“’Cause they’s starvin’ or have no place to live, no money, no job. How can they work with a newborn to feed every few hours?”
“Oh.”
“Come on.”
They walked down the long passageway, past a dim room on the left filled with cribs and another room filled with rocking chairs. On nearly every one sat a woman nursing an infant, sometimes two babes at once. Charlotte had never seen a woman do such a thing, and though most were fairly well covered with blanket or babe, Charlotte felt her cheeks redden at the intimate sight.
“And see them doors on the other side of the passage? That’s where we nurses take turns sleepin’.”
“Sally! Good, you’re back. I need your help.” An older woman in her late fifties stepped forward, her ash-grey hair in a loose knot at the back of her neck and a large stained apron over her ample figure in a simple black dress.
“Mrs. Krebs, this is Miss Charlotte Smith.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Krebs.” Charlotte stepped forward, offering her hand. “I would like to help too, if I might.”
Glancing back down the passage, the woman didn’t seem to notice her hand. “Well, you’re just in time to help with the goats.”
“Goats?”
“Yes, yes, follow me.”
Charlotte looked at Sally, who sighed and nodded and followed Mrs. Krebs, who was already marching purposefully toward the end of the passageway.
“You were brought up on a farm, weren’t you, Sally?” Mrs. Krebs asked over her shoulder.
“Aye.”
“And you, Miss Smith?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“No matter, a pair of willing hands is always welcome.” She stopped at a small table beside a closed door. “But do put on these masks and gloves. Dr. Taylor’s orders.”
Sally began pulling tight leather gloves onto her long fingers and explained, “This is the syphilis ward, Miss Charlotte. All these babies have syphilis and must be kept away from the rest.”
Mrs. Krebs handed Charlotte another pair of gloves and began tying a cotton mask over her own nose and mouth.
Charlotte hesitated.
“Is it safe? For my own baby, I mean.”
“Dr. Taylor assures me the nasty business is only transmitted by direct contact with the sores,” Mrs. Krebs said. “’Course these poor lambs caught it from their own mothers afore they was even born.”
Mrs. Krebs pushed open the door and walked in. Sally and Charlotte paused at the threshold, taking in the scene.
Cribs filled the room and cries filled the air. In one corner, a nun was standing hunched over a crib, trying to get an infant to suckle from some sort of tube. Dr. Taylor stood beside her, arms behind his back, quietly instructing the woman. He looked up when the door opened. His eyes narrowed for a moment when they lit on her.
A knock came on a wide, stable-like door on the other side of the room.
“That’s Rob now, I wager.”
Old Mrs. Krebs strode with impressively youthful vigor past the cribs with their pitiful infants. She opened the door and a young man came in with two goats, one black and one white, at his heels.
“What are they doing with the goats?” Charlotte whispered.
“You’ll see,” Sally said and stepped into the room.
Charlotte, still concerned, stood in the doorway and watched a sight she would never forget. The goats pranced with seeming eagerness into the room, bleating as they came. The black one trotted down one row of beds, the white down the other. Suddenly, the white goat jumped nimbly up on top of the first cot and gingerly straddled the infant. Charlotte gasped. Sally stepped forward and helped lift and position the waiting infant onto the goat’s teat. The hungry babe latched on and began nursing. Charlotte was stunned, horrified, yet fascinated at the same time. She stepped forward tentatively and stood behind Sally, peering over her bent back.
