The velvet caramel of her skin contrasted sharply with the stark white of the hospital blanket puddled around her.  Lucy held her large amber eyes with her own for long moments. Inhaling her soft fragrance, like… cinnamon was it? Lucy’s voice crooned a quiet hum soft as a butterfly wing. The tiny little heart-shaped face was upturned to her mother, her eyes following her every move.  It could have just been the two of them there for all the hustle and noise in the hallways around them.  The Presbyterian Hospital on East 68th was not old. It had been founded in 1868. The Sloane Hospital for Woman was added in 1925 and boasted one the country’s top obstetrics departments.  Lucy was both grateful and awed but the sheer size and operations of the hospital. It was fate really that had brought her here on this blustery day in March where, after several long hours of pain and white fingers, little Anne was placed in her arms and all such discomfort and anxiety was washed away.

“Lucy?”. Lucy looked up startled. Her husband Joe stood next to the bed holding his brown cap and a little tissue wrapped bouquet of delicate blossoms. 

“Lizzie and Bobby are outside. They told me to tell you they’ve some of that buttered nut bread you like and some jellied fruit. In fact old Mrs. Mcgillicutty is here too with some sort of bread. “, Joe’s voice trailed off. Lucy had looked back down at Anne’s face. Her lashes seem to quiver. He smiled gently into himself. She was a new mother after all. Jellied fruits could wait. He sank down onto a hard-wooden chair near the foot of her bed and waited. After a few minutes he quietly left her again to thank Bobby and Lizzie, their closest friends, and to inquire at the desk as to when they would be able to take little Anne Finnegan home.

Back in the room Lucy’s mind raced and quelled. Something nagged at her. Just in front of her yet still she could not see. She had not looked up when Joe had come. Her heart weighed heavy and sorrow coursed through her. He would notice. He would see. The fear. Just a little longer. Now that Anne is here.

The wheels turned swiftly in her mind. Counting back. The times she’d sat with Mrs. McGillicutty and shared hot mint tea and the small honey spiced cookies. They coated her tongue with memories of home. Pryaniki. How could an old woman from Queens know how to bake them? Her eyes followed Lucy’s as she nibbled them talking of the trees in Autumn and the way the steam rose from the river – reminding her of another river, black and wide. 

Next Chapter: Bobby and Lizzie, April 1934, New York