The Strange Case of Baby H by Kathryn Reiss Page B

that Mother had gone inside; Clara and the baby were alone in the backyard. She would not turn around.
    She pulled a little dress that had once been her own—green cotton sprigged with white daisies—over the baby’s head and struggled to get her arms through the armholes. Dressing a real baby was a lot harder than dressing Delilah! For one thing, Delilah lay nice and still, whereas Baby H was kicking her feet and wriggling as if she meant to jump up and run around … cooing and laughing as if she were greeting her dearest friend …
    Clara’s shoulder blades prickled again. She whirled around—and there was the woman in red. She was standing in the drive, watching. She looked battered and bruised, her left eye swollen shut.
    Clara grabbed up the baby as the woman approached.
    â€œCome here, sweet Helen, come to Hattie,” cooed the woman. The baby laughed and stretched out her little arms.
    â€œGet back!” shouted Clara. “I told you not to come here again!”
    â€œJust give me the baby,” the woman begged in a low, desperate voice. She held out her hands. “You don’t understand! She’s in terrible danger, and I am, too. I need to get her to her parents.”
    â€œYou kidnapped her.” Clara’s voice was also low. She tightened her grip on the baby. “I’ve figured it all out, so don’t try to deny it! Her name is Helen Forrest, and you’ve kidnapped her from her parents in Oakland. You were seen boarding the ferry from Oakland—before the quake! I bet you panicked after the quake and left her here—and you’ve been trying to get her back so you can ask for ransom. Well, you’re not having her! I’m going to see that she gets to Oakland myself—if Oakland hasn’t burned to the ground as well!”
    â€œ I’m not the kidnapper!” gasped the woman, her voice trembling. “I’m Hattie Pitt, Helen’s nursemaid. But if the kidnappers do get their ugly hands on her—” Her voice broke. “They’re capable of anything. Oh, Lord, I never meant for any of this to happen!” She sank to the ground. Her shoulders heaved with sobs.
    Edgar came out the back door and down the ramp to stand next to Clara. “Is that the kidnapper?” he whispered.
    â€œI think so, though she says she’s not,” replied Clara tersely. The baby struggled in her arms and started to cry.
    The woman—Hattie Pitt—lifted her head and reached for the child. “Shh, angel. Come to Hattie.”
    Edgar leaped between Clara and Hattie Pitt. “Nothing doing,” he said. “Not till you’ve done your explaining.”
    â€œI saw you last night,” Clara told her. “With that man—trying to break into our house! Father thought you were looters, but I know you came for the baby.”
    â€œDenny’s no looter,” Hattie said, shaking her head. “And he’s not the kidnapper, either. And you’re the one that hit him with the fireplace poker, you wretched girl! You broke his arm, do you know that? Then the Borden brothers broke his other one—” she sank to the ground, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs—“as punishment!”
    Clara and Edgar exchanged a horrified look. Clara had not known she had the strength to break anyone’s arm. She had acted on impulse, and out of fear. But—what had Hattie said about punishment ? Who would deliberately set out to break a man’s bones?
    The baby was wailing now, a fretful wail that would soon bring Mother running out from the house. Clara thrust the baby into Edgar’s arms and knelt next to Hattie in the grass. “I think you’d better come inside and tell us the whole story,” Clara said sternly.
    Hattie Pitt lifted her head and nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes,” she said. “We must get Helen inside where no one can hear her.” She struggled to