A Kingsbury Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  So this was where Maggie went? Not Israel, but Woodland, Ohio.

  He let his eyes fall on a horse and rider making their way down Main Street. Woodland was little more than a glorified farm town, too close to Cincinnati to warrant any industry of its own and too far away for most commuters.

  Still, there was a sort of old-fashioned charm about it. Ben sighed, picked up his fork, and poked around the omelette again. The melted cheese had grown cold, and grease had begun to harden along the edges of the egg, turning Ben’s stomach. Was it possible that somewhere between this sleepy little place and downtown Cincinnati there lived a seven-year-old child who was Maggie’s very own daughter?

  He shoved his plate back and clenched his jaw. What did it matter? Even if the girl did live here, she was probably part of some wonderful family, happily getting on with her life. Possibly even unaware that she had been adopted. What good could come from digging up a situation that had been sealed and buried so long ago?

  A grisly old man sat down on the stool beside Ben and took off a threadbare baseball cap. The man’s plaid lumber jacket smelled faintly of old motor oil and cow manure and as he leaned onto the counter, Ben caught an offensive stench of body odor. Wringing his hands together nervously, the old guy turned to slap Ben on the back so hard Ben had to use his feet to stop from falling off the stool.

  “Mornin’! Y’must be new around here.”

  For a moment, Ben wondered if he was the brunt of some kind of practical joke. He glanced over his shoulder but throughout the diner people were minding their own business. Looking back at the man, Ben snorted softly. Just my luck …

  “See ya ate the special.” He laughed out loud, and Ben felt suddenly self-conscious. The guy was probably homeless—a bum or something—and now he was going to attract the attention of everyone in the diner. He tossed the old man a sideways glance and figured him to be in his late eighties. At least. Probably half deaf, too.

  “Uh—” Ben looked down at his plate—“Yeah. The special. Sure.” He signaled the girl behind the counter and asked for his bill. Quaint or not, he’d had enough of Woodland. It was time to go home and face Maggie, time to hire a divorce attorney so both of them could get past this nightmare and go on with their lives. A flash of gnawing emptiness filled his heart at the thought of losing Maggie. She was his best friend, his … well, his everything. Wasn’t she the one—other than God—who made his life complete? Or had he never really known her? Had the woman he’d loved only existed in his imagination?

  Either way, this was no time to be sentimental. After all, Maggie was the one who wanted the div—

  “You remind me of me at your age.”

  Ben faced the old man, trying to find a balance between being polite and discouraging the conversation. He’d spent enough time in Woodland; it was time to get home. “Do I know you?”

  “Nope.” The man stroked his whiskered face. “But I’ve seen your type. All sure ’o yourself, thinking you’re better ‘n everyone else.”

  Ben clenched his jaw. Where was the old man going with this? If only he’d skipped breakfast; he’d be halfway back to Cleveland by now. “Listen, I have to get—”.

  “Just finished up a mighty fine Bible study, I did.” The man’s interruption forced Ben back into his seat. Maybe he needed a handout. In that case Ben was more than willing to pick up the old guy’s breakfast tab or help him out some. As long as Ben could get back to his car in the next five minutes.

  “Look, do you need something. Money for breakfast, a few—”

  He waved a gnarled hand in Ben’s direction. “Got everything I need in the Good Book. Yes, siree.”

  The man rubbed his eyebrows and his smile disappeared. “I was young once, too. Had me a pretty wife, children.” He gazed straight ahead and Ben saw that there were tears in the man’s eyes. “They wouldn’t recognize me now.”

  Ben glanced at his watch. What would Maggie’s little girl look like? How was life in her adoptive home?

  Ridiculous, he silently chided himself. Forget about her. Better to listen to the old man’s story and be on his way. It was getting too late to see the social worker anyway. He angled his head at the old man. “Did they move away; your family, I mean?”

  The man stared down at his weathered hands and shook his head. “Nope. Died in a car wreck back in the fifties. Started drinking a week later and, well … here I am.” He locked his hands together. “Know something?” He brought his gaze up again and this time his tears were unmistakable. “I miss ’em like it was yesterday.” He kept his eyes on Ben’s. “You got a family, young man?”

  Ben thought of Maggie locked in a psychiatric hospital across the state, and of her little girl … whatever her name was …

  He swallowed hard. “I … uh … yeah. I have a family.”

  The man took a swig of coffee and put a hand on Ben’s shoulders. “Do something for me, will you?”

  In light of the old guy’s sad story, Ben no longer cared about the other customers in the diner or how it might look if he was fraternizing with a homeless man. He resisted the urge to pull away. “Sure you don’t need some money or a meal or something?”

  The man shook his head. “Nah, I get by.” He aimed his gaze at Ben, and a single tear navigated its way down the creases and crevices of his worn face. “I want you to love that family of yours, you hear?” The man brushed at the tear and tightened his grip on Ben. “Don’t let even a minute go by without loving ’em and telling ’em so. Not a minute, understand?”

  A strange sense of knowing came across Ben’s entire being, as though God Himself had sent the man. Don’t let a minute go by … a minute go by … a minute go by. The old man’s wisdom rattled around in Ben’s broken heart, and suddenly his throat was thick with sorrow and longing for the only woman he’d ever loved. He stared hard at the old guy and nodded. Maggie girl, where are you? I love you, I do … if only I could tell you. He pictured the child, Maggie’s little daughter, and felt an overwhelming desire to see the social worker. Wherever it might lead, he would do at least that.

  The man dropped his hand and his expression softened. “You won’t be young forever … and take it from me, you can’t go back. Not ever.”

  With that, the man finished his coffee, took two quarters from his pocket and laid them on the counter, then stood to leave. Before heading for the door he cast a final glance at Ben. “Do it now, you hear? Make every minute count.”

  Ben tipped his head at the man. They were the exact words he’d needed to hear. God, did You send him to talk to me? The question hung in the rafters of his mind. “Thanks.” Then the man took off down the street before Ben could give more thought as to how he might help the man or how grateful he was for the unexpected insight.

  As Ben climbed into his car he had no idea what the future held, but one thing seemed clear. Whatever else he didn’t understand about his meeting with the old man, however dismal the situation between he and Maggie, the old guy was right. Time really was fleeting; every moment did matter. Because of that he would not leave town without doing a very important task, one that was quite possibly an errand sent from heaven.

  Looking up Kathy Garrett.

  24

  It was one of those days at the department of Social Services, a time when it was difficult even for someone like Kathy Garrett to see the good in what she was doing. There were children needing foster homes, foster parents needing relief, and an hour ago a judge had ordered a two-year-old crack baby—born addicted to heroin—back into her mother’s house because the woman was finally out of prison.

  Kathy huffed out loud as she sifted through a mountain of case folders, all of which needed her attention in one way or another. If only she weren’t so tired. Poor Amanda, up half the night wondering if maybe by some God-ordained miracle Kathy might actually be her real mother. Tears welled up in Kathy’s eyes again and she dabbed at them angrily. Why, God? Why isn’t there someone for her?

  There was a knock at the
door, and she sighed. She needed time alone, a chance to sort through the foster home files and maybe find a placement for Amanda that would last longer than a few months. One where she would fit in, maybe even find some happiness.

  Kathy moved easily across her office and opened the door to find a man standing there, a man she’d never seen before. He was young—early thirties, maybe—dressed in expensive slacks and a slightly rumpled, button-down shirt. “May I help you?”

  The man shifted his position awkwardly and glanced back at the front door. Then he met her eyes and forced a smile. “Uh … yeah, I guess. I’m looking for Kathy Garrett.”

  If this was a potential foster applicant, Kathy wished one of the clerks had helped him. Make me more patient, Lord. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  The man squirmed again, and Kathy had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t about a foster application. He was nice looking, a little over six feet tall, good build. But his eyes were shadowy and they seemed to bear a reservoir of pain or anger, some deeply intense emotion that Kathy couldn’t quite read.

  “I … my name is Ben Stovall. I’m from Cleveland, visiting for the day.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I need to talk to you. In private, if possible.”

  Kathy thought about the myriad of cases that needed her attention. “I’m sorry, I’m very—”

  Talk to him, daughter.

  The voice was so clear she wondered if the man had heard it, too. Fine, God. I’ll talk to him. She opened the door and motioned to a chair near her desk. “I have a few minutes. Come in.”

  “Thanks.” The man didn’t hesitate. “I’ll keep it brief. I know you’re busy.”

  She glanced at her desk and smiled, the weary feeling lifting a bit. “Just a little.”

  When they were both seated, the man ran his hands along his pant legs and drew a deep breath. “Seven years ago my wife moved to Woodland and had a baby.” The man must have seen her puzzled expression because he hurried to explain. “We weren’t married at the time. I thought she was out of the country on an exchange student program.” He stared at his hands a moment, then his eyes met hers again. “I didn’t know about the baby until … until recently.”

  “Mr. Stovall, I’d like to help you, but if your wife had an open adoption, the paperwork can be found by filing a request at the county courthouse. If it was closed—”

  “It was.” There was desperation in his eyes now, as if she held information that he absolutely had to have. “I already checked.”

  “Well, then I’m sorry. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.” Except get back to work so some of these kids have a safe house to sleep in tonight. Please, Lord, make him leave so I can get on with my day.

  “Actually, I think there is something.” He bit his lower lip and leaned over his knees. “I spoke yesterday with Nancy Taylor; she was the woman my wife lived with before the baby was born … ”

  Nancy Taylor. Nancy Taylor … The name ran through Kathy’s mind a handful of times. She recognized it from somewhere, but with the number of cases she saw each day the connection might have been any one of a hundred possibilities. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I’m sorry, I—”

  “Wait!” He held up his hand. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Ms. Garrett, but my wife’s name was Maggie Johnson at the time. According to Nancy, you were the one who arranged the adoption. She said she thought you … ”

  “I what?”

  “You were a believer.”

  Listen to him, Kathy.

  The holy request came gender this time, and Kathy leaned back in her chair. Where was this going? “Yes … I’m a Christian.”

  The man exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath. “See … my wife and I are believers, too. And right now she’s … ” He let his head fell a few inches and for a moment he seemed too overwhelmed to speak. His focus remained on his hands as he cleared his throat. “She’s in a psychiatric hospital. They’re treating her for depression.”

  The pieces were still not coming together. “Does she regret the adoption, Mr. Stovall? Is that what you’re saying?”

  The man rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “I don’t know; we haven’t talked since she was admitted. But Mrs. Taylor seems to think I need to find out about the baby—the girl, actually, since she’d be seven now—and make sure she’s okay. At least then I could tell Maggie she’d made the right decision.”

  A wave of compassion came over Kathy, and she resisted the urge to walk around her desk and take the man’s hands in hers. He was here for that? To give his hurting wife some small ray of hope? Something to assure her that her unknown child was doing well and that adoption had been the kindest thing she could have done at the time?

  Kathy pushed aside her emotions. Rules were not meant to be played with. It was a state-run agency after all, and adoption files could not be pulled without her having to account for her reason in doing so.

  She sighed softly. “Sir, I’m very sorry about your wife. But I’m not at liberty to check the files of closed adoptions.”

  The man drew a deep breath and stood to leave. “Okay, then. I guess I did everything I could.”

  He shook Kathy’s hand and left the office without any further request. Kathy watched him go, sitting motionless in her chair, her eyes glued to the door. Something about the man’s request didn’t sit right.

  Seven years ago … seven years ago …

  Kathy had the unnerving feeling that she’d just missed a God-given opportunity. Her mind raced backward in time, trying to make sense of her overwhelming desire to catch the man before he left the building.

  Seven years …

  Then it hit her. Kathy caught her breath sharply. Seven years ago … there was only one little girl she could clearly remember having been given up for adoption at about that time. But it couldn’t be …

  Kathy worked thousands of cases from Cincinnati and the surrounding suburbs. There might have been a dozen baby girls given up for adoption that year. Still … what if it was her? What if this Maggie Johnson, Maggie Stovall, now receiving treatment for depression was actually …

  Kathy was on her feet, pushing around her desk and tearing down the hallway, then out into the parking lot. Frantically she looked around and she saw him, about to climb into a Pathfinder. “Mr. Stovall!”

  Her feet carried her quickly to where he stood. Breathless, she met his questioning gaze and smiled. “If you can come back in for a minute, there’s something I’d like to look into.”

  Minutes later they were both seated at her desk again, Mr. Stovall staring strangely at her, waiting for her to explain.

  “Sorry about that, but I just thought of something, and I didn’t want you to leave before I could check it out.” Be calm, Kathy. Oh dear Lord, could it be that these are the people? Could it possibly be that this man sitting here is the answer to my prayers?

  Suddenly she wanted to know more about him, his wife, and everything that made up their lives. “Do you have other children, Mr. Stovall?”

  The man angled his head and his eyes bore an expression that was just short of hope. “No. We … we haven’t been able to.”

  A vision filled Kathy’s mind, images of this man and his wife healed and whole taking Amanda into their home and loving her for a lifetime. Just as quickly, Kathy chided herself for romanticizing the situation. The woman was in a mental hospital, after all, and probably wasn’t even Amanda’s mother. Still, it was worth pursuing if only she could justify looking up the file. She pictured Amanda’s teary eyes last night, heard again her small voice hoping and praying that somewhere her real mom was thinking about her.

  A child’s life was at stake here. That was justification enough.

  “Mr. Stovall, I’m going to see if there’s a way to check the file. Wait here a minute, will you?”

  The man’s eyes implored her again. “Listen, you don’t know me, but I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t belie
ve God Himself had sent me. Please … ” He swallowed hard, again nearly overcome by emotion. “Please look it up for me. Tell me she’s well adjusted and enjoying life, tell me she has a wonderful family here or somewhere else. Just tell me something, so I can finally understand all the missing pieces.”

  Kathy frowned. “Missing pieces?”

  “It’s a long story. Just please, please look it up.”

  She refused to promise him anything. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Adoption records were all in computerized files now, so Kathy knew it wouldn’t take long to find what she was looking for. Alone in the dimly lit archives room she found the correct screen. Under “birth mother” she typed in, Maggie Johnson; date: 1991. Then she clicked the search button, and three seconds later she had her answer: No matches fir that search. Disappointment rocked her back in her chair and brought tears to her eyes.

  Lord, I wanted her to be the one.

  Keep searching, My daughter …

  The prompting made no sense. Maggie Johnson—whoever she was—obviously hadn’t given her baby up for adoption in Cincinnati. Kathy thought of how disappointed the man in her office would be. Maybe he had his facts wrong or maybe his wife hadn’t given a baby away. Or if she had …

  Kathy let out a shout and her hand flew to her mouth. That was it! Of course! There was no reason Maggie had to use her real name. Kathy frowned, trying to remember. What was the name of the woman Ben Stovall had mentioned, the woman his wife had stayed with?

  Tanner … Trumbell … Taylor! There it was. This Maggie woman had been living with a family named Taylor.

  Without hesitating, Kathy typed in two words: M-a-g-g-i-e T-a-y-l-o-r. Maggie Taylor. The name was suddenly very familiar. An hourglass appeared indicating the search was underway. Seconds passed.

  Come on, give me something. Please, God …

  Suddenly a file appeared. As Kathy scanned the information she felt herself sliding off the chair, falling to her knees on the cold linoleum flooring.