Masquerade

by Nancy Moser

Lottie brought her the child—as she’d done two other times during the long night. Carmela sat in a chair near the stove, and Lottie soon heard the sound of Fitz suckling. Carmela had been a godsend, nursing her own baby as well as Fitz, letting Lottie save the canned milk for later.

  Yet this stranger’s care emphasized Lottie’s helplessness. She returned to her chair, leaned her head against the wall, and closed her eyes. If only she could transport herself back to her lovely bedroom in Wiltshire, where she was surrounded by pillows and soft linens, where the only sound to interrupt her sleep was that of the housemaid stoking the embers of the fireplace into a flame so Lottie would awaken to a warm room.

  How nice it would be to wake up and request some hot chocolate and scones for breakfast. With orange marmalade.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been many hours since she’d eaten—and then, she’d eaten little, not wanting to impose upon the Rossis’ hospitality by eating her fill during last evening’s meal.

  Lottie wrapped a borrowed shawl more closely around her shoulders.

  Hungry, cold, and exhausted. Was this what the future held?

  How long had she been in this country? She tried to remember the days, but found them a blur of one crisis heaped upon another. The snippets of light amid the darkness had faces: Lea, Sofia, Lucia, Sven …

  And Fitz. Fitzwilliam, her baby.

  Her baby?

  What was I thinking?

  She’d been virtually helpless seeing to his needs for one night, much less the rest of his life. Common sense was demanding and nonnegotiable.

  Yet Fitz knew her now. When he was fed and dry he lay upon her lap, kicked his feet, cooed, and smiled. He seemed quite willing to accept her as his mother.

  And she?

  She too was willing and longed to keep him as her own with an intensity that frightened her. She, who’d never been around children, now found her heart softened by this baby, and by a little girl who lay sick in an apartment upstairs.

  Lottie must have dozed off, for Carmela awakened her by placing Fitz in her arms. He was quiet now, content. “Grazie, Carmela.” Lottie rocked him gently and traced a finger along his perfect cheek. “How can I keep you? How?”

  She couldn’t risk bringing Fitz to the Scarpellis’, not with Sofia sick, and she couldn’t intrude on the Rossis another night. She had no home, no time, and no money to care for her child.

  I have the dollar.

  The dollar she’d found and had intended to use to buy back her ruby necklace. The notion seemed silly now, and impossible—especially when a dollar would pay the Scarpellis some rent and buy Fitz food. The dollar and the dime from the pastor and the forty cents she’d earned by working for Sven would help them live another day.

  But what of the next day? And the next week and month?

  A sudden understanding flooded over her. The parents who’d left Fitz on the street must have suffered then as she did now with a hopelessness, frustration, and sorrow that ripped her in two.

  Lottie lifted the boy to her lips and kissed his head. If she loved him, she knew what she must do.

  Her prayers to keep the child changed to a plaintive plea. Watch over him, Lord. And help me let him go.

  When Sven spotted her, his eyes immediately lowered to the bundle in her arms. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here to work.”

  He shook his head. “But Fitz …”

  She swallowed and found her throat tight. “I need to take him to the foundling home. Then I can work.” She stared at Sven, challenging him. Despite her best efforts, a tear escaped. She swiped it away. She explained about Sofia. “Please. Tell me where it is.”

  “Would you rather not work?” he asked. “You need to be with Fitz and—”

  “I need a job.”

  “But maybe you could find one you could do at home. Didn’t you tell me Mrs. Scarpelli made flowers for hats?”

  “I can’t invade their flower business.” Yet his query made her realize something else. “I want to work for you. I want to help you.”

  He looked confused. “But you’re disgusted by what you see.”

  “But I admire what you’re doing.”

  His face softened. “Really?”

  “You’re a good man who’s trying to change the world.”

  He laughed. “A few blocks. I’m trying to change the conditions within a few blocks in one city in a very big world.”

  She didn’t want him to think about it that way. “You’re doing all you can. No one can be asked to do more.”

  He looked to the ground. “You’re very kind.”

  “I’m very honest.” Fitz began to squirm. She needed to complete her task. “I have to go. Tell me how to get to the foundling home, and I’ll meet you later.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “No. I have to do this alone. Tell me a time later in the day to meet you, and I’ll be there. Alone.”

  Sven pointed to the northeast. “Go to Bayard and Mott. Turn right. Third house on the left. We’ll meet at ten, then?”

  “Ten it will be.”

  “You’re doing a good thing, Miss Hathaway. You saved that boy.”

  Saved him only to leave him.

  Lottie walked away. Each step toward the home was a lost moment with Fitz and a further fissure in her heart.

  The Merciful Child Foundling Home was a ramshackle house next to a church. The sign on the door told her to enter but also said: Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

  She knocked and entered and was nearly bowled over by some boys racing down the stairs into the empty foyer. Only it wasn’t empty, for a crib stood nearby. The boys ran past her into a parlor and took their seats among a dozen children. The room was filled with rows of mismatched chairs, all facing a woman. She held a hand-drawn poster of the alphabet.

  She stopped her lesson and looked at Lottie. “May I help you, miss?”

  “I …” She looked down at the baby. “This baby …” She took out the dollar coin and the other baby supplies. “I can give you this for his keeping. And I have a job. I’ll bring more money when I—”

  The woman nodded and left the children. “We’ll be happy to take him in, no questions asked. But we’d really prefer if you could stay around and nurse your baby—and perhaps another.”

  “No, no,” Lottie said. “You have it all wrong.”

  The woman’s eyes were kind. “We know the hardships you’re facing. We don’t judge. We’re here for you and your baby.” She pulled the blanket aside to see Fitz’s face. “He’s a very handsome boy. You can put him right here in the crib if you’d like. We used to have the crib outside, but it filled up too quickly, so we brought it in. It’s safe and warm in here, I assure you.”

  The children in the other room started yelling at each other, causing a ruckus. The woman called after them. “Behave yourselves—I’ll be right back.” She moved a blanket in the crib to make room for Fitz. “Just set him here, and I’ll get to him—”

  “No!” Lottie said, stepping away. “I’m not going to just leave him in a hallway.”

  The woman’s kindness was replaced with exhaustion, and she looked perturbed. “Perhaps you should talk to the headmistress.”

  “Perhaps I should.”

  “Go straight back. You’ll find her in the kitchen.”

  The hallway that ran parallel to the stairway was covered with faded wallpaper that had portions peeled away as though the original wall wished to be released from the paper’s current ugliness. But the floor looked clean, and unlike the tenement, there was no garbage lying about.

  At the back of the house was a kitchen. A woman stood at a castiron stove, stirring in a large pot.

  “Excuse me? Are you the—?”

  The woman turned around.

  Lottie gasped.

  “Nanny?”

  The stirring was forgotten. “Lottie? Is that my Lottie?”

  The two
women met in the middle of the room, their embrace encasing little Fitz. Lottie never wanted to let go. “Oh, Nanny, Nanny …” It was all she could say. These tears she gladly let flow.

  Nanny stood back to get a look at her and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. She dabbed at Lottie’s tears and then her own. “Praise God! Out of all the places in the world … what are you doing here in New York? Here at Merciful? Here, standing before me?”

  It was indeed a miracle. Lottie hadn’t seen Nanny since she was a young woman, too old for a nanny to oversee her care. Instead of getting a new charge, Nanny had left England for America. Lottie regretted losing touch with her.

  In spite of her neglect, had God brought them together? The one woman in the world who could help her? “Oh, Nanny, everything has gone so wrong, so awfully wrong.”

  Nanny pulled out a chair for Lottie and sat in one herself. “Tell me all about it. Everything. First off, tell me the name of your baby.”

  “He’s not my baby, not really, and his name is Fitzwilliam. But he isn’t the beginning of my story. That begins back home.”

  Lottie heard the front door open, a male voice, then heavy footsteps coming back to the kitchen. A man with curly red hair and a handlebar mustache appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh. Mr. Dooley.”

  “Ma’am.”

  She stood. “I’d like you to meet a dear girl from my past, Miss Charlotte Gleason. She’s just come here from England and—”

  “Actually, I don’t go by that name anymore, I call myself …” She smiled. “Lottie Hathaway.”

  Nanny put a hand to her chest. “That’s my last name.”

  “I know …” She glanced at Mr. Dooley. Was he Nanny’s husband? Or business partner? “It’s a long story, but I needed a name and I could think of none better than yours.”

  “Well then,” Nanny said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She turned to Mr. Dooley. “You’re wanting the rent, then?”

  He was Nanny’s landlord? Lottie wished she hadn’t said so much.

  The man looked at Lottie far too long. “Yes, ma’am. Me boss didn’t like it being late last month and won’t tolerate it agin.”

  “No need.” She went to a shelf and reached into a jar. “A benefactor gave us enough. For this month at least.” She handed him the money. “God bless you, and may Jesus keep you safe till the next time.”

  He rolled his eyes as if he didn’t believe God blessed anything, nor knew the name of Jesus other than hearing people swear by it. He tipped his hat to the both of them, readying to leave, yet once again his eyes lingered on Lottie in a most uncomfortable fashion. “Miss Hathaway, and Miss … Hathaway.”

  Once he left, Nanny returned to her chair. “Here, let me have Mr. Fitzwilliam while you tell me your story. All of it, Lottie-girl. I won’t be having less.”

  Lottie set her thoughts of Mr. Dooley aside and began. The story was long in the telling, but Lottie found great release in letting Nanny know it. As she spoke, she studied Nanny’s face, longing for her approval, or if not that, her acceptance. She finished by saying, “I can’t have anything I want here, Nanny. In fact, I seem to have nothing.”

  “But do you have what you need?”

  Lottie was taken aback. “Hardly.”

  “Think again, Lottie-girl. You have a roof over your head, food in your stomach, clothes on your back, and a job.”

  “I need more than that.”

  “Do you? Whether you want to see it or not, God’s provided exactly what you need.”

  A sarcastic laugh escaped. “After He took everything away—my money and all my jewelry.”

  “Did He do that?”

  “He sent someone to steal them right out of my arms.”

  “What about you putting your money in the jewelry box, or getting coins out for apples, right there in public where anyone could see?”

  Oh.

  “It’s time you take responsibility for your own actions, Lottie-girl. If I were you, I’d be thanking God for taking care of you in spite of your own stupidity.”

  “I wasn’t—” Lottie stopped her disclaimer. She had been stupid and naïve. And actually, things could have been worse. What if Lea hadn’t come along? Or Sven? “You’re right,” she said. “I see you’re right.”

  Nanny nodded once with emphasis. “I often am.”

  But Lottie had another concern. “It wasn’t wrong of me to do this, was it, Nanny? By letting Dora take my place, I gave her a new start and a chance to live a rich life.”

  “A rich life has little to do with material riches. I hope you know that.”

  She did. Deep down. “But wasn’t it good that I gave up my chance at a good match—for her?”

  “So your first thoughts were to better Dora’s life, were they?”

  The gentle firmness was the Nanny she remembered—the Nanny who wouldn’t let her get away with anything. “Not my first thoughts …”

  “Nor second or third, I’d be guessing. You wanted to get away from home, you wanted adventure, and you wanted to find a mate— your way.”

  “Ralph rejected me, and if I’d stayed in Wiltshire, there would’ve been far more of that because of my family’s situation. Besides, there were no beaus there who suited me.”

  “With an attitude like that, I think it’s you who didn’t suit them.”

  Lottie’s defenses rose and her face grew hot. “You don’t know how it felt, Nanny. No one came to my party. They shunned me. All because of something Father did. That’s not fair.”

  “Welcome to life, Lottie-girl.” She rocked Fitz in her arms. “You think it’s fair this wee one was left in the gutter?”

  Nothing seemed fair anymore, and Lottie abandoned her argument. “It’s hard to let him go.”

  “Yes indeedy, doing the right thing is often hard. If it were easy, everyone would do it.” She offered Lottie a wink.

  “I think I love him.”

  “I’m not a-doubting it. But sometimes love means sacrifice for the good of the other.”

  Speaking of … Lottie retrieved the baby supplies and the dollar coin and put it on the table. “For his care. I’ll bring you more when I get it.” Then she held out her arms, needing Fitz to fill them. Once there, he immediately molded himself to her and returned to peaceful sleep. “I’ll visit him, but … may I keep him—someday?”

  “Perhaps. Someday. Until then, know that I love all twenty-eight of the children we keep here as if they were my own. And they are my own. God gave them into my care, and I won’t be letting any of them go until I’m assured they leave for a better place, into better arms than mine.”

  “There are no arms better than yours.”

  Nanny reached over and ran a finger along Fitz’s chin. “I won’t argue with you there. Since I never had any of my own, I take His charge seriously. This is what I was born to do, and by His grace I’ll do it well.”

  Which rendered a question. “What am I born to do?”

  Nanny sat back. “There’s the adventure you seek. Search for your purpose and there you’ll find happiness.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Ask the one who created you for a unique purpose, then open your eyes. He’ll show you the way in the proper time.”

  Time. Lottie looked around for a clock. “What time is it?”

  Nanny looked at a watch pinned upon her bodice. “Quarter to ten.”

  Lottie rose. “I have to meet Mr. Svensson. I have to work.”

  “As do we all, Lottie-girl. As do we all.”

  Lottie hurried in a daze to meet Sven. To have found Nanny, to have let Fitz go … If only she could put herself into Nanny’s charge and be cared for and nurtured as she had been as a child.

  “Miss Hathaway!”

  She saw Sven standing across the street, waited for a horse and cart to pass, then crossed to meet him.

  “I see Fitz is not with you.”

  “Leaving him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

 
His face softened. “I’m very sorry for it.”

  “But not as awful as it might have been. My old nanny runs the foundling home—can you believe it? It’s a miracle.”

  “I’ve heard of many such miracles in this new world. At least you can rest knowing Fitz is well looked after.”

  A sudden thought came to her. “Could you and your wife take him in? To know he was being cared for by a loving couple, to have a father and a mother …”

  Sven gave her an odd look, then said, “No.”

  “That quickly? Perhaps you should ask your wife?”

  “No. Just no.”

  Lottie didn’t have the stamina to argue with him, and she couldn’t think about it any longer. Fitz was safe. For now. She’d think about tomorrow tomorrow. “Where to, then? I need my mind kept busy.”

  “Busy, I can do,” Sven said. “Come with me.”

  Charlotte had a decision to make: get out of bed and act well—and she truly did feel well this morning—or pretend to still be indisposed so she had more reason to see Dr. Greenfield when he came to call.

  She reluctantly chose the latter. Just one more morning. It’s not as though she was shirking any work. She sent Mary downstairs with the message to the family, then set about to get dressed—with a bit more care than usual.

  “Should I wear these earrings, or these?” she asked Mary upon her return.

  “I like the pearl ones.”

  It was silly, really, this pleasant anticipation of the doctor’s visit. She barely knew the man, and but for a handful of meetings, knew him nearly as little as she knew …

  Conrad.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? Dr. Greenfield wasn’t a suitor coming to court her. Perhaps he could have been, but as she’d told him on the ship, she was nearly betrothed.

  Nearly, but not quite.

  Maybe she didn’t feel well after all.

  Mary rushed into the bedroom, breathless. “He’s here!”

  The maid’s excitement was disconcerting. Was she simply intuitive, pulling her clues from Charlotte’s fastidious toilette this morning? Or … had she been listening at the door yesterday? Did she know the full truth of Charlotte’s identity?