Thirty-Two

Sarah was sitting at a small table in Miss Addams’s office stuffing and sealing envelopes for a mailing to be posted that evening. Miss Benedict had asked if she would help Miss Addams, and Sarah’s shyness was overcome by her delight.

Sarah watched Miss Addams’s hand move across the page as she signed each letter, Faithfully Yours, Jane Addams. She wondered if Miss Addams, now that she was an adult, still felt that she was ugly. Sarah thought her beautiful—not the ordinary cookie cutter beautiful, but a special beauty hard to describe. Some day—would she ever get good enough?—she would like to paint Miss Addams’s portrait.

When the last envelope was finished, Miss Addams thanked Sarah for her help. “It’s a very boring job, I know.”

“I liked doing it,” Sarah said.

§

Clouds obscured the weak sun as Sarah walked out of Hull House onto Halsted Street. She shivered and wished she’d brought a sweater. She hadn’t walked more than half a block when she heard her name called. She turned to see Melina Petrakis from the children’s art class running toward her.

Melina grabbed her arm, her thin fingers tight as a vise. Her face was tear-stained and contorted. “Me mum’s havin’ a baby. There ain’t no one to help her.” She pulled Sarah’s arm. “You come. Please, Missy.”

“Miss Addams will help you,” Sarah said, and rushed the sobbing girl into Hull House. Miss Addams was at the reception desk. She rose and took Melina’s hand. “What can I do for you, child?”

Melina’s words came out in a choked stammer. “Me mum’s havin’ a baby…None of the neighbor ladies will ’elp her. They say she’s ’avin’ a devil baby and none of ’em will go near.”

“Where do you live?”

“’Cross the street. Number 203.”

Miss Addams picked up the phone, dialed, and spoke quickly. “Julia, call a midwife. Tell her to come to the tenement across the street. Flat 203.”

Pedestrians moved aside as the unusual threesome hurried down the sidewalk, Melina leading Miss Addams and Sarah. “’Ere,” she said, stopping at the door of the tenement. Two women were leaning against the building entrance. One, nursing her baby, cried out, “It’s a devil baby she’s havin’. Don’t go near. The devil ’ill strike you dead!” The other woman touched Miss Addams’s arm, “Mum, the devil he don’t care, rich or poor, you’ll be cursed. Your next begotten child’ll be a devil baby!”

“Please, let us by,” Miss Addams said quietly. The woman moved back and Melina led Sarah and Miss Addams up a narrow, foul-smelling staircase. Calling, “Mama,” she burst through a door hanging loose on its hinge and rushed into a dim room. A woman lay on a mattress on the floor, the mound of her belly dwarfing her distorted face, her black hair pasted to her forehead. Both her hands were clutching the handle of a chewed-off broom, rocking it back and forth, moaning, “Please God, please, please God.”

Miss Addams laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We’re here to help you.”

The woman looked at Miss Addams. She let the broom clatter to the floor and grabbed one of Miss Addams’s hands. “God sent—” Her voice turned into a moan as another wave of pain surged through her.

Miss Addams turned to Melina. “I don’t believe you’ve told me your name.”

Melina sucked in a sob and rubbed at her eyes with her fist. “Melina, ma’am. Melina Petrakis.”

Quick steps sounded on the stairway and Julia Lathrop hurried into the room. Her gaze took in the writhing woman. “The midwife is off on another call,” she said, and handed Miss Addams one of the white towels she was carrying, along with a pair of scissors. She knelt down to look into the woman’s eyes. “Do you feel the baby coming?”

“Achhhh,” the woman moaned. As if an earthquake were splitting her body, she threw her head back and screamed. Sarah’s breath stopped in her throat. Julia Lathrop took both of the woman’s hands and held them tightly. “Push,” she encouraged. “Push! That’s the way. You’re doing fine. PUSH. HARDER…There, don’t stop…Jane! Hand me one of those towels and boil some water.”

Miss Lathrop laid the towel over her arms and bent to receive the baby. Seemingly with her last breath, Mrs. Petrakis raised herself on her elbows and heaved out a moan that chilled Sarah to the bone. The baby emerged and, at the mother’s anguished moan and push, slid into Miss Lathrop’s hands.

“I have him!” Miss Lathrop cried. She held the squirming infant by its feet, exactly the way Sarah’s father held a chicken, and slapped him lightly on his back. She did it once more, a little harder this time. The baby yelped. Miss Lathrop laughed. “Look, he’s a beautiful boy!”

The tiny red face screwed up and another yelp sounded. She reached for the scissors, dipped them in the water that had just come to a boil and cut the umbilical cord, then wiped the blood off the squalling infant. Sarah saw the barest fuzz of brown hair that covered his small head, eyes squeezed shut, fists held tight, and two perfect rows of toes. Miss Lathrop laid the baby on his mother’s chest, and Mrs. Petrakis enfolded him, kissed his downy head, and smiled radiantly at the four faces looking down on her. Melina shyly pushed close to her mother and touched the baby’s hand. Instantly the tiny fingers curled around her finger. “Look, Mum,” she cried. “’E’s holdin’ my finger!”

“’E’s a strong one, ’e is,” Mrs. Petrakis said, and tried clumsily to adjust her thin gown around her bare legs.

“Do you want to hold ’is finger, Missy?” Melina asked. Sarah nodded, washed her hands in the hot water and touched the baby’s hand. The tiny fingers grasped hers. This new little being, a devil baby? A lump clogged her throat and she bent and kissed the head, so tiny she could cup it in her hand.

“Julia, I’m going for some warm blankets, coal, and food,” Miss Addams said. She ran her fingers lightly over the baby’s head. “Congratulations, Mrs. Petrakis. You have a fine, healthy boy.”

Mrs. Petrakis reached for Miss Addams’s hand and kissed it. “Thank ’e.” Her eyes filled with tears. Miss Addams squeezed her hand and the next moment her brisk footsteps were heard descending the stairs.

“May I come and visit the baby, Mrs. Petrakis?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Petrakis was a dark-haired woman with a high pale forehead and large brooding eyes. She kept her lips closed as best she could when she smiled, self-conscious about her missing front teeth. She looked at Sarah. “You helped ’im be born. You come any day to visit.”

§

“I hope that wasn’t too much for you,” Miss Lathrop said as she and Sarah walked back to Hull House.

Sarah shook her head. “No, it was beautiful.”