* * *
Rose awoke hours later to the sound of a somewhat distant train whistle. She had been dreaming of the tall, slender woman in the newspaper photograph. My true mother. The woman’s hair was curly and her eyes were kind. In her dream, the woman had held Rose close. “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you,” she had said over and over again. “I’ve missed holding my baby.”
Rose wrapped her arms around her chest. She had not really longed for the warmth and security of a hug since she was a little girl. She could not even remember Mother ever initiating a hug. As a very little girl, she had hugged Mother. Mother had not rejected the hugs, but it was obvious that they brought her no joy, and each time she was quick to pull away. Eventually Rose stopped giving her hugs all together. All other hugs that Rose could remember had come from Mrs. Harrison. Yet now, Rose longed to be held. She admired the joy and love that she had seen in the Douglass family. If she had not been snatched from her baby carriage as an infant, would she have grown up in a home filled with warmth and love?
She sensed a vast emptiness in her chest. I’ve missed years of happiness. I’ve missed years of love. I’m nearly a grown woman, but right now I just want to go back to being a little girl. I want to be in the home of my birth mother. I want to listen to her voice calling me gently in the morning. I want her to embrace me. I want us to fix breakfast and go to the park and take walks and read. I want us to do everything together. For a few seconds, she opened her eyes. Again, she closed them. How foolish are these thoughts? How foolish am I to think that I can recapture years of lost moments with a woman who I don’t even know? What if she isn’t even my mother? What if this is all just some silly notion I’ve dreamed up? Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I just hate that my mother is a cold woman who doesn’t seem to care about me. Maybe I’m dreaming up some fantasy world where I have a different mother, one who truly loves me. But what if she is my real mother? What if Loretta Grigsby Jennings is my true mother? I need to find her. I need to find her so that I can find out who I truly am. That should be my main mission this week.
Outside, the train whistle was still singing through the night air. What if this same train is passing my mother’s house right now? What if she is hearing the exact same train go by? Rose felt a chill just thinking about it. If I find her, I wonder if we could ever really be close, the way we should have been all along. I want us to be close like mothers and daughters should be. I want it to be like what I’ve seen in movies and books, I guess. I just hope it’s not too late. I just hope eighteen years apart hasn’t been too long.
Rose gazed around at her surroundings. All of the white items in the room glowed in the moonlight. This place was so bright and seemed so open compared to her old room at home. The ceilings were tall in this new room, while the ceilings in her old room at home were low. These walls had white and silver damask wallpaper, while the walls in her old room had been a dark green. The bed was softer here, and much larger. There were more pillows and a thick duvet covering the bed. The room was larger, too, as was the tall window. Rose could imagine herself feeling very at home in this new place. She was excited about all of the adventures ahead of her.
Rose turned over in the bed and repositioned her pillow before settling her head on it again. Tomorrow, I’ll go looking for Loretta Grigsby Jennings at the address Mrs. Harrison gave me, she decided.
Rose yawned, feeling sleepy again. Stretching, she leaned back on the frilly white pillow. Moonlight shone on her face through the curtains as the train whistle became more and more distant. Slowly she fell back asleep again.
Chapter Eight
Can I go with you?” Lionel called out to Rose the next morning, having followed her out the front door. “I know my way around the city. I can help you find your birth mother. I could at least direct you to the side of town they live on.”
“You know about my mother?” Rose asked, surprised.
“Well, my mom said that you were looking for your birth mother here,” Lionel explained. “That’s all I know. Aunt Gwen must’ve mentioned it to her on the phone.”
“Okay,” Rose replied. “But I’d hate for you to waste your whole first day back in London on helping me.” She tried to sound concerned.
“No, please, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he responded. “I enjoy spending time with you.”
I guess I could let him come along. Hopefully he won’t slow me down.
“Okay, then come.” Rose said sharply, turning around again to walk. “Do you know this address?” She read it to him and held out the paper to show him.
“I know the general area,” he told her. “Come on, let’s take the Tube.”
The pair walked down the quiet block where the Douglass family lived. They left the tranquil neighborhood and entered the busy streets of London. Cars honked and taxi cabs sped by. Droves of people walked past and trains clanked on their tracks. Lionel led the way to the nearest Tube station.
They walked down what seemed like a million stairs to the station, where they purchased tickets. Then they waited by the tracks for the train to come.
“So are you only looking for your mom, or other family members too? Aunts, uncles, cousins?” Lionel asked.
“Just my mother right now.’
“What about checking out the orphanage where you were before you were adopted?”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Rose responded, shrugging.
“Do you know who your father is?” Lionel asked.
“Yes, but he’s dead,” Rose told him in a flat voice.
“I’m very sorry,” Lionel apologized, sounding sincere. “I guess I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine,” Rose told him.
“Well, the stop we need for that address is Covent Garden,” Lionel told her.
“How do you know London so well?” Rose asked. “I thought you were at Dartmouth for most of the time.”
“I went to high school here in London for two years,” Lionel responded. “My parents have been here, assisting the U.S. ambassador, for five years. I’ve been over at Dartmouth for three.”
“Ah, I see,” said Rose, smiling at him.
“I just graduated, though,” Lionel told her. “I took extra classes so I could finish early. I’ll be heading to New York at the end of summer to take Julie back to school, but I’m not sure yet what I’ll do after that.”
“And where does Julie go to school?” Rose asked. “I think she told me, where she goes, but I forgot.”
“Sarah Lawrence,” Lionel answered.
“That’s in New York, right?”
“Yes, it sure is.”
“Well, good for her. I want to go to college someday.”
“And how about you? Have you always lived in Brooklyn?” Lionel looked at Rose intently.
“Well, except for when I lived in London as a baby,” she responded.
Lionel seemed embarrassed. “Yes, of course, that.”
Rose laughed. “I guess you don’t know too many orphans, right?”
“No, not so many,” Lionel responded bashfully. “But you aren’t an orphan, are you? Your mother is alive.” He paused. “I really hope you find her soon.”
Rose smiled. “Thanks.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“You sure are lucky to have parents like yours,” Rose noted.
“Yeah, I sure do love them a ton,” Lionel responded. “They are great people.”
“My adopted mother was always extremely cold to me when I was growing up,” Rose explained to him. “I guess it makes sense now, knowing now that I was adopted and not her blood-related daughter. I guess she never would accept me as her daughter. Not as her true, daughter.”
“But I have friends who were adopted, and their parents are wonderful to them,” Lionel was quick to interject.
‘Well, lucky for them,” said Rose. “I wish I had had parents like that. I don’t know what went wrong with me.”
“I’m sorry, Ros
e,” Lionel said. “I wasn’t trying to rub it in. It’s just that, I know not all adopted children are treated coldly.”
“I know, it’s fine,” Rose said, walking ahead. She was eager to change the subject. “Race you up that hill!”
She jolted forward, with Lionel scrambling at her heels. Within thirty seconds, they had reached the top. They both laughed and gasped for breath.
“I won, I won!” Rose proclaimed, feeling victorious.
“That’s only because you had a head start,” Lionel laughed. He glanced around. “I guess we look like a couple of idiots. I don’t think people our age are supposed to race in public. We look like a couple of kids running wild all over town.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Rose said, still catching her breath.
Rose smoothed her skirt to get rid of the wrinkles which had developed on the fabric after the race. The night before, a maid had taken all of her clothes except for her pajamas. She had washed and ironed each article of clothing, even the socks and underwear. Rose’s clothes felt fresh and new after her endless hours of travel.
They walked a little ways more. Several times Lionel suggested they get a cab, but Rose always protested, stating that she enjoyed the fresh air. Reluctantly, Lionel would agree each time to continue walking.
“So, what were you studying at… where was it you said you went to school? Dartmouth?” Rose asked.
“Yes, Dartmouth,” Lionel replied. “I’m was studying history and journalism.”
“History?” Rose said with a smile. “Then you must love coming to London!”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Lionel agreed. “I can’t get enough of it. I love the architecture, and I especially love all the museums. Walking the streets of London is almost like visiting a living museum.”
“I’ll bet it’s hard for you to leave after the summertime,” Rose suggested.
“Yes, it sure is. For Julie, too. She hates being apart from our parents. But when we leave this time, I’ll take her back to Sarah Lawrence. Then I’ll come back here to London since I’m done with school. I’m thinking of law school eventually, but I’ll probably just stay here in London for a year and work with my dad.”
“That’s nice that you work with him. Did you stay really busy with your studies in college?” Rose asked.
“Yes and no,” Lionel replied. “My classes took up a lot of my time, but I also do some writing for a national history journal. I still do the writing in my spare time.”
“So why do you do that?” Rose asked, curious.
“Oh, I just enjoy writing about history. And I make a decent income doing it. I don’t want to be dependent on my parents financially at my age.”
“Really?” Rose asked. “I guess I’ve never really thought about that sort of thing. So all the money you spend is your own?”
“All the money? I hope that I don’t spend too much,” Lionel said with a laugh. “But yes. My parents pay a small amount for my college tuition, and I pay for everything else. They do give Julie money, though. And she has no objections to accepting every penny of it.” He smiled.
“No, I’m sure she doesn’t,” Rose agreed, chuckling. “Julie certainly loves to go shopping. I’ve heard her talk about shopping like a hundred times.”
“Oh, yes, she does love to shop,” Lionel agreed. “But she really does have a kind heart. Every summer she volunteers at the hospital near by parents’ house. She’s studying to be a nurse, you know.”
“Oh, really? Does she work there every day?”
“No, usually two or three days a week. She likes working at the hospital. I think she really enjoys helping people. This will actually be the third summer that she has volunteered over there.”
“Well, good for her.”
They walked down tree lined streets beside a park. The dark colored lampposts were elegant, like something out of an old movie. To Rose, London had a more classic style than New York.
They continued to walk and Rose became more anxious. What will my birth mother say to me when she answers the door? What will she do? Rose’s thoughts were making her feel nauseous. She swayed in her nervousness as they waited to cross the street. When the light changed, Rose shook her head and walked with caution across.
“Well, here we are!” Lionel finally stated. They were in front of a tall, narrow brick building on a busy street.
Rose looked up to gaze up at the building. She took a deep breath, feeling unable to believe that she was at her birth mother’s home.
Chapter Nine
This is it?” Rose asked almost in awe, still staring at the building nervously.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Lionel asked.
“No,” Rose replied. She paused. “Wait. Yes.” I’m not ready to face this alone, Rose realized.
They walked in through the dark green painted front door and up the narrow stairs until they stood at unit 3, which was the flat number Mrs. Harrison had written down. The door was plain and painted a dark grey. On the door was a simple iron number 3. The solitary number stared at Rose and she was filled with nervousness. With a burden of hesitation weighing down on her, Rose raised her hand to knock. Pausing, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Finally, she pressed her fist to the door and knocked firmly on it. She heard the sounds of her knock echo.
A minute passed. Rose clenched her fists as she waited in the silence of the hall, Lionel standing behind her.
Finally, they heard sounds inside. The doorknob turned and the door slowly creaked open. A short, plump woman in a red floral dress and stained apron stood before them. Her thick, salt and pepper colored hair was pinned up in a bun.
“Well?” the woman asked impatiently. “What do you want?” Her accent sounded more New York than London.
“We are looking for Mrs. Jennings. Mrs. Loretta Jennings.” Rose’s voice quivered with her inner nervousness as she spoke.
“Never heard of her,” she woman replied gruffly. “Try checking downstairs with the landlady. She lives in unit 1.” With that, the woman slammed the door. Discouraged, Rose’s shoulders slouched forward and she felt her eye fill up with tears, which she was fast to brush away.
“Don’t worry, Rose,” Lionel said. “Let’s just go downstairs and talk to the landlady. Everything will be fine.”
Rose trudged down the stairs, Lionel in tow. The landlady, who was an older woman, answered the door promptly.
“Loretta Jennings?” the woman repeated the name. “Yes, I do seem to remember her. The lady whose baby went missing, right?”
“Yep, that’s the one,” Rose replied with eagerness, forgetting that Lionel knew nothing of her kidnapping.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said sadly. “Poor thing. She was devastated for years. About two or three years after it happened, she moved from here. Moved out to the countryside, I believe. She wanted to start a new life for herself, I suppose.”
“Do you know of a forwarding address?” Rose asked.
“No, can’t say I do,” the woman responded. “She didn’t leave one, as I remember. Just told me she was leaving.”
“Thank you for your help,” Rose said with a mix of gratefulness and disappointment. She and Lionel left the building.
“What’s this about a missing baby?” Lionel asked as they walked away.
Realizing her mistake, Rose’s face turned white. Can I really trust Lionel with my secret? What if he doesn’t understand?
“Can we talk about it a little later?” Rose requested. “I haven’t told anyone anything about this. At least, no one but Mrs. Harrison. You Aunt Gwen, I mean. I just… I’m just not even sure where to begin.”
“Can I take you out for lunch?” Lionel asked. “Then we can talk about it if you want. And if you don’t want to, we won’t.”
“Yes, that sounds nice,” she replied.
Lionel led the way down a less busy road. They walked beside a large park and then onto a crowded street, with cars zooming by left and right. Rose looked up ahead and spotted a la
rge, regal building surrounded by a high fence and intricate gate.
“Buckingham Palace,” Lionel mumbled, gazing at it with wonder.
“This is it?” Rose asked, almost in disbelief. “This is really it?”
Lionel nodded. “Sure is.”
Continuing on, Lionel and Rose strolled down a quieter street. Detailed displays filled shop windows and restaurants had sample menus taped to the glass. They passed a small jewelry shop with a large window. Rose stopped to gaze at the jewelry pieces which were on display in front of the window. A shining gold necklace with pale blue gemstones caught Rose’s eye. The settings of the piece of jewelry were full of detail. Each jewel was set so that they had the appearance of a row of flowers. The blue was the color of a sky, but even brighter.
“Aquamarine,” Lionel commented.
“Really?” Rose asked. “It’s so beautiful.”
“You act like you’ve never seen jewelry before.”
“Well, I haven’t seen much,” Rose said in a defensive tone. “Mother hardly ever wore jewelry. I only had a couple pieces, but they weren’t real or anything. Just fashion jewelry.” Rose paused. “How do you know so much about jewelry? What are you, a jewel thief?” She smiled teasingly.
Lionel laughed. “No, I’m not a jewel thief.” He winked.
“I was only kidding. Jewel thieves are mostly in movies, I guess.”
“There are more jewel robberies than you might think,” Lionel told her. “In fact, there was a break in at a small jewelry shop here in London just a few months ago. From what I remember of my time here in London, there’s usually at least a few jewelry store robberies a year. At least once a year small shops like that one get broken into, and the thieves make off with thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of jewels. So you can imagine how much they take when they break into a larger shop.
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