pointed to a girl across the table, thin strands of blond hair skirting her eyes. “Carol says Sadie’s still in with her.”
Carol nodded and pushed back her bangs. “According to Ann, anyways.”
They all turned to Ann Lehman at the next table, her stomach so swollen that she balanced her stew on top of it. “Saw Sadie my own self this afternoon,” she said wearily. “Says I’m not ready yet. Says I must be carrying an eleven-month baby since my dear husband passed ten months ago.”
Carol howled. “Your nose is growing, Annie.”
“Hand to God.” Ann’s fingers flew to her heart, spilling the contents of her bowl. “Now look what you done.”
Sister Immaculata lumbered over with a handful of napkins. “Enough,” she said to both girls. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you.” She sopped up the mess on Ann’s stomach and led her out of the room.
“An eleven-month baby,” Carol laughed as soon as Ann and the nun disappeared single file through the doorway. “Ain’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?”
When supper was finished, the Reverend Mother stepped into the dining room and rang a small bell. “We’ll be saying the Rosary in fifteen minutes,” she said and walked back out the door.
Violet stood to leave.
“Where are you off to now?” Lily pushed herself away from the table. “You’re always going somewhere.”
“Not everything is about you, Lily Morgan.” When girls at the table stopped their conversations to listen, Violet lowered her voice. “There’s others with troubles. It’s high time you learned that.”
“And what’s so special about that baby, anyway?”
“Keep it up and you won’t get your gift.”
Lily clapped her hands. “I knew you wouldn’t forget!”
“I have half a mind to go back downtown and return it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” When Violet didn’t answer, Lily offered up her sweetest smile. “You’re so good to me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Where is it?”
“Don’t get excited,” Violet said, too late. “It’s not much. Meet me in the nursery after chapel.”
Lily stood up and kissed her sister’s cheek. “Sorry for being cross with you.” She clapped her hands again. “I should have known I could count on you. You always do right by me.”
No matter how dear the price, Violet thought as she pictured Stanley, framed inside that streetcar, looking straight at her.
* * *
An unusually fussy Michael squirmed in Violet’s arms when she rocked him. “It must be catching,” she said of her mood, and offered the child her finger to suck. His tiny fist flailed, landed, and pulled the finger greedily into his dented mouth. “Maybe Stanley didn’t see me,” she said to the baby. Violet looked at Michael as if he might concur. “At worst, he’ll think his eyes were playing tricks on him. The gray day. The swiftness of the trolley. The automobile exhaust.” She punctuated each reason with a nod, trying to convince her mind that her body knew the truth.
The first note of a cry sounded from one of the cribs. Violet held her breath and peered across the dimly lit room. The Dennick baby stirred for a moment, then settled back to sleep. “We have to be quiet,” she whispered to Michael. His eyes held onto hers.
The door flew open, and light from the hallway poured into the nursery ahead of Lily. “I’m here,” she announced.
Across the room, Michael’s head popped up and Violet’s finger flew to her lips. The babies, she mouthed, motioning for Lily to shut the door and lower her voice.
Once inside, Lily snaked her way through the rows of cribs, sweeping her fingers along the bars like a child with a stick on a picket fence. She counted twelve babies in all, including the one in Violet’s arms. “How many are girls?” she whispered.
Violet lifted Michael to her shoulder and patted his back. “Seven, and they’ll be here a good bit. The boys go quicker, according to Sadie.”
“Why’s that?” Lily pulled a second rocker over to Violet and sat down next to her.
“Fathers want sons.” Violet nodded toward the baby. “Is he sleeping?”
Lily leaned over, observed the infant’s half-shut eyes, and shook her head. “Almost.” She moved closer and inspected his marred face for the first time. She knew about the harelip, but seeing it up close made Lily shudder. A woman oughtn’t look at a crone or a cripple when she’s in the family way. Lily hugged her stomach briefly before remembering something. “The baby started kicking this morning.”
Violet flattened her free palm against her sister’s belly, but when nothing happened, she pulled her hand back.
“I’ll let you know if she does it again.”
“So she’s a she,” Violet said.
“More than likely.”
“Why’s that?” Violet switched Michael to her other shoulder.
“Mother only had girls, and her mother before that. Just seems natural.” Lily glanced back at the cribs.
“What about the father’s people?” Violet tossed the question out, hoping to unearth some detail that would reveal who was responsible for Lily’s condition—George Sherman most likely, though Violet couldn’t be sure. “Do they have many girls?”
Lily refused the bait. “So where’s my present?” She glanced around the room.
“In a minute.” Violet carried a sleeping Michael over to the empty crib.
Lily’s eyes settled on her sister. “You look good with a baby.” She checked to see if Michael’s face was turned away, and when she saw it was, she stood up and walked over to the pair. “It suits you somehow.”
“You think so?” Violet cooed in the infant’s ear. “We’ll have trouble adopting him out with his disfigurement.”
“We? We who?” Lily searched her sister’s eyes. “He’s not yours, you know.”
