Merry Mary

by Ashley Farley

  “There are plenty of programs in Richmond that’ll help you start a new life.”

  “What good’s a new start gonna do an eighty-year-old woman like me?” Gripping her backpack close to her body with her left hand, Mabel scooped up a spoonful of soup with her right and gnawed on a piece of meat with the few teeth she had left.

  Scottie reached across the island for her purse. “Here, let me give you something to help.” She had only forty dollars left after paying the power bill, but this woman clearly needed it more.

  Mabel held up her hand. “Nah, I didn’t come here for money. I came here ‘bout the baby.”

  Scottie looked over at Mary, who was quietly playing with the toy bar on the bouncy seat. “She’s so quiet. Is she always so good?”

  “Pretty much.” Mabel set her spoon down in the soup bowl and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, ignoring the napkin Scottie had given her. “She won’t be no trouble for you. What’s one more mouth to feed when you already got a litter?” she asked as she glanced around the room.

  Realizing that Mabel had made an assumption based on all the baby paraphernalia, Scottie said, “I don’t have any children. At least not yet.” She set the two twenties on the counter in front of Mabel. “I lost a baby back in the spring, which is why I have all this stuff.”

  Mabel reached for Scottie’s hand, her calloused fingers rough against Scottie’s soft palm. “God bless you, girl. I never have understood the ways of the Lord. So many needy chil’run running around the world when fine folks like you have empty homes.”

  Scottie blinked back the tears. “I haven’t seen anything on the news. Do the police know about the baby?”

  “If they do, they ain’t heard it from us.”

  “They’ll be able to tell from the autopsy, if they don’t already know,” Scottie said.

  “Whatcha talking about, Camera Lady?” Mabel said, raising an unkempt eyebrow at Scottie. “The City ain’t wasting their money on no autopsy for the homeless.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can keep this baby, Ma—” Scottie stopped herself from calling the woman Mabel. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s better that way.” The old woman slurped down another spoonful of stew. “Give me one good reason you can’t keep the baby. You got a nice home and a fine-looking husband.” She aimed a gnarled finger at a group of photographs on the table beside the sofa.

  “I can’t keep a child that doesn’t belong to me,” Scottie said. “How would I prove she’s mine?”

  “You can buy anything you need on the street. Drugs. Documents. Somebody to off your husband if you need the life insurance.”

  “And when the police find out I took the baby, they’ll charge me with kidnapping. Can I buy a Get Out of Jail Free card on this street corner you’re talking about?”

  “You ain’t listening to me, girl.” Mabel’s nostrils flared. “The five-o don’t know nothing ‘bout the baby.”

  “Okay, listen.” Scottie held her palms out as a signal for the old woman to settle down. “My husband’s out of town. He doesn’t even know about the baby yet. I’ll get in touch with you once I make my decision.”

  Mabel got to her feet. “Decision’s done been made for you. Yest’day, when the Lord sent you to the park to find this baby.” The old woman turned her back on Scottie and headed down the hall to the front of the house.

  “Wait a minute.” Scottie caught up with her. “What’s the baby’s name?”

  “Ain’t got no name. Trisha just called her baby.”

  “You mean there’s no name on the birth certificate?”

  Mabel shook her head in despair. “I mean there’s no birth certificate. We delivered the baby in the park ourselves, four months ago on August 24, hottest day of the year.”

  6

  Scottie watched Mabel walk down the sidewalk in the snow until she was out of sight. She closed the door and leaned against it for support.

  Was she seriously considering raising this child as her own?

  Who are you kidding, Scottie? The idea has been in the back of your mind from the beginning, waiting for encouragement from you to emerge.

  To avoid thinking about Mabel’s visit, Scottie focused on unpacking the car, putting away her purchases, and straightening the kitchen. She was shocked to see the twenty-dollar bills still sitting on the counter. Disappointed, because she wanted to do something nice for the old woman, but humbled by the realization that nothing she could do would help.

  She studied Mary’s sweet face as she was feeding her a bottle. Why hadn’t Trisha named her baby? Did she have some kind of premonition about her own death? Was she avoiding bonding with the child, knowing Child Protective Services might take her away? How sad, not only that this innocent child had no name but that she’d lived the first months of her life in filth. With no record of her birth, Mary did not exist, as least not as far as the Commonwealth of Virginia was concerned.

  How was it fair that homeless women gave birth to nameless children when intelligent women of reasonable means suffered miscarriage after miscarriage?

  By the time Scottie had finished feeding and bathing the baby, she was ready for a hot shower and a rest. Dressed in yoga pants and one of Brad’s UVA sweatshirts, she started a load of laundry, made herself a chicken salad sandwich, and stretched out on the couch with the new John Grisham novel. When Mary woke around three o’clock, at least two inches of snow had fallen, with more on the way according to the radar. Scottie dressed Mary in one of her new outfits, a soft pink sleeper with an angel embroidered on the front. Despite the lack of natural daylight, she snapped dozens of photographs of the baby in different positions around the family room—images for Scottie to remember her by in the event she had to give her back.

  When the doorbell rang around five, Scottie tiptoed to the front of the house and peeked through the peephole. She opened the door for her brother. “What’re you doing here, Will?”

  He stumbled into the foyer with a six-pack of Miller Lite tucked under his arm. Snow coated his dark hair, like vanilla icing on a chocolate cake. “I got stranded. Can I crash on your couch tonight?”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “In the parking deck at work.” He wriggled out of his Barbour coat and kicked his boots off in the corner. “The office closed because of the weather, so Hank and I decided to go to Sullivan’s for an early happy hour.”

  She glanced at her watch. “You mean a late lunch. It’s only five fifteen now.” As much as she loved her younger brother, she occasionally found his party-time attitude tiresome. Will worked as an analyst for one of the brokerage firms by day, but at night he turned into a playboy. He needed to find a nice girl and settle down. “Did you walk all the way here from Sullivan’s?”

  He shook his head. “Hank gave me a ride.”

  “Why didn’t he just take you home?”

  “Because he was headed in the opposite direction.” He yanked a lock of her hair. “What’s the matter, aren’t you happy to see me?” Without waiting for her answer, Will took off down the hallway toward the back of the house.

  “Will, wait,” she called after him. “You can’t just come busting in here anytime you please.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the baby bobbing up and down in her bouncy seat. “What’s that?” Will asked, pointing at Mary as though he’d never seen a baby.

  “A baby. Duh.”

  “Yeah, but whose?”

  “Anna’s, you idiot. That’s Emily,” Scottie said, surprised at how easy the lies flowed from her lips. “I’m babysitting for her while Anna’s out of town.”

  Will narrowed his eyes. “I thought Emily had dark hair.”

  “No. She has blonde hair like her grandmother.”

  He looked doubtful. “I know for a fact that Anna’s mother’s hair is gray.”

  “Maybe now it is, but her hair was blonde before she got old.” Scottie took the six-pack of beer from him and set it on the kitchen
counter.

  “Speaking of Anna’s mother, why isn’t Lula keeping Emily?”

  “I don’t know, Will. What’s with the million questions? Lula is probably in New York having her gray hair styled or finishing her Christmas shopping.”

  He knelt down in front of Mary. “You sure are a cute little thing. Yes you are,” he said in the same goo-goo voice he used with his hunting dogs. Mary offered him a toothless grin and he chucked her chin. “I think she likes me.”

  Scottie rolled her eyes. “Most women do.”

  Will straightened. “I’m starving. Will you make me a pizza?”

  “I never said you could stay, Will. I’m kind of in the middle of something, in case you haven’t noticed.” She reached across the counter for her cell phone. “Why don’t I order you an Uber?”

  He laughed. “Don’t bother. Thanks to the weather, there’s at least a two-hour wait for Uber.” He popped open a Miller Lite and took a long swill. “I’ll find a ride home from somebody, after you feed me.”

  “Fine.” She yanked open the freezer door. “But the dough will take a few minutes to thaw.” She removed the plastic-wrapped ball of dough and submerged it in a sink full of warm water.

  “That gives me time to get acquainted with Emily.” Will turned on Scottie’s whole-house audio system, unstrapped the baby from the bouncy seat, and danced her around the room to the music of Glen Miller’s In the Christmas Mood. Mary threw back her head and belly laughed with glee.

  “Careful you don’t drop her, Will. You don’t have a lot of experience with babies.” Her tone was warning, but she couldn’t help but smile. Her brother acted like a child himself at times.

  Will continue to twirl Mary about the room while Scottie rolled out the dough and covered it with tomato sauce, layers of mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni. After sliding the pizza into the preheated oven, she held her arms out for Mary. “Give me the baby, Will. You’re making her dizzy.”

  To Will’s delight, the baby burst into tears when he handed her to Scottie.

  “He’s no good for you, Mary. He’ll break your heart and leave you in a puddle of tears.”

  Will dropped his smile as his body grew still. “Did you just call the baby Mary?”

  “I don’t know, did I?” Scottie turned her back on him so he couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. She busied herself with making a bottle. “I hold a lot of babies when I volunteer in the nursery at church.”

  When her remark seemed to pacify him, he slid onto a barstool and popped open another beer. “I’m not sure all this babysitting is such a good idea, Scottie. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You’ve already been through so much.”

  She waved away his concern with a flick of the wrist. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle it.” She took the baby and the bottle to the sofa across the room. Patting the cushion beside her, she said, “Come, talk to me while I feed Emily.”

  He joined her on the sofa. “What’s different about this room?” He looked around at the bright paintings on the wall. “It’s warm and cozy in here, happy even.” He snapped his fingers. “I know what it is. You finally took down those depressing photographs.”

  “Art is intended to move the observer. If the photographs of my homeless people depress you, I’ve done my job. At least I know the title of my series, Lost Souls, is well suited.”

  “It’s not that your photographs aren’t good. I just think looking at them day in and out might bring you down. Why don’t you hang them in a gallery somewhere?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “When is Anna coming back, anyway? You’re not taking care of Emily all weekend, are you?”

  “Maybe. David’s mother is in the hospital. They drove up to Baltimore to see her. They only planned to be gone overnight, but with this weather, they may need to stay longer.” Guilt washed over Scottie as she buried herself in yet another layer of lies.

  “What’s wrong with David’s mother?”

  “I’m not sure, something about an irregular heartbeat.”

  Will spread his arms wide at all the baby stuff cluttering the room. “Not that I really care, but how does Brad feel having his home turned into Romper Room?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  Will squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

  “He’s in California visiting his family. See, having Emily here is a good thing. She’s keeping me company while he’s gone.”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t covering the mall shooting in Kentucky,” he said.

  What mall shooting in Kentucky? She’d been so preoccupied with the baby she hadn’t watched the national news or looked at social media in twenty-four hours. Staying on top of breaking news was vital to her success.

  Scottie managed to keep a straight face. “I’m taking some time off for the holidays.”

  Will studied her closely, as if searching for the truth. They weren’t in the habit of lying to one another. Scottie seldom took time off from her job, her one element of gratification in an otherwise dismal existence.

  Will burped the baby while Scottie got up to remove the pizza from the oven. He ate four slices and exchanged texts with his fan club while she finished feeding Mary her bottle.

  “I’m worried about you, sis,” he said, tossing his last bite of crust on his plate and setting it on the coffee table. “I’m not buying this baby thing. I know you well, and you are not a good liar.” Their eyes locked, and they communicated in their silent understanding the way they’d done all their lives. She wasn’t ready to tell him the truth, even though she knew he’d support her regardless of her crime.

  “I appreciate your concern, Will, but everything is fine. The only problem we have to worry about is what to give Mom for Christmas.

  He grimaced. Shopping for their mother was the most stressful part of the holidays. She already owned everything she needed or wanted. Yet the one year she’d insisted they save their money—and they’d complied—she made them suffer until Easter.

  The doorbell rang and Scottie jumped up, ready to escape the backdoor with the baby.

  “Chillax, Scott, that’s just my ride.” He kissed her cheek before he rose to leave. “If you need me, call me. You have my number.”

  “Me, and every other woman on the planet.”

  * * *

  Scottie buried her head in the sand by avoiding all sources of the news, both local and worldwide, the television as well as the pinging and dinging of her cell phone. She didn’t want to hear about the dead body found in Monroe Park any more than she wanted to be alerted when the police discovered the baby missing. Mabel had planted the seed of hope that she might be able to keep the baby, and her overactive imagination was providing the fertilizer for that seed to grow. With any luck, the whole situation would blow over. The medical examiner would save taxpayer dollars and declare the cause of death hypothermia without performing an autopsy. The police would drop their investigation, and Scottie would pay a thousand dollars for a forged birth certificate that claimed Mary Evelyn Darden the daughter of Virginia Scott Westport Darden and Bradford James Darden.

  7

  “Scottie rushed to the toilet and shoved the pregnancy test stick between her legs to catch the stream of her concentrated morning pee. She set the stick on the counter and paced in tiny circles while she waited for the results. When a blue plus sign appeared, she dropped to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. Her excitement was clouded by dread of the long months ahead. The constant fear of miscarriage and the anxious visits to the doctor. How would she survive another heartbreak?

  When she heard the baby cry, she went to her, lifting her from her crib and holding her tight. “Hear that, little one. You’re going to have a baby sister or a brother.” A thought occurred to her. “If it’s a boy, the two of you will be Irish twins like Will and me. Isn’t that exciting?”

  The baby grinned a toothless grin, then poked out her lower lip and beg
an to cry for her bottle.

  The storm had moved out of the area overnight, but the sky was still gray. The roads would remain slick with temperatures not expected to rise above thirty. “Looks like we’re stuck inside today, Merry Mary. Might as well make the most of it.”

  Mary bounced up and down in her bouncy seat and stared at the lights on the Christmas tree while Scottie worked in Photoshop scrolling through her images of the Lost Souls. She needed only two more photographs to complete her homeless series before she could contact an old college friend who managed a gallery in New York. As depressing as the images were, she was proud of her work for arousing such poignant emotion. If she could sell several of the photographs, or perhaps the entire series to a collector, she could earn enough money to stay home with the baby while she figured out her next career move. With a major in communication and a minor in political science and current affairs, she had choices other than photojournalism. Any number of jobs would allow her to work from home, even if she temporarily took a job blogging for one of the major news networks.

  As the day dragged on, the idea appealed to her more and more. Pen and paper in hand, she devised her plan to convince Brad they should keep the baby. Weather permitting, his flight would arrive late in the afternoon on Sunday. She would greet him at the door with a glass of his favorite wine and usher him into the now-cozy family room. He would be putty in her hands with the fire burning, the Christmas tree glowing, and the baby cooing softly in her playpen. After she explained Mary’s presence in their house, she would feed him his favorite dinner—homemade lasagna, Caesar salad, and garlic bread—while she presented her case. Scottie aimed to have her way. She would pull out the big guns if necessary. As much as he disliked the idea of adoption, he would be even more opposed to her going to jail for kidnapping, particularly when he learned about the pregnancy.