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“A letter for you,” Louise said, handing Sophie the envelope at breakfast the next morning.
The return address said Ludlow Street.
~~~
Dearest Sophie,
How indebted we are to you for saving Mercy’s life. Your letters about her progress fill us with joy and excitement about the day she will be able to come home, which sounds as if it may be soon. Surely I do not need to remind you how much you mean to all of us, and especially to Solomon. As is the custom, his father and I would like to offer you the opportunity to marry him. Come home soon, Sophie, and let us take care of you. Your home is with us as much as Mercy’s.
With loving regards,
Esther
~~~
PART OF SOPHIE WAS not surprised. There was the awkwardness between her and Solomon at the calling and when moving things out of her family’s tenement, as well as when he had come to meet Mercy. A marriage of sympathy and convenience to her sister’s widower was the way of the old country, the way of many in the tenements still. A wave of nostalgia for her childhood flooded her mind, as did images of the weddings in the tenements where girls married little more than boys mixing a mess of hopes, needs, and dreams together to create a life comfortable for the two extended families. And yet, another part of her felt enraged. She had accomplished much over a few short weeks, and the thought of being pinned down without a choice felt stifling at best. Especially on the heels of such an enchanted evening with Nick.
She was glad to be assigned with mopping for the day, a way to be alone and wrestle with all the feelings Esther’s suggestion ushered into her heart. The letter plagued her every step. One moment she was thinking of Molly, of the love she and Solomon had cultivated over so many years together and the tenderness of their relationship, of the betrayal that the prospect of marrying him felt like even considering Esther’s proposal. The next moment she was thinking of Nick, of the way his eyes lit up when he saw her, the way he made her feel like they were the only ones in the world, and the way his bare palm against hers made every nerve in her body pulse and feel alive. But a future with Nick was not a sure thing like a future with the Bechers. The Bechers offered stability. She did not even have a legitimate job with the Couneys. She was a nursery maid, after all, biding time and earning her keep until Mercy was big enough to go home.
Her friends here talked much of hope. But hope did not feel like returning to Ludlow Street, even though it was the most practical path available to her after the fire. She was surprised by how Esther’s letter stirred her. She felt such fierce longing for Nick, a man that had been in her life for a short time but made her feel happier than she had ever known possible. She longed to pursue that future and ignore Esther’s offer. But what if the Couney’s wanted nothing more to do with her after Mercy was safe at home? Courting Nick was no guarantee of a proposal. And if he did not propose, there would be nothing left for her here.
Sophie looked at the clock on the nursery wall and frowned. The nurses were beginning to wheel the incubators into the exhibit hall, but Dr. Couney was not there yet.
“Where is Dr. Couney?” Sophie asked, puzzled.
“He’s gone to the hospital for a baby,” said Louise. “The New York Nursery and Child’s Hospital, specifically. They take foundlings and other sick children from infant asylums. Mostly poor immigrants whose babies would end up floating in the East River if it weren’t for their hospital and Dr. Couney.”
As if on cue, Dr. Couney arrived with a bundle in his arms. “Welcome little Isaiah, ladies.” He moved with a practiced grace as he laid the child in the immaculate incubator.
Sophie noticed the baby’s hair was dark and thick. His tiny hands were curled into fists, his eyes wide open and staring. He cried piteously, a shrill wail that made Sophie’s heartache. “So much hair!”
Jane rolled her eyes at Sophie as if the observation was trivial in the grand scheme of admitting a new and fragile baby to the nursery.
“It is unusual indeed,” said Louise, agreeing with Sophie and eyeing Jane.
“A little larger than most of the new ones we get, and stronger too,” added Dr. Couney. “I hesitated to bring him in, but he was having some breathing trouble. And the poor mother, she has already lost seven babies before they reached their first birthday. We’d like to make sure his periodic lapses in breathing don’t make him the eighth.”
“Sophie, put down that mop and scrub your arms up past the elbow,” said Louise. “I’d like to show you a few things.”
Sophie glanced at Jane, mouth now agape, and back at Dr. Couney.
Louise nodded at her encouragingly.
“Come on, Sophie, I’ll show you how to scrub,” Bridget urged, trying without success not to simper at Jane.
Only when they were at the sink with the water running did Sophie dare speak. “Why would Louise want me to scrub?”
“I think,” Bridget said, leaning towards her ear, “because you work hard, and everyone knows you are not the reason Mercy choked. I think they want to give you a chance.”
“A chance at what? I’m not in nurse training.”
“No, but she obviously sees your potential.” Bridget handed Sophie a scrub brush and a nail pick. “We scrub the fingers and hands, arms and elbows and especially under our nails.”
Sophie followed Bridget’s instructions intently.
Bridget nodded with approval. “It looks like you’re a natural.”
Louise waited for Sophie at the incubator with Isaiah. “I know you have held and helped with Mercy. I’d like you to begin assisting the nurses with the other babies. Starting with swaddling.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sophie said, incredulous. She felt Jane staring at her, but ignored her and instead focused hard on Louise’s demonstration and instructions.
“Let’s get those nappies on.” Louise took two clean cotton nappies from a pile of linens on a nearby table and handed them to Sophie. “Start by putting the first nappie under his bottom.”
Sophie knew this process well from helping Yette with her sisters, and from the times she’d been allowed to help with Mercy. Still, she wanted to impress Louise, so she was careful to proceed exactly as she was being taught.
“Now pick him up.”
Sophie obeyed and felt little Isaiah’s warmth against her chest.
Louise laid a square blanket across the incubator, then folded the top corner down. “Lay Isaiah here.”
Sophie did so, then smoothed unruly hair on his head. She looked up at Louise for further instructions.
Isaiah began to fuss and wave his arms.
“Pull the bottom corner up first, then tuck the left side under him, and then the right.”
Sophie tried to be as swift and gentle as the other nurses, but she felt very slow, especially when Isaiah started to cry. “Shh. It’s all right. Shh.”
Once swaddled, Isaiah calmed.
For a moment Sophie forgot about Esther’s letter and proposition, forgot she was a guest at the Couney’s and merely a nursery maid. For a moment she imagined herself as a real nurse, able to care for babies like Isaiah—babies like Mercy—with confidence and autonomy. She thought back to Mercy’s first days and how she had been half Isaiah’s size and how far she had come. Looking into Isaiah’s blue eyes, wide open as if with wonder at this bright white place with all its possibilities.
Sophie felt the same way.