Pia forced herself to return the smile, but desperation swelled inside her chest. The thought of another wave of the flu—and what it might mean for her brothers, Vater, and Finn, if they were out there somewhere—made her heart feel like lead. When they reached the back of the house, she followed Mrs. Hudson into a white-tiled kitchen with wide windows overlooking a jumbled yard filled with trellises and birdbaths. Mrs. Hudson put Leo in a crib next to the coal stove and tucked his blanket in around him. He yawned and looked around without fussing. Pia had never seen such a content baby. Probably because he had a full belly, a warm house, and both his parents.
“Oh, before I forget,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I meant to ask about your name. It’s very pretty, but so unusual. Do you know its origin?”
Pia glanced at the floor, heat crawling up her neck. Then she remembered her father always said it was important to look people in the eye when you spoke. It made them believe you were honest. Except Pia couldn’t be honest right now. Healthy or not, if Dr. and Mrs. Hudson found out she was German, they might not be so kind. She shook her head a little too vigorously and looked Mrs. Hudson in the eye.
“I was named after my great-great-grandmother,” she said.
“How lovely. And where was she from?”
“Holland. She came to the States with her parents years ago.”
“Well, as long as it’s not German,” Mrs. Hudson said. “The war might be over, but I’ll never forgive those people for what they did, especially to my husband, the poor dear. Also, and I ask this of all my potential help so don’t worry about your answer, what neighborhood are you from?”
“Near South Philadelphia,” she said. “In the Fifth Ward.”
Mrs. Hudson put a hand to her chest. “Oh my. Is it true there’s sewage and garbage strewn in the streets down there? And rats everywhere?”
Pia shrugged. “My mother always said the neighborhood could have used some cleaning up.”
“Well, it sounds like your mother was a very clever woman, which I’m glad to hear because I could never have someone working here who doesn’t understand the importance of cleanliness. Did your mother teach you to be clean and orderly?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then we should get along just fine,” Mrs. Hudson said. “The Philadelphia Tuberculosis Committee released a list of precautions to avoid the flu, which we abide by strictly in this house. Always use a handkerchief or napkin when you cough or sneeze, sterilize dishes and silverware after use, and do not share drinking cups or towels. It’s very important for you to remember those rules, Pia. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pia said.
“Good,” Mrs. Hudson said. She turned and started out of the kitchen and Pia followed. “Little Elizabeth is napping right now. She’s just shy of two years old. And Sophie and Margaret are in the children’s room playing. At least I hope that’s what they’re doing. With those two you never know. The last time I thought they were playing nicely together I found them in the garden with mud up to their knees. It was an awful mess. I had to throw out everything they were wearing, including their shoes.” She shivered at the memory. “I’m warning you, they’re a handful, those two. Always getting into something they shouldn’t.”
Pia nodded, trying to look agreeable, although she never understood why mothers had such an aversion to their children getting dirty. Making mud pies after a rainstorm used to be one of her favorite things to do when she was small, and she remembered how Vater used to laugh when Mutti swore under her breath while scrubbing her filthy clothes. He said playing in the dirt was good for children, and it was nothing a little soap and water couldn’t fix. That was when Mutti used to throw a wet shirt or sock at him, and they’d chase each other around the washtub, laughing. Pia’s eyes grew moist just thinking about it.
From the kitchen Mrs. Hudson led her into a short hallway, her shoes clacking on the shiny floorboards, then took her into a wallpapered room with tasseled drapes, stained-glass windows, and strange-looking furniture.
“This is the water closet,” Mrs. Hudson said with pride. “Brand-new last year.” She moved toward a rectangular wooden box lined with what looked like porcelain next to one wall. A brass spigot and matching handles stuck out of one end. “This is the bathtub.” She pointed at another piece of furniture that looked like an oversize mixing bowl with a pipe coming out the top connected to another wooden box with a dangling handle. “And that’s the lavatory.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Pia said. “What’s a lava... lavatory?”
Mrs. Hudson grinned. “The toilet,” she said. “And that’s the foot bath and the sink.” She reached into the bathtub and turned one of the brass handles. To Pia’s surprise, water came out of the spigot. Mrs. Hudson ran a hand under the flow. After a moment, curls of steam rose into the air.
Pia’s mouth dropped open. “Is that...” she started.
“Yes, it’s hot water,” Mrs. Hudson said, a pleased look on her face. “Dr. Hudson must have stoked the boiler in anticipation of your arrival.” She pointed to a painted shelf beside the sink. “There are fresh towels and washcloths over there, and help yourself to a new bar of lavender soap. When the tub is halfway full, just turn the handle to shut off the water. And leave your clothes on the floor. I’ll have Dr. Hudson burn them later. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find for you to wear.”
Pia didn’t know what to say. It all seemed so strange and wonderful at the same time. Like something you only read about in books. On one hand, she was beyond relieved to be treated so kindly; on the other, she didn’t deserve any of it. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said.
“Just be sure to wash your hair thoroughly and check it for fleas,” Mrs. Hudson said. “If there’s one thing I won’t tolerate beside sloppy habits, it’s personal uncleanliness.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll be right back,” Mrs. Hudson said, then bustled out of the room and closed the door.
Pia stared into the steaming bath, her thoughts whirling like the water below the spigot. Being in this beautiful house with such kind people didn’t seem right when everyone she loved and cared about had suffered so much. Vater had struggled so hard to provide for and protect his family, and he was sent off to fight in a war. Mutti did everything for everyone, including sick neighbors and strangers who needed help, and she had died a horrible death. Then there were poor little Ollie and Max, loving and innocent and new, whose older sister locked them in a cold cubby and left them there, crying and hungry and scared. Not only had they lost their entire family, but who knew what horrible fate they’d endured? And it was all her fault. She was the one who had abandoned them when they needed her most. Maybe being in the orphanage was the start of her penance for what she’d done. Maybe taking care of babies who reminded her daily of Ollie and Max was part of it too. Except this didn’t feel like punishment. This felt like a reward. Then again, the only true reward would be having her family together again. And that was never going to happen. She hung her head, the horrible, heavy ache in her chest growing tighter and tighter.
The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door pulled her from her thoughts. She held her breath, waiting to see if Mrs. Hudson was coming back, but the footsteps grew fainter and disappeared. She shook her head to clear it. Nothing she felt mattered anymore. The only thing she could do was keep going and do the next thing, even when she didn’t have the strength or desire to go on. She undressed, shut off the spigots, and got into the tub, the hot water slipping like silk over her dry, grimy skin. She picked up the bar of lavender soap and put it to her nose. The flowery, clean fragrance reminded her of climbing hills back in Hazleton, when the spring trillium and violets sprang through the damp ground. A wave of homesickness swept over her, so powerful she nearly cried out, and hot tears squeezed from her eyes. What she wouldn’t have given to be back in that wooden, coal-stained washtub next to the coal stove in her parents’ rundown shack, when everything seemed so s
imple and she didn’t have a care in the world. Then she pushed the thought away, berating herself for giving in to her emotions again. She didn’t deserve her own pity.
Someone knocked on the door. “Pia?” It was Mrs. Hudson.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I found some clothes for you to wear. It’s an old outfit of mine, but I think it will fit just fine. And I have several more that will work too. No need to get out of the tub, I’ll just slip it in through the door.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Pia said.
The door opened a few inches and a neat stack of folded clothes topped by a pair of pointed boots slid in on the floor. “Take your time getting cleaned up,” Mrs. Hudson said. “And meet me in the kitchen when you’re finished.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After scrubbing layers of dirt and the desperate smell of the orphanage from her body and hair, Pia lay back in the hot, soapy water, surprised that she could nearly stretch all the way out. She could have stayed in the warm cocoon for another hour, but didn’t want to keep Mrs. Hudson waiting. She climbed out and dried off with the thickest towel she had ever felt, then picked up the boots and stack of clothes by the door. Cotton bloomers, a silky chemise, and a pair of knee socks lay folded on top of a lilac-colored dress with an ivory sash; the boots looked brand-new, with leather buckles and cloth-covered buttons. She put on the undergarments, pushed her bare legs and calloused feet into the stretchy socks and boots, then slipped the muslin dress over her head. Not only was the dress beautiful, but it fit almost perfectly and the material didn’t itch. It felt strange to be comfortable, her arms and legs covered and snug. She’d never worn anything like it in her life, and she was delighted by how luxurious it felt; at the same time it only added more weight to her guilt.
When she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson and Leo were nowhere to be seen. Waiting next to a row of floor cupboards with a long, wooden top and what seemed like a hundred drawers, she felt strange and out of place, like a beggar at a masquerade ball. Laughter and the high, tinkling of little girls’ voices filtered down from somewhere upstairs. She looked up at the ceiling. What would it feel like to be one of those girls, living in this beautiful house with your siblings and both parents? What would it feel like to know you were safe and you’d always have enough food and enough clothes and enough money? Back when she was too young to know the difference between rich and poor, hunger and starvation, want and need, she’d felt the same way she imagined the Hudson girls did now. The sky would always be blue, her parents would always take care of her, and they’d be together forever. Now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember that feeling; it was as elusive as a forgotten dream. And those days were long gone.
And what were the Hudsons going to expect of her? Did being “bound out” make her a prisoner here, or would she be allowed to leave the house when she wasn’t taking care of the children? Would she have to wait until Dr. Hudson said the flu was no longer a threat? Then she had another thought and her heart started to race. She could leave right now. She could leave and no one would know until it was too late. She could go home and ask the strangers living in her family’s old rooms if her father had returned. She could scour the city for other orphanages and see if her brothers were there. As far as she could tell, the house she was standing in was a normal one, with unlocked windows and unlocked doors. This wasn’t St. Vincent’s. This was her chance to be free.
Four different doorways led out of the kitchen, but she had no idea where they led. When she’d first arrived, she’d been too nervous to pay attention, and now she could only guess which one went back to the front door. She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. If she left, she’d be homeless and on her own, with no food, no money, and nowhere to go. What if the police picked her up? She’d seen her share of homeless children getting dropped off at St. Vincent’s. The last thing she needed was to get sent to another orphanage. Or worse. Maybe she should wait and see what happened. At the Hudsons’, she’d have a roof over her head and food to eat. Maybe when she wasn’t working, she’d be free to do as she pleased and could look for her brothers. If not right away, then someday. Maybe, after she earned Dr. and Mrs. Hudson’s trust by taking good care of their children, she’d have the courage to tell them the truth. And maybe, just maybe, they would help.
Footsteps suddenly sounded on the plank floors, getting closer and closer. The decision had been made for her. It was too late to run now. She smoothed the front of her dress, stood up straight, and tried to relax. Mrs. Hudson appeared in an open doorway.
“I’ve put Leo down for a nap in the upstairs nursery,” she said. “How do the clothes fit?”
“Everything fits fine,” Pia said. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“The boots too?”
“Yes, ma’am.” In truth, they were a little loose, but Pia wasn’t about to complain.
“Wonderful. I wore that dress when I was your age. I hope it’s not too old-fashioned.”
“Oh no, ma’am. I’ve never worn such a pretty dress in my life.”
“Well, it’s yours now. Let’s go up to the playroom, shall we? While Leo is napping I’ll introduce you to his sisters.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pia followed her out of the kitchen, along another hallway, and up a wide flight of stairs covered with a cushioned, decorative runner. At the top of the landing, they turned down the main hall, part of which ran along a railing above the staircase. Somehow, the upstairs looked even bigger than the downstairs, with what seemed like a dozen doors. Mrs. Hudson stopped at the first room, put a finger to her lips, and slowly opened the door. Two white cribs with lace bed skirts sat on either side of a changing table, and a rocking chair sat beneath a round window centered in the back wall. Leo lay swaddled in a blue blanket, sound asleep in one of the cribs, and a chubby-cheeked toddler napped in the other, her diapered buttocks in the air, her socked feet tucked beneath her tummy. She looked like one of the Christmas angels Pia had seen in store windows, with golden ringlets and chubby cheeks.
Mrs. Hudson pointed at the little girl and whispered, “That’s Elizabeth. She’s twenty-two months old.”
Pia smiled and nodded.
Mrs. Hudson watched Elizabeth for a few moments, her face soft with love, then looked in on Leo and tiptoed out of the room. Pia had seen the same loving look on Mutti’s face a thousand times. It seemed like a lifetime ago. With a lump in her throat, she followed Mrs. Hudson into the hall and waited while she quietly closed the door. Then they went to the end of the corridor, where little girls’ voices floated out a half-open door, like the delicate notes of flutes on the wind.
The children’s playroom was twice as big as the nursery, with high white ceilings and light gray walls. A red hobbyhorse with a yellow mane sat in one corner, his painted mouth in a perpetual smile. A dollhouse filled with miniature furniture and straight-backed dolls sat opposite a bookshelf overflowing with story and picture books. Porcelain dolls and cradles and blocks and wooden tops littered the plush carpet. Two little girls sat at a child-size table in the center of the room, pouring pretend tea into china cups; the other two chairs were occupied by an oversize Teddy bear and a giant stuffed rabbit. The girls looked up when Mrs. Hudson and Pia entered, then went back to giggling and serving pretend cookies.
Pia’s breath caught in her chest. They were twins.
Mrs. Hudson started picking up toys and tossing them into the toy box. “Please excuse the mess,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever keep up when Leo starts getting into everything.”
“No need to apologize, ma’am,” Pia said. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful house in my entire life.”
Mrs. Hudson smiled and went over to the table. “Sophie, Margaret,” she said. “This is Pia. She’s going to help look after you.”
The girls glanced at each other, then set down their teacups, got out of their chairs, and stood next to their mother, studying Pia with wary eyes. One of them hid be
hind Mrs. Hudson’s skirt. They were beautiful girls, with porcelain skin and auburn ringlets that fell past their waists. Mrs. Hudson put a hand on the shy one’s head and stroked her hair.
“This is Sophie,” she said. “Our second oldest. She’s three. Margaret is four. They’re fifteen months apart.”
Pia let out a silent sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure she could bear taking care of twins without thinking of Ollie and Max even more than she already did. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound friendly. “It’s very nice to meet you. I love your hair and your pretty dresses.”
“I’m four and a half,” Margaret said. “I’m going to be five on my next birthday.” She approached Pia and tugged on her skirt. “Will you play with us?”
“Oh, my darling little love,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Not right now. Pia only just arrived, and I haven’t shown her where she’ll be sleeping yet.”
“Can she stay in our room?” Margaret said. “We can play games and tell stories!”
Sophie peeked out from behind her mother’s skirt with hopeful eyes. “I wanna do that,” she said in a quiet voice.
Margaret jumped up and down, excited. “Can we, Mother?” she said. “Pretty please?”
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “Good heavens, no,” she said. “She’s just come from a filthy orphanage and who knows—” Then she realized what she was saying and gave Pia a nervous glance. “I mean, once we get to know Pia a little better, there will be plenty of time for fun and games.”
The Orphan Collector Page 27