The Gilded Hour (87 page)

“Tonino. Your sisters are looking for you. They miss you.”

Nothing. Not the slightest shimmer of recognition. Jack nudged Anna’s arm, gently, and she tried, piecing the Italian together carefully.

“Rosa has been searching for you everywhere. Lia asks for you every day.”

The boy turned his face away.

Jack walked toward him, quietly, slowly, and then crouched down, his hands on his knees. Now the boy did look at Jack. He took in his features, watching his mouth as he talked, his voice lowered so Anna couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Tonino looked at him with a kind of detached politeness, nothing of hostility or interest in his expression.

“He’s not a difficult child,” said the director to Anna. “If you can make him understand what is expected of him, he complies without complaint. But he isn’t quite in the world, if I can put it that way. He’s hiding in his head. It’s not a medical term—”

“But it’s very apt,” Anna said. “He doesn’t try to communicate at all? He can’t be provoked?”

The director shook his head. “Not that any adult has ever observed.”

“Mr. Timbie,” Anna said. “This is the boy we’ve been looking for. He doesn’t speak English, which explains at least in part why he doesn’t try to communicate. The shock of losing his parents and then being separated from his sisters and brother has wounded him in a very fundamental way.”

Jack came back then, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his expression troubled.

“Let’s go back to my office,” the director said. “I’d like to hear the whole story in detail, and we can discuss how to proceed from there.”

Walking away from the classroom, Anna took Jack’s arm. She said, “Children are resilient. Rosa and Lia will draw him out. It’s not too late.”

Jack put his hand over hers and gave a grim smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Anna thought,
But you don’t believe it
.

•   •   •

I
T
TOOK
A
good while to tell the whole story, from the time the Russo children had lost their mother and been surrendered to the church by their father, what had happened at Hoboken and then at the Christopher Street ferry terminal, and finally the long weeks of calling on asylums and agencies and offices in search of the two Russo boys.

“Then we heard indirectly about a boy fitting Tonino’s description through a Mrs. March.”

“Our teacher, Mrs. March? Hope March?”

Anna nodded. “And here we are.”

Mr. Timbie had been taking notes during the whole conversation, pausing now and then to ask for a clarification. His manner was professional, courteous, and opaque. At the same time he reminded Anna of Jack when he was thinking like a police detective: there were things going on beneath the surface that he would not divulge until it suited him.

Jack said, “I have a question for you, if I may. How is it you ended up taking in an orphan? This is a school, as I understand it, and not an orphanage. Or do I have that wrong?”

“We board most of our students, and have some space for charity cases. Deaf children, orphaned deaf children especially, don’t do well in asylums, and so we agreed to keep him when the police officer brought him to us on the first of May, I believe it was.”

Anna glanced at Jack and he put a hand over hers where it rested on the arms of the chair.

“You’re sure of the date?”

“I can check the records, but I know it was in the first few days of May because he came right after two of our older students left us. Otherwise we wouldn’t have had room. Why do you ask?”

“Tonino went missing on the twenty-sixth of March,” Anna said. “Where was he before he came to you?”

“I have no idea,” the director said. “I’m not even sure which police officer brought him to us. The gap in time is troubling.” He looked at them and then down at his notes and then went on, almost reluctantly.

“The boy is scarred. There is evidence that he was beaten severely on his back, from knees to shoulders. Just barely healed, most of the lash marks.”

Jack spoke up, and Anna was glad because she could not.

“He was examined by a doctor?”

“Yes, our resident physician. Dr. Warren. He’s not here today, or you could talk to him directly. Tonino is better nourished now and less anxious than he was when he arrived, but not much less. We do what we can, but in cases like this—”

“We understand,” Anna said. “Far too well. I am on the staff at the New
Amsterdam Charity Hospital, Mr. Timbie. We see children who have suffered every kind of abuse and degradation.”

Jack said, “You must agree that together we are well suited to care for a child with a history like Tonino’s.”

“In theory, yes,” the director said. “But it does bother me that the boy doesn’t seem to recognize you. You still want to take him?”

“We would like to take him,” Anna said. “Being reunited with his sisters is probably the best way to reach him, now.”

“Then there is paperwork to be done,” said Timbie, getting to his feet. “It must be handled according to the law. You may start while I’m checking in the new student.”

•   •   •

M
R
. T
IMBIE
SENT
for a notary, arranged for paper and ink and pens, collected forms to be filled out, and went off to greet his new student. Anna paced the room while these arrangements were being made, stopping to look at framed diplomas on the wall. Mr. Ambrose Timbie had graduated from the National Deaf-Mute College in Washington, D.C., some fourteen years ago. His diploma had been signed by President Grant, which struck Anna as very odd.

“Our son, Ambrose,” said an older woman as she came into the office, followed by Miss Timbie with a tea tray. “He was in the first graduating class at the National College, and now he is the head teacher here at the school. Both our children are deaf, you see.”

“Rubella?” Anna asked.

Mrs. Timbie nodded. “We nearly lost them both, but you see how well they have turned out.” She put down the papers she was carrying and signed briefly to her daughter, who grimaced.

“I embarrass her,” said Mrs. Timbie with an affectionate smile. “Now, while you’re filling out papers, I thought you might like some coffee.”

•   •   •

A
NNA
SAT
ACROSS
from Jack, and they began to sort through the paperwork. For a good time the only sound was the scratching of pens.

“They want a statement of purpose. I think they are asking whether we plan to adopt him legally.”

Jack said, “That same question applies to Rosa and Lia.”

“Of course. I suppose I’ve been waiting to resolve the situation with the
boys before raising the subject. It’s a little odd,” she said. “Not an hour ago we were talking about the possibility of a pregnancy next year, and now we’re talking about three children ages five, seven, and nine, all at once. I was aware from the start that it would come to this, but I made that decision before—”

“You fell in love with me.”

She forbade herself to flush. “Yes,” she said. “Before you fell in love with me.”

Jack smiled, a lopsided affair.

“Really,” she said. “This is a conversation we must have, for everybody’s sake, before we sign legal documents.”

“All right,” Jack said. “Write this down. ‘We are ready and willing to legally assume all responsibility for the care of Tonino Russo, as we have done for his sisters Rosa and Lia.’”

Anna smiled at him. “You sound like a lawyer when you want to.”

Jack’s whole lower face contorted. “You do know that coppers don’t take that as a compliment, right?”

She put down her pen and set the page aside for the ink to dry.

“Jack, what if he refuses? What if he won’t come with us?”

“I suppose we’d have to leave him here until we can come back with the girls. That might be the best way to handle it, even if they do give us permission to take him.”

“It might be,” Anna agreed, “but it goes against the grain.”

•   •   •

M
R
. T
IMBIE
WAS
still busy with the new student and her family when they finished the paperwork, and so they went out to find the stable boy who had taken charge of the carriage. They retrieved Mrs. Lee’s basket and ate in the shade of a stand of dogwood trees, talking of nothing in particular. Because, Anna reckoned to herself, the most difficult decision had already been made. They would take the boy away with them, all the way to Greenwood where he would be reunited with his sisters and, at the same time, plunged into the Mezzanotte family summer party.

When she mentioned to Jack that the circumstances would almost certainly overwhelm the boy, it turned out he had been thinking the same thing.

“I have an idea,” he told her. “I think we can arrange a quieter reunion.”

They set out at two, Tonino sitting between them as quietly and unresisting as a doll. All the Timbie family had hugged him and wished him a good journey, signing and speaking and signing again, determined to get their message across despite the boy’s numb regard. In the end they passed up a small satchel and watched as Jack turned the Rockaway around and they started out. Tonino left the school without a single backward glance.

Anna determined that it was best to talk to the boy as she would to his sisters, and so she started slowly, telling him about Rosa and Lia and how surprised and happy they would be to see him. She did this in a combination of English and Italian, with Jack stepping in to help her with vocabulary, and adding words of his own.

Within a quarter hour the boy fell asleep, leaning into Anna. She took this as a good sign.

“On some level he recognizes that he can trust us,” she said to Jack. And: “You don’t look convinced.”

He shot her a sidelong glance and shrugged.

“Sleep is the only way he has of escaping,” he said finally.

Anna understood his cynicism. It was a defense mechanism, one she had to adopt in her own work. For a police detective a cynical turn of mind would be even more necessary. In fact, Tonino had suffered in ways they might never really understand, and his recovery would not be simple or quick: that was the most important truth.

But the boy had a chance. A good chance, not just because of his sisters, but because Aunt Quinlan and Mrs. Lee would concern themselves. It was hard to imagine two women less alike, or more attuned to each other and to the people around them, each in her own way. They had both comforted children through terrible loss; Anna owed them her life and sanity. She would let them lead the way with Tonino.

Then something else came to mind. “Jack. We will never make the three o’clock ferry.”

Even in the best traffic, the trip from the school for the deaf to the Christopher Street ferry terminal required far more than an hour, and they still had to stop on Waverly Place to unhitch Bonny and then find a cab.

“Oh ye of little faith. There is more than one ferry, you know.”

He had a backup plan, of course.

“My faith in you is boundless,” she said. “It was the traffic in the city I was worried about.”

They turned onto 135th and there was the Hudson like a broad, muscular arm thrusting from north to south. The sight of the river made her follow its path in her mind, moving backward in time to her grandmother and great-grandmother. They had both traveled the river as young women, deep into the endless forests where they made lives for themselves. Not easy lives, but full. Her own journey was very different, but she had the sense now that it would be far more complex and challenging than she had imagined even a few months ago.

Jack left the carriage to arrange for passage on a steam barge, but Anna stayed where she was with the sleeping child leaning against her. She could see Jack standing in the doorway of the shack that served as an office, talking to an elderly clerk in a dusty bowler hat and a mustache twisted at the ends into funny little horns. By the way they were talking it was clear that this was another one of Jack’s many acquaintances. The fact that her husband knew so many people didn’t really surprise her anymore, but the connections were sometimes mysterious unless he thought to explain to her.

He came back to the carriage and gestured for Tonino. Anna passed him down carefully, a warm bundle of boy. He was wearing short pants and his legs were sturdy and tanned by the sun; her fingers slid over the welts on the back of his thighs and he twitched and let out a small hitching breath. Then he was safe in Jack’s arms, and he turned his whole body toward the solid wall of chest. Anna wondered if he was dreaming of his father or if someone else had hurt this child so badly that even in the full light of day he escaped into sleep rather than face those memories.

Anna got down without help. The ferryman came to lead Bonny onto the barge, and they walked behind.

•   •   •

W
HEN
THEY
REACHED
Fort Lee at half past three Tonino was awake, alert but quiet. His eyes moved restlessly from Jack to Anna to the people who walked along the river promenade. Ladies in elaborate Sunday best, their skirts pinned up and pulled back and wrapped, pleated in some places and twisted in others; Jack was always put in mind of his sisters playing dress-up as little girls, when they put on every piece of clothing they could
find. He supposed there was more to it; in fact, he knew there was more to it, from listening to them talk as they paged through Madame Demorest’s
Fashion Monthly
, but it was not something he missed. Anna’s far simpler approach appealed to his own tastes.

His sisters were on his mind, or he would not have noticed the fashions on parade. His sisters, his mother and aunts and sisters-in-law, all the women who would be at Greenwood to welcome Anna into the family.

Anna said, “Why don’t you put Tonino down?”

But the boy was comfortable. He should be at ease and unafraid, and that meant he couldn’t be dumped into the middle of the chaos at Greenwood.

“Here’s the carriage,” he said, as if that were an answer.

When Anna was seated Jack helped Tonino up to his place between the two of them.