A Kingsbury Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Yes, Maggie had a girl. Which brings me to the information in the second envelope. The name of Maggie’s social worker in Cincinnati. I don’t know what your intentions are, Ben, but while you’re here it wouldn’t hurt to look that woman up.”

  Ben clutched the envelopes tightly and jammed them inside his jacket. For a moment he hung his head, not sure what more he could say.

  Forgive … as I have forgiven you, so you must forgive …

  This time the quiet whispering sparked a twinge of compassion in his soul. He was still angry, but somehow the image of Maggie all those years ago, missing her little girl … not knowing where she was … Poor Maggie, hiding the truth all these years … giving up a baby girl … all because she loved me.

  His anger sounded loudly once more. No matter what happened, she didn’t have to lie. Year after year after—

  He met Nancy’s gaze once more wishing only for the solitude to sort through his feelings. “I’m sorry about my reaction. I guess I … I thought Maggie was … I believed her. It makes me feel like I really don’t know her.”

  Nancy leaned toward Ben and patted him firmly on the shoulder, her eyes wet with tears. “Maggie’s a good girl, Ben. She loves you more than you know. But you’re going to need to pray hard this time, because if she’s set on divorcing you … well … if I know Maggie, it’s going to take a miracle to change her mind.”

  Maybe I don’t want her to change it. Maybe it’d be best to let it … Ben pushed his thoughts back, thanked the woman again, and left.

  He walked in a haze, feeling as though his life had been decimated by an atom bomb. Everything he knew to be right and real and true had been obliterated in the time it took Nancy to say four words: “Maybe it’s the baby.”

  Shuffling, Ben made it to the car, slid inside, and pulled the newer envelope from his pocket. The one with the information on Maggie’s social worker … the information that could lead him to Maggie’s illegitimate daughter. He stared at it for a minute, then tossed it on the seat beside him. As he started his car, Nancy’s words came back to him, taking up residence in his mind and taunting him as he drove across town to the local motel, checked in, and climbed wearily into bed.

  Through every action, the woman’s words remained:

  “I don’t know what your intentions are, Ben, but while you’re here it wouldn’t hurt to look that woman up … look her up … look her up. It wouldn’t hurt to look her up.”

  Ben had no intention of contacting the social worker. He wanted only to get home, return to work and sign whatever divorce papers Maggie was having prepared from the hospital.

  It wasn’t until three o’clock that morning—while Nancy’s words rattled around in his head refusing him any sleep—that he realized maybe the woman was right. After all, his office wasn’t expecting him back for another week. Why not do some checking?

  He flipped on the bedside light, climbed out of bed, and found the crisp, white envelope where he’d set it on the table. Fine. He’d open it and find out what was inside. Working his finger under the seal, he ripped the flap and pulled out a single slip from inside. Scrawled neatly across the middle it said: “Social worker Kathy Garrett handled the adoption of Maggie’s baby girl. Kathy works out of the Cincinnati County Courthouse.”

  Ben let his eyes linger on the words. Maggie’s baby girl. Maggie’s baby girl? How could it be possible? The whole ordeal was unimaginable, like something from a terrible nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and stared once more at the slip of paper.

  Nancy Taylor was right. If he didn’t want to lie awake all night tossing and turning while her words haunted him, he’d take the next day and do some research. What could it possibly hurt?

  Ben leaned back with a sigh. How many times over the years had he wanted a little girl of his own? A child who was part Maggie, part princess … one who would look to him with adoring eyes knowing he would protect her, cherish her to the end of time.

  A little girl. Maggie’s daughter. I can’t believe it, Lord.

  He tried to imagine what Maggie’s little girl might look like. Blond hair, probably, like Maggie’s when she was a child. Big, cornflower blue eyes in a face that—

  He sat up with a jerk. Forget about it! She’s McFadden’s daughter, too. Besides, she probably has a wonderful life with her adoptive parents. His interference now would do nothing but harm her. His emotions warring within him, he lay back down and sometime later that night fell asleep, dreaming about little girls who looked like Maggie and a social worker named Kathy Garrett.

  20

  In the week since John McFadden had posted bail he’d had plenty of time to reconsider his earlier vow and decide that killing Ben Stovall might not be necessary. The guy should have died from the beating, but since he hadn’t, John had come up with an alternative plan. One that involved the kid.

  Of course, killing Stovall would be the most satisfying solution. And the easiest. No one to testify against him in court, nobody pressing charges for assault. No witnesses to the drug trafficking taking place at the bar. But after thinking it through, John recognized several drawbacks.

  The worst was the chance of getting caught. If John acted alone, he’d get the death penalty should the police catch him. And more often these days, police seemed to do just that. Not more than a month ago a regular at the bar had been nailed for knocking off an … associate. Took the guy out nice and clean with a simple car bomb. The bum deserved it. If he’d tampered with one of John’s laundering operations, he’d have gotten the same thing. Dead. The guy who did the killing had been careful. No fingerprints, nothing. But the police still figured it out.

  No, the chance of being caught where murder was concerned was very real. As real as the gas chamber.

  The whole idea of the death penalty had forced John to examine his reasons for wanting Stovall dead in the first place. Yeah, the guy had seen them handling drugs, and being a lawyer, he was sure to blow the whistle on them. John gritted his teeth. His whole operation could come down around his ears if Stovall talked. Still, time in prison for drug smuggling—however long that might be—beat a death penalty conviction.

  Then there was the chance that Stovall didn’t know what he’d seen. Could be the upright, uptight lawyer-man didn’t know John and his boys were unloading drugs. If he did Stovall, took him out like he itched to, it was a sure bet the cops would be on his doorstep. He’d be a suspect, no doubt. And a murder investigation would have blue uniforms swarming around the bar looking for any information they could find. And that would also kill his operation.

  He uttered a curse and went to pour himself a drink. Why did the guy have to show up anyway? Why didn’t he have the sense to die from the beating?

  John took a slow sip of his drink. Maggie’s husband, huh? Figures she’d marry a straight-and-narrow like that. He sneered at his reflection in the bar mirror. Yeah, it would feel good to kill Stovall … problem was, there was really no clean way to kill the guy. If there was one thing John couldn’t stand it was a messy crime scene. Bloody fingerprints and murder weapons and signs of struggle … any of it could lead police to his front door. And then it would be all over but the switch pulling.

  Which meant he needed another plan. He thought of the little girl again, and his face twisted into a satisfied smile.

  No, he wouldn’t kill Ben Stovall, he’d drive him crazy instead.

  And if the kid got hurt in the process, so be it.

  21

  Late that night, Amanda rolled onto her side and inhaled sharply. It still hurt. She’d looked in the mirror before going to bed—the bruises were starting to go away. Ugly, yellow-brown streaks still showed on her face and arms and ribs. And her eyes were still that icky red, even after two weeks. Broken capill … capill …

  What was that word? She couldn’t remember. Broken something.

  She gently touched the place over her eyebrow where she’d been cut, and traced the scar across her forehead to the place where her hair began.
Forty-two stitches, the doctor said. And it still hurt to take a deep breath, but the doctor said broken ribs were like that. Sometimes it took months before you could breathe without pain.

  But the happiest thing was that none of it mattered. Not the pain or the scars or the scary memory of Mrs. Graystone.

  The only thing that made any difference at all was that she was back with the Garrett family. And as long as they couldn’t find a foster home for her, she’d stay right there, sleeping on the couch and doing her best not to be a nuisance.

  Sometimes on nights like this, she would lie awake and thank God over and over and over again for letting her live with the Garretts.

  “You love me, don’t you, God? I can tell.” The whispered words slipped out into the empty room, and Amanda smiled at the darkness. The Garretts were sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake them even if she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. Wonderful thoughts danced in her head. Maybe they’d never find another foster home for her. Maybe the Garretts would build that thing, whatever it was called, so that there’d be an extra bedroom and she could live with them forever.

  She thought of Kathy Garrett, so kind and gentle and loving. Even when Kathy was busy with the other children she would draw Amanda close, stroking her hair and arms and promising her everything would turn out okay. When Amanda’s ribs hurt and she couldn’t help crying, Kathy would lie next to her and rub her back, asking Jesus to find the right home for Amanda and help her heal up real quick.

  But most of all, the thought that kept Amanda awake at nights was one she hadn’t shared with anyone else. It was a crazy thought, maybe, but it was so wonderful it was worth thinking about for hours and hours. Even if it meant lying awake on the couch under a pile of blankets while everyone else was sleeping …

  Amanda smiled. What if, somehow, just maybe, Kathy was actually her real mother? Amanda hugged herself and let out a soft giggle. She bet it was true. She bet, maybe, a long time ago, Kathy gave up a little girl and maybe she’d been looking secretly all these years trying to find her. Maybe she hadn’t said anything about her missing little girl because she had given up any hope of finding her.

  It was possible. Maybe that’s why Kathy took in foster kids and even adopted some of them. Because she had given up Amanda and didn’t know where to find her, didn’t know that living right there on her very own sofa was the little girl she’d been searching for. After all, Kathy had said she’d known Amanda all her life. So maybe … just maybe …

  “Amanda?” She heard the soft padding of Kathy’s slippered feet and watched as she came around the corner in her bathrobe, a worried look on her face.

  “Hi.” Amanda remembered to whisper. It was a lot of work for Kathy when the other kids woke up too soon.

  Kathy sat down on the edge of the sofa and smoothed back Amanda’s bangs. Amanda loved the way Kathy’s hand felt on her skin … cool and gentle.

  “Sweetie, why’re you still awake? You went to bed five hours ago. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Should she tell her?

  Kathy ran her fingers over Amanda’s cheek. “Then what is it, honey? You need your rest, just like the other kids.”

  Tell her. Go on, tell her and maybe it’ll be true after all.

  Amanda squirmed under the covers and rolled partially on her side so she could see Kathy better. “I got a thought the other day and it won’t go away.”

  “A thought?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You wanna tell me?”

  Kathy wasn’t mad at her for still being awake. It seemed to Amanda like she never got angry, not when you spilled your milk or asked too many questions or waited until morning to do your homework. Amanda wasn’t worried that her secret thoughts would make Kathy mad, just that … well, what if she said them out loud and they weren’t true?

  “Amanda?” Kathy eyes got that soft look, like they did whenever she had a question. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “I’m not sure I can tell you.”

  Kathy smiled that favorite smile. The one that made Amanda sure she was safe and warm and loved. The one that made her think that somehow, Kathy might be her real—

  “Honey, you can tell me anything. You know that. We’ve had some great talks since you’ve been here.”

  Amanda bit her lower lip. Why not? If it was true, it would be the happiest day of her life. “Well, okay.” She waited, trying to think of the best words to explain. “You know how me and you have known each other ever since I was a baby?”

  “Yes. Ever since you were placed with the Brownells.”

  “Well, I was wondering … Kathy, did you ever give a baby up for adoption?”

  Kathy’s face clouded. “Why, no, honey, I never did. What makes you ask that?”

  Amanda felt her smile fade. Maybe Kathy had trouble remembering … maybe it was something she’d tried to forget, like the months Amanda had spent with Mrs. Graystone. “Think real hard, Kathy. Don’t you remember?”

  “Sweetheart, why do you ask?” Kathy was sitting up straighter and now she wore that confused look.

  Amanda sighed. “I was thinking maybe you gave a baby up, you know, maybe seven years ago, and maybe you work with adoptions ’cause you wanted to help kids. So you wouldn’t feel so bad about the little girl you gave up. And I was thinking maybe if you did give a little girl up, then maybe that’s why God let you be in my life.”

  Kathy’s eyebrows moved closer together, and her mouth opened and closed a few times. “God let me be in your life because I had a little girl I’d given up? That’s what you thought?”

  Amanda shook her head. “No.” Her voice got quiet, and there was a deep aching in her chest that had nothing to do with her broken ribs. “I thought if you gave up a little girl, maybe I was her. And maybe all these years you’d been searching for your own little girl and the whole time it’s been me. Right here.” Amanda felt two tears trickling down her cheeks and she wiped them with her pajama sleeve.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Kathy leaned over her and pulled her into a hug that lasted a long, long time. “I love you like you’re my own little girl. That much will always be true.”

  Amanda’s tears were coming faster now, and her body trembled with sadness. “S-s-so … you never gave a little girl up for adoption?”

  Kathy’s arms tightened around her. “No, sweetie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I couldn’t love you more even if you were my own little girl.”

  “But you’d let me live with you forever if I was, right?”

  Kathy was quiet, and Amanda pulled back enough to see that she was crying.

  “Oh, Amanda, of course. I’d let you live with us now, but it isn’t up to me. You know that. The state says our house is too small for another child.”

  Amanda knew. She didn’t understand, but she knew. It wasn’t like she was that big, like she took up that much space …

  They both were quiet for a long time while they dried their tears and remained locked in a hug. “I have a mother somewhere, don’t I, Kathy?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Tell me about her again. Please.” Amanda lay back down on the sofa as Kathy sat up once more and sniffed back her tears.

  “Your mother was very young when you were born, Amanda. Too young to take care of you or give you a nice home. So instead, because she loved you very much, she decided to give you to the Brownells. The Brownells couldn’t have their own children, so you were their little princess. They were wonderful people and would have been your forever family if it hadn’t been for the accident.”

  Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. She had loved the Brownells, but they were gone and she didn’t want to talk about them. Not now, when there was nothing they could do to help her. “What about my mother? What happened to her?”

  Kathy angled her head thoughtfully. “I imagine she returned home, wherever that was, and grew up. Probably got married, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you think she misses me?”<
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  “Sweetheart—” Kathy swallowed hard and her voice sounded runny—“I’ll bet there isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t think of you.”

  Amanda thought about that. Her mother was out there somewhere, and wherever she was, she spent time each day thinking about the little girl she gave away. If that was true, then there was a chance her mother might actually try to find her. And if she did, then it was possible that one day—maybe even one day soon—her mother would show up and take her home forever.

  The ache in her chest faded a bit. “Really, Kathy? You really think she remembers me like that?”

  Kathy bent down and kissed Amanda’s cheek. “Really and honestly and truly. For all we know, she might be thinking about you right now.”

  With a soft good night Kathy stood and left Amanda to fall asleep. And as Kathy—who wasn’t her real mother after all— padded up the stairs, Amanda prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before that God might move mountains or send angels or do whatever He needed to do.

  As long as He helped her find her mommy.

  22

  It was time to tell the group. After that first session the previous week, Maggie had taken to coming twenty minutes early every day. Combined with her time with Dr. Camas, Maggie was finally able to move beyond the past and begin unraveling her current thoughts and emotions. The conversations with Dr. Baker had helped Maggie feel more comfortable with the group as a whole.

  In the past week she had learned all of their names. She had listened while—one at a time—they each had bared their hearts to the others. There was the bone-thin man who had trouble making eye contact. Howard was his name, and six months ago his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident. He had stopped eating. That was his way of checking out, of expressing his lack of will to live. In group discussion he realized that his depression centered around a very real feeling of abandonment. Not only by his family, but by God, as well.