suddenly the woman started crying, too. She looked to be not much older than Clara herself, actuallyâmore a girl than a grown woman. She wore a ragged red dress, torn at one shoulder, the skirt partially covered by a grimy white apron. Her hair and eyes were both pale, nearly colorless, and her face was smudged. The tears cut paths through the soot on her cheeks.
âThis is my baby,â she wailed. âYou must give her to me!â
Clara reached out and intercepted the howling baby. Holding her close, she backed down the steps. âIf this is your baby, why did you leave her with us?â
âIt was the earthquake!â cried the young woman. âI was fleeing through the streets, and I was so frightened. I panicked ⦠I thought this looked like a safe place ⦠so I put her in your basket â¦â
âThat is where you found her,â Father reminded Clara.
But Clara was not convinced. This young womanâs pallid skin, with smudges like bruises across the pale cheeks, bore no resemblance to the babyâs pink-cheeked complexion. The womanâs close-set eyes were watery blueânothing like the infantâs wide, dark gaze. And besides, the baby was an orphanâwasnât she?
âThere was the note,â Clara said slowly, tightening her grip on Baby H. âWhy would you say the baby was an orphan if you were very much alive?â Clara shook her head. âYou donât look a thing like her. And why would you dress your baby in boysâ clothes and shave her head? It just doesnât make sense.â She took Motherâs arm and turned toward the backyard. âSo until you can prove to us who you areâforget it.â
The young woman in red flew after them, her voice rising in panic. âOh, please! I must take her back or elseâOh, Lord, there will be terrible trouble! I meanâthereâs dangerâOh! You must give her to me!â
âTake her back where?â demanded Mother.
âTrouble from whom?â asked Father, wheeling his chair across the path.
âTo her home! To her parentsââ shrieked the hysterical woman. Then she covered her face with her hands and crouched low, wracked with sobs.
âSo youâre not the mother,â Clara declared. âI knew it.â
âI never said I was! You said it!â sobbed the woman. âIâm her nanny! Her nursemaid! And I need to get her home safely nowâover to Oakland. Thereâs very grave dangerâyou donât understandââ
They all started at a great boom in the distance as another house was destroyed by explosives.
âWeâre all in grave danger, that I do understand,â said Father. âBut I must ask you to leave now. I donât think the ferries are running to Oaklandâweâve heard that the fire has consumed the wharf area. If you have no place to stay, you will find help at the park.â
âBut the babyââ She reached out her arms toward Clara.
âSurely you canât think Iâm going to believe youâre my little Henriettaâs nursemaid any more than I believe youâre her mother?â Mother said coldly. âNow leave us immediately, as my husband asked you to. Or we shall summon the authorities!â
âThe police?â The girl grew even paler. She backed away, but her eyes were blazing with anger andâClara thoughtâfear. âAll right, Iâm going,â she shouted, walking out to the street. âBut youâd better keep Helen safe for me! You keep her safe until I can come back for her, or youâll be sorry!â She ran down the street toward the park, her skirts a flash of red in the gray, smoky air.
Clara stared after her. Her heart was thumping hard.
âHelen?â asked Mother. âDid she say âHelenâ?â
âShe did,â replied Father.
Clara looked down at the babyâs face. The tiny girl was
Learning to Kill: Stories