The Day the Siren Stopped

by Colette Cabot

  “I want you all the time,” he gasped as he thrust himself into her on the seat. Their clothes in a heap hanging out the door and on the floor. “I love you, Kathy Mae,” he howled.

  “I love you, too,” she gasped. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, breathlessly, as they fell into each other nearly unconscious and completely exhausted.

  “I want to marry you, Kathy Mae,” he said after they had both recovered and dressed. “I have no idea where we could live, but it'll be up to you—if that's what you want, too.”

  “Of course, I want to marry you, too,” she said. “I've been yours practically since the day we met, really. But, I wasn't sure if you felt that way. It would be fine with me to live in the barn with you and the camels,” she said. “And, I'm serious about that.”

  “I pictured us living there right after the tornado hit,” he said. “But, now that you have a career budding, maybe you shouldn't smell like camel dung in the office. We might find it tolerable, but I doubt your clients would agree.”

  They laughed about this and began to make plans throughout the drive back to Nevada. Back at the hotel they changed clothes, and Kathy Mae brought in bundles of clothing retrieved from her old house. Phillip was waiting with news.

  “I couldn't give up on finding your birth certificate,” he said. “That just didn't strike me as normal. Guess what, Kathy Mae,” he emphasized with a pounce. “There isn't one.”

  “So, I wasn't born,” she teased, not understanding his attitude over a lost document.

  “You weren't,” he said, surprising her, “not to Lolita Graves, nor Lolita Stooder, her maiden name. In fact, Lolita has never given birth to any child, ever. I got a copy of her autopsy, thanks to a friend of mine. That woman's ovaries and her uterus confirm that she had never been pregnant, never given birth.”

  “What?” Kathy Mae said, astonished. “How can that be? I couldn't have been adopted. No one would give a child over to that woman—not for all the money in the world. Not that she had any, not that she would even want a child. This is crazy!”

  “Well, how do you think she acquired you, then?” he asked, with a look on his face that said he already knew the answer.

  “She stole me?” asked Kathy Mae. “Why would she do that? She didn't want a child, unless it was some kind of scheme to get money out of my aunt. But, I seriously doubt that was her plan.”

  “Oh, money was a part of it all right,” he smirked, “why else did that woman do anything she did in life—it was always about duping someone out of money. But, the plan didn't work.”

  “What plan?” asked Kathy Mae. “How did you find out about all this? You must be some kind of detective or a genius.”

  “I noticed your birth date on your job application,” he said, “so I looked for birth records in this state for that exact date. There were twelve baby girls born that day. Two in this county. One which had been kidnapped—and never found til this very day.”

  “Kidnapped?” gasped Kathy Mae, Mason, and Phillip's wife, Dawn, who had been listening.

  “I spent all day in the archives,” he explained. “and, I finally found the clippings. Read the first article.”

  It was dated 1982, the year Kathy was born. The headline read:

  “Please Give Us Our Baby Back.”

  The couple on the page looked distraught. The woman was sad, her eyes looked dark, but that was all Kathy Mae could make out because the picture was a printout from a microfilmed record. She scanned through the article, reading key parts:

  “Mary Comstock is asking anyone with information on the disappearance of her baby girl to come forward. She is only 2 months old.”

  “Mrs. Comstock begs for whoever has her to be caring.”

  “The infant was abducted from her home in Kansas City, Missouri.”

  “$500,000 is offered for any information on my baby.”

  “That’s you Kathy Mae,” said Mason. “You are the Comstock baby. “If you do not believe it yet, turn the page,” urged Phillip.

  Kathy turned the page, and saw a picture of a limousine driver smiling with the Comstock’s as they held their newborn baby. It was taken the day they brought her home from the hospital.

  The headline read: “Happier Times Remembered”

  Kathy was confused.

  “Read the caption under the picture,” said Phillip, barely able to contain his excitement. “Read it, read it out loud.”

  “The Comstocks Come Home from the Hospital Driven by their Chauffeur, Andrew Graves.”

  “You see your father was their driver,” said Phillip. “He had been a suspect, but there wasn't enough evidence to arrest him. It was about that time that Lolita Graves disappeared. Apparently, she dropped you off with her sister in the home where she lived with her husband in Borough, Missouri. They never collected the ransom money, and their only assurance at avoiding arrest was to keep you hidden until no one was looking for you anymore. The media wasn't as powerful as it is nowadays. They didn't have DNA. They weren't such sticklers about documenting children in schools and with medical records. People forgot about the kidnapping as time passed. It was assumed the child had been killed and disposed of or sold.”

  “So, if my father isn't my father,” mused Kathy Mae, “then I don't inherit the house. I guess it will go to Aunt Anna after all—if I'm following the chain of ownership correctly. He died, leaving it to his wife, who is now dead. And, her only relative is her sister.”

  “Well, it doesn't matter about the house anyway,” said Mason. “We're getting married, and Kathy Mae will be moving in with me.”

  “Kathy Mae,” said Phillip, “it doesn't matter about the stupid house because you are set to inherit $107 million from the Comstocks. Your mother is still living, and she's worth a fortune. And, there is a trust for you from your father just in case you were to ever be found.”

  Kathy Mae was stunned. So was Mason. They just kept looking at each other, then to Phillip in amazement.

  “Now, I think that it is time to call your parents Kathy Mae,” he continued, handing her the phone. “The number is written at the bottom of those papers.”

  “You know, the only proof I have is that my father was their chauffeur, and left their service around the same time. I mean, so what?” she said, doubtfully, hardly believing it was true herself.

  “DNA will prove it,” stated Phillip firmly. “Don't tell me you don't believe it.”

  “It just feels so strange,” she said. “I can easily believe Lolita whatever-her-current-name-is isn't my mother. But, a Comstock? A kidnapped child? This is a lot to take in.” Then she reconsidered, “Do you think the reward is still valid? If so, then you surely do deserve the $500,000. You've solved a 30-year-old mystery that no one else could.”

  “Oh, I've already got that re-invested in the business,” he grinned, jokingly.

  “Well, I hope you can spare some to replace my wardrobe blown away in the tornado,” piped in Dawn.

  “Oh, didn't I tell you, honey?” he chuckled, “Pieces of your ensembles are showing up all over town. They are giving them away at the shelters. You need to run over there and get some of them.”

  “Very funny,” she said, smacking him playfully. “Can you see what I put up with?”

  “Yes, I can,” smiled Kathy Mae. “You have a real gem there. And, now I have one, too.”

  She threw her arms around Mason, kissing him on the cheek by standing on her tip-toes.

  “I can't bring myself to just call this woman out of the blue,” said Kathy Mae, with the phone in her hands. “She's liable to have a heart attack, or she might not believe it.”

  “You're right, Kathy Mae,” said Mason. “Maybe we should contact the police, show them the information you found. They might want to take your DNA and even have it compared to hers before they get the woman's hopes up.”

  That was exactly what they did, the whole crowd of them marching to the police station together. They immediately contacted the authorities
in Kansas City and soon learned the award was still valid. Mrs. Comstock's DNA was already on file, so in a few days, they had their confirmation.

  A meeting was arranged and the same group drove with Kathy Mae to the Comstock mansion together. The four of them rode three hours very comfortably in Mason's new steel gray Honda Pilot. He had room for livestock equipment; it was powerful enough to pull the trailer loaded with camels; and, Kathy Mae liked it. Their schedule left plenty of time to stop for a meal along the way, but Kathy Mae had no appetite.

  Pulling up the long, circular drive, Mason held Kathy Mae by the arm. He had dressed with care, wearing a nice button down shirt, a dark green sport jacket, and khaki’s. Kathy was wearing a high-waisted purple dress and a set of knock off pearls. She looked the best she had ever looked, with the help of Dawn's advice. Mason beamed with pride at her appearance, and that was enough to encourage her recently developing interest in style. Although they all went inside, everyone hung back as she made those last few steps toward her mother, whom she didn't expect to see in a wheelchair.

  The woman rolled forward, squinting for a good look at her facial features. She had already been assured that the DNA test had proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was her long, lost baby. Kathy Mae was doing the same thing, looking for resemblances, hoping for memories to miraculously pass through the chasm of thirty years time.

  “I'd know you anywhere,” said Mrs. Comstock, with tears in her eyes. “You look just like my sister.”

  “She does,” agreed Timothy Comstock, “I can't wait until Aunt Hannah sees her.”

  “This is your brother Timothy, dear,” said Mary Comstock, “You have a whole family waiting to meet you, but we didn't want to overwhelm you on the first night.”

  She stretched out her arms for an embrace, and Kathy Mae ran to her, falling to her knees so that they could be at eye level to each other. Looking up into her eyes, she saw and felt love pouring over her.

  “I remember you,” said Mrs. Comstock, “It's the eyes. I held you in my arms when you were a baby, and you had those same dark eyes and lovely dark lashes. Come into the living room, you and your friends. We have some refreshments ready, and I have a pile of scrapbooks to show you. I've got the whole family history glued in pages and pages of memory books—as well as your baby pictures. It made Timothy, your father, feel sad, but I loved to look at them anyway.”

  The thought thrilled her, and now she actually began to fell hungry. Her smile showed Mason she wanted him with her, and he felt encouraged to walk forward. She waved for the others to come also, and they followed.

  Timothy addressed Phillip, thanking him for his diligence, and then he shook Mason's hand welcoming him to the family. Somehow, they had been informed of the engagement. He glanced a puzzled look toward Phillip, who played at mock innocence, rolling his eyes upward and trying to look angelic.

  The evening progressed with chatter, laughter, and joyful tears. Mary Comstock kept calling her Catherine and Kathy Mae was finally was able to view her real birth certificate. It was featured prominently in her baby book. There were her footprints imprinted in black ink and the signatures of both her parents. Just as she saw that her real name was Catherine Mary, the lights dimmed. A procession of servants entered carrying a large decorated birthday cake. She had almost forgotten that this day was her thirtieth birthday. She was hoping no one would remember, and she wasn't even sure if the date was correct. That was now confirmed, and the name wasn't too far off as well.

  Mary Comstock told her that her nursery had remained exactly the same as the day she had disappeared. The offer was made to redecorate it to her taste and have her move in, taking her place as a valued and welcomed member of the family.

  “Though I would love to spend lots of time with you and try to make up for all those missing years—for both of us—I have a life that means a lot to me. I have friends, a job, and a fiancé,” she said glancing toward Mason, who was feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  He hadn't expected that kind of offer, though he realized he should have, and it didn't seem fair to marry her and take her away from all of this. Kathy Mae deserved to live here, and yet they had been discussing making a home in his barn. He wondered if she might be sorry she had settled for such a lowly status someday. This was a wonderful life before her for only the taking—after all the years she'd suffered. He was so lost in these thoughts that he hardly noticed Mary Comstock approaching his side.

  “I know exactly what you're thinking, young man,” she said, smiling and scolding him playfully. “I recognize the look on your face, and you need to stop it right now.”

  The whole room silenced, and every eye was upon them.

  “When I married my husband, I was a waitress in the restaurant where he came in for lunch every day. We fell in love over my slipping him extra croutons for his salad. Don't let all this money intimidate you. It means nothing.

  “I am not a stupid woman. It is obvious to anyone that you two love each other. Money is a nice thing, if it's used with wisdom. It makes things possible, it makes thing easier. But, that's all it is. It doesn't mean anything. Tell me something, Mr. Wheelwright. Do you love what you do for a living? I mean really love it?”

  “Yes, I do,” he admitted easily. “I love every part of the exotic animal business—the care-taking, the promotion, meeting people—especially the kids. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do.”

  “Then you will succeed,” she continued, “in your business, yes, but more-so in life—with your marriage, your family—everything. This is what I could only dream of for my daughter. Do you think I don't want her to be happy after all she's been through? I can tell that you make her happy. Do not let this money come between you. I want your promise that it won't. Let me hear it.”

  “I promise, Mrs. Comstock. I will marry Kathy Mae and love her forever. And, I will overlook her being rich,” he said, smiling largely. Everyone laughed.

  ****

  A Perfect Wedding

  It was too late to drive three hours back to Borough, Missouri that night. They had all done a moderate amount of celebrating which included several glasses of champagne, so no one wanted to trust Dawn Buggerby, the only non-drinker, behind the wheel of Mason's new Honda Pilot. They stayed until the wee hours of the morning getting acquainted, becoming family, and eventually they decided to get rooms at a local motel.

  Kathy Mae kissed his neck, and chest; then moved lower down the smooth flesh of his abdomen, hard and muscular from physical labor. She felt his erection thickening against her chest as he began to move it between her breasts. It already peeked at her from above the waistband of his underwear. Unable to resist the shiny pink cone with its intricate ridges and creases, she kissed it with her tongue and engulfed it in her mouth. Mason jerked at the sensation of warmth and wetness from her mouth and the pressure of her lips squeezing him firmly.

  Mason moaned in ecstasy, raising her up toward him, kissing her and throwing her on her back then covered her with open-mouthed kisses all over her body. Kathy Mae spread her legs, moving with the rhythm and movements of his tongue flicking her playfully and his lips brushing against her teasing her passions to a frantic exquisiteness. This new sensation was almost more than she could endure. Her swollen inner lips almost pulled away involuntarily, but he held her firmly down. She began hyperventilating and almost lost consciousness.

  “Breathe slower, Kathy Mae,” He whispered, “and let it happen.” She groaned and growled, gasped and shivered, and finally collapsed in complete release, every inch of her body feeling as if it were floating, no longer a part of her.

  Mason fell beside her to bask in the glow of her face. Her skin shimmered in the dim light of the moon pouring through the open drapes. She looked so beautiful to him at that moment—surely she could never be more radiant than she appeared now. She shook for a few seconds, as though her body was experiencing an after-shock.

  “Are you okay?” he laughed, causing her to sm
ile.

  Kathy Mae had barely any strength left to speak. She simply nodded an affirmation, and he snuggled next to her to fall asleep. That notion paused briefly as they began to chuckle softly hearing Dawn squealing in the room next door. Obviously, they had been heard. They had inspired their friends to enjoy the night as well.

  Shortly after they arrived home, Kathy Mae arrived at the courthouse along with the lawyer the Comstock family had arranged to assist them with a series of legal procedures. Before the wedding, Kathy Mae's name was changed to Catherine Mary Comstock. Her driver's license, bank account, and employment records were all made to agree. The difficult part would be getting used to signing the new name, especially considering that it would be changing again in just a just a few months to Wheelwright. Everyone agreed, after her approval, to continue calling her Kathy Mae.