by Selena Kitt
“You mean the operation?”
“Yes.” The operation. That made it sound so simple. They had taken her—Leah’s sister, her twin—a young, healthy, trusting little girl, and gutted her like a fish.
“Patty told me, after Susan died, that my wife did it without her knowledge. Father Patrick had it all arranged. Your mother didn’t know, not until it was too late,” Rob replied, his eyes dark with anger. “My wife betrayed both of us for that pompous old pervert. She made a promise to Patty she wouldn’t ever let Erica join the Mary Magdalenes that she never intended to keep.”
“I just don’t understand her,” Leah said finally.
“Susan?” Rob gave a short, little laugh. “I thought I knew her. But I was wrong. They say love is blind, but it’s not. It’s not blind or deaf—it’s dumb. We still see and hear everything, we just don’t ever say so. Love makes forget who we are without that other person. ”
“I meant my mother,” Leah said, considering his words. “Not Susan. I really don’t understand either of them.”
“Don’t be too hard on your mother. It can be exhausting to keep a secret.”
She shrugged. “I suppose.”
Rob squeezed her tightly. “When you have to hide who you really are to the world, you create a shell around yourself over time. A painted on coating of lies. It becomes your shield…and your prison.”
“I never thought of it like that.” Leah had only glimpsed the woman her mother really was, she realized. What must it have been like, to be in love with someone you could never acknowledge in public, to be in a secret relationship society deemed not only inappropriate and sinful—but criminal? And her mother had not only had to live with that, but she had sacrificed one of her daughters to be raised by a woman she loved, only to find herself betrayed in the end by her lover.
No wonder she had clung to Leah so tightly.
“She guards her heart very well,” Rob murmured.
Leah felt tears stinging her eyes. “Yes. Yes, she does.”
“Do you understand now why I can’t stop?” Rob asked, punctuating his question with a kiss on her forehead.
Leah sighed, giving him a reluctant, “Yes.”
“And you still love me? And forgive me? And trust me?” He punctuated each of these questions with a kiss too, making her laugh.
“You don’t ask for much do you?” Leah lifted her head, meeting his eyes. “But… yes.”
“Now can we go to dinner?”
She laughed and kissed him. “Yes!”
Chapter Eight
Erica was so late there was no point heading to the Mayflower to meet Father Michael. She had effectively stood him up after telling him she would meet him for coffee on Monday, but she’d been out so late the night before with Clay. He’d taken her to St. Casimir’s in the middle of the night, which is where he put together his underground papers, and they’d spent the night printing the next issue, in between the teasing and the flirting, which had finally overtaken them both, and they’d ended up clearing the workspace.
They’d missed one of the papers though. It had gotten stuck to the small of her back. She still had the reversed image of downtown Detroit in smudged ink on her skin.
All of which explained why she had overslept, right through her alarm, but she couldn’t relate any of that to Father Michael. She just hoped he was in his office at the church. She took the steps two at a time, opening the entry doors, stopping to cross herself out of habit before going off to search for him.
Father Michael’s office was through the vestibule to the left. She had to go through the front office first, a glassed-in area where the church secretaries worked. There were two of them sitting at their desks behind the counter. Erica stepped up to it, clearing her throat. The secretary closest to her looked up—the other one had some sort of earphones on, typing away, oblivious—frowning at the interruption.
“Can I help you?”
“Is Father Michael in?” Erica tried to sound casual, like she came in here all the time asking to see Father Michael, although the secretary probably knew that wasn’t true.
“Is he expecting you?”
He was, about five hours ago…
“I thought I heard your voice!” Father Michael opened his office door, smiling when he saw Erica standing behind the counter. “It’s fine, Gertie. Come on in my office, Erica.”
Erica smiled at the secretary as she edged by her desk, feeling the woman’s eyes on her as she slipped by Father Michael into his office. He closed the door behind them, looking down at her, still giving her that big, bright smile. She’d stood him up, and here she was five hours late, and still he was glad to see her.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she apologized. “Planning Leah’s wedding is taking up all my time.”
It was as good of an excuse as any she could think of and slipped easily out of her mouth.
“I missed you. But I’m glad you came here to find me.” Father Michael leaned on his cane as he moved around to the other side of his desk. “Go ahead, have a seat.”
Erica slid into one of the two big leather chairs across from him.
“The Mayflower is cozier, isn’t it?”
“This is fine.” Erica looked around, taking in the clutter on his desk, the bookshelves that took up one entire wall, the pictures of the Madonna and child, a large cross and a calendar with the days marked off in red. December 1957 was almost over by the amount of X’s. She couldn’t believe it, but she’d actually never been in Father Michael’s office, in all her years attending church at St. Mary Magdalene’s. “Nice office. No window?”
He laughed. “Father Patrick got the office with the window.”
“Did you thumb-wrestle him for it?” she teased, enjoying the smile it elicited.
“Here’s your Christmas gift.” Father Michael reached into his suit coat pocket. He was wearing a black suit with his collar today rather than his cassock. She liked seeing him in a suit. “Sorry it’s a little late.”
She accepted it a reluctantly, even though it had been the stated reason for her visit. “I didn’t get you anything…”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said with a shake of his head. “Open it.”
The box was small and square and Erica peeled off the paper, finding a ring box inside. Of course, she didn’t expect a proposal—the man was a priest. Even if she had tempted him into sinning by kissing him on two occasions. But for a moment, just one brief moment, her heart thudded in her chest and her hands trembled and she saw two ring boxes sitting in her palm.
“An Elvis ring?” Erica exclaimed as she opened the box. She pulled it out, studying it. It said ELVIS in big letters, decorated in rhinestones. She laughed, trying it on, but it was far too big, even for her thumb. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d met the man—the legend—Elvis Presley himself. She remembered thinking how much Leah was missing that day. And Father Michael had been there. He’d remembered.
“I told you it was just a small thing.” He smiled, looking at it on her thumb. “The man who sold it to me swore Elvis himself wore it, but I believe he also wanted me to buy some swampland down in Florida too…”
She laughed, putting it back in the box. “I’ll wear it on a chain. All the girls will be jealous.”
“They should be.”
Erica met his gaze across the desk, the way he looked at her making her weak-kneed again, and she was glad she was sitting down. It wasn’t fair, to feel this way about a man who was so perfect, so sweet and kind and honest and full of integrity, and so impossibly, patently unavailable.
“So I hear you’re dating Clayton Webber.”
Erica stared down at the ring in the box instead of looking up at him. “We’ve gone out a couple times. He’s going to Berkley in the fall. He wants me to apply.”
“Well, that’s… sudden.”
“Can’t hurt to apply.” Erica shrugged. “Keep my options open. So I did.”
“California’s a long
way from here.”
“Does it really matter?” She looked up, giving him a small, sad smile. “It could be two miles or two million. I could go to the moon and we’d still feel this way.”
Father Michael nodded. “I know.”
“Anyway, you said you’d found out something…?” Erica closed the ring box and put it into her coat pocket.
He looked at her, puzzled.
“You know… our Nancy Drew mystery?”
He laughed. “Right. Well, I have some interesting news, even if it doesn’t solve our mystery. At least I was able to find some of the information you asked me to look for. It turns out the records for Magdalene House come here for storage after the girls leave the maternity home. All their records are archived in our basement.”
Erica perked up, eyes widening. “Grace! Did you find her file? Do you know where she is?”
“That’s part of the interesting.” Father Michael stood, leaning on his cane as he came around the desk. “Her file is missing. Gone. Just disappeared. Come on, let me show you.”
Erica stood, following him as he opened his office door.
“Gertie, have you met Erica Nolan?”
“So this is the infamous Erica Nolan!” The secretary looked up from her desk where she’d been writing on her message pad, tucking her pen behind her ear and smiling at Erica. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Gertie is Clay’s mom.” Father Michael informed her.
“Oh!” Erica turned to the woman, surprised enough to feel faint all of a sudden. What a way to meet Clay’s mother! Her face felt hot as she held out her hand and the woman shook it. Her hands were cool and soft. “Hi! Nice to meet you.”
“Gertie was the one who told me about the records from Magdalene House.”
Erica blinked. “Really?”
“What do you call them again, Gertie?”
“Records of Removal,” she replied, making a face. “Horrible term isn’t it? Those poor babies. I developed the archive filing system myself, so we can search for them by both the adoptive parents’ last names or the biological mother’s last name. It’s kind of like a card catalog that you look through at the library. Did Father Michael tell you we found his mother’s file?”
Erica looked up at him, raising her eyebrows at the news. “No. He didn’t.”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Father Michael headed toward the door out into the church proper. “I’m going to show off your handiwork, Gertie!”
“Nice to meet you Mrs. Webber,” Erica called over her shoulder. Gertrude Webber waggled her fingers at Erica and smiled, not unkindly. She seemed nice enough, especially after Clay’s sardonic treatment of her in his stories of his home life. He was going to flip when he found out Erica had met his mother today. She smiled in anticipation of telling him all about it.
“Oh, Father Michael, I wanted to ask you something.” They walked past the sanctuary across from the front doors, heading down the opposite hall. “Clay talked to the minister at the New Bethel church about the wedding.”
“New Bethel?” He raised his eyebrows. “The black church down on Linwood?”
“That’s the one,” Erica agreed. “The minister said we could use the church, and he would even marry them, but Leah had her heart set on you perform the ceremony. Would you have any objections to doing it there?”
“At New Bethel? No, of course not. I apologize for Father Patrick on Christmas Day. That was...” He stopped, pulling open a door that led to a stairway.
“Anyway, Clay said he reserved the church for January 4.”
“That’s this Saturday!” He hesitated in the doorway, wide-eyed.
Erica laughed .“I know.”
“How are you going to get all the girls here by then?”
“Let’s hope we get some divine intervention.” She grinned at him. “You found them—that’s step one. So, how did you manage it?”
He started down the stairs. “Remember how I told you I was orphaned and raised by the nuns here at St. Mary Magdalene’s?”
“Yes.” Erica followed just a pace behind.
“I don’t know how the conversation rolled around to it… I think we were talking about the foster kids Gertie takes in. Anyway, we ended up talking about Magdalene House, and she mentioned those records of removal…”
“What a horrid phrase.” Erica shivered.
“I know.” He turned left at the bottom of the stairs. “I told her what happened to Leah, how she’d been coerced into signing those adoption papers, how we couldn’t find where the social worker had placed the baby without a court order, and she says to me, ‘Father Michael, I can tell you right now where that baby was placed.’ You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
“I bet.” Erica followed him down—they were stairs she and Leah had snuck down when they played hooky. They’d found a way out that didn’t attract the attention of the nuns. “Aren’t adoption records sealed or something? Isn’t that what that lawyer my father hired said?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But those are state records. The maternity homes keep their own records. And they don’t give those out to just anyone.”
“You’re special?”
“It’s one of the perks of being a priest around here.” He winked at her and she laughed. “Anyway, Gertie, she brings me down here, and she shows me this room. I’ve been down here a thousand times, and had no idea that’s what we were storing down here.”
Father Michael led them to a door, turning the knob and pushing it open.
Erica grinned, looking down the hall at the little room she had discovered with bunk bed cots and a ladder up to an old storm shelter entrance to the church. It was there she and Leah had snuck out. It was also the place she and Bobby used to meet to make-out. She’d lost her virginity on one of those thin old mattresses. It seemed like a million years ago.
“Are you coming?” Father Michael turned on the light and Erica stepped into the room, recognizing it immediately. She and Leah, two nefarious truants, had slipped in here to avoid discovery by Sister Abigail. It had worked too. They’d made it out to the street and had walked home, free as two little jailbirds flying the coop. She remembered kneeling on the floor, her arms around Leah, both of them praying Sister Abigail wouldn’t discover their whereabouts.
“Gertie created this card filing system. It’s really brilliant. Like she said, you can look up any of these files by the last name of the mother or by the adoptive parents’ names. That’s how I found out the names of the girls you were looking for.”
“Leah’s roommates?” Erica looked up and down the rows. The boxes stretched from floor to ceiling, row after row after row. So many babies. So many adoptions.
“Yes, let’s see…” Father Michael slipped a hand into his suit coat pocket, pulling out a white slip of paper. “I wrote them down for you. Elizabeth—her real name is Carolyn Anne Schumacher. She’s from Flint.”
“How did you find them, if you didn’t know their real names?”
“Oh, Gertie has that covered, too! Look—all the girls are given fake names, in rotation. She just keeps them in this card file. Here are all the Lizzies. They’re filed in order of the date each girl came to Magdalene House. We knew the approximate dates, so it was easy from there.”
Gertie’s card catalog was, sadly, even bigger than the one at her school. Erica didn’t know which was sadder, the diminutive size of her school library or the massive numbers of “records of removal” cataloged here.
Father Michael looked back at his slip of paper. “There was Frances—her name is Marguerite Morales. She’s from Marquette. Marty—she’s the one I had the hardest time tracking down. Her name is Maureen O’Connor, but when I called the number at her last known address in Kalamazoo, her mother said she’d received a postcard from Australia postmarked in Tamworth, and hadn’t heard from her since. So I called the operator and asked to be connected to Tamworth, Australia.”
“From the church phone I hope.” Erica
grinned. “Long distance?”
“Of course.” He returned her grin. “The operator in Australia—what a delightful woman, very strange accent! I asked if there was a Maureen O’Connor listed in Tamworth, and she told me no, there was not. Frustrated, I told her my story, and she got very excited. You see, she was from Tamworth, although I was actually connected to the operator station in Brisbane. Tamworth is, apparently a tiny little town between two much larger ones—Brisbane and Sydney.”
“Even I’ve heard of Sydney,” Erica remarked, flipping idly through Gertie’s card catalog. “Are you going to tell me the operator knew this Maureen O’Connor?”
He laughed. “Not exactly knew her, but she had heard of her! She said she knew a girl named Maureen had moved into their little town—which wasn’t even declared a city until 1946, if you can believe it—with her baby. I guess they’d done some sort of story in the local paper about arranged marriages, which apparently are becoming more and more popular in Australia. Ruth said men outnumber women there two to one.”
“Those are sad odds.” Erica mused. “Who’s Ruth?”
“The operator.”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, she remembered the article and the man’s name.”
“Really?” Erica looked at him, hands on her hips. “She remembered the man’s name?”
“It’s a small town. I guess.” He shrugged. “So she gave me his number, and sure enough, we struck gold!”
She grinned, holding out her hand for the slip of paper. “You really did some good detective work there, Hardy Boy!”
Father Michael laughed, glancing down at his list, his smile slowly beginning to fade as he talked. “There’s one more. Jean—Norma Pyke—she’s actually still at Magdalene House. Working in the laundry. That’s where I found my mother.”
Erica raised her eyebrows at him. “What?”
“You know, I was very young when I came to the nunnery here at St. Mary’s. Three or four, I think?” Father Michael mused. “I barely remember a time before, but I do have some memories of that place. I remember hearing my mother’s voice. She used to sing to me. And I remember them calling her Lily. But that was all I could remember.”
