Victoria Thompson
Sarah Brandt was just clearing away the luncheon dishes when she heard someone ringing her front doorbell. She felt a small stab of disappointment, and when she looked down at the little girl helping her carry dishes to the sink, she saw that disappointment mirrored in her brown eyes. They’d both been looking forward to a quiet afternoon playing with baby dolls, but now a real baby’s arrival was probably going to ruin those plans.
“Should I get it, Mrs. Brandt?” Maeve asked. Maeve worked as a nursemaid for the child Sarah had begun to think of as her daughter.
“No, I’ll go. You two can finish up here,” she said, taking off her apron. Sarah smiled down at little Aggie, who made a disgusted face. She knew a knock at the door most often meant Sarah had to go off to help deliver someone’s baby.
Aggie didn’t like it, but she also couldn’t stop Sarah from going. Sarah had explained many times that it was how she earned her living and paid for their food and clothes and home.
Sarah dropped a kiss on Aggie’s silken head and then hurried to answer the persistent ringing of the bell. As she’d suspected, a young man stood at the door, looking anxious.
“Mrs. Brandt, can you come? The baby, he’s coming soon.”
“Mr. Ruocco, isn’t it?” Sarah asked, recognizing him as one of the three handsome brothers she remembered. “From Mama’s Restaurant.”
“Yes, that’s right,” he confirmed. Mama’s was one of the most popular restaurants in Little Italy. Sarah had enjoyed many fine meals there. “I’m Joe. Can you come? Right away?”
“Of course. I’ll just need a few minutes to get ready.
Please, have a seat,” she offered, inviting him into the front room that served as her office.
He didn’t sit down, though. They never did. Instead he stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, rest-lessly, as if his constant motion would hurry her along.
With practiced ease, Sarah checked her medical bag—the one that had belonged to her late husband, Dr. Tom—to make sure all her necessary supplies were packed. Then she went and changed into her working clothes, the dark skirt and jacket that didn’t show the stains. Mr. Ruocco helped her with her cape and offered to carry her bag for her.
When Sarah called out that she was leaving, Aggie came running for a good-bye kiss and to give Sarah another pout, just to let her know how much she’d be missed. Even after she and Mr. Ruocco had made their exit, Aggie ran to the front window and pressed her nose against the glass to give Sarah one last wave.
Sarah waved back, her heart so full of love she thought it might burst. Aggie had brought so much joy into her life since she’d found her several months ago at the Prodigal Son Mission on Mulberry Street. Still, Sarah couldn’t help worrying. The child had only spoken twice since the day she’d turned up on the mission doorstep. The first time was to call out a warning to save Sarah’s life, and the other was when Sarah had overheard her telling young Brian Malloy that her real name was Catherine. Aggie must have thought that was safe to do, since Brian was deaf. Sarah hadn’t yet had the courage to admit she knew Aggie’s secret. She’d been hoping Aggie would choose to speak on her own before she had to do so, but she was beginning to think that wouldn’t happen.
Mr. Ruocco set a brisk pace, and Sarah had to ask him to slow down a bit to accommodate her.
He apologized profusely. “It’s just that Mama said to hurry.”
“Is it your wife having the baby?” Sarah asked. “Isn’t her name Maria?”
“Yes, Maria, but no, she is not the one. It’s Antonio . . .
his wife.”
“Antonio?” she echoed in surprise. She’d thought him just a boy, too young to be married already and now with a baby on the way. “Isn’t he the youngest?”
“No, Valentina is the youngest. ’Tonio is the youngest boy, though.”
“Oh, yes.” She’d forgotten about the girl. Valentina didn’t spend much time in the restaurant. The Italians kept a close watch on their daughters.
They’d come to the corner, so they had no more opportunity for conversation as Mr. Ruocco helped her dodge horses and wagons and piles of manure in the death-defying process of crossing the street to arrive safely at the other side. Each intersection provided the same challenge, and with Mr. Ruocco practically running in between each one, Sarah learned nothing new about the family or their situation.
At last they saw the weathered red awning that shaded the front of Mama’s Restaurant on Hester Street. Because it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, no hungry customers stood in line, waiting for a table. Instead, the other two Ruocco brothers sat forlornly on the stoop, smoking cigarettes and looking as useless as men usually did when a woman was giving birth.
“This must be the proud papa,” Sarah guessed, smiling at the younger man.
They both jumped to their feet, and Sarah saw she’d been right in remembering Antonio as little more than a boy. He couldn’t be twenty yet, and the expression in his eyes was pure terror. “You’re the midwife?” he asked almost desperately.
“That’s right, and I’m sure everything will be fine,” Sarah assured him.
“It’s too soon. The baby is coming too soon,” he informed her.
She glanced at Joe, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned this to her, but he avoided her gaze. “Get out of the way, so she can go inside and get to work,” Joe said gruffly, and the two men parted instantly to make way.
Sarah noted as she passed that the other brother also looked worried, even if he wasn’t as terrified as Antonio.
“Mama!” Joe called as they entered. “Mrs. Brandt is here!”
The dining room was deserted except for two old men in the corner, drinking grappa and arguing. The checked tablecloths had been swept off and straightened from the lunch service and readied for the evening meals that would be served here. In the afternoon sunlight, the room looked like something from the Old World, with its plaster columns where ivy climbed and draped along the ceiling, and the paintings of the beautiful hills of Italy.
Joe turned to Sarah. “Come, I’ll take you upstairs.”
Like many business owners, the Ruocco family lived above their restaurant. As Joe led her toward the back of the dining room, a small woman burst through the kitchen door and came bustling toward them.
“Grazie, Mrs. Brandt,” she said, drying her hands on her apron as she came. “You are good to come so quick.” Patrizia Ruocco was a legend in Little Italy. Fifteen years ago she’d come to America with her three small boys, not speaking a word of English, and against all odds, she’d built a successful business. “You, Giuseppe, go with your brothers,” she said, waving a hand at Joe as if he were a pesky fly. “Give me bag,” she added, taking Sarah’s medical bag from him before he turned to go. He seemed almost grateful to escape.
“Upstairs, please,” Mrs. Ruocco said, leading the way to a door in the corner of the room. Patrizia Ruocco stood less than five feet tall, but hard work had made her strong. She carried Sarah’s medical bag as if it were filled with feathers, and she climbed the stairs without even losing her breath.
Once her hair had been jet black and probably her best feature, but now it was streaked with gray. Her body was rounded and womanly—still firm even in middle age—but oddly, she gave no impression of softness. Perhaps it was her dark eyes, which seemed as if they could cut right into a person’s soul.
The stairs were narrow and twisted around, designed to take up as little space as possible in the house. Two flights up, Mrs. Ruocco opened another door into a hallway. Sarah could see that several bedrooms with neatly made beds and spotlessly scrubbed floors opened onto it. She could also hear moaning.
Mrs. Ruocco stopped and turned back to face Sarah.
“The baby, he come too soon,” she told Sarah gravely. “This Irish trash . . .” She caught herself, and her face tightened as she tried to control a fierce anger. “This Irish girl Antonio bring to us,” she continued deliberately, “she
