“I didn’t know, but I knew she wasn’t a nice girl for Antonio.”
“Or maybe you knew because she’d been with you already.”
Lorenzo actually reared back in shock. “Who told you this?” he demanded.
“We figured it out,” Frank said with some satisfaction.
“Nainsi was bragging to her friends about her Italian lover for months. When she married Antonio, they all thought he was the one she’d been seeing, but we know he didn’t even start going to the dance houses until August.”
His expression was almost comical. “And you think I was this Italian man?”
“A young man like you, who could blame you for going to dance houses? For wanting to spend time with girls who aren’t too virtuous before you have to settle down with a wife of your own? But wait, you don’t want a wife of your own, do you?” Frank said, pretending to just remember that fact. “Antonio said your mama wants to get you a wife like she did for Joe, but you don’t want to get married at all.”
Lorenzo blanched, but he managed to hold his temper. “I never saw Nainsi before Antonio brought her to our house,”
Lorenzo insisted.
Frank slapped his hand down on the table, making Lorenzo jump. “Don’t bother lying, Lorenzo,” he said fiercely.
“We know you’re the one who took Antonio to the dance house where he met Nainsi. We know you’d been going there for a long time. We know you got Nainsi pregnant and refused to marry her. We know you were angry when she tricked your little brother into taking responsibility for your mistake, and we know you killed her so she wouldn’t tell your mother the truth.”
Stunned, Lorenzo stared at Frank for a long moment, as if trying to comprehend everything he’d just heard—or figure some way to deny it.
And then he started to laugh.
Sarah groaned when she heard someone knocking on her door. She and Maeve had been practicing calling Aggie by her new name and pretending to forget to make her laugh. Sarah didn’t want to stop. She wanted this joyous time to last forever. Maeve went downstairs to answer the door, but when she called up, Sarah knew she’d be leaving.
As she and Catherine came down the stairs, she was surprised to see Antonio Ruocco waiting in the foyer. She knew a moment of apprehension, thinking he might have come to berate her for her part in questioning Valentina this morning, but then she saw the desperate look on his face.
“Mrs. Brandt, Maria needs for you to come right away.
The baby is sick.”
Sarah might have thought it was a trick to lure her someplace where Ugo Ruocco could take revenge, but Antonio was too innocent to lie so well.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He won’t stop crying,” Antonio reported in dismay.
“And his bowels are running, and Mama says he’s too hot.”
“Antonio, I want to help Maria, but I think your family must be very angry with me right now.”
“Because of Valentina,” he said, nodding his head.
“Yes, and because of my last visit there, too. Maybe Maria doesn’t know about Valentina, but I’m sure your mother—”
“She knows. We all know. Valentina tells everyone who will listen, and then the police took Joe and Lorenzo away in a wagon today, too. We’re all very angry, but Maria doesn’t care. She says you are the only one who knows how make the baby well.”
“But I doubt your mother would even let me in the house,” Sarah protested.
“She’s the one who told me to come. She’s afraid of what will happen to Maria if the baby dies. Maria loves him so much . . . Too much, I think,” he added sadly.
Sarah remembered what Valentina had said about Maria’s state of mind. She must already be near the breaking point, and with the baby sick . . . Sarah could at least provide reassurance and support to ease the strain Maria was under. If Mrs. Ruocco would let her in, that is.
“Girls, I’m sorry, but I have to go with Mr. Ruocco.”
Their obvious disappointment broke her heart, and she promised to return in time to tuck Catherine into bed.
Then she checked her medical bag to make sure she had the proper remedies. Satisfied, she set out with Antonio.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they found the shades closed and the restaurant dark. They’d be hard pressed to serve dinner with the two older boys still at police headquarters. Antonio took her inside and led her to the interior stairs, calling out to let his mother know they’d arrived.
When they reached the second floor, Sarah could hear the baby crying from the floor above. She hurried past Antonio, snatching her medical bag from him. She found Maria and Mrs. Ruocco in the parlor. Mrs. Ruocco was rocking the baby while Maria paced. She ran to meet Sarah.
“He’s dying,” Maria cried, nearly hysterical. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “You must save him!”
Sarah hazarded a glance at Mrs. Ruocco, who glared back. Her gaze could have cut glass, but Sarah managed not to flinch. “I’m sorry for what happened with Valentina, Mrs.
Ruocco, but the police said they were going to question her no matter what. I thought at least I could make sure nothing improper happened.”
Mrs. Ruocco rose from the chair and strode toward her.
As she passed, she handed Sarah the baby and kept going.
Plainly, she wasn’t willing to forgive or even to remain in the same room with her. But at least she hadn’t thrown her out.
“What’s wrong with him?” Maria pleaded. “Will he die?”
Sarah quickly felt the baby’s head and limbs. He was slightly warm, but that could just be because he’d been crying for so long. He did seem to be uncomfortable. He was pulling his knees to his chest, and the cry was distinctively one of pain. “Can I see one of his dirty diapers?”
Maria ran to fetch one, and Sarah laid the baby down on the couch and unwrapped him from his blanket to examine him, poking and prodding. When she’d finished and examined the diaper, she knew as much as it was possible to know about a patient who couldn’t even tell you where it hurt.
“Is he eating?” Sarah asked over the baby’s cries.
“Not since early this morning. He was fussy all morning after that and wouldn’t nap. Then he started crying and wouldn’t stop no matter what I did. Is it the milk again?”
That would have been Sarah’s first guess. “Goat’s milk rarely disagrees with a baby, but you can never be sure if what you get at the market is really goat’s milk or how fresh it is or what else they might have mixed with it,” Sarah explained. “Keeping the bottles clean is another problem, although I’m sure you’ve been doing a good job of that.”
“Oh, yes, I boil them every time,” Maria assured her, wringing her hands. The circles under her eyes were so dark, they almost looked like bruises, and her normally glowing complexion was chalky.
“Have you thought about finding a wet nurse for him?”
Sarah asked, picking up the baby again and instinctively trying to rock him to soothe his cries.
Maria’s expression changed from despair to terror. “I want to take care of him myself!”
“Of course you do, but perhaps one of the women in the neighborhood would sell you some breast milk. Even if it was only for a few weeks, until he’s stronger. Then we can try the goat’s milk again.”
Maria looked too overwhelmed to even begin to consider such a prospect. Sarah decided to speak to Mrs. Ruocco about it, even if Mrs. Ruocco wouldn’t speak to her. But first things first.
She opened her medical bag with her free hand and found the bottle she wanted. Using an eye dropper, she placed a drop on the baby’s tongue. He made a face at the taste, then started to cry again.
“What did you give him?”
“Paregoric,” Sarah said. “To stop the diarrhea.” She didn’t explain that paregoric was a tincture of opium, because she knew that would frighten Maria. Sarah hated giving it to him, but it was the only way she knew to treat the diarrhea quickly. If she didn’t, the baby would die of dehydration.