The Strange Case of Baby H by Kathryn Reiss Read Free Book Online

suddenly the woman started crying, too. She looked to be not much older than Clara herself, actually—more 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.
    â€œThis is my baby,” she wailed. “You must give her to me!”
    Clara reached out and intercepted the howling baby. Holding her close, she backed down the steps. “If this is your baby, why did you leave her with us?”
    â€œIt was the earthquake!” cried the young woman. “I 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€œThat is where you found her,” Father reminded Clara.
    But Clara was not convinced. This young woman’s pallid skin, with smudges like bruises across the pale cheeks, bore no resemblance to the baby’s pink-cheeked complexion. The woman’s close-set eyes were watery blue—nothing like the infant’s wide, dark gaze. And besides, the baby was an orphan—wasn’t she?
    â€œThere was the note,” Clara said slowly, tightening her grip on Baby H. “Why would you say the baby was an orphan if you were very much alive?” Clara shook her head. “You don’t look a thing like her. And why would you dress your baby in boys’ clothes and shave her head? It just doesn’t make sense.” She took Mother’s arm and turned toward the backyard. “So until you can prove to us who you are—forget it.”
    The young woman in red flew after them, her voice rising in panic. “Oh, please! I must take her back or else—Oh, Lord, there will be terrible trouble! I mean—there’s danger—Oh! You must give her to me!”
    â€œTake her back where?” demanded Mother.
    â€œTrouble from whom?” asked Father, wheeling his chair across the path.
    â€œTo her home! To her parents—” shrieked the hysterical woman. Then she covered her face with her hands and crouched low, wracked with sobs.
    â€œSo you’re not the mother,” Clara declared. “I knew it.”
    â€œI never said I was! You said it!” sobbed the woman. “I’m her nanny! Her nursemaid! And I need to get her home safely now—over to Oakland. There’s very grave danger—you don’t understand—”
    They all started at a great boom in the distance as another house was destroyed by explosives.
    â€œWe’re all in grave danger, that I do understand,” said Father. “But I must ask you to leave now. I don’t think the ferries are running to Oakland—we’ve heard that the fire has consumed the wharf area. If you have no place to stay, you will find help at the park.”
    â€œBut the baby—” She reached out her arms toward Clara.
    â€œSurely you can’t think I’m going to believe you’re my little Henrietta’s nursemaid any more than I believe you’re her mother?” Mother said coldly. “Now leave us immediately, as my husband asked you to. Or we shall summon the authorities!”
    â€œThe police?” The girl grew even paler. She backed away, but her eyes were blazing with anger and—Clara thought—fear. “All right, I’m going,” she shouted, walking out to the street. “But you’d better keep Helen safe for me! You keep her safe until I can come back for her, or you’ll be sorry!” 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.
    â€œHelen?” asked Mother. “Did she say ‘Helen’?”
    â€œShe did,” replied Father.
    Clara looked down at the baby’s face. The tiny girl was