Delighted, Margaret jumped down from her chair, ran over to her father, and gave him a kiss.
Mrs. Hudson edged closer to Pia and whispered, “You do know how to read, don’t you?”
Pia nodded and tried to smile. Reading would be the easiest thing she’d have to do. Suddenly Margaret darted around the table and grabbed her wrist with both hands.
“Come on, come on,” Margaret said, tugging and pulling her toward the door. “I want to show you my favorite book.”
Fighting the urge to pull away, Pia allowed Margaret to drag her out of the room, waiting for a stab of pain or sense of heaviness somewhere in her body. To her relief, she felt nothing. Hopefully it would be the same with the other girls.
In the girls’ bedroom, Mrs. Hudson showed Pia where the clothes were kept, in the dresser and armoire, then demonstrated how dresses and skirts and blouses were to be taken out and put away in an orderly fashion. Pia did her best to pay attention while she helped the girls change, but between worrying about what she might feel and the girls wanting her assistance at the same time, it was nearly impossible. When she knelt beside Sophie to help her step out of her leggings, Sophie’s foot caught in the material and she grabbed Pia’s arm to keep from falling. Pia tensed for a moment, but thankfully felt nothing. It was the same when she brushed the girls’ hair and helped them into their nightdresses. No pain in her chest, no ache in her arms or legs or torso. Even Elizabeth felt perfectly happy and healthy. Unfortunately, their younger brother was another story.
* * *
Pia put gentle hands on little Leo every day, touching his head and chest, trying to figure out what was wrong with him, or if he was getting any worse. Strangely, she always felt the same thing—shakiness and a slight weakness in her legs. Other than that, he smiled and cooed, and looked to be completely normal. After a while, she convinced herself that Mrs. Hudson was right: She wasn’t making enough milk. There was no reason to suspect he was anything other than a little underfed. Part of her wondered why Dr. Hudson hadn’t suggested adding Mellin’s Infant Food to his diet. But maybe, like Mutti, he and his wife believed nursing was best. If she ever felt brave enough, she would ask if that was the case. In the meantime, instead of worrying about something she had no control over, she decided to concentrate on taking care of the Hudson children as best she could.
Similar to her time at St. Vincent’s, her days were filled with the everyday routine of taking care of children, dressing and washing, feeding and playing, wiping up spills and changing diapers—minus the church services, the cold rooms and hard beds, and more importantly, the fear of punishment. At the Hudsons’ there was enough food for everyone and more. They all had clean clothes, hot baths, and warm beds. There were books and Lincoln Logs and crayons and laughter. And there was love. In the mornings, when the girls and their parents first laid eyes on one another and their faces lit up with delight and affection, it made Pia tear up, remembering when she’d had a family too.
If the weather was nice in the afternoon, she bundled up the children and took them outside to play in the fenced-in backyard, which was more like a forest with its tall trees, bushes, flower beds full of dried stems and brown petals, and a wintered-over vegetable garden full of dead weeds and black vines. While the girls played hide-and-seek and hopscotch on the stone paths, giggling and running and chasing one another, Pia stayed with Leo on the terrace. She wanted to play with the girls, or pull out the withered plants and clean up the ragged vegetable patch like she used to do with Mutti back in Hazleton, but Mrs. Hudson insisted she keep the baby out of the breeze, even though he was safe and warm in his pram, swaddled beneath layers of clothes and soft blankets. And no matter how warm it was, Mrs. Hudson called them inside after an hour, for fear they’d catch cold and compromise their ability to fight off the flu.
Thinking back to the mining village where she’d spent as much time as possible outside no matter the weather, catching crayfish, building snowmen, climbing hills and trees, making miniature houses out of sticks and pebbles, Pia couldn’t understand Mrs. Hudson’s reasoning. Vater always said it made children strong and healthy to play in the forest, to get dirty and wet and “blow off the stink.” But Pia didn’t make the rules, so instead of stewing about something she couldn’t change, she tried to be grateful for the occasional hour of fresh air.
Every night at dinner she eagerly awaited Dr. Hudson’s answers to his wife’s questions about the latest wave of influenza, hoping against hope that things were getting better. To her dismay, his answers were always the same. New cases of the Spanish flu were being reported every day, and it was impossible to tell if there was an end in sight. Despite Mrs. Hudson’s determination to protect her children at any cost, her weariness showed in her creased brow and sagging shoulders. Her husband reminded her that she should be grateful there was no need to go out because, once a week, groceries and other supplies were delivered and left outside on the porch. And when the delivery boy was gone, Pia and Mrs. Hudson carried everything in and put it away.
Pia couldn’t help wondering if the rest of the city was behaving the same way, or if the Hudsons were being overly cautious. Of course she also worried about her father and brothers. And Finn, wherever he was. She glanced at the newspapers left on the breakfast table every morning, but only saw headlines about prohibition, taxes, and the Grand Canyon becoming a national park. Nothing about the flu, or another quarantine.
Then, on a Sunday morning in early March, a few weeks after her arrival, she lifted Leo from his crib and her heart sank. Something had changed. Her back felt like she was standing too close to a coal stove, and her lower abdomen ached as if someone had punched her with a hard fist. Leo smiled at her like always, his sweet little face lighting up, but something was different about his eyes, like the shine had been scrubbed off. Checking to make sure the sensations were coming from him—that she wasn’t getting a cold or had hurt her back lifting the girls—she lay him down again. As she feared, the pain disappeared. And when she picked him up again, it returned. She carried him over to the changing table, took off his nightclothes, and, with shaking hands, examined his legs and torso and back. There were no bruises or red spots, no rashes or injuries. His skin was rosy and smooth. She dressed him, then stood frozen next to the changing table, trying to decide what to do. If she told the Hudsons what she felt, they’d think she was crazy. At the same time, she couldn’t sit by and do nothing.
She leaned over him and looked into his eyes, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers. “What’s wrong, little one?” she whispered. “Do you have a bellyache, or is it something else?”
He grinned and reached for her nose. She handed him his pewter rattle and he immediately put it in his mouth, covering it with drool. He kicked and lifted his arms, laughing when the rattle made noise. He seemed fine, like a normal three-month-old. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
She checked the clock on the dresser, sitting next to a brown Teddy bear and woolen lamb on red wheels. It was six thirty-five, over twenty minutes before she was due to take the children down for breakfast. And the girls were still sleeping, Elizabeth with her butt in the air in the other crib. She picked Leo up and held him close, his cheek on hers. The heat and pain returned, even stronger than before. This couldn’t wait.
Tiptoeing out of the nursery, she took him downstairs to the kitchen, where Dr. and Mrs. Hudson sat reading the newspaper and having their morning coffee.
Dr. Hudson looked up when she came in, his eyebrows raised. “What is it, Pia?”
Mrs. Hudson set down her coffee and turned in her chair. “Where are the girls?”
“Still sleeping, ma’am,” Pia said, hurrying over to them. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I think something is wrong with Leo.”
Mrs. Hudson jumped up and took the baby from her, nearly knocking over her chair. “What do you mean?” she said. “What’s wrong with him?”
Dr. Hudson stood and felt
Leo’s forehead. “What makes you think something’s wrong? He doesn’t have a fever.”
Pia twisted her fingers together, her hands clasped at her waist. “I . . . I . . .”
Mrs. Hudson cradled Leo in one arm and examined him, lifting his nightdress and running unsteady fingers across his head and arms and legs and chest.
“I don’t think it’s anything serious, darling,” Dr. Hudson said. “There’s no need to be alarmed.” He turned to Pia. “Did he vomit? Any coughing?”
Pia shook her head.
“Was he sneezing?”
“No, sir,” Pia said.
“Did he have a convulsion or a fit of some kind?”
She kept shaking her head, her fear mounting.
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, sir,” Pia said. “He just doesn’t... he doesn’t look right to me. His eyes and—”
Dr. Hudson started toward the back door. “Bring him into my office so I can examine him more carefully,” he said to his wife.
Mrs. Hudson went with him, her face contorted in fear, her son clutched to her chest. Dr. Hudson put his arm behind her as if protecting her and Leo from invisible intruders. Then he stopped and looked back at Pia. “Not a word of this to the girls,” he said. “We don’t want to frighten them.”
“Yes, sir,” Pia said.
Then they were gone and she was alone in the kitchen, the only sounds the ticking of the hot stove and the Hudsons’ frantic footsteps hurrying down the back hall. Steam curled from their coffee cups on the table. Half-eaten muffins sat on plates next to bowls of baked pears and Cream of Wheat. If only she had time to sit down, to think about what had just happened. Dr. Hudson seemed to doubt what she was saying, but he was going to examine Leo anyway. Had he believed her in some small way, or was he just being cautious? More than anything she wanted Leo to be all right, but if Dr. Hudson didn’t find anything wrong, he might think she was trying to start trouble. Or worse.
She went back upstairs to wake the girls, unease swimming in her stomach. While getting them dressed, she felt their backs and foreheads and shoulders to see if she sensed anything similar to what she’d felt in Leo. No heat or pain came from them, no shakes or queasiness. They seemed perfectly fine. When the girls were ready, she lifted Elizabeth onto her hip and, on watery legs, led the older two downstairs, dreading the news that something was wrong with their little brother. And what would happen if something wasn’t?
When she and the girls entered the kitchen, Dr. and Mrs. Hudson were at the table, finishing their breakfast as if nothing had happened. Leo lay quietly in a cradle near the coal stove. Dr. and Mrs. Hudson greeted the girls with smiles and good mornings while Pia put Elizabeth in her high chair and settled Margaret and Sophie in their places.
“How are all of you on this beautiful morning?” Dr. Hudson said cheerfully.
“We’re fine, Daddy,” Margaret said.
Sophie mocked her older sister, then giggled.
Pia chewed on the inside of her cheek. Dr. Hudson looked relaxed, and Mrs. Hudson’s eyes were dry, her brow soft. Had she been wrong about Leo? For his sake, she hoped she was, but what would the Hudsons think about what she’d said?
Mrs. Hudson got up to get the girls’ breakfast from the stove, and Pia went over to help. Leo was sound asleep in the cradle, his arms splayed above his head, his hands curled into tiny fists. The picture of health. Mrs. Hudson bent over and tucked his blanket in around him.
“Is he all right, ma’am?” Pia whispered.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson whispered back. “Dr. Hudson found nothing wrong, thank God.” She handed Pia the kettle of oatmeal and gave her a stern look. “You scared the daylights out of us.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But I had a strange feeling—”
“Feelings aren’t able to recognize illness,” Mrs. Hudson said. “That’s what doctors are for. Why, if I took every one of my feelings for cash money, they’d lock me up in the loony bin.”
Pia dropped her eyes to the floor.
“It’s all right,” Mrs. Hudson said quietly. “I’m not upset with you. In fact, I’m pleased you’re keeping such a close eye on the children. Just do me a favor, next time you’re worried about one of them, please let us know with a little less drama.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pia said.
* * *
That night, Pia ran out of her bedroom and followed Mrs. Hudson’s screams, her legs heavy as stone as she raced toward the nursery with her lantern. Dr. Hudson appeared in his bathrobe at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide with fear, his hair wild. He flew down the hall into Leo and Elizabeth’s room, ignoring the slipper that fell from his foot. Pia followed, fear squeezing her heart against her ribs. When her lantern light fell into the nursery, it revealed Elizabeth on her feet in her crib, gripping the rail and wailing. Pia set the lantern on the accent table next to the door, fumbled for the room lantern, lit the flame, and replaced the globe with shaking hands. Dr. Hudson was on his knees next to Mrs. Hudson, who was howling in a heap on the floor next to Leo’s empty crib. Leo lay in her trembling arms, his face bone-white, his body limp.
“Dear God!” Dr. Hudson cried. “What happened?”
Pia’s heart went black. No, she thought. This can’t be. It just can’t be. She went over to Elizabeth’s crib, the floor pitching beneath her, horror filling her throat like oil. She picked up Elizabeth and held her tight, shushing her and telling her everything would be all right. The sensible thing to do would have been to take her out of the room, away from the tragic scene, but Pia couldn’t move. She had to know what happened.
Mrs. Hudson gaped up at her husband, her eyes red as blood in her ashen face. “I came up to check on him,” she wailed. “And... and...” Anguished sobs swallowed her words.
Dr. Hudson lifted his son from her grasp, listened for a heartbeat, then crushed him to his chest, his shoulders convulsing. With gulping moans, Mrs. Hudson sat up and together they cradled Leo in their arms, their heads bowed together, caressing the pale cheeks of their lost child. Pia wanted to run out of the room, out the front door, and down the street, never to look back. She couldn’t bear another second of the overwhelming agony that filled the room like a living, breathing thing. But she couldn’t leave either. For a hundred reasons.
Margaret and Sophie appeared in the doorway in nightdresses and bare feet, their faces crumpled in fear. When Sophie saw her parents on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her older sister’s waist and pressed her face into the folds of her nightdress. Margaret stood frozen, staring and confused and starting to cry. Pia went to them and knelt down, Elizabeth whimpering against her shoulder.
“It’s all right,” she said, her throat thick and hot. “Everything’s going to be all right. Come on, let’s go back to your bedroom.”
She picked up her lantern, ready to herd them back into the hall, but Margaret rushed past her into the nursery and fell against her mother, crying. Mrs. Hudson wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead.
“Go with Pia, darling,” she said in a raspy voice. “I’ll come see you in a few minutes, I promise.”
“What’s wrong with Leo, Mommy?” Margaret said. “Does he have a hurt?”
Mrs. Hudson nodded. “Yes, sweetie, he does. A very bad one.”
“Do you want me to get a bandage?” Margaret said. “I know where they are.”
Mrs. Hudson shook her head and looked at Pia with pleading eyes.
Pia went over and put a gentle hand on Margaret’s head. “Come on, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll read a book or play a game while we wait. You get to pick.”
Margaret sniffed, let go of her mother, and allowed Pia to coax her out of the room. Sophie was sitting in the hallway, tears streaming down her cheeks. With Elizabeth still sniffling against her neck, Pia led the girls toward their room as Dr. and Mrs. Hudson’s tortured sobs followed them down the corridor, echoing like a hundred mourners’ wails throughout the grand house.
/> * * *
White ribbons hung from every door of the Hudson home, crepe covered every mirror, and the hands of the clock had been stilled. Despite the fact that Dr. and Mrs. Hudson had decided not to have a wake lest someone paying their respects bring in the flu, Mrs. Hudson insisted they carry out the formalities of one. Now she stood like a statue over her tiny son in the small, open casket in the center of the parlor, a black handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Wearing his never-used christening dress and bonnet, Leo lay on a white silk pillow, his eyes closed, a pewter rattle in his hands. On the settee behind Mrs. Hudson, in matching navy dresses with pleated skirts, Margaret, Sophie, and Elizabeth kept worried eyes on their mother. It was the first time she’d been out of bed in two days, and no doubt they wondered if she might leave them too. Pia had wondered the same thing when she’d knocked on the Hudsons’ bedroom door the morning after Leo died, to ask if she could do anything to help. Dr. Hudson opened the door, the whites of his swollen eyes webbed with red, and Mrs. Hudson lay motionless beside Leo on the bed behind him, her eyes closed, her face white as bone.
Pia swallowed, trying to find her voice. “Is she going to be all right, sir?” she said.
“I hope so,” he said.
“Can I get either of you anything? Some tea and honey? Maybe a sandwich or a biscuit?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. If I want something, I can get it.” He glanced over his shoulder at his wife. “And Mrs. Hudson won’t care about eating for a while. I’ve given her laudanum to help her sleep.”
“All right, sir. But if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Pia,” he said. Then, to her surprise, he came out into the hall and closed the door behind him, his face grave. He bowed his head and lowered his voice. “I’m trying to understand how you knew something was wrong with my son.”
She twisted her fingers together behind her back. How could she explain what she’d felt without looking like a raving lunatic? “I . . . I don’t know, sir,” she said.
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