All the Stars in the Heavens Read Free Page A

She had blond ringlets and pink cheeks. Her costume sparkled with flecks of diamond dust, and woven through her hair was a garland of tiny stars, a crown fit for a princess. She extended her arms and smiled, looking in the direction of the camera, but not into the lens. Mae shook her head. “Who’s the blondie?”
    â€œThat’s my niece,” Ernie Traxler said. “Gretchen Young.”
    â€œShe’ll have my job one day,” Mae said as she stepped off the rest chair and entered the scene.

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    A lda Ducci gently bathed a newborn baby girl with a soft cotton cloth. She dipped the fabric into the clean, warm water, wringing it in one hand while keeping a firm hold on the infant.
    â€œ Che bella ,” she whispered.
    A nun helped the new mother into a fresh gown and rolled up the sheets, replacing them with clean white ones. She folded the old gown, rolled the sheets into a tight bundle, and turned to go, closing the door gently behind her.
    All evidence of the birth had been removed quickly and neatly.
    â€œHow is she, Sister?” the baby’s mother asked.
    â€œShe’s perfect,” Alda assured her. Alda wasn’t a nun yet but a novice in training, but to the unwed girls who gave birth at Saint Elizabeth’s, they all looked alike. The nuns and novices wore the same black work dresses, with a gray apron tied tightly over the top, their hair pinned back by a black veil.
    At twenty-five, Alda was ten years older than the mother of the baby.
    Saint Elizabeth’s Infant Hospital was a home for unwed mothers with a floor that served as a hospital where the girls delivered their babies. The home was run by the Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul, a Roman Catholic order of nuns with deep roots inItaly, devoted to the service of the poor. Their convent, chapel, ward, and hospital were contained in a large red brick building, situated in the heart of San Francisco. The operation blended into the city block without notice. Inside, there was rarely an empty bed.
    The light from the window threw a golden glow on the infant. Outside, the tap of car horns at the corner of Masonic Avenue seemed to herald the arrival of the girl.
    â€œMay I hold her?”
    â€œIt’s better if you don’t,” Alda said softly as she swaddled the infant.
    â€œPlease.” The young girl’s brown eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed with defiance. She straightened her dressing gown and pushed herself up in the bed. She sat up straight, to show Alda that she was up to the task of holding her own baby.
    Alda had helped deliver over a hundred babies at Saint Elizabeth’s. She was well schooled in the rules of the birthing ward and her religious order. She was never to hand the infant over to the mother, only to the nursery, where the baby had already been legally adopted through an outside service. In fact, at this moment, the baby’s new parents were waiting behind the wall to claim her.
    But in Alda’s experience as a midwife, not one young mother had ever asked to hold her baby. Most of the girls didn’t want to see their babies, or learn the sex. Some would quietly ask if the infant was “all right,” which was usually the extent of their curiosity.
    Alda believed their indifference masked a deeper pain, one that she prayed would lessen in the years to come. Most of the girls were eager to be done with the ordeal of childbirth and return to life as it had been before the baby. Their deepest hope was to forget their stay at Saint Elizabeth’s altogether.
    The nuns tried to make the girls’ stay in the home pleasant. They also did their best to encourage the girls to pray and develop a spiritual life. Every day, the girls were required to take in some sun, walk, and pray in the garden behind Saint Elizabeth’s.
    The meditation garden was enclosed by a tall wooden fence. The nuns had planted trumpet vines and morning glories that climbed