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.”
“I know, that’s why I came. Maria would have explained it all to you, I’m sure, but I didn’t want you to be surprised.
Or unprepared.”
The older woman raised a hand and rubbed her forehead.
“I never thought . . .”
“Mrs. O’Hara, I know how worried you must be. You’ve already lost your daughter, and I don’t want you to lose your grandson, too,” Sarah said. “That’s why I came. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”
“I never dreamed it’d be so hard,” she said.
“Taking care of a baby under the best of circumstances is difficult,” Sarah reminded her. “The sleepless nights, the diapers, keeping them safe. I’m sure you remember that from your own children.”
“I lost two others, too,” she admitted sadly. “I don’t like to remember them. One was stillborn, and the other . . . the other just died. We never knew why.”
Sarah felt the other woman’s grief like a lump in her own chest. “I’m sorry.” Then she waited, giving Mrs. O’Hara a chance to make the right decision.
The other woman stared at something only she could see for several minutes, and then her eyes hardened with resolution. “I love that baby, Mrs. Brandt. It would kill me if anything happened to him.”
Sarah nodded, holding her breath and silently praying.
“But those people got no right to him. He’s my flesh and blood, the only family I got left. I can’t leave him in that house, Mrs. Brandt, because somebody in that house killed my Nainsi.”
Sarah let out her breath on a sigh. She’d done her best, but she’d lost.
In all the years he’d been a cop, Frank had faced many dangerous situations, but none quite so dangerous as bearding Ugo Ruocco in his own den. He could feel the wave of hostility wash over them when he and Gino entered the saloon where Ugo held court. Every eye in the room turned toward them, all filled with hatred.
One of the men challenged them in Italian, and Gino replied in Italian, his tone polite but firm. Several of the men got up from their tables and walked slowly toward them, their expressions taunting as they formed a loose circle around them. The threat of violence was blatant, but Frank knew better than to show a trace of fear. He glared back at them, silently daring them to risk attacking the police. They might win this battle, but they would start a war that would bring down the wrath of the Irish and the police and the city government, too. Frank sincerely hoped they realized that.
After a long moment, an older man sitting at a table on the other side of the room stood up and gave a curt order.
He was short and round with graying hair and a well-worn face. The thugs fell back, opening a corridor between him and them. “You want to see the Padrone, Gino Donatelli?” he asked.
“Yes, we do,” Gino replied. Frank had to admire the way he refused to be intimidated. Maybe letting dagos on the force wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“I will ask if he will see you,” the man said, his tone implying that he sincerely doubted that would happen. He turned and walked through a door at the back of the room, closing it softly behind him.
As they waited, Frank could hear the words “fool’s errand” echoing in his head. That’s what his mother would’ve said about him walking into a dago saloon. Frank carefully made eye contact with each of the men in the room, silently letting them know they didn’t scare him one bit.
Even if it was a lie.
