“She’s never been ours, she’s mine! She never was yours. You never loved her, or else you couldn’t have given her away.”
Her mother flashed her a cold look. “If I didn’t love her, I’d have tossed you both out on the streets to protect our family’s reputation! If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t have bothered bringing her to a good orphan asylum, instead of just—” Ida’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip, averting her eyes.
Mollie jumped on her mother’s mistake, which validated her suspicions. “Orphan asylum? Which one? Please, Ma, tell me! Was it St. Vincent’s? The Home for Little Wanderers? The City Orphan Asylum?” There were half a dozen homes in the Boston area, at least. Which one could it have been?
“Never you mind. She’s better off in a good home, with a real family—a mother and a father. Sometimes love requires sacrifice.”
“How would you know? You’re not willing to sacrifice to keep her, that’s for sure!”
“Watch your tongue, young lady!”
“Just tell me where you took her, and you’ll never have to see me or Nell again.”
“I’m not telling you. No matter what you do or say, I’m not budging. I’ll take it to my grave. I know I’m doing the right thing. Someday you’ll thank me for it.”
“Thank you? For kidnapping my baby? I can’t even look at you! You’ve stolen everything from me!”
“Calm down. You don’t need to rant about it. You’re just all emotional—women get that way for a while after giving birth. But I can see clearly. I may be the child’s grandmother, but those blue eyes, sweet smile, and tufts of red-blonde baby hair do not sway me. Just because she’s a pretty thing doesn’t mean she belong here. She belongs with someone who can care for her.”
“I can care for her.”
“No you can’t. You want to, but you can’t. You need a husband, and you’ll never get one with the evidence of your sin cradled in your arms. Maybe without the baby, you’ll have a chance. You’ve lost your reputation here, that’s for sure. But you might be able to move down to New York City, with your Aunt Rose, and get a job there…maybe meet a lad there, too. Or you could become one of those mail order brides. You can cook and clean well enough—a man out west would consider you a good catch. You don’t need to mention your indiscretion.”
Mollie gazed at her mother in stunned horror. “Are you mad? You want me to just…move on? Just go find a new job, or a new beau, and forget I have a daughter?”
“It’s the only thing you can do.”
“Well,” Mollie stood, her fists clenched. “You may have been able to move on, after my father’s death, and practically forget that you had me, while made yourself a new family, but I can’t do that. I could never forget her. Because I’m actually a good mother, unlike you!”
Mollie strode to the door, vibrating with anger. She snatched her coat from its hook and threw open the door, lifting her skirts and trundling down the steps as fast as she could. She burst through the door at the bottom, out into the cold March air.
I’ll find her, she thought. I’ll find my little Nellie, and I’ll get her back, if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 3
Tuesday March 28, 1890
“What do you mean, it can’t be undone, Sister?” Her heart squeezed with fear. “Don’t you understand? The adoption was completed without my consent. My mother had no legal rights to my baby, and therefore no right to put her up for adoption.”
“I understand that, my dear,” the elderly woman said from behind the massive mahogany desk. Sister Jean-Marie watery eyes were nearly lost in the paleness of her complexion, framed by the inky black of her habit. “But we had no way of knowing that. She said you had died in childbirth, at home, and that she couldn’t care for the child.”
“And you didn’t require a death certificate as proof?”
“She told us you all lived out on a remote farm, and that your husband and other children had died of the flu before you died in childbirth. She said that with six children of her own, it was all she and your father could do to get you buried on their own family property, and therefore there were no records.”
Mollie clenched her fists in her lap, listening to the lies. “My mother has two children, myself and my nine-year-old sister. We live in a two-bedroom apartment right here in Boston. We don’t have a lot, but we’re quite well off compared to most of our neighbors. And as I mentioned before, I’ve never had children—the fact that I’m unwed is the reason my mother tried to pressure me into giving Nell up.” She shook her head in disbelief. “After all these years of lecturing me on always doing the right thing, my mother lied to a nun?”
Sister Jean-Marie pursed her lips. “It appears so. I’m so very sorry, my dear, for your troubles. Had we known, I assure you we wouldn’t have taken the child in.”
“But why can’t we just tear up the paperwork? She’s here, isn’t she? Can’t we just forget it ever happened, and let her come home with me?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. You see, newborns are highly desired. It’s very difficult to get someone to take an older child, especially when there are so many orphan asylums throughout New England. But a newborn? Every young, childless couple wants a newborn. We have a list of couples waiting for a newborn, and when a healthy young infant is taken in, they’re rarely here at the asylum for even a full day.”
“But…it’s only been a few days. Surely the legal papers aren’t completed yet?”
“No, probably not. They may have been filed, though. Regardless, the couple has already taken the child, Miss Quinn. It would be devastating to tear the girl from their arms!”
“It was devastating to have her torn from mine! Sister, have you no compassion? She’s my baby! She was stolen from me. How can you sit there and let me suffer like this? How can you let a poor, innocent baby cry for her mother? Please, just give me their names, and I’ll talk to them myself. I’ll make them understand.”
“My hands are tied.” Sister’s voice was gentle. “You have my compassion, truly you do. But we cannot give out the name of the adoptive parents. The names of all parties must be kept confidential. If we didn’t, it would jeopardize the future of all the children here. Who would adopt a child if they ran the risk of the mother changing her mind and coming to claim parental rights?”
“Please, you don’t understand—”
“Oh my dear, I promise you, I do.” Her face softened. “The hardest part of my job is seeing a child cry for its mother, or a widow forced to give up the children she loves dearly in order that they don’t starve. It breaks my heart, every time. But I have to advocate for the children here. The children must be my first responsibility, no matter how much I sympathize with your position. Your only recourse is to hire an attorney and have him look into it. He may be able to stop the finalizing of the adoption, and get the court to issue an order for your daughter’s return.”
“Do you think that could work?” Mollie was willing to grasp at any hope, though she had no idea how to raise the funds for exorbitant attorney’s fees.
“Possibly. But I must say,” Sister leaned forward, clasping her hands on top of the desk, “you’re not married, dear. You have no husband to support you, and by all appearances, your relationship with your mother is tenuous at best. How will you provide for the wee one? This couple has plenty of resources at their disposal. Not only can they provide a good life for your daughter, but they can hire a coterie of attorneys. And if the judge thinks the baby is better off with them than with you, he could delay hearing your case until it’s too late, and the adoption is already final.”
Mollie shook her head in disbelief. “But…but she’s mine! How can they just take my baby? I know I made a mistake all those months ago. But it was one mistake! Why should I have to suffer for the rest of my life because of it? Why should my daughter? I thought God forgives our sins, if we’re sorry.”
“Oh, He does, my child. If you’re truly repentant, and you’ve confes
sed, you are forgiven. But unfortunately, not everyone in this world is as forgiving as He is. You can try your luck, but I suspect you don’t have the funds to hire a lawyer for even the first filing.”
Tears filled Mollie’s eyes, and she felt her sense slipping away. She leaned forward, grasping the edge of the desk to keep herself upright...when her eyes fell on Sister’s clasped hands on the desk.
To the right of Sister Jean-Marie’ hands lay two ledgers. The top ledger hard the word “adoption” penned in neat script across the label.
An idea bloomed in her mind, and instantly she shifted her eyes away, dredging up every bit of pain and anguish she could muster. She thought about the idea of never seeing Nell again, and of her mother’s deceit.
Tears welled in her eyes. “How can you do this? How can you sit back and let someone take my baby? Don’t you understand how this feels? How do we know those people will even be good to her? Just because they have money? Money doesn’t make kind parents. They might be harsh—they could beat her every time she does something wrong!” Mollie stood, shoving her chair back, and began to pace, wringing her hands. “My poor baby will never know her mother. I’ll never see her again. All because my mother is a liar! I can’t go on. I can’t go on without her!” The tears streamed down her cheeks. She sniffed, gasping and crying, tears clogging her throat.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the appalled expression on Sister Jean-Marie’s face.
“Please, Miss Quinn, sit down. Don’t upset yourself so.”
“Don’t upset myself? Everyone has turned their backs on me! I have nothing left!” Mollie paced faster, flailing her arms to punctuate each sentence. “How can I go on without her? How can I—?” She turned, deliberately running into the chair she had pushed back, and feigned a stumble, collapsing on the floor in a heap.
“Oh my!” Sister exclaimed, standing to rush around the desk. “Are you alright?”
“Ohh!” Mollie moaned, clutching her ankle. “Owww…I’m so stupid, I can’t even walk straight!”
“No, no, dear. Shhh, it’s not your fault. You’ve had quite an upsetting day. Here, let me help you…”
The old sister tried to help Mollie up, but Mollie put in no effort, and the woman was far too small and frail to heft Mollie alone.
“Oh dear. Stay right there—don’t try to get up yourself. I’ll go fetch a younger sister to help you up.”
Mollie nodded, groaning through gritted teeth. She lay sprawled on the floor, rubbing her ankle and moaning, until she heard the woman’s footsteps leave the room and echo down the corridor. She ignored the feelings of guilt that prodded her conscience. I’m not actually lying to a nun, she told herself, I never actually said I sprained my ankle. I just…implied it.
As the footsteps faded away, Mollie leapt up, leaning over the desk and snatching the ledgers. One read “expenses” and the other read “adoptions”. Mollie replaced the expense ledger and quickly leafed through the adoptions ledger, past pages of children’s names, names of potential parents, and recordings of daily adoption-related events, until at last she found the most recent entry.
Tuesday, March 26, 1890.
Adoption papers signed by Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Stirling
Adoption papers signed by Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Deming
“Which couple has Nell?” she whispered to herself. She turned the page, but there was nothing written beyond that. She flipped backward until she found the list of the most recently accepted orphans. It was a list for the entire month of March. A few of the names had other names beside them in parentheses—the names of the adoptive parents. Mollie quickly skimmed down the list as she heard footsteps in the corridor, approaching quickly. She was shocked at the number of names—all children who needed a home, most of whom may never find a good one.
Her heart pounded as she flipped the page to scan down to the date Nell was brought in. I can’t let anyone catch me looking, or Sister Jean-Marie could warn the parents, and I’ll never get able to get near Nell. She traced her finger down the list.
March twentieth…twenty-first…
Voices approaching the door forced her to close the ledger, and replace it exactly as she found it. She plopped herself down into her discarded chair at the same instant the two women walked into the room. She carefully composed her face to hide her despair.
Who has my daughter? Which one? Which one? She pushed back at the desperation that threatened to overtake her, and considered her options.
“Oh! You got up on your own,” Sister Jean-Marie exclaimed. She was accompanied by a younger nun who was a few years older than Mollie, and four inches taller.
Mollie sat back, twisted sideways in the chair with her legs stretched out. She was breathing heavy from the stress and desperation, but exaggerated it for the sisters’ benefit. “Yes, it’s fine, I think. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked.” At least…not as bad as it looked to you.
“Oh, good—I’m glad it’s not sprained.” Sister exchanged looks with her companion. “Miss Quinn, this is Sister Mary Clare. When you’re feeling up to it, she can help you down the stairs. Unless you don’t think you can make it home, that is.”
The sister’s wrinkled brow furrowed even deeper, and Mollie was sure the woman was worried they’d have to find a way to feed an unexpected overnight guest. She imagined that resources were scarce, with the long list of children Mollie saw, who came in each month.
There’s no way I can finagle a way to get them to leave me alone in here again. One of them will end up staying with me, to make sure I’m alright.
Mollie lifted her foot and rotated her ankle slowly. “I think I’ll be alright. If Sister Mary Clare could just escort me down the stairs to make sure I don’t fall, I’m sure I can make it.”
“Are you sure? You took quite a spill. I’d hate for you to collapse in the street.”
“Oh, there’s a horsecar I can take most of the way home, if I feel like it’s too sore to walk on.”
Sister nodded. “I wish there was more I could do for you, Miss Quinn. I know it’s hard to hear, but perhaps it’s for the best if the child is in a home where you know she’ll always be warm, safe, and well fed. And I promise you, they were a good, Catholic couple. Said they go to Mass every Sunday, and often on weekdays as well. She’ll be raised well.”
Mollie had to bite back a bitter retort. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have placed Nell with them if they weren’t fine people, Sister.” Somehow she managed a tight smile. She wanted to rail against the woman, who knew nothing of what it was like to have your own flesh and blood torn from you. She wanted to weep and cry and scream…but she knew the elderly nun meant well, and being unkind to a woman who dedicated her life to God and to the care of Boston’s forgotten children wouldn’t bring Nell back.
Sister Mary Clare helped her downstairs, and out to the street. Though her heart ached to be leaving without Nell, at least Mollie had hope.
And two names.
Chapter 4
Wednesday April 3, 1890
Mollie shivered against the bitter wind as she stood tucked into a recessed doorway across the street from the stately Newberry Street home. She’d been forced to move on and walk around the block two times already, when well-dressed neighbors had passed by casting a curious—and disdainful—glance her way. She didn’t want to be rousted by the police for loitering.
This was her last chance. Nell had to be inside the home across the street. Mollie had already been to the Stirling residence three days before, and had been fortunate it was a Sunday—she’d caught the couple coming out as they alighted into a carriage, on their way to Mass. She had tried to stroll by casually, but she didn’t need to get very close to see the baby hadn’t been Nell—the Stirlings had adopted a chubby little boy, older than Nell and dressed in a fine blue suit with white piping. Her heart had sunk at the sight of his pudgy arm emerging from the confines of his cashmere swaddling blanket.
It had taken longer to locate the Demings
—they weren’t quite as wealthy as the Stirlings, and were therefore less well known. Apparently they were renting their fashionable Newberry Street home, and had only been in Boston a few years. Mollie had spent her last few coins bribing old service acquaintances—who were only averse to speaking to a ruined woman such as herself until the money was brought out—and eventually she found out where the Demings lived.
It was early afternoon before Mollie finally spied someone coming out of the house—a servant coming up the recessed stairs that led down to the servant’s entrance hidden underneath the home’s main stairs. The blonde woman was several years older than Mollie—a kitchen maid, she guessed, based on the style of uniform dress peeking out from under the woman’s coat.
Mollie hurried across the street to catch the woman just as she reached street level and turned to her left, heading down the sidewalk.
“Excuse me!” she called, halting the woman. “Is this the Deming residence?”
The woman frowned. “Yes it is. Who is asking?”
Mollie swallowed hard. “I…uh…I’m just wondering if I have the right place. I’m looking for a couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Deming, who adopted a baby girl just last week.”
The woman pursed her lips and eyed Mollie with suspicion. “And again, who is asking?”
“I’m sorry. My name is Mollie Quinn. I…” she realized now she should have prepared a story in advance, but it was too late. Besides, the woman surely suspected already. “I’m the baby’s mother.”
The woman’s expression softened, but remained wary. “Mrs. Deming is the baby’s mother. Surely you realized that when you signed your child over.”
Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Page 2
