do you mean you did not have time?” Frau Taubman’s voice seemed to bounce off the walls. “When I tell you to do something, I mean do it, and do it now.”
“Yes, Frau Taubman,” a girl said in a quivering voice.
“Why are you standing there, gawking at me?” A loud slap jolted Johanna fully awake. “Now go!”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl’s sobs faded away down the hall.
Trying to shake off a feeling of foreboding, Johanna stood up and groped for the chamber pot. In the near-dark, she walked to the washstand and poured cold water from the pitcher into the basin. She washed her hands and face, and dried them with the rough linen cloth hanging from a hook on the wall. Johanna shivered. The room still held last night’s chill. She got dressed as quickly as she could. She ran a comb through her thick hair, attached it in the back with a leather clasp, and walked down to the foyer in search of breakfast. Following the clatter of pots and pans and the smell of porridge cooking, Johanna found her way to the spacious kitchen.
A stout woman was standing in front of the stove. She was stirring something in a large copper pot. She looked up and noticed Johanna standing at the door.
“Come in,” said the woman, gesturing with a wooden spoon. “You must be the new girl.”
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Johanna Richter.”
“I’m Frau Hartmann. Sit down over there. I’ll give you your breakfast in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Frau Hartmann pointed to a rough wooden table with a bench on each side where two girls were already sitting. Monica glanced up at Johanna.
“Johanna!” The other girl said. Her eyes lit up when she recognized Johanna.
“You’re —”
“Cecile.”
The girl nodded. “From the town hall.”
Johanna sat down opposite Cecile. “When did you get here?”
“The day before yesterday. And you?”
“Last night.”
Frau Hartmann placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Johanna. “Here. Eat. It looks like you need some fattening up.”
Johanna remembered the old story of the witch who lured children into her cottage. She fed them cakes and cookies — and maybe oatmeal? — to fatten them up so she could eat them. But Frau Hartmann didn’t look like a witch. Johanna shook off her overactive imagination. She blew on the oatmeal, poured some milk on it, and started eating while Cecile cut slices of rye bread.
“So, what is it like here?” Johanna asked Cecile as she reached for a piece of bread. She felt famished — yesterday she had been too nervous to eat much more than the bit of bread and cheese she’d brought with her.
Cecile glanced towards Monica. “It’s fine,” she said.
“How many babies are there?”
“Ten, so far. Six girls and four boys.”
“Why are there more girls than boys?” Johanna asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” Monica said, banging her spoon on the table. “Because girls aren’t worth as much as boys.”
“What are you talking about?” said Johanna. “Of course we’re worth as much!”
“And more,” added Cecile.
“That’s what you think!” said Monica. “Some people think that girls are only good to get married, do housework, and have babies. Boys can work in the fields, or learn a trade.”
“I wish I could learn a trade,” said Cecile.
“People shouldn’t give their babies away, just because they’re girls,” Johanna said.
“Maybe not, but they do.” Monica shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. These babies are foundlings. Their parents are dead. Nobody wants them.”
“I don’t think —” Johanna said.
Just then, Frau Taubman strode into the room. She glanced at the half-eaten breakfasts on the table and grabbed a piece of bread. “There you all are. Aren’t you finished yet?” she barked.
Johanna tried to stuff the rest of the bread in her mouth. Mama always said it was a sin to waste food. This is my first day here, and I’m already breaking a commandment.
“Yes, Frau Taubman,” the girls replied quickly, as they stood up.
“Come along then,” Frau Taubman said, gesturing impatiently for the girls to follow her.
“Haste makes waste,” muttered Frau Hartmann as she gathered up the dirty dishes.
The girls followed Frau Taubman along a wide corridor. The keys hanging from her belt jangled with each step she took. At the end of the corridor, they entered what once must have been the grand ballroom. Now it served as the nursery.
Johanna counted six cribs along one wall, six along the other. A wooden partition separated each crib from the one next to it. Babies were crying, some more loudly than others. Three girls were sitting in various parts of the room. They stood up and walked to the door as the group entered.
Frau Taubman dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Monica,” she said, “tell the new girls what to do. I have other duties to attend to.” She paused. “And remember. No talking to the babies or to each other, no singing or humming. Absolutely not one word.” Frau Taubman left the room in a swish of black silk.
How could I have forgotten? Johanna thought. How can I not talk or sing or hum to the babies? It’s not right. It’s not fair. It’s not even human.
Monica pointed to some shelves. “The wet nurses leave the milk in these bottles for the babies every morning. Diapers, blankets, and clothes are in the linen closet. Each baby has a sign on its bed, showing its name and birth date, if we know it, and its measurements, like weight and height. Doctor Keller measures them every Monday.”
“Who’s Doctor Keller?” Johanna asked. “Does he take care of the babies?’
“Yes,” said Monica. “But it’s really Professor Gottfried Leibniz who’s in charge of this experiment.”
“Experiment?” Johanna’s heart skipped a beat.
“Sure. What did you think this was?”
“I thought …” Johanna said. “I thought this was a regular orphanage.”
“I did, too,” Cecile said, twisting one of her braids.
“Don’t think too much around here,” Monica said. “You’ll be better off.”
“But —”Cecile said.
“But nothing.” Monica continued
