Murder on Sisters' Row

her labor thus far. One thing she didn’t learn about was the baby’s father. No one had mentioned him at all. Beulah had remarked that the other ladies were still sleeping, indicating the other boarders were all female. Sarah began to wonder if Mrs. Walker was actually running a refuge for other girls like Amy, unmarried girls from good families who had gotten with child and needed a place to have their babies secretly. She’d heard of such places, but she’d never been called to one before. She had always assumed they had arrangements with midwives whom they knew and trusted. She wondered why she’d been chosen today.

Beulah brought them some luncheon, an elegant arrangement of sandwiches and tea cakes. Amy could manage only a few bites, but Sarah ate heartily, not sure when she’d have another chance. Mrs. Walker nibbled a bit, but she seemed preoccupied.

When Beulah came to remove the tray, a young woman appeared in the open doorway. She was about Amy’s age, barefoot, and clad only in a silk nightdress like Amy’s, her dark hair tied up in rags, the way girls did to make it curl. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she peered into the room.

“Is the baby coming?” she asked of no one in particular.

Amy paused in her pacing and groaned, clutching her stomach as another contraction seized her.

“What does it look like?” Mrs. Walker snapped. “Go on and mind your own business, Dolly.”

The girl sniffed, offended. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Be friendly someplace else,” Mrs. Walker said.

The girl turned with a toss of her head, but the flopping rags spoiled the effect. Only when she was gone did Sarah realize that she didn’t look as if she were with child. Of course, she might not be showing yet. Some women didn’t begin to show until late in the pregnancy, especially with their first baby. Perhaps even more curious was Mrs. Walker’s rudeness to the girl. Somehow Sarah would have expected a “hostess” to be kinder to the unfortunate girls in her care.

After an hour of walking, Amy wanted to rest for a while. Sarah helped her lie down on the chaise lounge.

“I could brush your hair out for you, if you like,” Sarah offered. “We should probably braid it so it’s easier to manage.”

“I’m not going to braid my hair,” Amy snapped. “It’ll look like a washboard!”

“Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Walker warned her. “Mrs. Brandt is only trying to help. It won’t matter anyway. No one will see you for a while. Let her braid it.”

Once again Amy’s gaze glinted with what could have been fear, but only for a moment. Then she turned to Sarah. “All right,” she said grudgingly, then grimaced as another contraction claimed her.

Sarah got a brush from the dressing table, and when the contraction was over, she began to brush the tangles out of Amy’s hair. Unlike the other girl, Dolly, Amy had natural curls that needed only a little encouragement to appear out of the rat’s nest her hair had become. Sarah found some stray hairpins in the mess and set them aside. Amy had obviously not used any care when she took her hair down the last time.

“Oh, that feels so good,” Amy said after a few minutes. “My mother always made me cry when she brushed out the rats.”

“You have beautiful hair. I can see why you don’t want to braid it,” Sarah said, remembering her childhood and the way her braided hair would hold the crinkly waves for days after being undone. “If you have a hairnet or something, we can tie it up instead of braiding it.”

“I think there’s one in the top drawer in the dressing table,” Amy said.

Sarah found it jumbled in with the various odds and ends Amy had stuffed into the drawer. She worked it free and found it reasonably intact. In another minute, she’d gathered Amy’s fall of hair securely into it and out of the way.

“How much longer is it going to take?” Amy asked as she relaxed again after another contraction.

“Hours yet, I’m afraid.”

“Hours?” Amy said, her voice rising until she caught the warning look from Mrs. Walker. She clamped her mouth shut. “I guess I better walk some more then.”

She and Sarah began the circuit around the room again. Mrs. Walker sat and observed them, her patience apparently endless. Didn’t she have anything better to do than watch over Amy? If Sarah hadn’t seen the way Amy reacted to her, she’d think Mrs. Walker genuinely cared for the girl or at least felt a responsibility for her. But no, she gave no indication of any tender emotion at all. She just sat, more like a reluctant chaperone than a concerned friend.

When Amy tired again, Sarah rubbed her feet and legs, using a lavender-scented lotion she found on the dressing table.

“Have you decided on names yet?” Sarah asked as she massaged Amy’s swollen ankles.

Oddly, Amy glanced at Mrs. Walker before answering, almost as if she were silently asking approval or perhaps checking to make sure she didn’t disapprove. Whatever the reason, her expression was guarded when she looked back at Sarah.

“No, I . . . I haven’t.”

“She wants to wait until she sees if it’s a boy or a girl,” Mrs. Walker said. “Don’t you, dear?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Amy agreed quickly. Too quickly.

Sarah knew she was lying, but she couldn’t imagine why she would lie about such an ordinary thing. Unless . . .

Of course. If Amy was an unwed mother, she wouldn’t be able to keep her baby. The whole point of coming to a place like this to give birth in secret was so no one would know about her transgression. Bringing a baby home with her would defeat the whole purpose. Her friends probably thought she was on a trip someplace far away. When she returned, she’d tell stories about the wonderful adventure she’d had, but she couldn’t bring a baby back as a souvenir.

No, her family had probably already made some kind of arrangements. Perhaps a distant relative would adopt the child. Then Amy might see it from time to time and know it was all right and loved and cared for properly. Or maybe they intended to send it to a foundling home, where its future was more uncertain. Perhaps a loving couple would adopt the baby and give it a good home. Or maybe it would grow up in an orphanage, unwanted and unloved. Or maybe it wouldn’t grow up at all. Abandoned infants sometimes died of disease or neglect.

All these possibilities went through Sarah’s mind in a matter of seconds as she finished up the foot massage. A wave of pity for the girl washed over Sarah.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep before the contractions get worse,” she suggested.

“Worse! Are you saying they’re going to get worse!” Amy cried, tears springing to her eyes.

Mrs. Walker was on her feet in an instant. “Of course they are, you silly girl. Don’t you know anything? Now do as Mrs. Brandt said and get some rest. You won’t do anybody any good if you wear yourself out.”

Amy’s full lips tightened into a thin, white line, as if she were biting back words she didn’t dare say. She let Sarah help her up from the chaise and lead her over to the bed and tuck her in. Sarah had her roll over onto her side, and Sarah gently rubbed the small of her back until she dozed off.

Sarah went back to the chaise and took this opportunity to get some rest herself. She stretched out, glad to be off her feet for a few minutes. Mrs. Walker still sat perfectly straight in one of the chairs, her gaze wandering to Amy every few minutes, as if to make sure she hadn’t disappeared.

“You really don’t have to wait here,” Sarah said softly, so as not to wake Amy. “You probably have things to do, and the baby won’t be here for hours, maybe not until morning. I can send for you when it’s getting close.”

Mrs. Walker folded her well-tended hands in her lap and gave Sarah a long, steady stare. “I couldn’t leave Amy at a time like this. Beulah can take care of things for me.”

“Suit yourself, but if you don’t mind, I’ll try to rest a bit while Amy’s asleep.”

“Suit yourself,” Mrs. Walker echoed sarcastically.

What an odd woman, Sarah thought, but she didn’t think about it for long. She closed her eyes and emptied her mind, a trick she’d used many times to force a catnap.

She was at a concert. A musicale at her mother’s house. Some of her old friends were there, and someone was playing the piano. She couldn’t hear it very well. She needed to get closer so she could hear the music, but every time she tried, someone stopped her and wanted to talk. They wanted to know the name of Amy’s baby and where her husband was. Sarah didn’t know, but they kept asking her anyway. They seemed angry when she