“Then how did you find out she took him to the Hudsons?” Pia said.
“Because I stayed on to work so I’d be there when she came back to get another baby. I told her I just wanted to see my boy one more time, just to say goodbye. I swore on my life I wouldn’t cause her any trouble, and I’d do anything she wanted if she’d just let me see him. I said I’d be her housemaid for free or pay her anything she wanted. Anything. At first she refused, but a few days later she agreed to tell me where he was if I dropped off a package. That was it, just drop off a package.”
Pia was confused. Why would Nurse Wallis want her to drop off a package? Then she recoiled as if slapped. “At the Hudsons’?”
Rebecca nodded. “I didn’t know what was in it or anything. And I didn’t care. I just wanted to see my boy. That was all that mattered to me.”
“So she gave you the package and you took it to the Hudsons’?” Finn said.
Rebecca shook her head. “No, she didn’t want the nuns to see her give it to me. I had to pick it up.”
“Where?” Finn said.
“At her apartment.”
Pia could hardly breathe. “So you know where she lives?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I knew where she lived five years ago, but I don’t know if she’s still there.”
“Do you remember the address?” Finn said.
“I think I remember where the building was.”
“Can you take us there?” Pia said.
Rebecca nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
PIA
With her heart in her throat, Pia followed Rebecca along the trash-littered alleyway, hoping they didn’t have too much farther to go. It was early evening, the night air still and moist with coming rain, and a waning moon dimmed behind the gathering clouds. A train whistle sounded in the distance, hollow and lonely-sounding. Here and there, lights burned behind row house curtains, and a chorus of conversation, laughter, shouting, and the tinny music of a phonograph floated out from half-open windows.
Nerves churned in Pia’s stomach, and she prayed she and Finn weren’t being led on a wild-goose chase. Five years was a long time. Nurse Wallis could have moved to another building. Or another city. Or another state. And what was Pia going to do if she found her? How was she going to make her admit to taking Ollie and Max? Tie her up? Threaten her? Call the police? More importantly, what was she going to do if this turned out to be another dead end? She wasn’t sure she could handle another disappointment. Not when it felt like they were so close.
“How much further?” she asked Rebecca. It seemed like they’d walked halfway across the city.
“We’re almost there,” Rebecca said. “Just one more block.”
Pia glanced back at Finn, who shrugged and urged her to keep going. Rebecca had been more than willing to help, perhaps to make amends in some small way for what she’d done, but that didn’t mean she remembered how to get to the right building. And what would Dr. and Mrs. Hudson think if they knew she and Finn were with Rebecca instead of going for an evening stroll like she’d said? She felt bad for the white lie, but wanted to make sure Rebecca could really help before telling them the truth about her.
At the end of the alley they turned left, walked another block, and crossed a busy thoroughfare. Pia had no idea what neighborhood they were in, but it was nicer than South Philly. Multistoried buildings lined the streets, with thick stone steps leading up to each door. Men in wool coats and women in wide-brimmed hats walked side by side along the sidewalks, which were swept clean of litter and trash. How was Nurse Wallis able to afford living in such a nice area? By selling babies?
At the corner, Rebecca finally stopped and pointed at a brick building across the road. “That’s it,” she said. “When I first got here she was outside with an older couple and two little boys. She kissed the boys goodbye, then the older couple put them in a pram like they were taking them for a walk. After they left, she took me up to her apartment and gave me the package.”
Pia’s heart pounded hard in her chest. She hadn’t told Rebecca about Ollie and Max, only that it was vital she find Nurse Wallis. “Did you say two little boys?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said.
“How old do you think they were?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I’m not sure, maybe six or eight months. They were bundled up in hats and coats so I didn’t get a good look.”
The sidewalk swayed beneath Pia’s feet and she grabbed Finn’s arm to keep from falling. It sounded like Nurse Wallis might have kept Ollie and Max. She might not have sold them after all. They might still be here. In Philadelphia. In that very building. She tried to find her voice. “Did they look like twins?” she managed.
Rebecca screwed up her mouth, thinking. “Yeah, I guess so. Although one seemed a little bit bigger than the other.”
Pia’s heart felt like it might explode. Ollie was two minutes older than Max, and he’d always been taller and heavier. Rebecca had to be talking about them. She had to be. Seeing Nurse Wallis with two little boys was too much of a coincidence. “Let’s go,” she said, and marched across the street toward the brick building. Rebecca and Finn followed.
“What are you going to do?” Finn said, trying to keep up.
“I’m going to knock on her door and ask her where my brothers are,” Pia said.
“What if she doesn’t live here anymore?” Finn said.
“Well, I’m not going to find out by standing out here on the street.”
“What are you talking about?” Rebecca said. “Did Nurse Wallis take your brothers too?”
“Yes,” Pia said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She didn’t have the time to explain.
“What if they’re not Ollie and Max?” Finn said.
Pia ignored the question and kept going. The boys had to be Ollie and Max. They just had to be. Nurse Wallis never mentioned having other kids to Mrs. Hudson, only that she’d lost a son. And that she loved helping children. Stealing would have been a more appropriate word.
When Pia reached the building, she sprinted up the front steps two at a time, yanked open the door, and went inside. Flyers and notices shuddered on the walls of the shadowy foyer, blown about by the incoming breeze.
“What’s her apartment number?” she asked Rebecca.
Rebecca’s face grew pale, like a white plate floating in the gloom. “I... I’m not sure, I was so nervous waiting for her to tell me where my boy was I didn’t pay attention. But I’m fairly certain it was on the second floor.”
Pia peered up the staircase for a moment, gathering her courage, then grabbed the handrail and started up the steps. “I guess we’ll just have to knock on every door until we find her.”
At the top of the landing, she hurried over to the first door, pounded on it, and glanced around, trying to breathe normally. Four doors surrounded the stairwell. Four doors, one of which could reveal Ollie and Max. One of which could hold the answer to six years of searching. Finn and Rebecca stood behind her, silent and waiting. Pia couldn’t look at them. If she did, she might cry. She lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, and knocked again, then pressed her ear against the door.
“I hear something,” she said, and took a step back.
After some jostling, the door opened. A tall woman stood in the doorway, frowning and clutching the collar of her thin dressing gown, her long blond braid over one shoulder. Her face was pasty white, and puffy bags hung under her tired, gray eyes.
It was Nurse Wallis.
Pia hesitated, frozen and unsure. It was as though she’d forgotten how to move or speak. Seeing Nurse Wallis out of uniform for the first time, in her nightclothes and wool stockings, made her seem younger and more vulnerable somehow. She didn’t look like a criminal, or someone who could steal babies and sell them. She looked like a nice woman who would bake cookies and take soup to her ill neighbors. But Pia knew better. She took a step toward her, ready to push her way inside the apartment. Recognition transformed the nurse’s f
ace. She drew in a sharp breath and tried to shut the door.
Pia thrust her hands onto the door, and Finn jumped forward, shoving his foot in the way to stop it from closing. Together they pushed against it, straining with the effort, and Rebecca helped. Nurse Wallis was no match for the three of them. The door flew inward, knocking her backward. She stumbled and fell with a bone-jarring thud, her nightdress flying up her doughy thighs. They hurried into the apartment, and Finn slammed the door behind them.
Nurse Wallis rolled over and got up, scrambling to her feet with considerable effort. “What are you doing here?” she said, her voice shrill. “What do you want?”
“I want my brothers,” Pia cried. “Where are they?” She scanned the room, searching frantically for Ollie and Max.
A copper teakettle sputtered on the coal stove, water boiling out of its fluted spout. Gaslights flickered on the dark-paneled walls. The place was clean and tidy—dishes arranged neatly on the shelves, a stack of linens folded on the table, a trio of cast-iron pans hanging on the wall. But there was no sign of her brothers. No small trousers hanging from the clotheslines or draped over the stove, no toys or little boots on the floor. Pia bolted past the nurse into a back bedroom.
“Get out of here before I call the police,” Nurse Wallis yelled. “This is my home. You have no right to be here!”
“Ollie?” Pia cried. “Max? Are you in here?”
The bedroom was empty except for a single bed with a flannel blanket and an oak dresser against one wall.
“Have you lost your mind?” Nurse Wallis shouted. “You need to leave!”
Pia raced out of the bedroom, back across the kitchen, and into a parlor. A button-back davenport, a rocking chair, an end table, a secretary’s desk, various potted plants, and other decorations filled the cramped space. But no wooden trucks or rubber balls littered the floor or end table, no blocks or children’s books. No young boys played jacks or marbles on the rug. She returned to the kitchen and glared at Nurse Wallis, trying to catch her breath.
“Where are they?” she cried. “What did you do with the twins?”
Nurse Wallis stood holding her elbow and wincing in pain. “Get out of my apartment before I have you arrested,” she yelled, spittle flying from her lips. “All of you!”
Finn and Rebecca stood guarding the door, eyes wide, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
“You’re the one who’s going to be arrested,” Pia said. “Unless you tell me what you did with my brothers.”
Nurse Wallis scowled at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now leave this instant!”
“I’m talking about Ollie and Max,” Pia said. “I know you took them.” She pointed at Rebecca. “She saw you with them.”
Nurse Wallis glanced at Rebecca, her face filled with disdain. “I’ve never seen that girl in my life.”
“I suppose you never saw me either,” Finn said.
Nurse Wallis shook her head. “Never.”
Loathing welled like bile in Pia’s throat. She wanted to grab Nurse Wallis by the neck and shake her until she confessed. “You’re lying,” she said. “You took Finn from St. Vincent’s and put him on a train to get rid of him because you were afraid he’d tell Mother Joe who you really were. You stole Rebecca’s baby and sold him to the Hudsons. And your real name is Bernice Groves.”
Fear flickered across Bernice’s face like the ripple of a stone thrown in a lake. She let go of her elbow and glanced around the room as if looking for an escape. Finn turned the dead bolt on the door.
“You knew my mother because you lived in the building across from ours,” Pia continued. “You saw me leave after my mother died. Then you went over to our apartment and took the twins.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a faded piece of paper, unfolded it, and held it up. “And you left this.” It was the note from the cubby.
Bernice shook her head. “You’re insane,” she said. “I have no idea who your mother was, where you lived, or who wrote that. And I certainly don’t know anything about any twins.”
Pia crumpled up the note and threw it at her. “What did you do with the babies you took from St. Vincent’s? Did you sell them too? And what about Kafka and Gerhard and his brother? Did you get rid of them like you got rid of Finn?”
“I helped those babies,” Bernice said. “I found them good homes, better homes. And the older children too.”
“So you admit it,” Pia said.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bernice said. “Even President Coolidge knows we can’t let immigrants take over the country. We’re being overrun. I gave those children a chance to become regular Americans.”
Pia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not only was Bernice stealing and selling babies, she was prejudiced too. She balled her hands into fists, fighting the urge to scream and hit the woman. “And Ollie and Max? Did you find them a better home too?”
“I told you,” Bernice said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Pia reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the rattle. “Then how do you explain this? You had Rebecca deliver it to the Hudsons in exchange for telling her what you did with her son. It’s my brother’s rattle.”
Bernice pressed her lips together as if trying to come up with another lie. But it was no use. She couldn’t resist saying what was on her mind. Hate filled her eyes. “What kind of person puts babies in a cubby and leaves them there to die?” she sneered.
Pia drew in a sharp breath. All that time, all those years, the person who had taken Ollie and Max had been right in front of her. A thousand questions whirled in her head. Had she missed the clues somehow? Had she been blind to the evidence? She shook her head to clear it. Right now, she needed to stay calm. Somehow, she had to get Bernice to tell her what she did with the twins. “I left to get food so we wouldn’t starve,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “I was coming back. Now tell me where they are.”
Bernice shot her a spiteful smirk. “You’re too late,” she said. “They’re gone.”
“What do you mean they’re gone?”
“Tuberculosis,” Bernice said. “Three years ago.”
Pia’s heart went black. No. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t come all this way to lose them again. Bernice had to be lying. Pia would have known, would have felt it in her soul, if her brothers had died. She scanned the room for what felt like the hundredth time, frantic for proof Ollie and Max had been there, that they were still alive. No pictures hung on the walls. No colorful drawings done by small hands. She ran into the parlor again and looked around. The others followed. Somewhere, there had to be something to confirm what she knew in her heart.
“You’re not going to find anything that belonged to them,” Bernice said, her voice like ice. “I got rid of it all.”
Pia ignored her, hurried over to the secretary’s desk, and pulled it open. Envelopes, both new and used, filled the slots, along with flowered stationery, sheets of paper, and writing instruments stacked like cordwood. The small drawer between the slots held stamps and buttons, clips and a crochet hook, pennies, and a dried daisy. Bernice ran over and tried to push her away, to stop her from going through the desk, but Finn grabbed her by the arms and held her back. Pia shut the fold-out, opened the drawer below it, and pulled out skeins of yarn, knitting needles, a pincushion full of silver needles, a scuffed darning egg, and a basket full of other sewing materials. In the door below she unearthed folded aprons, yellowed doilies, boxes of old Christmas cards, and stacks of letters. She hauled everything out and threw it on the floor, then reached into the very bottom of the last drawer. There, beneath a folded tablecloth, lay a book held shut with a rubber band. She took it out. It was the ledger she’d seen in Bernice’s bag all those years ago. She yanked off the rubber band and opened to the first page.
“You have no right to go through my things,” Bernice yelled. She lunged forward and tried to rip the ledger out of Pia’s hands, but Finn held on tight.
&n
bsp; Names and dates and ages filled each line and column in the ledger. The first line read:
Francis . . . Age 6 months . . . boy... sold to Mr. and Mrs. Johnston
The rest of the lines on the page—more than thirty of them—were all the same: young babies sold to married couples. Pia scanned the names looking for Ollie and Max, her vision blurred by tears, but they weren’t there. She turned the page and read the first entry.
Piotr (renamed Peter)... Age 6 years... boy... sent by train to Michigan
From there, the foreign names went on to the next page, every one changed into something more “American-sounding.” Every one of them, boys and girls, had been sent away by train. One name in particular caught her eye.
Finn (renamed Fredrick) . . . Age 14 years... boy... sent by train to Iowa
Pia flipped through the rest of the pages. Another list of sold babies had been started, but the remainder of the ledger was blank, except for the fifty-dollar bills stuck between each page. She turned to Bernice, her face burning with fury. “What did you do with Ollie and Max?”
“I told you, they’re gone,” Bernice said.
“I don’t believe you,” Pia said. She looked at Rebecca. “Go get the police. Tell them we caught someone trying to kidnap a baby.”
Suddenly Bernice lifted her foot and kicked backward, hitting Finn hard in the shin with her heel. He grimaced, startled, but held on. Then somehow she turned, yanked herself from his grasp, and ripped the ledger from Pia’s hands. Pia grabbed it again and tried to wrestle it away, but Bernice pushed her, hard, and started toward the kitchen. Pia fell against the davenport, crashing into the wooden arm, and pain exploded in her back. She ignored it and scrambled to her feet just as Finn caught Bernice by the arm. But Bernice was too fast. She pulled away and bolted out of the parlor, fifty-dollar bills flying in her wake. They chased after her, but Bernice was already in front of the coal stove. She opened the door and pitched the ledger inside.
The Orphan Collector Page 39