"Do you think she didn't love Dr. Blackwell?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, my, who can say? With a man like that ... Well, you know what I mean."

"No, I don'st," Sarah said. "I never met Dr. Blackwell."

The nurse nodded knowingly. "Then you couldn't know. I only met him once, but I can see how he'd turn a girl's head," the nurse eagerly explained. "Right handsome he was, tall and dark, and dressed real smart in his fine clothes. Good manners, too, and well-spoken. Had a way of looking right at you, like he knew what was going on inside your head. Made my heart flutter a bit, I don't mind saying, even though I knowed he wasn't interested in me that way."

Sarah could hardly comprehend it. A man who took the time to charm the woman who was going to be his child's wet nurse. He must have been a master at beguiling women. Poor, tortured Letitia hadn't stood a chance.

"So Letitia fell in love with Dr. Blackwell," Sarah ventured.

"Or at least she thought she did. And only one person knows how he felt about her, but he's dead, now, ain't he?"

Sarah was fairly certain a man who could desert his first wife and family without a qualm would have no love to waste on anyone else, either.

"And after they were married, Mrs. Blackwell continued to speak at his lectures," Sarah said.

"Oh, yes, that she did. Didn't like it any better, but what could she do? He was her husband, and she didn't have any choice. And just between us"-she glanced around again and this time even leaned forward a bit, conspiratorially-"once they was married, he didn't have no more use for her except that, if you know what I mean."

"You mean he neglected her?"

"Something awful. Poor girl cried and cried many a night, according to her maid. If he cared for her at all, he'd forgot about it. Seemed like the only reason he'd married her was to make certain she'd keep speaking at his lectures. He was busy with his lady patients, keeping them happy and all, but he didn't have any time for her. Never even shared her bed, not hardly ever."

He must have managed it occasionally, Sarah thought, or she wouldn't have had his child. But all she said was, "How awful for her."

"Oh, my, yes. I guess it's no wonder she kept taking that awful morphine. She goes out every afternoon. Did you know? Tells everybody she's going to visit friends, but none of them ever returns the visits."

Sarah knew what this meant. Society demanded that formal visits be returned, and if they weren'st, the visitor was put on notice she was being snubbed and would not be welcomed back again. But perhaps there was another explanation.

"I thought she was visiting the poor or the sick."

"Every day?" the nurse scoffed. The nurse obviously believed this was more charity than anyone could offer, "I don't like to speak bad about someone who pays my wages, but her maid thinks she goes to one of them opium dens."

Since Sarah knew this was exactly where she went, she said nothing, managing to look shocked instead.

"You know what goes on in them places, don't you?" the nurse demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Sarah said.

The nurse was only too happy to enlighten her. "I don't know myself, of course, not from experience, but I've heard awful things. Like white women and Chinese men together, if you can imagine a white woman doing such a thing."

Sarah was saved from answering by the maid's return with the tea things. She'd lost her interest in socializing with the nurse any longer. She really did think it would be a good idea for Mrs. Blackwell to find someone else for the job, but it wasn't her decision. Could she suggest a change on the grounds that the woman gossiped too much? Or because she had no respect for her employer? Somehow Sarah doubted Mrs. Blackwell would care about such things. As long as her baby was doing well, she most likely wouldn't want to make the effort required to replace her. A change like that would be difficult for the child, too, and heaven knew, he was having a hard enough time without it.

Somehow Sarah managed to be civil to the nurse and to chat about inconsequential things while they drank their tea, but as soon as she could, she made her escape. She had, she told herself, simply been trying to obtain information that might help Malloy solve the case. Why, then, did she feel so soiled?

FRANK HADN'T REALLY expected his mother to accompany him when he took Brian to see the surgeon that Sarah Brandt had found for him. She did not approve of meddling with God's will, or so she said. Frank suspected she was really just terrified over what would become of her if the surgeon could make Brian's foot right and Frank didn't need her to take care of the boy anymore. He didn't know what she thought the surgeon could do for Brian's deafness or for the fact that he was only three years old and would need care for many years to come even if he was completely normal, but Frank also knew that reasoning with his mother was a waste of time.

What Frank hadn't given any thought to was how he was going to manage his son without his mother on the long trip uptown to the surgeon's office. He'd spent precious little time with the boy, and had no idea how to amuse a healthy three-year-old child, much less one who couldn't hear or walk. Fortunately, the trip alone was amusement enough to keep the boy entranced.

The loud noises of the city didn't bother Brian at all, because he couldn't hear them. The many people didn't frighten him because he thought all of them were his friends. And since he'd never been more than a few blocks from their flat, everything was new and different to him. He couldn't look at it all hard enough.

Frank carried the boy on his shoulders as he walked through the streets, giving him a wonderful view of everyone and everything. Brian bounced with joy when they got on the elevated train and the buildings outside began whizzing past the windows. His little head wasn't still for more than a second as he tried to take in every detail of the big, wonderful world out every possible window.

Seeing his excitement was an unexpected thrill for Frank, but the best part was the way the boy clung to him through it all, as if he were the child's anchor of security. He'd expected to feel apprehensive and nervous and even uncertain about having sole charge of his son for the day, and he did feel all of those things. What he hadn't expected was to feel loved and trusted and important, and he felt all of those things, too. Something in his chest swelled into a sweet ache, and as he held his son on his lap while the train sped high above the city streets, he felt an absurd urge to weep.

The surgeon's office was on a quiet, tree-lined street in the more genteel part of the city. Plainly, only people with the means to pay a high fee for medical care would even bother coming to this neighborhood. The building where the office was located was identified only by a discreet bronze plaque bearing the doctor's name.

Frank was never one to be intimidated by the rich, but he knew a moment's hesitation before he could bring himself to open the door to the office and step inside, as if he had a right to be there. He found Sarah Brandt already there, waiting for him.

"Malloy," she said, jumping to her feet and coming to meet them. He felt the usual unreasonable pleasure at seeing her.

He hadn't expected her to be there. She'd known when the appointment was scheduled, of course, since she'd set it up, but he hadn't asked her to come, and she hadn't mentioned that she planned to be there. He hadn't wanted to impose any more on her generosity, but he couldn't deny that he felt relieved that she had come.

"Isn't your mother with you?" she asked, looking around. "How did you manage with Brian by yourself?"

"I knocked him unconscious and threw him over my shoulder," he said blandly. "He wasn't much trouble at all after that."

She just gave him one of her looks, then flashed Brian one of her brilliant smiles. "Hello, there, young fellow. How are you today?"

Brian couldn't understand a word she said, of course, but he understood her smile. Maybe he even remembered her from when they'd met before. She'd given him a present, after all. That must have made an impression. The boy returned her smile with one equally bright and reached out to touch one of the red flowers on her hat.

She quickly tipped her head away, saving the flower from certain destruction, but she held her arms out to him. "Would you like me to hold you for a while? Your papa must be getting tired," she said, just as if the boy could hear her.

But he didn't need to hear the words. He knew what extended arms meant. He threw himself forward so hard Frank almost dropped him, but she caught him with no trouble at all and drew him into her arms.

"Oh, my, you're such a big boy," she said, settling him comfortably on her hip and starting to walk around the room so he could examine the few furnishings of the modestly appointed waiting room. She looked very natural, holding the boy like that, as if she did it all the time. Frank found that thought disturbing. "I can't imagine your mother letting you take him away like this without her," she said to Frank over her shoulder.

"She didn't like it, but when I told her this doctor might be able to fix Brian's foot, what could she say?"

"Didn't she want to come along?"

"She doesn't like to meet people who might make her feel like she isn't as good as they are," he said, knowing that wasn't exactly an accurate description but unable to truly explain his mother. "She probably thought the doctor would make her feel ignorant or might blame her for Brian being crippled."

"David isn't like that at all," she said.

"David?" he echoed, feeling an uncomfortable twinge that might have been jealousy if he'd had any right to be jealous of Sarah Brandt.

"David and my husband, Tom, were good friends," she said with a small smile.

Frank couldn't help wondering if he was good friends with her now, and he hated it that he wondered.

The door leading to an inner office opened and a woman in a nurse's uniform appeared. "Well, now this must be Brian," she said in that voice people used when speaking to young children.

"Brian can't hear you," Mrs. Brandt explained in the most natural way Frank could imagine. "He's deaf."

"He certainly is friendly anyway," the nurse replied, returning Brian's delighted grin of greeting. She turned to Frank. "And you must be Mr. Malloy. You can bring Brian back now, if you will. The doctor is ready for him."

Mrs. Brandt handed the boy back to Frank. She must've seen the uncertainty he was feeling, because she said, "It'll be all right. David is an excellent surgeon."

"Are you going to come in with us?" he asked, hoping his desperation didn't sound in his voice.

"If you'd like for me to," she replied with a smile. Did she actually look pleased to be asked or was he imagining it?

"I might not understand the medical stuff," he said by way of excuse.

She nodded in acceptance and led the way, following the nurse down a short, narrow corridor. The nurse paused outside a door and indicated they should enter.

Sarah Brandt went in first.

Dr. David Newton was a man approaching forty, tall and somewhat stoop-shouldered, and wearing a tailored suit that fit him so badly it looked as if it had been tailored for someone else. His hair and close-cropped beard were threaded with gray, but his eyes shone brightly as he jumped to his feet and came around his desk to greet his visitor.

"Sarah, my dear, how wonderful to see you," he said, taking her hand in both of his and gazing at her affectionately. Frank might have said "adoringly," if he was of such a mind. Or if he really was jealous.

"It's wonderful to see you, too, David. How are Anne and the children?"

"Anne is as sassy as ever, and the children have grown a foot since you saw them last. Anne said I must make you promise to come to dinner soon. We've missed you terribly."

"And I've missed you, too. Tell Anne I'll call on her next week, unless an onslaught of baby arrivals prevents me."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, then turned at last to where Frank had paused in the doorway.

"This is Frank Malloy and his son, Brian," she said. "Malloy, this is Dr. Newton."

Frank nodded, unable to shake hands because he was holding Brian, but the doctor didn't seem to be offended. "So glad you could come," he said, as if they'd been personally invited instead of making an appointment. "Please sit down and tell me all about young Brian here."

They took the chairs in front of Newton's desk while he resumed his place behind it, and Frank settled Brian on his lap.

"How old is Brian?" the doctor asked when they were all seated.

"A little over three," Frank replied.

"Has he had any medical treatment on his foot before now?"

"No," Frank said, feeling absurdly guilty. "When he was born, they said nothing could be done. A doctor told me that," he added defensively.

Dr. Newton didn't remark on this. He simply nodded his understanding. "Brian's mother isn't with you today?"

Frank ignored the pain he felt at the mention of Kathleen. "She ... she died when he was born."

Dr. Newton nodded again. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you know that Brian's condition would have no relationship to your wife's death. By that I mean that Brian's foot would have been like this regardless of how your wife fared during the birth. We believe that club-foot is caused by the way the child lies in the womb. We don't know for certain, of course, but that seems as good a reason as any for it to happen. The cause isn't quite as important, since we can't stop it from happening, but we do know some ways to treat it when it does, and to you that will be very important indeed."

"What can you do?" Frank asked, still not certain he believed Dr. Newton could do anything at all. "The other doctor said it was hopeless."

"Could I examine Brian's foot for a moment before I answer that question?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, of course," Frank said.

"Let's take him into the examining room, shall we?"

The examining room was a small, sterile chamber containing a metal table and a couple of tall cabinets. Frank set Brian on the table and stood beside him, holding him so he wouldn't fall or try to get away. The boy sat quietly, as he always did, looking at Frank uncertainly but not at all frightened.

Dr. Newton poked and prodded Brian's leg and foot, then tapped his knees with a small hammer and made his legs jerk. Brian looked up in surprise when his leg moved as if of its own volition, and he grinned when the doctor made it move again. The doctor made the examination a game, tickling Brian and letting him hold the tiny hammer when he was finished with it.

After a few minutes he turned to Frank. "Your son is very fortunate, Mr. Malloy. I've seen feet much more severely disfigured than his. I believe that with surgery, we can repair most of the damage and that Brian will even be able to walk. He might have a slight limp or have to wear a special shoe on that foot, but he will walk."

Frank felt such a rush of emotion, he could hardly breathe. Relief and amazement and suspicion and a terrible rage. "Why did that other doctor tell me there was nothing he could do?" he demanded furiously.

Dr. Newton didn't look like he'd taken offense. "I'm afraid I can't speak for my colleague. Perhaps he was simply unaware of the advances that have been made or of the newer techniques."

This was, of course, the politic answer, the kind of answer Frank would have given if asked why one of his colleagues had failed to solve a case or had taken a bribe to make sure a case wasn't solved at all. It didn't make Frank feel any less angry, but at least he knew that Dr. Newton was an honorable man. And a modest one, too. He could have said he was just smarter than the quack Frank had consulted.

"What will you have to do to the boy's foot?" he asked.

Dr. Newton explained as simply as he could how he would cut and sew and rearrange the various parts of Brian's foot to make it whole, answering Frank's questions patiently.

Frank couldn't help wondering how patient the doctor would have been with the likes of Frank Malloy if Sarah Brandt hadn't brought him in herself, but he didn't let that stop him from making sure he understood everything as well as was possible.

Then he asked the doctor about his fees, and Dr. Newton replied straightforwardly, as if it never occurred to him that Frank wouldn't be able to pay them. Frank had been right, the reward in the Blackwell case would go a long way toward paying the good doctor.

"I'll bring you the money tomorrow," Frank said.

"There's no need to pay me until I do the surgery," the doctor assured him with a smile. "Shall we look at my schedule and see when we can fit Brian in?"

A few minutes later they were outside on the street, with the surgery scheduled toward the end of the month. Frank hoisted Brian onto his shoulder again, and he resumed looking at everything around him with the greatest fascination.

"Was he very upset when you took him away from your mother today?" Mrs. Brandt asked.

"I expected he'd throw a fit," Frank admitted, "but he just wrapped his arms around my neck so tight I thought I'd strangle and never even looked back."

"That's how much he loves you, Malloy," she said wisely. "He had no idea where you were taking him or why. He just wanted to go with you. He was willing to give up the only security he's ever known just for the chance to have your attention."

Frank felt a suspicious burning behind his eyes, but he blinked a couple of times until it went away. He had to clear his throat before he could say, "It was good of you to come today."

"Don't think I did it out of kindness, Malloy," she cautioned him. "I was as anxious as you to find out if David could do anything for Brian."

They walked a few steps in silence before Frank came up with the right combination of words. "I looked into your husband's file."

"His file?" she asked in confusion.

"The police file. To see what they found out when they investigated his murder, if they had any idea who might've done it."

Her fine eyes lit with interest. "What did you find out?"

"Not much," he said, resigning himself to her instant disappointment. "You were right. Without a reward being offered, there wasn't any reason to solve the case, so nobody tried very hard."

She sighed, and he thought she blinked a little harder than she usually did. "I suppose it's far too late to investigate now. After three years ..."

Frank cleared his throat again. "I was wondering ..."