The midwife finally smiled. “She will greatly benefit from iron-rich foods. As much as she can handle. Which is difficult, I understand, in the early weeks when it’s hard to keep anything down at all. But maybe with support from her friends, she’ll be able to do it. Spinach. Beans. Red meat. Fish. Chocolate.”

Gladys’s chest puffed out at that last word. “We’ll have no problem getting chocolate for her. I have some squirreled away.”

Margaret nodded. “And I’m sure we can trade some ration coupons for the other items. Certainly we could find someone willing to trade coffee coupons for spinach.”

George came to mind. He would do anything for Dottie. But Margaret wouldn’t want to take advantage of his generosity that way. How would he even take the news that Dottie was with child? Though he would never interfere with her engagement to John, certainly the discovery would have a finality to it that made Margaret sad for him. If John weren’t her brother, if he and Dottie weren’t so in love, she would have been happy to see her and George together.

Gladys pulled her arm from Margaret’s.

“She’s going to stay with me,” she declared.

Margaret looked at her, surprised. Though she lived alone—the only girl they knew who did—Gladys’s basement room was barely large enough for one. It housed her small bed, a couch she’d rescued from a sidewalk, a table, and a cabinet whose doors were missing. By some miracle, though, she had her own shower and toilet and didn’t have to share that with anyone else in the brownstone. Which made it all worth it.

Despite the limitations, she’d turned her place into something that felt surprisingly homey. Her flair for embellishment came not only from her mouth but also from her hands. Still, Margaret couldn’t imagine how another person could fit.

“But you said there were places she could get help,” said Margaret.

“There are. And I’ve visited some of them. They’re all right when there are no other options and they mean very well. But now that I’m picturing her in one of them, I’m not sure I can stomach it. I’d rather be squeezed than to feel guilty when I could have done something.”

“Where would she sleep?” asked Margaret.

“On the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’d thought about this before, but she could come to our house. And stay in John’s room. That would seem fitting.”

“And you can somehow promise her that your parents won’t tell her parents that she is expecting a baby?”