“No, when Emilia born! Our baby born, but he die. Mama so sad, all a time, sad. I think she die if baby die. Midwife have baby of whore. No want baby. She take away. I tell her we keep baby. She take dead baby away. Mama never know.”
“Are you saying Emilia wasn’t your child at all?” Sarah asked incredulously.
“Child of whore. She whore, like mother. No good.”
“She have yellow hair,” Georgio murmured, as if finally solving an old mystery.
All these years, Mrs. Donato had thought her daughter was the child of her rapist. Sarah finally understood. Mrs. Donato hadn’t been able to love her daughter because she’d believed her to be the result of her greatest shame. Mr. Donato had carried the guilt of an act of kindness that still hadn’t made his wife happy. Emilia had known only that she wasn’t loved and had sought that love from men who destroyed her.
Mr. Donato was weeping, and Sarah and Georgio helped him sit up. After determining that he was recovered from his faint, they got him into a chair. Sarah checked his pulse and his heart again, and found them normal. His color was good, and he seemed no worse for his experience.
“You should rest for a day or two, just to be sure you’re all right,” Sarah suggested.
He waved away the idea. “I work tomorrow, same as always.”
She glanced at Georgio, who shrugged again, promising nothing.
“I’ll go down to the morgue and see what I can find out about burying Emilia. I won’t let them put her into a pauper’s grave,” she promised. From the look Georgio was giving her, Sarah figured he felt no further obligation toward the woman he’d believed to be his sister. From what Sarah knew, Mrs. Donato probably wouldn’t either when she found out the truth about Emilia’s birth. “Do you want me to let you know…?” she began, but Georgio was already shaking his head.
“You go,” he said. “No come back.”
Sarah was only too glad to oblige.
By the time Sarah got home, she had decided what she must do for Emilia, but she didn’t have a chance to act on that decision. A message awaited her that one of her patients had gone into labor. The baby, the first for this mother, took his time arriving, and she didn’t get back home until almost noon the next day. Since she had to attend the party at her mother’s house that evening, she spent the rest of the afternoon napping.
Sarah wasn’t to learn which girls Mrs. Wells had chosen to accompany her to the party until the event itself. Perhaps the woman just had difficulty making the decision. Sarah hoped that was the reason. Or perhaps Mrs. Wells understood the intense rivalry among the girls and didn’t want to give anyone a reason to gloat any sooner than necessary. The only other possibility was that she was making the girls compete for the honor up to the very last minute. Whatever her real reason, Sarah was afraid the effect was the latter. She could just imagine how the girls would be preening and fawning, not to mention undermining each other, to win attention.
“You’re very quiet, my dear,” her mother observed as they checked the third-floor ballroom one last time. The gaslights cast the room in a warm glow that was reflected in the large mirrors, and vases of fresh flowers filled it with a sweet perfume. The wooden floor shone like glass, and the gilt chairs were grouped conveniently around the room for those who wanted to sit and chat or those who were too old or too fat to do anything
Sarah gave her mother a reassuring smile. “How could I be? You’re the perfect hostess, Mother.”
“I don’t have any control over this Mrs. Wells, however,” she said. “Are you sure she’ll give a good account of herself?”
“I’m certain of it. She’s the most self-possessed female I’ve ever met.”
“In her own world, she may be, but what will happen when she’s faced with a crowd of her…” She caught herself just in time. She’d almost said “her betters,” and Sarah would have had to reprove her for it. Chagrined by Sarah’s frown, she said, “You know what I mean, dear. Our friends can be very intimidating to others who are… less fortunate.”
“I doubt that Mrs. Wells considers herself less fortunate than your friends, Mother. She may not be wealthy in worldly terms, but she believes herself the equal of anyone on this earth.”
Her mother was not reassured by this information. “We should go downstairs. Our guests will be arriving soon.”
When they reached the front foyer, they found Felix Decker talking with Richard Dennis, who had just arrived. He greeted Sarah warmly, although she could see he was a bit nervous.
“I’m sure your wife would have been pleased at what you’re doing this evening,” she said to him when her parents were distracted by a question from one of the servants.
Richard’s smile was wan. “I hope so. I never really concerned myself with what would please her when she was alive, so I can’t be sure.”
“You must stop feeling guilty, Richard. We can’t change the past. We can only do better in the future.”
Was that what she was trying to do herself? Was that what had motivated her work at the mission? She hadn’t been aware of any guilt, but perhaps she felt some for her privileged upbringing. Did she feel some sort of debt that must be repaid? Or was it all about Emilia and her senseless death?
She didn’t have time to figure it out just then, because her mother was giving them instructions. “Your father and I will greet people here at the door. Why don’t you and Richard go upstairs and circulate among the guests?”
Richard followed her upstairs, his step heavy and his shoulders hunched against some invisible burden. She began to regret asking him to participate, but then the guests began to arrive, and she forgot to feel sorry for him. To his credit, he quickly assumed the role of host with the ease of long practice, and no one would have suspected he had any qualms about the event.
Sarah greeted many of her old friends and people she hadn’t seen in many years. The crowd included a sprinkling of Astors and Vanderbilts, along with some of the less famous but no less wealthy names from the social register. Then a tall woman came in whom Sarah didn’t recognize.
For all her expensive finery, she was very plain and somewhat awkward, as if uncomfortable in her own body. She looked as if she might be much more at home on horseback, riding with the hunt, than mingling with the idle rich. The man with her was a head shorter than she and almost as round as he was tall. His bald head shone in the reflected gaslight. Richard Dennis greeted them both with genuine affection and motioned Sarah over to meet them.
“Sarah, this is Opal and Charles Graves. Opal was Hazel’s dearest friend.” Sarah remembered that Richard had given her mother their names to add to the guest list.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said, shaking both their hands. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“And we’re glad you’ve agreed to accompany Richard to our party on Saturday night,” Opal Graves said. “I hope he warned you that you must wear a costume.”
Sarah managed not to wince. Richard had said nothing about a costume, although she should have guessed it would be expected at a Halloween party. “I’m looking forward to it,” she managed.
“So are we.” Mrs. Graves gave Richard a glance that said her true enjoyment would be seeing him with a female.
Sarah decided a change of subject was in order. “I suppose you already know all about the work of the mission.”
“Yes,” Opal Graves agreed. “I’ve supported their work for many years, since they first began in fact.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Wells will be happy to see a familiar face in the crowd,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Graves frowned ever so slightly. “I’m afraid I’m not well acquainted with Mrs. Wells. Her late husband was the one who first approached Charles and me about his dreams of starting a ministry.”
“He must have been an extraordinary man,” Sarah said.
“Hardly,” Charles Graves said with a chuckle. “He’d still be preaching on street corners if his wife hadn’t pushed him.”
“Now, darling, you mustn’t speak ill of the dead,” his wife chided him fondly. “Reverend Wells was a dedicated man of God. What he lacked in ambition, he more than made up for in his zeal to minister to others.”
