The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story

by Angela Hunt

  At three-thirty, a uniformed woman stood at the main desk and called, “Four-oh-nine?”

  Megan leapt to her feet, half-pulling Dave with her. “That’s us,” she called, hurrying forward. The woman didn’t crack a smile, but pointed them toward another caseworker at a desk.

  Megan and Dave walked over, introduced themselves to the stern-faced woman working there, then Megan slid the folder with their paperwork across the desk. She briefly explained their situation, told the woman about the baby, and assured her that the adoption was proceeding without a hitch. “Of course, we understand that we have to clear her coming to the United States,” Megan said, sinking slowly into the chair before the woman’s desk. She gestured toward the folder. “So you’ll find everything you need there. Our marriage license, birth certificates, copies of our drivers’ licenses—“

  The woman peered into the folder, flipped through the pages, then snapped it shut. “I’m sorry, but you’ve missed the fingerprint office. Immigration law requires us to run your fingerprints through the FBI database before you can apply for permission to bring an alien into the United States.”

  Megan felt her stomach drop. “We have to be fingerprinted? Before we can do any anything else?”

  The woman’s mouth softened slightly. “If you hurry, you might be able to catch the guy across the street. He does fingerprints--for a fee.”

  Dave didn’t hesitate. He was out of his chair before Megan could respond, so she stood and hurried after him, pausing only long enough to retrieve their precious paperwork from the caseworker’s hand.

  The “guy across the street” turned out to be a gruff-voiced older fellow who listened to their frantic story with a gentle smile. Megan knew she was making little sense, but he seemed to listen intently as he pressed each of their fingers onto an inkpad, then expertly rolled them across a preprinted card.

  When the cards were done, he pulled a stub of a cigar out of his mouth, then smiled and handed the forms to Megan. “Good luck,” he said, grinning at Dave. “Now hurry back over there so you can bring that baby home.”

  Approaching the INS office, Megan felt her heart stop when she saw a rope stretched across the entrance to the INS waiting room. Had the office closed? As they hurried closer, however, she could see people in the reception area beyond. She could have fallen to her knees in gratitude when she realized they had merely stopped taking new arrivals in order to handle those who were still waiting.

  The INS staffer at the main desk recognized them immediately. “You won’t have to wait again,” she promised, glancing toward the caseworker who had spoken to them earlier. “Marcy’s ready for you.”

  With an air of accomplishment, Megan strode over and returned her folder, now complete with fingerprint cards. The caseworker glanced at the documents, stamped their application, then looked up and smiled. “Glad you made it back,” she said, standing. “Now if you will both raise your right hands and repeat after me.”

  Megan had never felt more solemn than in that unexpected moment. Together she and Dave took an oath to protect the child they had petitioned to bring into the United States, then the caseworker handed Megan a sheet of paper. “Go home, fill this in, and return it with a check for the application fee,” she said, her tone cool and professional. But her eyes sparkled as she whispered, “And God bless you.”

  Megan’s heart swelled with gratitude as she accepted the application. Everything was falling into place. Step by step, God was bringing them closer to their baby.

  They found the first packet of photographs in the mailbox when they arrived home. Though she was dead tired from the trip to Washington, Megan tore open the envelope, then stared at the first picture with unabashed delight. The tiny black and white snapshot in Helen Gresham’s office hadn’t done Danielle justice—this baby was adorable.

  Joe and Susan had taken and developed an entire roll of film—shots of the baby having a bath, wet-haired and big-eyed in the plastic tub, shots of her leaning out of a stroller, shots of her on Susan’s hip. In one picture, Danielle had been propped against pillows and was falling over, her mouth open in what Megan was certain must have been a belly laugh. A deep dimple adorned her left cheek, a glorious smile lit her face, and, Megan realized as she memorized the photos, the robust baby was no frail infant.

  Megan made a mental note to exchange some garments she’d bought earlier in a rush of excitement. This kid was growing like a weed.

  “Come home soon,” she whispered, pressing the photos to her chest. “Come home before you outgrow everything in your closet!”

  After she and Dave studied every single picture, Megan separated several photos and slipped them into envelopes for Dave’s sister, her mother, and her mother-in-law. She set one photo, her favorite, aside for the birth announcement. Tomorrow she’d take it to the drug store and have a zillion reprints made.

  “I cannot wait to hold her and love her,” she whispered to Dave as they sat on the sofa and drank in the details of the remaining snapshots.

  “This little doll will come soon enough,” Dave answered, placing his hand on her hair. “All in God’s time.”

  Chapter Eight

  A strong sense of purpose carried Megan through the next few days. Before Joe Hogan’s call, she had existed in a stagnant pool of possibilities; now she felt she and Dave had finally begun to make progress—or, in the words of Samuel Johnson, their sorrow was being lessened by “exercise and motion.” The baby God intended for them was waiting in South Korea, and Megan was determined to do all she could to insure that the time of waiting was as brief as possible.

  With great regret, on the first Monday in August she knocked on Dr. Duncan’s door and gave her notice. She would quit work in two weeks, she told him, because her baby would soon be home. Though they didn’t yet have an exact arrival date, they expected her to arrive in less than six weeks—by the end of September, at the latest.

  “And I have so much to do,” Megan explained, spreading her hands. “I have to shop, and there is paperwork yet to be done, and I’ve got a lot of reading to catch up on. My baby is three months old, and I need to know what to expect at this age.”

  The doctor’s blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I know I should offer my congratulations,” he said, crossing his arms, “but it won’t be easy to replace you. Are you sure I can’t talk you in to coming back to work after you’ve had some time to adjust?”

  Megan shook her head. “Thank you, sir, but no. I’ve worked so hard to be a mother, and waited so long . . . I don’t want to miss a minute of the experience. And my daughter will need me, so I want to be with her every minute I can.”

  Dr. Duncan’s mouth drooped in a one-sided smile. “I think this is one lucky baby.”

  Megan shook off the compliment and returned to the desk, then pulled her pocket-sized calendar from her purse and marked off another day. It was August 1—little Danielle had been born on the ninth of April, so she was almost four months old.

  Megan sighed. Infancy flew by so quickly! Susan had said Danielle was already a big baby, so if she didn’t come home soon Megan might never know what it felt like to hold an infant in her arms . . .

  She shook off the thought. She would harbor no regrets, for God had obviously brought this child to them in His timing and for His reasons.

  Her eyes fell upon a calendar date marked with a red circle—the day for Helen Gresham’s home visit. Korean regulations required the U.S. placement agency to visit the couple’s home at least once, so Helen would have to fly to Alta Vista. Megan felt certain the visit would be uneventful—they liked Helen from the moment of meeting her, and Belinda Bishop had already approved their home. So this would be a perfunctory meeting.

  Megan looked up and smiled as Mrs. Leber came through the veterinary clinic door, her arms filled with a wicker basket in which a new passel of puppies scrambled upward. “Mrs. Leber,” she called, grinning. “Has that Chihuahua been visiting your yard again?”

  Dav
e lowered himself to the sofa and bit his lip as he heard Megan singing in the kitchen. She’d been talkative and excited all through dinner, telling him about Dr. Duncan and what he’d said when she told him she planned to leave in two weeks. From that topic she bounced to the news that his sister in New Orleans had promised to send a box of baby clothes her daughter had outgrown. She’d mailed it a couple of days ago, and the package would arrive at any time.

  “I think there are a lot of people who really feel involved with us,” Megan had told him, her eyes shining. “Most of these people have been waiting and praying with us for years. I know it sounds silly, because nearly every baby is loved and anticipated, but I can’t help feeling that ours has been more anticipated than most. Well—anticipated longer than most, in any case.”

  Dave had let her chatter and ramble, remembering to nod and smile in all the right places, but he breathed a sigh of relief when dinner ended and she rose to stack their plates and do the dishes. He emptied the garbage, fulfilling his part of the dinner deal, then moved to the living room and picked up the newspaper.

  But he couldn’t concentrate on the articles before his eyes. He couldn’t think about anything but the trouble looming over his school.

  He had chosen not to teach during this summer break for two reasons—he wanted to be free if they got a baby, and he wanted to be available if he was named to fill the vacancy created by Dr. Comfort’s retirement. Though the start of the new school year was only three weeks away, the school board had not yet made any official appointments. They were meeting throughout the week, and things were supposed to be settled soon.

  But how? The question nagged at him.

  That afternoon he’d heard rumors that the recently commissioned demographic report indicated a shrinking elementary student population in the area zoned for Valley View—and every teacher on staff knew what that dire news could mean. Their school was one of the older campuses in the state, and the land was valuable and situated near a residential area. Even at this late date, the school board might shut Valley View down and sent students elsewhere. If they did, over forty faculty members and administrators would be out of a job.

  He lowered the paper to his chest as he stared out the front window. Ordinarily, he’d have shared this news with Megan the moment he returned home, but he couldn’t bring himself to cloud her happiness with dark possibilities. This was one of those 50/50 situations—the school board could close the school, or they could keep it open, and life would continue without a ripple. Why should he worry Megan with desperate situations that might be?

  The phone rang, and Megan called from the kitchen. “Could you get that, hon? My hands are soapy.”

  With a sense of foreboding, Dave picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Wingfield, this is Helen Gresham. I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news.”

  Dave sat silently, letting the words drop into his consciousness. Bad news on top of bad news meant more to keep from Megan.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “It’s a bit complicated,” Helen said, “but I’ll do my best to explain. In Korea, you see, a child cannot be declared abandoned if he or she has been entered into a family register—it’s a bit like our birth certificates, only more involved. If a family claims a child, obviously, the child is not abandoned.”

  “But,” Dave lowered his voice in case Megan was listening, “she was left on a doorstep. That’s abandonment.”

  “Not necessarily. The extended family structure in Korea, you see, is more emphasized than in the U.S. And if this child is registered with a family, she is not legally available for adoption.”

  Dave’s breath came raggedly. “But she’s not with a Korean family. She’s with my wife’s friends.”

  “I know, Mr. Wingfield, but I’m telling you the facts. I’m still planning on visiting you, but I may bring news that you’ll have to consider another child.”

  Helen Gresham’s words echoed in his consciousness long after he hung up the phone. He sat on the sofa, trembling with frustration and fear, then flinched when Megan stepped into the room.

  “Who was on the phone, hon?””

  Dave looked at her, met her gaze, and saw her expression shift from curiosity to apprehension. He couldn’t hide this from her—the baby, this particular baby, was all she thought about these days.

  Drawing a deep breath, he relayed Helen’s message as simply as he could. Megan sat on the sofa next to him, her face blank, her eyes expressionless as she stared into space.

  “I have to believe this is only a test,” she finally said, her voice vacant and hollow. “We have a choice—we can be distracted, disillusioned, and defeated, or we can press on in the faith that Joe and Susan are keeping our baby.”

  She turned and looked at him. “Do you agree?”

  Wordlessly, Dave nodded.

  Standing, Megan squared her shoulders, then lifted her purse from the table by the door. “I’m going to that little second-hand furniture store by the church. I saw a crib there the other day, and I figure now’s as good a time as any to buy it.”

  She pulled her keys from her handbag. “I’ll stop by the hardware store, too, for some paint and a paintbrush. I think I’ll paint everything white. It won’t be beautiful furniture, but it’ll look clean and nice. After all, she’s a baby. It’s not like she’ll know the difference between second-hand and Ethan Allan.”

  With a little wave in his direction, Megan opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  Dave felt his heart twist as he watched her go. In the face of overwhelming odds, his wife would fight the world with faith and a paintbrush.

  At work the next morning, Megan greeted owners and handled patients with an almost robot-like precision. Laurie remained quiet and aloof, almost as if she sensed that something was wrong. Dr. Duncan spent most of the morning in surgery, so his thoughts remained elsewhere.

  “I will pray and trust,” Megan told herself for the hundredth time as she checked the water bowls in the kennels. “God is in control of this situation, and He will walk me through it.”

  But the moment she shifted her thoughts from that comforting mantra, she felt like Peter sinking into the sea. How could this latest problem possibly work itself out? Dave said that Helen thought they could get another child if Danielle didn’t work out, but that option felt wrong somehow. At the INS office, they had applied for Danielle’s visa, they had listed her name on the application, they had sworn, in their hearts at least, to protect and provide for her. How could they pop another child into that particular place in their hearts? They might as well forget about Korea and continue waiting on Belinda Bishop’s computers . . .

  That thought sent another realization zinging through Megan’s brain. Last week, right after their return from Washington, they had gone to the bank and applied for a second mortgage. The banker had frowned at their completed application, particularly when Megan confessed that she would not be working when the baby arrived. The banker had said he’d see what they could do. This adoption would cost over $7,000—money they didn’t have in cash, but they could borrow from the equity invested in their home. Most of that amount would go to the Korean agency to cover administrative fees and the baby’s airfare; another portion would go to Welcome Home for expenses.

  Megan checked the last kennel, then leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. What if they got the loan and couldn’t get Danielle? She’d been so convinced Danielle was the child for them that she hadn’t worried about getting the loan. After all, Dave had a good job, and they’d been living in their house for three years. The house had been a bargain when they bought it, and they’d made improvements, finishing a room in the basement and adding a back porch . . .

  She closed her eyes, remembering how she had cringed at the thought of those adoption fees when they first investigated international adoption. Back then, she could not imagine how they could possibly consider such a notion, now a second mortgage n
ot only seemed wise, but practical. All they needed was the bank’s approval, and money would no longer be an issue.

  The phone rang, jangling her nerves. Megan’s heart skipped a beat when Laurie answered, then put the caller on hold and held the receiver toward Megan. “It’s for you,” she said simply.

  Megan felt her mouth go dry. Laurie knew Dave’s voice and would have identified him. Megan’s mother never called at work, so this could be Belinda Bishop . . .

  She licked her dry lips, then took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Megan?” Helen Gresham’s dignified voice rang in her ears. “I have good news. First, I wanted to tell you that my plane will land at ten a.m. on Monday the fifteenth. I’m excited about our visit. Second, I wanted you to know that everything has been settled in Korea.” She chuckled. “Your friend is something else. Apparently he personally carried the baby to the mayor’s office in Seoul and made an impassioned plea on your behalf. I’m not certain of the details, but we’ve just heard from our Korean affiliate. The baby has been cleared. Danielle will be on her way home in about a month, as soon as her paperwork arrives.”

  Megan pressed her hand to her chest. This news came too suddenly, she couldn’t take it in all at once.

  She turned and grinned at Laurie. “That’s wonderful news, Helen! Dave will be so happy to hear it!”

  “I’m pleased it all worked out. So—you’ll meet me at the airport on the fifteenth?”

  “We’ll be there.” Megan exhaled a long sigh of relief. “You can count on us.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dave let the car door close with a heavy thud, then picked up his briefcase and trudged toward the door. Of all the moments in this long, exhausting day, the one he dreaded most still lay ahead. Megan had left him a message with the good news about the baby’s paperwork, but now he had to counter that joyful announcement with news of his own.