Keeping Lucy

by T. Greenwood

  “Is Ab at the house?” Ginny asked as she loaded her bags and kids into the car.

  Sylvia took a deep breath and motioned for Ginny to buckle her seat belt.

  “Have the children had breakfast?” she asked. “Rosa made some muffins. They’re in that bag.”

  With that, she started the car and they made their way out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  “I didn’t think you drove,” Ginny said as Sylvia navigated the heavy Boston traffic.

  “I started driving a tractor when I was ten years old,” she said, lips pursed. “Just because I don’t drive doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

  Ginny imagined the worst-case scenario. That Sylvia was going to drive them straight to Willowridge, to hand-deliver her criminal daughter-in-law to the authorities. That Lucy would be ripped from her arms and returned to that awful place. She thought that Abbott Senior had lied to her simply to get her home. That despite everything, Ab had been complicit in all of this.

  But as she studied the road signs, she realized that Sylvia was not headed to Willowridge.

  “Sylvia, I think you missed the exit,” she said, watching as they blew past the ramp. They weren’t headed to Dover either. Instead, they were hurtling south.

  Sylvia gripped the wheel tightly and sighed. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked impatiently. “Maybe you should just take a little nap. There’s a blanket back there you can use as a pillow.”

  “Sylvia?” she said, but it was clear that Sylvia was not going to offer any answers for the million questions running through Ginny’s head. And she was exhausted, the humming of the engine lulling her to a dreamy sort of state as she tried to keep her eyes open.

  “Are we going to the Cape?” Ginny asked. She thought of the little weathered cottage at the shore. The place where she and Ab had made love for the first time, where he had proposed. Why on earth was she bringing her there?

  Sylvia stared at the road, scowling. “It’s in terrible shape, falling down, really. I could never understand why Ab loved it so much. Though he’s always been able to see the potential in things, I suppose.”

  The idea then struck Ginny that perhaps Abbott Senior had changed his mind. That the police were coming. Was Sylvia offering her a place to hide out? This was crazy. She couldn’t keep living like this. Abbott Senior had promised. He’d given her his word. She’d agreed to keep quiet in exchange for her daughter. For her son.

  “Sylvia, I think maybe we should go back home. Let me talk to Ab…”

  Sylvia turned to her suddenly, and she looked almost angry. “You think you know me? That you have me figured out?”

  Ginny shook her head. Startled by the sharpness of her words, an accusation.

  “We’re the same, Virginia. You and I. I spent my whole girlhood wishing myself away from the life I’d been given. The moment I turned eighteen I took off, went to New York. Became someone else. But when I met Abbott, he swept me off my feet. He offered me the world that I thought I wanted all this time.”

  Ginny’s throat felt swollen.

  “It’s not without its blessings,” she said. “Our sons. Our beautiful home, of course. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But just because a husband provides financial security does not mean he provides love.”

  Ginny felt a sudden urge to touch Sylvia, to hold her. But Sylvia was still gripping the wheel tightly.

  “Women of my generation,” she continued, “did not have the choices you have. The opportunities.”

  Choices. There was that word again. Did Ginny really have choices? She’d felt as though she had no say, no sway. This was how she’d wound up where she was for the last month.

  “When I lost my son,” Sylvia said, “I almost left. Abbott didn’t want to talk about him. He wanted to pretend that he’d never existed. It was too difficult, too shameful. He saw Paul’s death as a personal failure.”

  Ginny wondered if this was how Ab felt about Lucy. If he felt culpable for her disability. She knew she had blamed herself, but had he also felt that impossible burden of guilt?

  “I wanted to leave him. I wanted to take Ab and go. But where would I have gone? I had a child to care for. I had no choice.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Ginny asked as Sylvia put on her blinker and began to exit the desolate interstate.

  “Because the sins of the father need not belong to the son.”

  * * *

  The dirt road was riddled with bumps. Both children were jostled about in the backseat.

  “Where are we going, Grandma?” Peyton asked.

  Ab was outside the cottage when Sylvia pulled into the grassy drive. He had an ax and was splitting a thick log, one of a hundred in a pile by the back door.

  Ginny’s heart swelled as he stopped what he was doing and looked at them. The sorrow, the sorry, in his eyes.

  Peyton threw open the back door and ran toward his father, Ab scooping him up in a bear hug, ruffling his hair. Arthur came bounding out of the woods that bordered the property.

  Ginny got out of the front seat and moved around to the back, opening the door and reaching in for Lucy.

  Lucy, as always, clung to her, burying her face in Ginny’s chest.

  Ab lowered Peyton down to the ground, and Peyton took off running with Arthur to a pile of leaves Ab had clearly raked up for the sole purpose of jumping into. Sylvia got out of the driver’s-side door and moved to the trunk, which she popped open. From the trunk she withdrew two grocery bags Ginny hadn’t noticed before and disappeared into the house.

  Ginny stood by the car, holding Lucy tightly as Ab made his way slowly toward them.

  “Hi,” he said, his mouth twitching.

  “Hi,” she returned.

  “Hello, Lucy,” he said. At the sound of her name Lucy lifted her head.

  Ab’s eyebrows raised. His chin quivered like his son’s so often did, and he looked like he might cry. He held out his hand tentatively, reaching for her small one.

  She accepted his hand, and Ginny saw Ab trembling as he studied her tiny fingers. Lucy gripped his hand tightly.

  “What’s going on, Ab?” she asked. “Why are we here?”

  He looked up at Ginny. “I quit the firm.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I told my father that if he insisted on defending the school, I would resign.”

  “He’s going forward?”

  Ab nodded. “But I’ve reached out to the parent group. Offered my legal assistance. Pro bono.”

  “Really?” she asked. “What did he say?”

  He shook his head. “Let me worry about my father.”

  “But what will you do? For work?” Ab had been immersed in the law for seven years.

  “I’ve spoken to the folks at Legal Aid here. They’re always looking for attorneys. I’d like to sell the house in Dover. We can use the equity to winterize the cabin here. Add on if you like? There are over two acres of land. We could have a garden. Also, there’s a library in town; I’m sure with your experience you could get a job if you want one.”

  Ginny’s eyes filled with tears.

  “We’re just an hour from Boston, from Children’s Hospital. They are so appreciative of Mother’s philanthropy; they promised Lucy will get the best care. And your mother spoke to her cardiologist, who recommended a wonderful pediatric cardiologist at Children’s to head up her team.”

  “But what about school? Where will Peyton go to first grade?”

  “There’s an elementary school here. And even better, there’s a school for Lucy. When she’s older. In East Sandwich. It’s called Riverview.”

  Ginny felt her shoulders stiffen. Another “school”?

  “It’s a boarding school, but they also accept day students. It’s for children like Lucy. The teachers are trained to help children with special needs.”

  Ginny searched for something in Ab’s eyes, some sort of hesitation or reluctance. But she saw nothing but earnestness.

  Arthur came tearing
around the corner again, tongue hanging down in sheer canine bliss.

  “Besides, Arthur loves it here!” Ab said matter-of-factly.

  “Really, Ab? Live here?” she asked, still stunned. As if her whole world had suddenly cracked open like an egg, and inside was a shimmery golden possibility.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” he asked. “Just a simple life?”

  She thought about want. About need. About how humble her wants were, but how hard they had been to fulfill.

  Peyton and Arthur came running and tumbling, both covered with brittle leaves and dirt. Lucy giggled and looked up at the sky. Ginny and Ab followed her gaze, looking for that guidepost, that beacon. Sure enough, there was a tiny sliver of a moon still in the sky. Just the memory of a moon.

  “Moon,” Lucy said.

  “Well, not only are you a great beauty, but so smart, too!” Ab said.

  “I’m scared, Ab,” Ginny said.

  “Me, too.” He nodded, reaching for her. “But it’ll be okay.”

  “My moon,” Lucy announced.

  “Yes, it is,” Ginny said, her chest swollen with pride. With love. With hope. “It’s all yours.”

  Author’s Note

  In March 1971, the Lowell Sun ran a multipart series of articles exposing the horrific living conditions at the Belchertown State School for the Feeble-Minded, a state-run institution in Belchertown, Massachusetts. The articles revealed an understaffed facility, ill-equipped to manage the needs of its residents. Living in filth and squalor, the residents were treated more like animals than humans. The photos that accompanied the article are haunting, daunting. At Belchertown, the most vulnerable members of society were no more than criminals in a virtual prison.

  Because of this exposé, parents of the residents at the so-called school were galvanized to file a class-action lawsuit against the institution. This effort was led by author Benjamin Ricci, who had relinquished his own six-year-old son to school in 1953 when he was denied access to a public education. Ricci would later write about this ordeal and the atrocities his son suffered at Belchertown in his book Crimes Against Humanity: A Historical Perspective. The Riccis, like many parents, were forced to surrender their custodial rights to their son, committing rather than admitting him to the school. The Belchertown parents had no idea they were condemning their children to a life of agony and neglect, even abuse, by those charged with their care.

  This was at a time when civil rights for African Americans were at the forefront of the country’s consciousness. And this struggle for human rights and human dignity began to filter into other parts of society, the so-called mentally defective being one of them. However, it was still often the case that parents were encouraged to relinquish their mentally disabled children at birth “for the sake of the family.” And so, this is where Keeping Lucy begins, with the birth of such a child. A child who is deemed a burden rather than a gift.

  Keeping Lucy is a work of fiction, and Willowridge is a product of my imagination, but Ginny Richardson’s fight to save her daughter is grounded in the struggle of each of those Belchertown parents who fought tirelessly for the rights of their sons and daughters in a time when children with special needs were considered less than human. It is also about Lucy’s mother, Ginny, a woman, like so many women at that time in history, fighting for her own rights. Finding her own voice in a world not yet ready to listen.

  Read on for an excerpt of T. Greenwood’s stunning novel

  RUST & STARDUST

  Sally

  The next day, the last day of school, Sally sat in the front row of her fifth-grade class. She liked to be close to Mrs. Appleton, who was sweet and smelled exactly like green apples, which Sally thought was maybe how she’d gotten her name. Mrs. Appleton always called on Sally when she raised her hand and often asked her to come to the chalkboard to work out a math problem or diagram a sentence. Sally loved school, loved learning. She was always the first to raise her hand in class (though never with answers, only questions, questions), ignoring the collective rolling of her classmates’ eyes.

  Yes, Sally? Mrs. Appleton might ask.

  How many stars are there? In the Milky Way? Has anyone counted?

  No one knows for sure. Millions, I suppose. Does anyone else have questions?

  Sally’s hand would shoot up again. Why are some of them brighter than others?

  Well, distance, for one. Stars that are closer to us seem to shine brighter. But some are simply more luminous.

  And Sally would carry this knowledge with her, the word “luminous” at the tip of her tongue.

  “You look luminous, Mama,” she might say to her mother, Ella, as she worked at her sewing machine at home, leaning in to embrace her hunched shoulders.

  “Oh hush, Sally. That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s luminous,” she might say to Susan, as she painted the nursery a bright lemon yellow. And Susan would smile and touch her round belly. “Why, yes it is, Sally. That’s exactly what it is.”

  At school, Sally liked to be front and center, where her view was unobstructed by anyone or anything. It had been her habit since she first started school. But today, Sally wished she could disappear into the back of the room, because it felt like she was the obstruction and twenty pairs of eyes were boring through her skull.

  Vivi sat next to her (by assignment, not by design). She was always in the periphery of Sally’s vision, but Sally never dared turn her head, to be caught staring at her. Though now, as Mrs. Appleton rifled through her desk drawer for something, Vivi leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Did that old man take you to the police?” she asked.

  Sally felt her face redden; her ears were so hot they itched. She shook her head. The girls hadn’t forgotten her. At least Vivi hadn’t.

  Sally turned to look at Vivi, whose face seemed full of genuine concern. Perhaps she could tell her what the man had said, about reporting to him after school. Maybe she could share the promise she’d made to meet him, so that he wouldn’t send her to a reformatory. But she had sworn to him that she wouldn’t say a word. She hadn’t even told her mother. Would he know if she told Vivi? She was then struck with the thought that he’d gotten hold of Vivi, too, and this was part of the test. Or worse, what if the man wasn’t with the FBI at all, but rather someone Bess and Irene had convinced to trick her? What if this initiation was all a cruel joke? She didn’t know which would be worse.

  “Well?” Vivi insisted, but then Mrs. Appleton found what she’d been looking for and scowled at the girls over the tops of her dusty glasses.

  “Tell me later?” Vivi asked, and Sally nodded.

  But later, at recess, at lunch, and when the final school bell of the year rang out, Sally didn’t say a word. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Vivi, or anyone, what had happened, as if saying it aloud might conjure him again. Perhaps, if she never spoke of it, she could somehow undo it. Make him disappear back into the ether from which he came. And so when the final bell rang, she hid in a stall in the bathroom until the girls were all gone, until the hallways were empty, until she was pretty sure that no one but she and the teachers and the janitor remained. Then she slipped down the hall to the front doors. It crossed her mind that she might be able to hide here for the whole summer while school was out. She could eat in the cafeteria, sleep on the lumpy couch in the teachers’ lounge. She would be safe here. Safe and sound. She shook her head. She was being silly. She needed to just go home.

  As she walked out the front door, she gasped when someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.

  “Sally,” Mrs. Appleton said. “Have a wonderful summer, dear.”

  Sally muttered, “Thank you,” then took a deep breath and peered up and down the street. She expected he’d be standing by the big cherry tree, maybe with a police car or whatever the men from the FBI drove. But the only car on the street was covered in rotting blossoms. It hadn’t moved in weeks.

  Was it possible he wouldn’t come for he
r? That he’d only meant to scare her? She was a child, after all. Just a girl. The realization of this made her feel ashamed at her silliness, at her gullibility. Maybe it had all been a trick played on her. A cruel one, but just a prank.

  She looked down the street again and, with a shuddering sort of cry, she wiped at her eyes and started to walk home. With each step farther away from school, the more certain she became. A rotten trick. Bess and Irene, such vicious girls. But Vivi, at least, had been considerate, the only one to check on her after. Vivi lived just a few blocks away from Sally’s house; Sally thought maybe she’d walk down and knock on her door one day soon. See if she might like to go to the swimming pool at Farnham Park. She’d need to get a new swimsuit, though; the one from last year was busting at the seams. She wondered if Vivi liked to go to the movies. Sally adored the picture shows. Homecoming with Clark Gable and Lana Turner was in the theaters now. Clark Gable was so handsome. But not as handsome as Cary Grant. She saw The Bishop’s Wife just last year with Susan, and they both swooned.

  She began to skip. It was summer vacation. The months ahead held nothing but possibility.

  When she got to the corner where she normally turned to head home, she briefly considered going on to the Woolworth’s, where she was now almost positive Bess and Irene and the others were laughing at her expense over dripping hot fudge sundaes. She could imagine Vivi reprimanding them, defending Sally. Saying that Sally was actually really pretty keen. How wonderful would it be to show up, to sit down next to them, and say, You got me! Wouldn’t that be grand? She giggled thinking of it, even pantomimed their surprise.

  “Sally,” he said, stepping in front of her.

  Her heart stopped like a cork in her throat.

  He was wearing the same pale blue shirt and black jacket as yesterday, his tie knotted loosely. In the bright sunlight she could see his face more clearly now, though he still wore the broad-brimmed fedora. The scar on his face she’d noticed before was also sharper, slicing his cheek in two like a jigsaw puzzle.