bath salts, tonics, and creams. Jars displayed mint lozenges, boiled sweets, and licorice. At the soda fountain along one wall, customers ordered hot and cold drinks and slices of seasonal fruit pie.
Mr. Morton, the pharmacist, was stationed on a stool behind the counter at the shiny cash register. He was a slow-moving man who liked to chat with everyone. Rebecca waited now while he measured out a bottle of cod liver oil for a woman with two small children hanging on her skirts. He handed each child a licorice whip and then smiled at Rebecca.
“Now, how can I help you, young lady?”
She explained about the diaper rash, and he clucked his tongue sympathetically. “I’ve got just the thing,” he said, selecting a small jar of white cream from the shelf. “This will fix the little one in no time.”
Rebecca thanked him and handed him the money. While she waited for her change, Nora began crying again. Rebecca turned to her and found the tall, dark-eyed boy leaning over the baby, making faces.
He straightened. “She is nice baby, no?” he asked. He had a mop of black hair, a brusque voice, and a foreign accent. Rebecca wasn’t sure what sort of accent it was; there were people from so many countries living in her neighborhood—Jews from Russia, like her own family, and Irish, Italians, Germans…
“She is prettiest baby, I think,” he said, leaning over the buggy again.
Rebecca didn’t really think so, because crying, red-faced babies weren’t much to look at, but she nodded.
The baby quieted again as the boy grinned down at her. “You go for a walk?” he asked. “Maybe in the park? Babies, they like walk in the park.”
“Maybe,” Rebecca replied. She wished the boy would not stand so close to Nora.
“Is getting cold.” He reached into the buggy and pulled the pink blankets up to Nora’s chin. “And maybe she is hungry.”
“She’s fine,” said Rebecca coolly, tightening her hold on the buggy handle. He didn’t look old enough to be a kidnapper, but who could tell? It was unusual, surely, for a boy his age to be interested in a baby. Victor never looked twice at babies.
The boy gave her a piercing look, then turned and loped down the street.
Rebecca was relieved to see him go, and then with a start realized she had left her change on the counter inside. With a quick glance to check that the boy was not coming back, she dashed into the shop. As she slid her change off the counter, Mr. Morton handed her a peppermint drop.
“Thank you, Mr. Morton,” she said, popping the mint into her mouth. Through the glass window she could see a woman crossing the street. It was the neighbor, Mrs. Henks, who had offered to help the Brodskys. By the time Rebecca reached the shop’s door, Mrs. Henks was leaning over the buggy, cooing at the baby.
“Why, hello again,” the woman said cheerfully. “Looks like you have a way with babies, young lady!”
“Thank you,” said Rebecca, pleased. She scanned the street. The boy was nowhere around. The street was bustling on this Sunday morning. Housewives with baskets on their arms stood talking on their apartment steps. A few horses and carts passed by. Two girls called to each other from open windows. An old woman stood on a fire escape, shaking out a rug.
“You must be a favorite with all the mothers in this neighborhood,” Mrs. Henks was saying.
“Well, not really,” admitted Rebecca. “This is the first time I’ve taken care of a baby.” But now that the baby wasn’t crying, she felt quite proud of herself. “I’d be happy to look after your children,” she told Mrs. Henks. “I live on the floor above the Brodskys. My name is Rebecca Rubin.”
“Why, that’s good to know,” said Mrs. Henks. “I’m sure I shall ask you one day.” They said good-bye, and Rebecca headed home.
When Rebecca reached her building, the dark-haired boy suddenly materialized next to her.
Did he follow me? Rebecca wondered, startled. “Hello,” she said cautiously.
He nodded as she parked the buggy at the stoop and lifted the baby into her arms. “Here, let me help bring buggy inside,” he offered.
“Just leave it by the steps, thank you,” she said shortly. Who was this boy? He had no business hanging around. She hadn’t asked for his help.
The boy stood watching her intently as she went into the building and shut the door.
4
The Girl in the Park
Back inside the Rubins’ apartment, baby Nora began fussing more loudly than ever. Rebecca shook the tin rattle while Mama dabbed ointment on the baby’s rash and pinned on a clean diaper. Rebecca sang a lullaby in Yiddish that Bubbie had sung to all her grandchildren: “Ay-lu-lu, Ay-lu-lu…” But even the haunting refrain didn’t calm the crying baby.
Sophie and Sadie had gone to their friend Lucy’s apartment to work on their math lessons. Benny and Papa had gone to visit Uncle Jacob and Aunt Fanny in Brooklyn. Victor, however, was seated at the table. He covered his ears with his hands. “How can I catch up on my homework with all this noise?” he complained.
Mama wrapped Nora back in her blankets. “Why not take her to the park, Beckie. It’s not far, and the fresh air may help calm her down.”
“I’ll go with her,” Victor offered suddenly. “I need some fresh air, too.”
“No,” Mama replied firmly. “Papa says you may not go out today until all of your homework is done. You have neglected too many assignments, so now you must spend the afternoon studying.”
Victor groaned.
“Come back in an hour—sooner, of course, if Nora keeps crying,” Mama told Rebecca. “Here, let me pack a lunch to take with you.”
Victor glared at Rebecca. She fluttered her fingers in a little wave as she left the apartment with Nora in her arms.
Rebecca settled Nora in the buggy and headed to the park. It was a crisp autumn day, with pale sunshine lighting the brick buildings and rutted streets of Rebecca’s neighborhood. As she entered the park, a cool breeze rustled the dry leaves on the trees. Rebecca felt grown up trundling the old buggy along and then sitting on a bench with all the mothers and big sisters, rocking the buggy until Nora finally napped. Now she was enjoying herself! She remembered how she had helped Mama push their buggy to this same park when Benny was a baby.
She opened the grease paper and took out the bread and cheese Mama had given her. As she ate, she looked around at the other children playing in the park. Some were swinging or rolling hoops along the paths, and some were throwing balls on the grass. Some were by the pond, tossing bread to the ducks.
“Save some of your lunch to feed the ducks,” said a voice at her side, and Rebecca turned to see a girl standing there—a girl just about her own age with a baby slung on her hip, wrapped in a shawl. The girl licked a dripping ice cream cone. “I am Francesca,” she said. “This is my sister, Vincenza. What is your name?”
“I’m Rebecca,” she replied. She could tell from the girl’s accent that she was not originally from New
