never tell no one until now. Now you know. She not good. Child of Devil.”

Poor Emilia. The shame of her conception had destined her, in her mother’s eyes at least, to a life of disgrace. Then she had fulfilled her mother’s expectations in the worst possible way. “She was trying to change,” Sarah offered.

“She never change,” her mother insisted. “Better dead.”

Sarah managed not to wince. She’d seen too many women express such a sentiment. Only the rich could afford the luxury of cherishing their children. A baby born to a poor family was a burden, another mouth to feed that wouldn’t be able to contribute to its support for many years. Worse, it might get sick and further drain the family’s resources.

Many times the babies Sarah delivered were considered a curse, not a blessing. No wonder so many women drank noxious potions to abort their pregnancies. No wonder abortionists grew fat and wealthy. No wonder babies were left in alleys to die. No wonder thousands of homeless children roamed the streets, scrounging and thieving and prostituting themselves just to stay alive. At least the Donatos had raised Emilia instead of turning her out. That was probably Mr. Donato’s doing, since he had no reason to suspect she wasn’t his child. As loveless as her home was, she’d had one, which was more than far too many children could claim.

“Mrs. Donato, do you have any idea who might have killed Emilia?”

The other woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion again. “No. We no see her, long time.”

Sarah decided to take a chance. “What about Ugo or Lucca?”

Mrs. Donato reared back as if Sarah had slapped her and muttered what might have been a curse in Italian. “Get out my house,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. Her face had paled, but Sarah judged she was more angry than shocked. “You go now.”

Sarah wanted to bite her tongue. What had she been thinking to mention those names to Emilia’s mother? “I’m sorry if I offended you…”

“You go now. I tell you nothing.”

Sarah rose to her feet. “Let me leave these things for you,” she said, reaching into the basket and setting another cake onto the table.

“We no need nothing,” she insisted, her voice rising along with her color.

“I know you don’t, but please accept it as a gift.” Remembering her pledge not to carry these things back with her, she relentlessly continued to empty the basket, setting the things out on the crude kitchen table as quickly as she could before Mrs. Donato threw her out physically.

She hadn’t quite finished, but she could see from the way the other woman was breathing that she was working herself up to an emotional outburst. Sarah quickly gathered her basket and said, “I’m very sorry about Emilia. If I can do anything, please let me know.”

An empty platitude, if ever she’d uttered one. Mrs. Donato would have no way of contacting her except through the mission. Sarah figured the woman would starve to death before contacting the mission about anything.

When she reached the door with her basket over her arm, Sarah looked back to take her leave. For an instant she thought she saw tears standing in Mrs. Donato’s eyes, but she couldn’t be sure in the poor light. “Please, try to eat something,” she said lamely before making her hasty departure.

As she groped her way down the dark stairs, she sent up a silent prayer that Malloy would never find out about this visit. Not only hadn’t she learned anything useful, but she’d alienated Mrs. Donato, which meant she’d never be able to go back again.

As she left the building, she had to pause a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. A group of ragged children were playing stickball in the alley, shouting and running and screaming at each other for not performing as well as they might have. All of them, she noted, had dark hair, just as Malloy had observed. Emilia must have felt very strange growing up in this neighborhood.

Sarah remembered the goodies left in her basket, the ones Mrs. Donato hadn’t given her time to unpack. She strolled over to the group and asked if they wanted something to eat. When they saw what she had, greedy hands quickly relieved her of every last crumb.

A few mumbled “grazies” trailed after the children as they darted away, disappearing into nooks and crannies with their treats, lest she change her mind. Watching them running away so nimbly made her think of Brian and wonder if he would soon be able to run like that. Which made her think of Emilia’s brother Georgio, who had never been able even to walk.

Maria had said he played his organ outside of Macy’s. How difficult would it be to find an Italian organ grinder with one foot? Sarah wasn’t sure what he would be able to tell her, but she really couldn’t know any less than she already did about Emilia. If nothing else, she’d be able to tell Malloy where to find him.

The Canal Street Station of the El wasn’t too far. She took the train to Fourteenth Street and walked over to Sixth Avenue. The sidewalks were crowded with the buxom wives of successful businessmen who were doing their duty by spending the money their husbands earned.

As she walked along, Sarah realized she’d never really paid much attention to the people who came here for the purpose of earning their daily bread by performing for the passing crowd. Everyone understood that they were beggars, but if they juggled or played a musical instrument or performed in some other way, people could maintain the fiction that they were earning a living. No one wanted to see real beggars on the sidewalks.

Macy’s occupied the entire block between Thirteenth and Fourteenth Streets, so Sarah had a lot of ground to