When she turned around, her mother was still at the table, her head in her hands, her mending forgotten in her lap. A knot of fear twisted in Pia’s stomach.
“What is it, Mutti?” Pia said. “What’s wrong?”
Mutti looked up. “Oh, liebchen,” she said. “Nothing. I’m only tired.”
Her words did little to lessen Pia’s alarm. She studied her mother’s face, worried she wasn’t telling the truth. It wasn’t like her to complain about being tired. Or anything else, for that matter. “Did you eat today?”
Mutti nodded. “Kartoffelpfannkuchen, a potato pancake, and applesauce.”
“That’s not enough,” Pia said. “Why don’t you have something to eat and take a nap while the twins are sleeping? I can work on the mending.”
To Pia’s surprise, Mutti nodded, put the mending on the table, and stood. “Ja, I think I will lie down for a little bit.” She went over to Pia’s bed, moved her schoolbooks to the floor, and got under the blanket. “The soup is almost finished,” she said. “Be careful not to let it burn.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled with a shuddering sigh.
Pia dug her nails into her palms. Mutti never lay down in the afternoon. She went over to the bed and knelt beside her. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Maybe I should get Mrs. Schmidt.”
Mutti gave her a weak smile. “Do not worry, liebchen, I’m fine,” she said. “Remember I said the twins were fussing today. They were awake all night too. I’m only tired from that.” She closed her eyes. “And Mrs. Schmidt is not here.”
“What do you mean? Where is she?”
“On the train to her mother’s house. In Pittsburgh.”
“Maybe I should go look for a doctor, then,” Pia said. The thought of leaving and going into the city again terrified her, but she’d do it for Mutti. Then she remembered what her teachers said about the shortage of doctors and nurses because of the war—that those left behind were overwhelmed and the hospitals were full—and a cold block of fear settled in her chest.
Mutti opened her eyes and looked at her, her face serious. “I am not sick, Pia. I only need to rest, just for a few minutes. Then I will feel better.”
Pia sighed. She prayed Mutti was right, but she hated feeling so helpless. “Then let me close the window so you don’t get chilled.”
Mutti turned on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Nein, fresh air is good to keep away the flu.”
Pia lifted her hand to check her mother’s forehead for fever, then froze. What if she felt pain in her chest or became short of breath when she touched her? What would she do then? Mrs. Schmidt was gone and the hospitals were full. Chewing her lip, she went over to the table, picked up the darning egg with trembling fingers, and dropped it into a sock. Maybe she should feel her mother’s forehead. The sooner she knew if she was getting sick, the sooner she could try to find some kind of help. Maybe someone else in the building would know what to do. Maybe they’d have whiskey or some other kind of medicine. If only Mrs. Schmidt were still there.
After a little while, she put down the mending, went over to the foot of the bed, and gazed down at Mutti. She was sound asleep, her mouth hanging open, thin strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and lips. Exhaustion clung to her features, aging her beyond her years. Pia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What should she do? She looked out the window toward Finn’s apartment. If only she could send him a note to ask for help. But undershirts and baby-wear filled the clothesline. She couldn’t take them off without waking Mutti. Who knew if he’d answer in time, anyway? She thought about hurrying across the alley and knocking on his door, but what if the twins woke up and Mutti didn’t hear them? Not to mention she didn’t want to go out in the hall, let alone outside.
As if roused by her thoughts, the twins started crying. Mutti opened her eyes and started to sit up.
“Stay there,” Pia said. “I’ll get them.”
“Nein,” Mutti said. “They are hungry and I have too much to do.” She moved to the edge of the bed and stood, her hands on the small of her back as she straightened, and started toward the bedroom. “Please take some soft potatoes from the soup for their supper.”
“Yes, Mutti,” Pia said.
“And close the window. It may be too cold for them.”
Pia pulled the window sash all the way down, then went over to the stove. She took a slotted spoon from the kitchen shelf, fished several floury potatoes out of the soup, and put them in a bowl. Mutti came out of the bedroom with Ollie and Max, laid them on the bed, unpinned two clean diapers from the ceiling clothesline, and started to change them. She smiled and kissed the boys’ faces, laughing when they babbled and cooed.
“You are the best little boys in the world,” she said, cooing back at them. “And the most handsome too. Are you hungry? Ja? Your sister is getting your dinner ready for you.”
Pia mashed the potatoes in the bowl and softened them with a little broth, one eye on her mother. Maybe she’d been wrong to worry. Maybe Mutti really was just tired and the short nap had helped. In any case, she was acting normal now. Fear seeped out of Pia’s chest and relief loosened her shoulders.
Mutti picked Ollie up and kissed him on the cheek, then put him back down on the mattress. She made a move to pick Max up, then hesitated, put a hand to her head, and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Red blotches bloomed on her pale face.
Pia put down the soup bowl and rushed to her side. “What is it, Mutti?” she said.
Mutti closed her eyes and moaned. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I... I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
Panic flared in Pia’s chest again, beating against her rib cage like stone wings. “I’ll go try to find a doctor.”
“Nein,” Mutti said. “You are not leaving. It’s not safe.”
“But what if...” Pia hesitated, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “What if you’re getting sick?”
“I’m all right. I am not coughing or too hot, only tired. Besides, there is no money for a doctor. And they don’t want to help a German, anyway.”
“Is there anyone else in the building like Mrs. Schmidt? Someone who might know what to do?”
Mutti shook her head. “Our neighbors have their own troubles right now. I only need to sleep. It is the best medicine.” She pushed herself off the bed and stood. “Will you take care of the boys for a few hours while I lie down in the bedroom?”
“Yes, of course. And I’ll bring you some soup.”
Mutti nodded and started toward the bedroom, walking slowly. Pia followed, struggling to stay calm. For as long as she could remember, her mother had never complained about not feeling well, not even after having the twins, when Mrs. Schmidt instructed her to spend two weeks in bed. Not even when she had a horrible headache that seemed to last for weeks, or when she broke her big toe. Mutti always kept quiet and kept going as best she could. She never gave up or gave in. To hear her say she didn’t feel well sent a flood of terror through Pia’s bones. Mutti sat on the edge of the bed and Pia knelt down, unbuttoned her boots, and pulled them off.
“Danke,” Mutti said, lying back on the pillow. Pia covered her with a blanket, wondering what else she should do.
Out in the other room, Ollie and Max started crying.
“Bitte, feed the boys and let me rest,” Mutti said, shooing her away with one hand. “I will be much better when I wake up.”
“Will you promise to call me if you need anything?”
“Ja, now go.”
Pia started out of the room, then stopped at the door and turned. “And tell me if you start feeling worse?”
“Ja, ja,” Mutti said. She laid her forearm across her forehead, her pale wrist turned up, and closed her eyes.
“Promise?” Pia said.
“Ja, Pia.”
With growing dread, Pia left the room and closed the door. Hopefully Mutti was right; she was only overworked and exhausted. It made sense, with the twins waking up several times a night to nurse,
then barely sleeping during the day. Still, Pia couldn’t help fearing the worst. She prayed she was wrong.
After feeding Max and Ollie mashed potatoes softened with broth, she put them on a blanket in the middle of the floor with their rattles, then filled a bowl with soup and slowly opened the bedroom door, trying not to make any noise. A slice of weak light fell across Mutti’s pale face. She was sound asleep again, her mouth agape.
“Mutti?” Pia said in a quiet voice. “I brought you some soup.” She went over to the bed and looked down at her. “Mutti?”
Mutti didn’t blink or move. Pia thought about waking her, but decided to let her rest. The few minutes she’d gotten earlier probably weren’t enough. She needed an entire night of uninterrupted sleep, then maybe she’d be back to her old self by morning. Pia left the bedroom, quietly closed the door, took the soup over to the table, and sat down. From the blanket on the floor, the boys watched her eat, grinning and gurgling, and reaching for each other’s hands and faces. She would take care of them tonight. She would mix a jar of Mellin’s Infant Food with water and feed them that so Mutti wouldn’t have to wake up and nurse. They weren’t used to drinking from bottles, but if they were hungry enough, they’d figure it out.
When she was done with her soup, she got up, knelt on her bed, opened the window, and, working fast, pulled the clothes off the line and piled them beside her. The undershirts and nightdresses were still damp from the fall air, but she’d hang them up again inside, when she had time. When everything was off the line, she closed the window and stacked the laundry on the kitchen chairs, then took her math book out from beneath her bed and tore out the first page, which was blank, except for the title and copyright. Damaging a schoolbook would likely get her in trouble, but there was no other paper in the house, and this was an emergency. She found a pencil, sat down at the table again, and wrote to Finn.
Are you all right? What’s wrong with your brother? Mutti might be getting sick and I don’t know what to do. I have no medicine or whiskey. She says I shouldn’t leave the house to find a doctor, and I don’t really want to, anyway. Please help. I’m scared.
She folded the paper, crawled up on her bed again, opened the window partway, fastened the note to the line with a clothespin, and sent it across the alley. The pulley squeaked while the clothesline lurched and paused, lurched and paused, until finally the note reached the ledge outside Finn’s window. Afraid to blink, she watched to see if he would reach out and take it, but no one came to the open window, or looked out. She glanced over her shoulder at her brothers, content and playing on the blanket, then pushed the window open all the way and leaned out as far as she dared. Praying Mutti wouldn’t hear, she called out, “Finn!”
No answer.
“Hey, Finn! Are you over there? It’s me, Pia!”
Still no answer.
She pulled the sash down and watched for a few more minutes, but no one came to the window. Looking out over the eerily silent Fifth Ward, a cold eddy of loneliness began to swirl inside her chest. The sun blazed on the distant horizon, casting a yellow glow over the cool fall evening, the perfect weather for a brisk walk or a rousing game of stickball. But no children played in the alley below. No delivery wagons rattled along the cobblestones. No women gossiped on the front stoops or called their children in from open windows. A hollow draft of fear swept through her. It felt like the end of the world.
* * *
While Mutti slept and Pia took care of her brothers, panic gripped the city. The director of the Philadelphia General Hospital pleaded for volunteers to relieve nurses who had collapsed from overwork. Doctors and nurses started dying, three one day, two another, four the next. Undertakers ran out of embalming fluid and coffins, and masked policemen guarded what coffins were left. Gravediggers were either ill, overcharging people, or refusing to bury influenza victims. The director of the city jail offered prisoners to help dig graves, but withdrew the offer when he realized there were no healthy guards to watch them. Thirty-three policemen had already died. The citizens of Philadelphia began whispering the word plague.
Meanwhile, The Philadelphia Inquirer scorned the closing of public places:
What are the authorities trying to do? Scare everyone to death? What is to be gained by shutting up well-ventilated churches and theaters and letting people press into trolley cars? What then should a man do to prevent panic and fear? Live a calm life. Do not discuss influenza. Worry is useless. Talk of cheerful things instead of disease.
For Pia, getting the twins to drink formula out of bottles proved to be more difficult than she thought. By the time the first feeding was over, all three of them were exhausted. When her brothers finally collapsed into a restless sleep on her bed, it was after midnight. She edged off the mattress, moving slowly and quietly, and peeked into the dark bedroom, surprised her mother hadn’t heard the boys’ frustrated cries. Mutti was still sound asleep, her breath like sandpaper against wood. Pia tiptoed into the room, stood by the bed, and, with trembling fingers, reached out to feel her mother’s forehead. As soon as her hand touched Mutti’s clammy skin, heat lit up her face and neck, and an invisible weight pressed against her chest. She yanked her hand away and the frightening sensations disappeared. Tears filled Pia’s eyes. No. Mutti can’t be sick. She just can’t be.
Turning toward the dresser, she quietly opened the bottom drawer, took out a sweater, and laid it over her mother’s chest and shoulders, pulling it and the blanket up beneath her chin. She didn’t know what else to do.
Queasy with fear, she crept out of the room and closed the door. The thought of leaving the safety of their apartment, going out into the city in the middle of the night to search for a doctor, not knowing if anyone would even help, terrified her. And who would take care of the babies while she was gone? Mutti might be too sick to watch them. And the boys probably shouldn’t be near her, anyway.
Paralyzed by indecision, she turned down the lantern and lay in her bed, the boys’ small bodies snuggled between her and the wall. She needed to organize her thoughts and gather her courage. The sun would be up in a few hours. Then she could ask a neighbor to watch the twins. Mutti always said everything looked less frightening in the light. She hoped so, because right now she was scared to death. Knowing she couldn’t sleep, she tried to come up with a plan.
When her frantic dreams ended, she opened her eyes, confused and trying to remember what day it was. An eerie, grayish glow filtered in under the flour-sack drapes. She turned her head and looked up. A jagged water stain colored the gray ceiling paper like a small yellow lake, making her think of the spring runoff near the culm banks in Hazleton. Then she remembered—the schools and churches and all public meeting places had been closed. And Mutti might be sick with the flu. The twins still lay between her and the wall. She sat up with a start and nearly fell off the edge of the bed, then blinked and looked around, trying to figure out how long she’d slept. She got up on her knees and pulled aside the drapes.
It was dawn.
And her note to Finn still dangled on the clothesline.
Ollie turned toward her, kicking his legs and starting to fuss. Max was starting to wake up too. She picked Ollie up and bounced him on her hip, her eyes fixed on Finn’s window.
“Shh, Ollie boy,” she said, patting his back. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
She watched Finn’s window for another few seconds. No one moved behind the glass. Had they taken his brother to the hospital? Or were they all sick? Ollie started to wail, his face turning red, his small hands in fists.
“I know,” she said to him. “You want your mommy. Have you had enough of me?” She got down from the bed, snuggled his cheek against hers, and moved toward the bedroom. “All right, all right. I’ll take you to your mutti.” Then she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Max. “Stay right there, good boy. I’ll be right back.”
Max blinked and grinned at her, still half asleep, while Ollie howled in her ear, loud enough to wake th
e people next door. She started toward the bedroom again, a growing surge of fear coursing through her, making her chest hurt. Surely Mutti could hear Ollie crying. Why hadn’t she come out to see what was wrong?
Pia knocked lightly on the door. “Mutti? Are you up?”
No answer.
“Mutti?”
Pia opened the door and entered slowly, keeping her eyes down in case her mother was dressing. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Ollie’s hungry. I fed him some Mellin’s a while ago, but—” Then she looked up and went rigid.
Mutti lay on her side in the bed, her clawed hands frozen at her throat, her mouth agape as if stuck mid-scream. A dark fluid ran from her nose and mouth and eyes, red and crusty and black, and her skin was the color of a bruise. The coppery smell of warm blood filled the thick air.
“Mutti?” Pia managed.
No response.
“Mutti?”
Realization, sudden and horrible, struck Pia. Her legs turned to water and she bent over, gagging and almost dropping Ollie. She grabbed the iron footboard to stay upright. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
Ollie wailed louder, filling the room.
Pia fell to her knees, her heartbeat thrashing in her ears. No. This can’t be happening. It can’t be. Dizzy and hyperventilating, she edged around to the side of the bed, the wood floor like a rasp on her bare knees, her shaking arms struggling to hold on to her baby brother.
“Mutti,” she cried. “Get up! You can’t leave us! You can’t!” She held her breath and reached out with trembling fingers, as if one touch would shatter her mother like glass. “Please, Mutti. Wake up!” Her fingertips grazed the sleeve of Mutti’s sweater, and she drew back, her stomach turning over. She didn’t need to touch her mother’s skin to know something was horribly wrong. She didn’t want to touch her and feel death. Grabbing the side of the damp mattress, she pulled herself to her feet, put a hand on Mutti’s shoulder, and shook her. Mutti’s body wobbled back and forth, like a life-size doll lying on a shelf.
The Orphan Collector Page 5