A State of Grace

by Traci DePree

  When they reached the living room, the woman stopped and motioned toward the overstuffed couch in a dark shade of green. “Please, have a seat.”

  Kate and Livvy complied, and the elderly woman returned to the kitchen. “I put a pot of tea on,” she said loudly, from the adjoining room. “How do you take it?”

  “Sweet and with cream,” both women answered.

  While Margaret prepared the tea, Kate glanced around the cramped living room. The walls were lined in shelves, some with closed bookcases and others open, but all of them held ceramic dolls in all shapes and sizes. There were Russian nesting dolls and homemade cloth dolls with dark-colored skin. Margaret had fancy-looking porcelain dolls with authenticating tags, and everything in between. Every wall was covered with the inanimate creatures, except for where the television sat, and even that had a Raggedy Ann doll resting on top of it in a floppy pose.

  Finally Margaret returned, bearing a tray with three steaming cups of tea.

  “Thank you,” Livvy said as she took her cup.

  Kate said the same. Margaret placed the tray on a coffee table between them and sat in the heavy rust-colored La-Z-Boy chair that flanked the couch.

  “You have quite a doll collection,” Kate said. “It’s very impressive.”

  “Thank you.” Margaret looked around the room. “I started collecting them when I was a girl. Before long, everyone was giving me dolls for Christmas or my birthday. You should see my bedroom. I have a dresser in there with changes of clothes for all of them. I like to change them from time to time, so they don’t get too bored sitting there staring at me.” She laughed.

  “How long have you run the agency?” Livvy asked.

  “Oh”—she paused and scratched her double chin—“since 1970. Placed a lot of needy children during that time too. That’s my calling in life. I never married, you see, so God put me in a place where I could help families find babies. And babies find their forever families.” Her green eyes misted at the thought. “There’s nothing as gratifying to me as being there when new families come together.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Nowadays people go to such measures. All this medical hoo-ha, and for what? So you can have a baby who looks like you? I tell you, there are so many children out there who need a family to love them. Take China, for example...There aren’t enough families to take in all the babies they’re finding at train stations and orphanage gates. Yet folks let those beautiful children sit while they break their own hearts trying to conceive. It’s insanity, I tell you.”

  Kate smiled at the woman, but Margaret seemed to be on a roll.

  “Then there are the folks who complain that their child might grow up resenting that they’re adopted. Well, they better get over that! Sure, there are some families with not-so-happy endings. Moses’ adoptive mother didn’t have such a happy ending, did she? Her son left her to return to his birth family and ended up ruining Egypt with all those nasty plagues. But still, she did the right thing, don’t you think? Even though she took the risk that she could have been hurt, it was good that she pulled him out of that river.”

  Margaret lifted her cup and took a long sip, and Kate sent Livvy a look.

  “You see,” Margaret went on, “to me, helping families adopt is just a small thing I can do, my way of helping the childless and the orphans of the world find a better solution. It isn’t ideal. Of course it isn’t. But it takes a difficult situation and brings it...” Her words drifted into thought. “Grace,” she finished.

  The three women sat for a long moment, sipping on their tea. When Margaret returned to the present she said, “So, you’re looking for a child you gave up?” She turned to Kate.

  “Not my child,” Kate said. “We’re here on behalf of a friend, Patricia Harris. Her name was Patricia Long when she made her adoption plan.” She reached into her bag for the information she’d brought from Patricia. “She stayed at the Chattanooga Area Home for Unwed Mothers in 1985...”

  “You should have told me you weren’t the birth mother.” Margaret was shaking her head. “You wasted your time.”

  “What do you mean?” Livvy asked.

  “I can’t tell you anything about the case.”

  “But I—” Kate began.

  “I’m sorry, ladies. But that’s just the way it is. You’ll have to bring this Patricia Harris back with you if you want any kind of information.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Kate called Tuesday night to tell Patricia about the visit with Margaret Smee, she decided it might be best to tell her the news in person. Marissa was planning to spend the next day shopping with friends, so Kate invited the widow to her place for a change.

  She didn’t know how Patricia would respond to the news that she needed to visit Margaret in person and that she’d have to file a petition to see any court records. Patricia had been so fearful that Kate worried she’d give up on the search altogether. Yet she knew, for Marissa’s sake, that this was out of the question. Patricia would simply have to work through her doubts and take that first step.

  The coffeemaker beeped as the doorbell rang. Kate set two mugs on the counter and went to the front door.

  It was an overcast day, though considerably warmer. The snow was melting and ran in tiny streams along the walk. The birds seemed to enjoy the lack of sunshine and had shown up at Kate’s feeders in force. They flew off when Patricia walked by and then resettled in their places.

  “What a nice place you have,” Patricia said. She wore a pale blue jacket that brought out those vivid eyes, especially in contrast to her platinum hair.

  “Thank you.” Kate smiled and held the door as Patricia came inside. “The coffee’s ready if you’re in the mood.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  Kate returned to the kitchen while Patricia made herself comfortable in the living room, but when she appeared with the tray of coffee and accoutrements, Patricia wasn’t there. “Patricia?” she called.

  “I’m in here.”

  Kate followed her voice into the studio.

  “So, this is where you make your stained glass?” Patricia raised her head when Kate came in. She stood near the light table where several of Kate’s sketches were laid out. The stained-glass window for the church was on the large table at the room’s center, covered by a white sheet. Kate pulled it off to reveal the design that was laid out, with half of the leading yet to be completed.

  “This is a surprise for the church,” Kate confided. “Paul hasn’t even seen it.”

  Patricia lightly touched the surface and said in a breathy voice, “It’s beautiful. What a gift you have. You’re really an artist.” Her eyes met Kate’s, and Kate felt herself blush.

  “We all have gifts to offer,” she said. “Not just me.” She handed Patricia her coffee that steamed in rolling wisps.

  Patricia took a sip, then said, “So, what did you find out in Chattanooga?”

  Kate shook her head. “The woman wouldn’t tell us anything. She says you have to come or our search is done.”

  Patricia blew out a held breath and sat in the chair next to the light table. Finally she said, “I was afraid of this. I don’t know if I can—” Her gaze shifted to Kate.

  “You have to,” Kate said. “For Marissa.”

  Patricia nodded. “I know I do. But this is so hard. What if Marissa hates me? What if both of my daughters hate me?” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I tried to tell Marissa the truth while you were gone...but I couldn’t. She’s feeling so much better now that the chemotherapy is over...I just couldn’t.”

  Kate reached for her hand. “The right time will come; you’ll just have to seize it when it does.”

  “I’m terrified that whatever time I have left with her will be ruined, that she won’t be able to forgive me. And Kara...” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “What will she do when I come knocking on her door?” She lifted her eyes to Kate’s. “I gave her to strangers.”

  “They aren’t strangers to her,” Kate a
ssured. “They’ve loved her and made her their daughter.”

  “I still love her, you know? That doesn’t go away when you sign away your rights as a mother. But with us looking now when Marissa’s so sick...will she think we just want to use her to cure the daughter I wanted? After all, we do have an ulterior motive, don’t we? Kara owes us nothing.” She sighed and took another long drink of her coffee. “I did want her. I did. But how will I be able to convince her of that?”

  “You tackle one problem at a time—that’s how,” Kate said. “Besides, you could be selling her short.”

  Patricia looked questioningly into her eyes.

  “Perhaps she is a loving, giving person who would be honored to save her sister’s life. You’re offering her a chance to be a hero. Not everyone would resent that. At least come get the paperwork filed with the county,” Kate begged her, “and meet the adoption agent. If that’s all you want to do, that’s okay. Livvy and I can finish the search after that.”

  Patricia thought for a long moment, her gaze turned toward the floor. When she finally raised her head, she said, “I can do that.”

  Kate squeezed her hand. “I know you can. You can do a lot of things you thought you couldn’t.”

  THE NEXT WEEK, with the proper paperwork from the county in hand, it was time to make the trip to see the adoption agent. Patricia seemed ready to face her past, though she hadn’t told Marissa what the trip was really for.

  LuAnne Matthews agreed to stay with Marissa while Kate, Livvy, and Patricia went to see Margaret Smee. Marissa insisted she would be fine and was wasting LuAnne’s time, but Patricia felt better having someone on call in case anything happened. When Kate asked if she’d be willing, LuAnne had gladly accepted, confiding that she’d always wanted to get to know Marissa better but that she’d never had a good reason to come calling. Kate sensed that she was sensitive about the issue of Matt’s parentage and didn’t want to intrude on the mother and daughter’s privacy.

  Patricia seemed uncertain about leaving Marissa in the waitress’s care, but Marissa assured her she’d be fine. “It’s just an afternoon, Mother. You never get to have fun with friends. Go! I spent all day yesterday with Suzanne; now it’s your turn.” The girl lay on the couch, a thick quilt pulled up to her chin.

  “And when you came home, you were exhausted,” Patricia scolded. She touched her daughter’s forehead.

  “I’ll rest, and LuAnne will hang out. We’ll get to know each other. It’s not a big deal.”

  “She’ll be fine,” LuAnne assured. “And if anything happens, well, that’s what I’m here for.”

  Patricia eyed her doubtfully, yet Kate saw that LuAnne’s kindness had struck a deep place within the woman. “You don’t even know us.”

  “Sure, I do,” LuAnne reminded, her gaze firm yet sympathetic toward Patricia. “You’re Ray’s widow and a good mother.”

  MARGARET SMEE WAS FEEDING her chickens when they arrived at the ramshackle house later that Friday afternoon. It was a warm day, and though March was still a couple weeks away, the winds were blowing in lionlike form. Margaret’s heavy form was bent over as she tossed cracked corn to the chickens, who darted for their feed with loud cackles.

  She wore a shapeless navy-blue housedress, and her horn-rimmed glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She put them on when the threesome joined her near the chicken house alongside the garage.

  “This must be the birth mother,” she said, her gaze firmly on Patricia.

  “Patricia Harris.” Patricia held out a hand, which the elderly woman took. She held on and smiled into Patricia’s eyes.

  “It was Long before?”

  Patricia nodded.

  “I remember you. You always were a right pretty girl.”

  Patricia blushed.

  “You had twins, right? Not many twins in my business, so when they come along, they’re memorable. How’s...What did you name the one you raised?”

  “Marissa.”

  “That’s the name.” She patted Patricia’s hand, still not letting her go. “Pretty name.”

  Patricia cleared her throat. “Marissa has leukemia.”

  The old woman’s eyes clouded, and her brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry. That’s just wrong, isn’t it? Someone so young. Just wrong. She’s still with us, though?”

  “Yes.” Patricia choked on the word, and Kate could tell she had a hard time getting it out.

  “You did the best you could,” Margaret said. “You know that, right? You were in a hard spot, and you did the best you could. I guarantee you, the family who raised Marissa’s twin was grateful for your choice every day of their lives.”

  Patricia didn’t answer. She just stood there. Yet her expression filled with gratefulness for the healing words.

  “Come,” Margaret said as she turned and led the way into the house, her grip on Patricia’s hand finally releasing.

  This time instead of stopping at the doll-filled living room, Margaret led them to a small bedroom at the back of the maze of additions. There was no bed in the room, but stacks and stacks of papers. Along one wall was a collection of metal filing cabinets in varying heights and colors. Margaret went to one in the middle and said, “It was 1985, right?”

  “Right,” Patricia said.

  Margaret pulled out a drawer and moved her thick fingers through the folders until she reached the Ls. “Long,” she read. “Patricia Long, August 1985.”

  She took the folder and tucked it under her arm. “It’s all in there, honey. But like I told these two the last time they came, don’t expect it to lead us straight to your daughter. People move. Sometimes they don’t want to be found. I’ll help you with this process; that’s what I do...I’ll contact your daughter and see if she wants to meet you, or maybe exchange letters with you...”

  Patricia turned and met Kate’s gaze. Kate could see the fear that edged her features.

  “Let’s take it out to the dining room,” Margaret suggested, her tone gentle, understanding. “I can give you some information—nonidentifying stuff. But I’ll have to do the rest. I’ll let you know when I’ve found your birth daughter—”

  “You don’t understand,” Kate said to Margaret. “This isn’t a typical case. Time isn’t a luxury that we have. Marissa isn’t in remission; her cancer is full-blown. We need to find her sister as quickly as we can, or Marissa will die.”

  Margaret’s eyes held a deep compassion. “This isn’t how things usually work...”

  “All I’m asking,” Kate asked, “is that you let me search. Right away. I can stay in touch with you if that’s how you need to work this, but we don’t expect you to do all this work so quickly.”

  Margaret paused in deep thought. Kate could see the struggle in her gaze. Finally she nodded and said, “I could get in trouble for this, but I’ll give you the information I have. I have a fax machine that you can make copies on if you want, but the file has to stay here.”

  Kate sighed in relief, thankful for the woman’s understanding. “We won’t tell anyone,” she assured her.

  The dining room, like every other room in the house, was piled with junk. Margaret cleared off a round table, and Kate, Livvy, and Patricia began looking through the contents of the folder. Inside were documents about both Kara’s medical background and the Olsens, the couple who made her their daughter. First was a birth certificate from the Chattanooga hospital where Patricia gave birth to Kara and Marissa, forms that Patricia had filled out regarding her health and family history, along with the home study that the adopting family had prepared. Patricia touched the birth certificate lightly, visibly overcome with the memory.

  As Livvy looked through the papers, she came across several photos of the couple and handed them across the table to Kate and Patricia. Mary, Kara’s mother, looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties at the time. She was a pretty woman with a dark, exotic look and broad smile. She gazed happily into the camera. Around her neck she wore a red scarf tied in a perfect bow, and her
dark hair was fixed in a fluffy eighties style with big bangs and plenty of volume in the back. Robert, Kara’s father, looked a bit older, perhaps in his late thirties. He had dark hair, slightly balding in the front, and equally dark eyes. He wore a white suit with a dark T-shirt that made Kate think of that TV show Miami Vice, also from the eighties.

  “Here’s the name,” Livvy said, handing another sheet of paper across to Patricia. There in hand-printed letters was the new name of Patricia’s daughter—Valerie Kara Olsen—and the address of her first residence across the bottom.

  She clasped a hand to her chest as she stared at the words.

  “What is it?” Kate asked.

  Patricia lifted her face and said in a hushed tone, “They kept Kara as her middle name.”

  THEIR HEARTS WERE FULL as they made their way back to Copper Mill. The sun dangled low in the western sky, lighting the ridges of the mountains in glorious strands of tangerine and violet. Kate pulled off of the interstate at the exit for the winding road to Copper Mill. Patricia had barely spoken on the drive home, yet Kate sensed a new hope growing within her. Kate no longer sensed the fear that seemed to permeate every thought Patricia had of this child she’d given up.

  They now had a name to go on—Valerie Kara Olsen. It was a starting place, at least, along with the address. Perhaps there could be a happy ending to this woeful story. Kate prayed that would be so.

  And maybe if Patricia could see firsthand how God worked out those details, her heart would soften toward issues of faith. Or perhaps that was already happening, Kate thought. After all, Patricia had opened herself to Kate’s persistence, and God was far more persistent than she could ever be.

  Kate turned the Honda onto Main Street. The town was quiet in the early evening as families sat down to supper. The Town Green was empty, as were the sidewalks.