Murder On Mulberry Bend

woman a reassuring wave, and she withdrew.

Mrs. Donato was rocking more vigorously now, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“That isn’t true, Mrs. Donato,” Sarah said. “Emilia wasn’t your daughter at all.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “Poliziotto, he say this. Then Antonio, he come, last night. He say my bambino die. He say midwife bring Emilia.”

“That’s right. Emilia wasn’t your child. Your husband didn’t want you to be sad because your baby died.”

Tears were running down the older woman’s face, but she didn’t make a sound. She just kept rocking back and forth.

Finally, Sarah forced the issue. “Mrs. Donato, did you kill Emilia?”

“She die,” she said bleakly. “My fault.”

“Why was it your fault?” Sarah prodded.

“I no want. Never want. She run away. My fault.”

“Where were you the morning Emilia was killed?”

“Sell flowers.”

“Where?” Sarah asked. “Were you at the park?”

“Si, park. Sell flowers.”

“Did you see Emilia that day?”

“No, no see,” she insisted.

“City Hall Park isn’t that large,” Sarah reminded her. “And she went there looking for you.”

But Mrs. Donato was shaking her head. “No City Hall. Sell flowers, Washington Park.”

“Washington Square?” Sarah asked.

“Si, sell flowers. Washington. No City Hall. No there, long time.”

“You sell your flowers in Washington Square now, but you used to sell them in City Hall Park?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Donato nodded, obviously not understanding the significance of this.

“Why would Emilia have thought you’d be at City Hall Park that morning? Did she know you’d changed the place where you sell them?”

Mrs. Donato shrugged.

“Did anyone see you at Washington Square that morning?”

“Much people see,” she said. A flower seller would have spoken to many potential customers, but how could any of them say they’d seen her on a particular day over a week ago?

“Would anyone remember seeing you on that day? Someone you know, maybe?”

“Signora Tomasetti. We go together. Always together.”

The lump of dread in Sarah’s stomach began to dissolve. “Where can I find Mrs. Tomasetti?”

Sarah was exhausted by the time she reached the mission that afternoon. Unwilling to subject Malloy to yet another round of harassment by leaving him a message at Police Headquarters, she had decided to ask one of the girls from the mission to take it over this time. She also felt obligated to update Mrs. Wells on what was happening. She must be getting anxious.

When she reached the front door of the mission, she heard the sounds of an argument coming from inside. She opened the door without knocking and hurried inside to find Maeve and Gina screaming at each other in the parlor. Maeve was wearing Sarah’s old hat, the one Emilia had worn the morning she died.

“It’s mine now!” Maeve was telling her. “You don’t have any right to it!”

“The lady gave it to me!” Gina screamed back.

“Mrs. Wells would’ve given it to me! Ask her!”

“I don’t have to ask her! It’s mine!”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Wells you stole it from me!”

“Give it back!” Gina screamed and lunged.

Maeve ducked out of reach and grabbed the hat. Or at least that’s what Sarah thought she was going to do. Instead she jerked out the hat pin and raised it as if to strike.

“No!” Sarah shouted, and the girls jumped apart. Maeve dropped the hat pin and clutched the hat, which she was still holding in her other hand, to her thin chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sarah demanded, stooping to snatch the pin up from the floor.

“She took the hat you gave me,” Gina complained.

But Sarah was looking at Maeve, who was glaring back, unrepentant. “I’m the top girl now. It should be mine!”

“I mean what were you doing with this?” She held up the pin.

Maeve looked only a bit chagrined. “I was going to stick her with it. I had to defend myself, didn’t I?”

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Wells demanded as she appeared in the parlor doorway.

Sarah turned to face her, and Mrs. Wells blanched when she saw the hat pin in Sarah’s hand. She quickly lowered it to her side. “The girls were arguing over this hat. I’d given it to Gina, but Maeve seems to think she deserves it instead.”

With visible effort, Mrs. Wells turned her attention to the girls. “Maeve, I’ve spoken to you before about pride and selfishness. If Mrs. Brandt gave the hat to Gina, then it belongs to her.”

Maeve had paled, too. She obviously hated being corrected by Mrs. Wells, especially in the presence of others. Grudgingly, she handed the hat to Gina, who snatched it eagerly and clutched it to her own chest, probably afraid it would be taken from her again.

“You girls have made a spectacle of yourselves in front of Mrs. Brandt. I think you owe her an apology.”

The girls muttered something unintelligible, then hurried out. Maeve was scarlet with humiliation, while Gina glowed with triumph.

“I’m sorry you witnessed that,” Mrs. Wells said. “We try so hard, but…”

“Don’t worry about me,” Sarah said, although she was still shaken from seeing Maeve with the hat pin. “I know girls argue. My sister and I fought all the time.”

A slight movement caught Sarah’s eye, and she saw Aggie peering at her around the door frame. “Hello, Aggie,” she said, giving the child a reassuring smile.

Aggie returned the smile and rushed to Sarah, throwing her arms around her skirts. Sarah still held the hat pin in the folds of her skirts so as not to alarm Mrs. Wells, so she led Aggie over to the sofa and sat down. She laid the pin down on the seat and spread her skirt over it. Aggie climbed into her lap as she had before and settled in happily.

“Aggie seems very fond of you,” Mrs. Wells said. Sarah couldn’t tell if Mrs. Wells approved or not. She remembered how concerned Mrs. Wells had been that Sarah’s interest in the mission was only temporary. Probably, she was concerned that Aggie would become too attached to Sarah, only to have her disappear from her life.

“I’m very fond of Aggie, too,” Sarah assured her, earning another smile from Aggie.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Wells said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “We heard about poor Mrs. Donato.”

“Do you know that she tried to…?” Sarah glanced at Aggie and changed what she had intended to say. “Did you hear what happened last night? What she did to herself?”

“Yes, the entire neighborhood was buzzing with the news this morning. I understand they sent for a priest from St. John’s for her.”

“Father Ahearn. I saw him at the jail this morning.”

“You visited the jail?” Mrs. Wells asked in surprise.

“I know it sounds strange, but I just had to see Mrs. Donato.”

Mrs. Wells folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “I suppose I should go to see her, too. The Lord commands us to forgive whatever wrongs are done to us, and it’s my duty to speak to her about her immortal soul. She still has the opportunity to save herself from the fires of hell.” She looked up, her eyes bright with the fervor of her faith. “We should always be ready to face our judgment at any time. I trust you have made your own peace with God, Mrs. Brandt.”

“I believe that I have,” Sarah answered, unwilling to get into a discussion on the subject at the moment.

“I’m glad to hear it. Of course, Mrs. Donato’s need is much more urgent. I suppose they’ll execute her for