The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman
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forehead. “You too, Ollie boy.”
Ollie smiled, chuckling around the toes in his mouth.
Pia picked up one of their rattles and held it out for him, trying to get him to let go of his foot. Vater had carved the rattles out of wood before he left for the war, sanding them over and over until every spot was smooth and soft. He used twine threaded through holes to hold four brass bells on each side, and carved each boy’s initials on the handles. The sound they made when shook reminded Pia of sleigh bells at Christmas.
Ollie was more interested in playing with his feet. She put the rattle down and noticed Max was falling back asleep, his long dark lashes like feathers against his pale cheeks. She rocked him in her arms and sang a lullaby in a soft voice. Ollie lay still and listened, then let go of his toes, put his thumb in his mouth, and gazed up at her with sleepy eyes. Within minutes they were both napping again. She covered Ollie with the other blanket, then stood and carefully laid Max next to him. After waiting a few seconds to make sure they’d stay asleep, she turned the knob on the oil lantern and the thick wick receded, reducing the flame. Then she tiptoed out of the room, giving them one last look before letting the door latch slip quietly back into place.
When she turned around, her mother was still at the table, her head in her hands, her mending forgotten in her lap. A knot of fear twisted in Pia’s stomach.
“What is it, Mutti?” Pia said. “What’s wrong?”
Mutti looked up. “Oh, liebchen,” she said. “Nothing. I’m only tired.”
Her words did little to lessen Pia’s alarm. She studied her mother’s face, worried she wasn’t telling the truth. It wasn’t like her to complain about being tired. Or anything else, for that matter. “Did you eat today?”
Mutti nodded. “Kartoffelpfannkuchen, a potato pancake, and applesauce.”
“That’s not enough,” Pia said. “Why don’t you have something to eat and take a nap while the twins are sleeping? I can work on the mending.”
To Pia’s surprise, Mutti nodded, put the mending on the table, and stood. “Ja, I think I will lie down for a little bit.” She went over to Pia’s bed, moved her schoolbooks to the floor, and got under the blanket. “The soup is almost finished,” she said. “Be careful not to let it burn.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled with a shuddering sigh.
Pia dug her nails into her palms. Mutti never lay down in the afternoon. She went over to the bed and knelt beside her. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Maybe I should get Mrs. Schmidt.”
Mutti gave her a weak smile. “Do not worry, liebchen, I’m fine,” she said. “Remember I said the twins were fussing today. They were awake all night too. I’m only tired from that.” She closed her eyes. “And Mrs. Schmidt is not here.”
“What do you mean? Where is she?”
“On the train to her mother’s house. In Pittsburgh.”
“Maybe I should go look for a doctor, then,” Pia said. The thought of leaving and going into the city again terrified her, but she’d do it for Mutti. Then she remembered what her teachers said about the shortage of doctors and nurses because of the war—that those left behind were overwhelmed and the hospitals were full—and a cold block of fear settled in her chest.
Mutti opened her eyes and looked at her, her face serious. “I am not sick, Pia. I only need to rest, just for a few minutes. Then I will feel better.”
Pia sighed. She prayed Mutti was right, but she hated feeling so helpless. “Then let me close the window so you don’t get chilled.”
Mutti turned on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Nein, fresh air is good to keep away the flu.”
Pia lifted her hand to check her mother’s forehead for fever, then froze. What if she felt pain in her chest or became short of breath when she touched her? What would she do then? Mrs. Schmidt was gone and the hospitals were full. Chewing her lip, she went over to the table, picked up the darning egg with trembling fingers, and dropped it into a sock. Maybe she should feel her mother’s forehead. The sooner she knew if she was getting sick, the sooner she could try to find some kind of help. Maybe someone else in the building would know what to do. Maybe they’d have whiskey or some other kind of medicine. If only Mrs. Schmidt were still there.
After a little while, she put down the mending, went over to the foot of the bed, and gazed down at Mutti. She was sound asleep, her mouth hanging open, thin strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and lips. Exhaustion clung to her features, aging her beyond her years. Pia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What should she do? She looked out the window toward Finn’s apartment. If only she could send him a note to ask for help. But undershirts and baby-wear filled the clothesline. She couldn’t take them off without waking Mutti. Who knew if he’d answer in time, anyway? She thought about hurrying across the alley and knocking on his door, but what if the twins woke up and Mutti didn’t hear them? Not to mention she didn’t want to go out in the hall, let alone outside.
As if roused by her thoughts, the twins started crying. Mutti opened her eyes and started to sit up.
“Stay there,” Pia said. “I’ll get them.”
“Nein,” Mutti said. “They are hungry and I have too much to do.” She moved to the edge of the bed and stood, her hands on the small of her back as she straightened, and started toward the bedroom. “Please take some soft potatoes from the soup for their supper.”
“Yes, Mutti,” Pia said.
“And close the window. It may be too cold for them.”
Pia pulled the window sash all the way down, then went over to the stove. She took a slotted spoon from the kitchen shelf, fished several floury potatoes out of the soup, and put them in a bowl. Mutti came out of the bedroom with Ollie and Max, laid them on the bed, unpinned two clean diapers from the ceiling clothesline, and started to change them. She smiled and kissed the boys’ faces, laughing when they babbled and cooed.
“You are the best little boys in the world,” she said, cooing back at them. “And the most handsome too. Are you hungry? Ja? Your sister is getting your dinner ready for you.”
Pia mashed the potatoes in the bowl and softened them with a little broth, one eye on her mother. Maybe she’d been wrong to worry. Maybe Mutti really was just tired and the short nap had helped. In any case, she was acting normal now. Fear seeped out of Pia’s chest and relief loosened her shoulders.
Mutti picked Ollie up and kissed him on the cheek, then put him back down on the mattress. She made a move to pick Max up, then hesitated, put a hand to her head, and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Red blotches bloomed on her pale face.
Pia put down the soup bowl and rushed to her side. “What is it, Mutti?” she said.
Mutti closed her eyes and moaned. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I... I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
Panic flared in Pia’s chest again, beating against her rib cage like stone wings. “I’ll go try to find a doctor.”
“Nein,” Mutti said. “You are not leaving. It’s not safe.”
“But what if...” Pia hesitated, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “What if you’re getting sick?”
“I’m all right. I am not coughing or too hot, only tired. Besides, there is no money for a doctor. And they don’t want to help a German, anyway.”
“Is there anyone else in the building like Mrs. Schmidt? Someone who might know what to do?”
Mutti shook her head. “Our neighbors have their own troubles right now. I only need to sleep. It is the best medicine.” She pushed herself off the bed and stood. “Will you take care of the boys for a few hours while I lie down in the bedroom?”
“Yes, of course. And I’ll bring you some soup.”
Mutti