Rory's Promise (3 page)

R
ORY LIFTED HER HE
A
D.
B
LINKING, SHE RE
M
E
M
BERED WHERE she was. A young woman stood in front of the desk, a baby in her arms. Down-and-out by the look of her with much-mended clothes and a pinched face with sunken cheeks. With a sinking heart, Rory realized the woman was here to abandon a baby.

“You're in the right place,” Rory said.

“Why, you're just a child yourself,” the woman exclaimed. She peered around the empty hall. “Who's in charge here?”

“I am, but if you wait a little time the nuns will be back,” Rory said, hoping she would stay. Rory had never had to deal with a mother giving up her baby. Usually she only saw the babies after the mothers were gone.

“I can't wait,” the woman said. “If I do I might lose my nerve.”

Rory gave her a searching glance: the mother wasn't very old, maybe eighteen or nineteen.

“You can leave him in the cradle and the Sisters will take care of him.” She gestured toward the white wicker cradle by the door. A representative of the Foundling was always at the desk to receive a baby, day or night. Until Mass was over, that representative was Rory.

The mother stared down at the baby, who was carefully swaddled in a blanket cleaner than her skirt. She glanced up and met Rory's eyes. “What's your name?” she asked.

“I'm Rory.”

“My name's Patricia, but everyone calls me Patty. Are you a foundling?”

Rory shook her head hard. “I'm an orphan. Foundlings are abandoned,” Rory explained. “My Ma and Da are dead. I may not have any parents but I know where I came from.”

“So if I leave my baby here, he's a foundling …” Patty's voice caught.

Rory's heart sank. She hadn't meant to make Patty feel even worse; she just hated being mistaken for a foundling. The distinction might not matter, but to her it was the difference between being loved, even for a short time, or being discarded, handed over to strangers.

“Tell me, Rory, are they kind in this place? Will they take care of my baby boy? Raise him up in the Church?” She held her baby under Rory's nose. His eyes were tightly shut and he had a tuft of black hair that sprang from his head like a patch of grass.

“The Sisters are very kind,” Rory answered. “You know how Jesus said suffer the little children to come unto him?
The Sisters practice that here. He'll be safe. They'll give him clothes, food, church, everything he needs.”

Patty's eyes devoured Rory, taking in every detail, from her red braids to the worn boots that peeked out from under the desk. “You don't look as though you've missed any meals lately.”

Rory winced at the hunger in Patty's voice. “Your boy will get fed three times a day. And real food too. Even meat sometimes,” Rory assured her.

Patty's lips started to quiver. “I don't want to leave him, but I can't care for him.” She began to cry, silent sobs that racked her body. Clutching the baby to her chest, she leaned against the desk. “I have a cousin in Utica who says she can get me a job. But I can't bring him. I've been at my wits' end.” Rory stood, uncertain what to do. Finally she imitated the kindness of the Sisters and came from behind the desk to put her arms around Patty and the baby. She held both of them until Patty stopped sobbing. “You can trust the Sisters to take good care of him,” Rory said.

The woman touched the babe's mouth with her fingertip. Even fast asleep, his tiny lips sucked as though he was hungry. “Joseph's not weaned yet. How will he eat?”

“They'll bring in a wet nurse.”

Patty's face asked the question.

“Another woman who's just had a baby,” Rory explained. “So he'll get good milk.” Rory put her hand to her heart. “I promise.”

“As soon as I'm on my feet again, I'll come back and get
him,” Patty said, a resolute tilt to her jaw. “They'll give him to me, won't they?”

“You have three years from today to claim him,” Rory assured her. “But after that, they'll place him with a family.”

“I'll be back before then,” Patty vowed.

Rory said nothing. She knew only too well how few mothers returned. She straightened up and helped Patty back to her feet. “Do you want to leave a note?”

“A note?” Patty shook her head.

“Write down your name and anything you want the Sisters to know about the baby.” Rory reached into her pocket and pulled out a notebook and sharpened pencil.

In a hoarse voice, she said, “I can't write nor read.”

“All right,” Rory said as kindly as she could. “I'll write what you tell me.” A moment later the note was written.

Patty watched Rory's hand moving across the paper with admiration. “Can you read too?”

Rory bit her lip to keep from smiling; the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Patty. “Yes,” she said. “And do
arithmetic too. The Sisters think education, cleanliness, and godliness are the path out of poverty.” She paused. “Not in that order.”

“Will my Joseph learn all that too?”

Rory nodded. “Well, once the babies are old enough, they receive some schooling until they are placed with a family. The older kids go to school to learn a trade.”

Patty started to protest but Rory interrupted. “They don't make us go to work—but they teach us skills so we can get a job. If I weren't needed to help with the babies, I'd probably learn how to typewrite. Or sew. But I'm a rotten seamstress.”

Patty took a deep breath. “Then I'm doing the right thing for Joseph,” she said. She gently placed the baby in the wicker cradle, smoothing the blanket across his small body. The baby didn't peep. Rory wondered if Patty might have given Joseph a dose of spirits to keep him quiet but she didn't want to ask.

As Patty kissed the baby on his forehead, Rory got a lump in her throat. Carefully not looking at the cradle, Patty said, “Can you watch over him? I know it's asking a lot, but …”

“I will,” Rory promised. “As long as I can.”

Patty grabbed Rory's right hand and brought it to her lips. “Thank you.” Without another word, Patty ran out the door.

The Sisters always said it was wrong to judge, but Rory couldn't help comparing Patty to her own mother. Even when they didn't have enough to eat, those last days when Ma was dying, she never once thought of getting rid of her and Vi. A real mother never gave up her children. It was that simple. On the other hand, that parting had cost Patty dearly.

Rory rocked baby Joseph. She rubbed her fingers across his wrist, frowning at its thinness. But otherwise he seemed in good health. He opened his eyes and stared up at Rory, his slate-blue eyes unfocused. Joseph's fist opened and he grabbed her finger.

“Hello, little one,” she said. “If you were my little brother, I'd never let you go.”

The baby gurgled as if to defend his ma.

“Maybe she'll come back, Joe,” Rory agreed. “But even if she doesn't, we'll take good care of you.”

Suddenly Rory had an urgent need to see her sister and give her a big hug. Children were abandoned here all the time—but not Rory and Violet. As long as they were together, they were a family. Rory had known her Ma and even had a few memories of her Da before he fell to his death from the elevated train track he was building. She knew where she had come from and she'd make sure Violet knew too. It was just one more reason she and Vi had to stay together.

R
ORY W
A
ITED WITH
J
OSEPH UNTIL
S
ISTER
K
A
THLEEN RETURNED from Mass. The Sister stopped short when she saw the baby.

“Another one?” Sister Kathleen said with a
tsk-tsk
ing noise on her tongue.

Rory nodded.

“At least this one came in during the day.” Sister Kathleen picked up the baby and inspected him, especially examining his shock of black hair for lice eggs. “I always feel sorry for the mothers who are so desperate they leave the babies in the middle of the night.”

“They're all desperate,” Rory said, the haunted expression of Joseph's mother still fresh in her mind. She felt guilty for judging Patty so harshly.

Whirling around to avoid the Sister's eyes, Rory fetched the ledger. She watched as Sister Kathleen recorded all the details they knew about little Joseph. In the final column Sister Kathleen entered a date three years from the day. That
was the date his mother would lose all her rights to Joseph and the Foundling Sisters could do with him what they wished.

“Poor little one,” Rory whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “But you will be looked after here.”

“Of course he will,” Sister Kathleen said, gathering up the baby in her arms to take him to the nursery.

As Rory watched them go, she remembered when she had first arrived, on a cold, rainy September night, carrying two-year-old Violet on one hip and a small satchel with their few clothes on the other. Those last days that Ma had been dying, she'd made Rory promise to go to Sister Anna. The burial arrangements were all made with their neighbor, Mrs. O'Malley. She had helped nurse Ma and she had kept Ma's things, “as payment,” she said. The only thing Rory had been able to salvage was Ma's necklace. Her hand went to the saint's medal hanging around her neck. The Virgin Mary. Ma's patron saint.
Fat lot of good the saint had done for Ma
, Rory thought. Immediately she felt guilty. Ma would be so angry at Rory for thinking such a thing, not to mention what Sister Anna would say.

Relieved of her responsibilities for the moment, Rory didn't want to go to class. She made her way to the chapel, carefully avoiding any nuns who might ask where she was going or, more specifically, why she wasn't going where she was supposed to be. Funny how she hated having to go to chapel for services every day but it was her first choice whenever she wanted to be alone. Every room in the huge Foundling complex of buildings, schools, and hospitals was
plain and serviceable, except for the chapel. It was beautiful, not huge, each side of the square room perhaps sixty feet long. The decorations in the chapel were gifts from the powerful and wealthy donors who supported the Foundling.

A large circular window over the entrance faced south and the afternoon sun streamed in. The domed ceiling made Rory feel as though she was in heaven. Best of all, the room was empty. Here she could think. But first she had to pay her respects to her favorite statue. The Virgin Mary, dressed all in blue and white with gold trim, stood in her own alcove.

First she said her own Hail Mary. That was only proper. Then Rory settled in for a nice chat. “Hi, Lady Mary,” she said, craning her neck to see the beautiful face. “We've got a new baby. You should keep an eye on him. His name is Joseph—like your husband—so you won't forget. I know there are a lot of us to look after.” She described how Violet was still up to her old tricks in the middle of the night. And about the wet nurses in line with the babies. “Please, Lady Mary, take care of them, especially the babies.”

Rory made the sign of the cross and turned away. The pulpit to one side of the white marble altar beckoned to her. Making sure she was unobserved, she climbed up to where Father Robert usually stood to deliver his homily. Rory put her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and pronounced, “And on the eighth day God decided that all the children get to go to the park and play.” The words rolled off her tongue and filled the corners of the chapel. Emboldened, Rory
added, “And they should have ice cream every night. And no more strengthening gruel. Ever. Amen.”

“Rory!”

Rory stepped back, startled. She fell off the pulpit platform and skinned her knee.

Sister Anna glided down the aisle, her expression stern. “Rory Fitzpatrick! This is the house of Our Lord, not a theatrical stage!”

Rory scrambled to her feet, trying not to wince at the sharp pain in her knee. “Sister, I was just … just wondering how Father Robert manages to be heard in every corner of the chapel.”

Cheeks flaming with color, Sister Anna said, “The excellent acoustics in the chapel are no excuse for your disrespectful behavior. And I take offense at your suggestion that you aren't fed properly.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am.” Rory bobbed a short curtsy and started to make her exit.
That could have been worse
, she thought.

“Wait,” Sister Anna said.

Rory stopped and slowly turned around. “Yes, Sister?”

“I need to talk to you.” Sister Anna glanced around the ornate chapel. “But not here. In my office.” Without waiting for Rory's response, Sister Anna led the way out a side door.

Rory reluctantly followed. No good news was ever delivered in Sister Anna's office.