“Wednesday,” he agreed. “And every day after that you need it.”
Nodding, Elsa smiled at the road ahead.
CHAPTER
10
NEW YORK CITY
TUESDAY, AUGUST 31, 1926
Coffee burned Elsa’s throat on its way down, but she barely even noticed. She sat at the writing desk in the parlor of her apartment with only the ticking clock and the soft rush of traffic outside to fill the predawn quiet. Spread before her was the folder of papers she’d brought home from Linus’s secret office yesterday. Securely packaged in a box on the corner of the desk was the Spix’s macaw.
Leaning back in her chair, Elsa cupped her hands around the mug and sipped.Yesterday afternoon, she’d used a fingernail file and buffer to groom the blue parrot’s feathers after its misadventure in Barney’s mouth. Wesley and Jane had returned after the storm and noticed her change of attire. They’d been shocked she would borrow “that gardener’s shabby dress” but had left her in the dining hall after that, where Crawford finished packing the china.
Elsa glanced at the macaw again, her pulse fluttering with the anticipation of presenting it to the museum. This bird and its significance, she understood.
She could not say the same about the documents in Linus’s folder.
An article from the Carnegie Station for Experimental Evolution warned of the dangers of the recessive trait of the feebleminded.
Another article tucked between advertisements for women’s footwear was headlined “New Aristocracy Will Be ‘Human Thoroughbreds.’” This was eugenics, the field Mr. Spalding was in at the Eugenics Records Office on Long Island. Elsa flipped to another paper and found a drawing of a tree emblazoned with the words “Eugenics Is the Self Direction of Human Evolution.” At the base of the page, each tree root was labeled with a different branch of study. The largest roots supporting the eugenics tree were genetics, anthropology, statistics, biography, and genealogy. Other roots were labeled politics and law.
Elsa wondered if Mr. Spalding inherited his interest from his uncle Linus or if it was the other way around.
After swallowing more coffee, she shifted the documents and found papers full of family trees, but not like any she’d seen before. The top halves of each page were designatedNormal LineandDegenerate Line, and at the bottom were totals for both.
Elsa took off her glasses and squinted to read the fine print. Smaller charts identified in each category the number of people in that line who were criminal, alcoholic, grossly immoral, feebleminded, epileptic, insane, neurotic, died in infancy, or died young. The normal line produced a far smaller number of each than the degenerate line.
Coffee souring in her stomach, Elsa cleaned her glasses on a handkerchief before replacing them. As she browsed the files, it didn’t take long to find a pamphlet with the solution for better humans: careful and deliberate marriages, sterilization of society’s undesirables, and new immigration laws. “If we can breed perfection into horses, pigs, and cows,” the pamphlet quipped,“why leave human evolution to chance?” Paper-clipped behind that literature was a stack of flyers from state fairs advertising Better Babies contests.
“Good morning!”
Elsa startled at her roommate’s greeting as if she’d been suddenly pulled from a deep sleep. If only she’d been dreaming.
“You’re up early.” Ivy yawned, pushing her hair behind one ear. She’d already washed and dressed for work, and Elsa hadn’t registered a single sound.
“I was too tired last night to look at what I’d brought home from the mansion, and too curious not to dive into it before work today. Listen, have you ever heard of Better Babies contests? At state fairs?”
Frowning, Ivy grabbed a mug and poured herself coffee before bringing it to the sofa in the parlor. She curled her legs beneath her and tasted the brew before responding. “I’ve been to a few state fairs but never saw that in my life. Is that some kind of eugenics thing?”
Elsa nodded, then began reading from the file. “‘A physician scores a baby in precisely the same way as a judge of experience in livestock scores cattle. ... It is first necessary to establish a standard and then to compare each entry or specimen with what is known as a one hundred percent, or perfect, product.’” A chill raced down her spine.
“A ‘specimen’ that is a ‘perfect product’? Are we sure they’re talking about human beings here?” asked Ivy. “And whose standard are they using, and how did they choose it?”
Elsa turned her chair around so she could fully face her friend. “According to this, infants are lined up for judging, and then doctors and nurses record each one’s weight, chest circumference, and mental capacity—although how you do that with babies, I couldn’t guess.”
“I’m sure all the babies loved strangers doing that.”
“Babies too shy to participate in the tests lose points,” Elsa paraphrased.
Ivy’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Elsa passed her the document. “Look, there’s even a scorecard printed inWoman’s Home Companionmagazine so everyone can judge babies on their own.” She waited while Ivy read the parameters. Official judges used a thousand-point scale, with one hundred points for physical measurements, two hundred for mental and psychological fitness, and the rest for physical appearance. Winners at state fairs were awarded silver trophies.
“This is a scream,” Ivy declared. “Did you read this part? It says, ‘Underneath the inviting charm of the idea is a serious scientific purpose—healthy babies, standardized babies, and always, year after year, Better Babies.’ And then there’s something about Better Babies leading to Fitter Families.”
“Oh, good, so you can enter your entire family into the livestock competition, is that it?”
