The Strange Case of Baby H Read Online Free

the dresser. Clara’s stomach clenched.
    Don’t be silly , she told herself. Delilah is only a doll . But she picked up Delilah’s headless body and laid it gently on the dresser top. She found Emmeline’s birthday present on the floor, covered with plaster. At least it wasn’t breakable, Clara thought, dusting off the velvet pouch.
    She’d decided to check on Emmeline even without Mother’s permission. She would go quickly so no one would miss her. She hurried the three blocks to Emmeline’s house, skirting piles of brick and stone. The smell of smoke was everywhere. Along the way, Clara saw families tending small campfires in their yards and sheltering under tents of sheets and tablecloths.
    But Emmeline’s house stood silent. Clara climbed the steep steps to the front door and knocked. While she waited for someone to respond, she leaned to the right to try to look inside the broken bay window.
    No one answered her knock. Could they be hurt? Or had they gone away?
    Clara ran around to the alley behind Emmeline’s house. The gate to Emmeline’s backyard hung off its hinges. No one was there. She hesitated, fingering the soft pouch in her skirt pocket. She would save it for Emmeline, for surely Emmeline would return—unhurt! She could not imagine a world without Emmeline in it—though that, of course, had once been true about Gideon, too. Clara and Emmeline had been best friends since they were eight years old. At Emmeline’s house they played with their paper dolls. At Clara’s house they played school, with Clara as the teacher. Clara, who hoped to go to college and become a real teacher when she grew up, enjoyed practicing on Emmeline.
    Clara bit her lip in worry as she headed home from Emmeline’s. Mother was waiting in front of their house, ready to scold, but shouts and alarm bells and the crash of falling masonry interrupted her tirade. Then—most frightening of all—came the sound of gunshots. As Mother and Clara hurried into the boardinghouse’s backyard, Hiram Stokes and Geoffrey Midgard returned with stories of soldiers shooting looters, and of the army ordering whole rows of homes that had survived the quake to be evacuated and dynamited to create firebreaks.
    Mother turned pale when she heard about the dynamiting. “Are homes in danger here?” she asked Mr. Stokes.
    â€œWind’s blowing the other way,” he said. “I think we’re safe enough.”
    â€œWe have to watch out for looters,” Father said. “Disaster brings out the best in people—and the worst. Some people will always take advantage of others’ misfortunes.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll stand guard.”
    He’ll sit guard , Clara thought. But she knew Father would be vigilant, and he would raise a huge cry if anyone tried to loot homes along their street. She felt safer knowing that Father would be watching.
    Mother was stirring up more porridge to supplement the cabbage and bean soup for their dinners. “There’s no running water in the house,” she announced to the lodgers. “But we do have our two rain barrels.”
    â€œWater mains are broken all over the city, ma’am,” Mr. Midgard informed her. “Here we are—a city fairly surrounded by water, but not a drop to drink.”
    â€œWell, then, we shall have to make the water in the rain barrels last,” Mother replied. “That will mean no baths.” Then she leaned over and murmured something to Father, and Father glanced at the rain barrels standing under the gutters by the back porch. He nodded and looked around at all the lodgers. Clara understood suddenly that Father would be guarding the water barrels as well.
    Mother told Clara to take down the sheets and blankets that had been airing all day and fold them to make pallets for their family and guests. Sighing, Clara looked around for the large wicker basket she had