Читать книгу A Bundle of Trouble - Jacqueline Dembar Greene - Страница 5

Mama laid the baby on the couch. She showed Rebecca how to change her diaper. Nora was soaking wet and had a terrible rash. “Dear little one,” crooned Mama. “No wonder you’re yelling. I would yell, too.”

“Maybe Mrs. Brodsky’s poor eyesight keeps her from noticing the rash,” said Rebecca, and Mrs. Rubin nodded.

“And of course the baby’s father is seldom home—working two jobs to make ends meet,” Mama added. “There’s nobody to notice such things.”

Unwrapped from her blankets, baby Nora kicked and fussed. Her little arms thrashed up and down, and one hand grazed Rebecca’s cheek. “Ow!” exclaimed Rebecca.

“Goodness,” said Mrs. Rubin. “Let’s trim those nails before she scratches her own little face. Please hand me the nail scissors, Beckie.”

Rebecca took the little scissors out of the drawer and helped hold the baby while Mama trimmed the nails on her fingers and toes.

“It must be hard for Mrs. Brodsky to take care of this little one with her sight failing,” Mama said. “We must be good neighbors and help out as much as we can.” She went to the kitchen for some cornstarch to sprinkle on the baby’s rash, and then she suggested that Rebecca go to the corner drugstore for some ointment. “Take Nora along. She might enjoy the fresh air.” Mama gave Rebecca a little money for the salve.

Rebecca carefully wrapped Nora in her faded pink blankets and carried her downstairs with Mama following. She settled Nora into the wicker buggy, and wheeled the buggy out to the front stoop. Mama helped lift it down to the sidewalk, and then Rebecca set off for the pharmacy.

For the first time that morning, Nora was quiet. The movement of the wheels jostling over the cracks in the sidewalk seemed to soothe her. Outside the shop, Rebecca hesitated. She remembered the article Papa had read about the kidnapping. Although that baby was now safely home, the kidnapper had not been caught. She decided to take the buggy inside.

A lanky, dark-eyed boy about Victor’s age approached the shop and gallantly held the door open so that Rebecca could maneuver the buggy over the threshold. Then he followed her in and stood looking at the jars of candies while Rebecca walked to the counter.

Morton’s Pharmacy was a busy place. Its shelves were stocked with jars of pills in many colors, bottles of cough remedies and medicinal syrups, soaps and tooth powders, perfumes and ointments. Glass cases held candles and a selection of bath salts, tonics, and creams. Jars displayed mint lozenges, boiled sweets, and licorice. At the soda fountain along one wall, customers ordered hot and cold drinks and slices of seasonal fruit pie.

Mr. Morton, the pharmacist, was stationed on a stool behind the counter at the shiny cash register. He was a slow-moving man who liked to chat with everyone. Rebecca waited now while he measured out a bottle of cod liver oil for a woman with two small children hanging on her skirts. He handed each child a licorice whip and then smiled at Rebecca.

“Now, how can I help you, young lady?”

She explained about the diaper rash, and he clucked his tongue sympathetically. “I’ve got just the thing,” he said, selecting a small jar of white cream from the shelf. “This will fix the little one in no time.”

Rebecca thanked him and handed him the money. While she waited for her change, Nora began crying again. Rebecca turned to her and found the tall, dark-eyed boy leaning over the baby, making faces.

He straightened. “She is nice baby, no?” he asked. He had a mop of black hair, a brusque voice, and a foreign accent. Rebecca wasn’t sure what sort of accent it was; there were people from so many countries living in her neighborhood—Jews from Russia, like her own family, and Irish, Italians, Germans…

“She is prettiest baby, I think,” he said, leaning over the buggy again.

Rebecca didn’t really think so, because crying, red-faced babies weren’t much to look at, but she nodded.

The baby quieted again as the boy grinned down at her. “You go for a walk?” he asked. “Maybe in the park? Babies, they like walk in the park.”

“Maybe,” Rebecca replied. She wished the boy would not stand so close to Nora.

“Is getting cold.” He reached into the buggy and pulled the pink blankets up to Nora’s chin. “And maybe she is hungry.”

“She’s fine,” said Rebecca coolly, tightening her hold on the buggy handle. He didn’t look old enough to be a kidnapper, but who could tell? It was unusual, surely, for a boy his age to be interested in a baby. Victor never looked twice at babies.

The boy gave her a piercing look, then turned and loped down the street.

Rebecca was relieved to see him go, and then with a start realized she had left her change on the counter inside. With a quick glance to check that the boy was not coming back, she dashed into the shop. As she slid her change off the counter, Mr. Morton handed her a peppermint drop.

“Thank you, Mr. Morton,” she said, popping the mint into her mouth. Through the glass window she could see a woman crossing the street. It was the neighbor, Mrs. Henks, who had offered to help the Brodskys. By the time Rebecca reached the shop’s door, Mrs. Henks was leaning over the buggy, cooing at the baby.

“Why, hello again,” the woman said cheerfully. “Looks like you have a way with babies, young lady!”

“Thank you,” said Rebecca, pleased. She scanned the street. The boy was nowhere around. The street was bustling on this Sunday morning. Housewives with baskets on their arms stood talking on their apartment steps. A few horses and carts passed by. Two girls called to each other from open windows. An old woman stood on a fire escape, shaking out a rug.

“You must be a favorite with all the mothers in this neighborhood,” Mrs. Henks was saying.

“Well, not really,” admitted Rebecca. “This is the first time I’ve taken care of a baby.” But now that the baby wasn’t crying, she felt quite proud of herself. “I’d be happy to look after your children,” she told Mrs. Henks. “I live on the floor above the Brodskys. My name is Rebecca Rubin.”

“Why, that’s good to know,” said Mrs. Henks. “I’m sure I shall ask you one day.” They said good-bye, and Rebecca headed home.

When Rebecca reached her building, the dark-haired boy suddenly materialized next to her.

Did he follow me? Rebecca wondered, startled. “Hello,” she said cautiously.

He nodded as she parked the buggy at the stoop and lifted the baby into her arms. “Here, let me help bring buggy inside,” he offered.

“Just leave it by the steps, thank you,” she said shortly. Who was this boy? He had no business hanging around. She hadn’t asked for his help.

The boy stood watching her intently as she went into the building and shut the door.