by Anna Schmidt
She nodded but shrugged as well. “We’re a hospital but also a home for unwed mothers. Our girls are in various stages of pregnancy. They need a safe place to learn, to live, to be loved while their babies grow. They’ve got some big decisions to make, and society doesn’t always embrace them warmly.”
“A home for . . .” He paused, not sure he should say more in front of Laurie, but then the child lived here, so she must have heard the phrasing before. “The Booth Home helps expectant mothers?”
“Those in need of faith, hope, food, love, and a roof, yes.” She got up, crossed the room, and filled a small aluminum percolator with water, then spooned careful measures of coffee into the small, metal basket. “Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“It will take a few minutes.” She resettled herself in the only chair in the room, then dipped her chin toward Laurie. “We’re losing her.”
“Ah.” Mike smiled as the little girl’s eyelids drifted closed. Dark lashes lay against pale cheeks, but shadows darkened the hollow beneath her eyes. “She doesn’t look as healthy as she did last week.”
“She will. Children have amazing recuperative powers. I thank God for that all the time, because they catch anything and everything, and it’s not easy being a parent on your own. But I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She is my delight.”
He wanted to ask more about this place. About a home for unwed mothers, but would Karen read too much into his questions? Worse, would he put his foot in his mouth again?
Most likely.
“Have you worked here long?”
“Since I graduated from nursing school at St. Joe’s. I’d actually gotten into the Cadet Nurse Corps, but by the time I graduated, the war had just come to an end. So I’m here, doing what I love. Delivering babies. Helping young mothers. And the Salvation Army had this little apartment for rent, so that’s a huge advantage.”
“And the disadvantages?” Mike adjusted his seat slightly, tucking Laurie’s head beneath his shoulder, against his heart. The scent of soap-and-water clean triggered memories of Mary Lynn, freshly scrubbed and in need of a story or a nighttime game. It was a good memory, all in all.
Karen rose and crossed to the two-burner as she pondered his question. “We’re not as equipped as some places. We don’t have special beds for preemies, those new incubators that help ease their breathing when they’re born too soon.”
“Do you send those babies to other hospitals?”
“We have, but it’s so hard on the mother, Mike.” She brought him his coffee, set it down, and then reclaimed her seat. “For a mother to be separated from her newborn is a grievous act. Some of our young moms are releasing their babies for adoption. In that case, the separation is twofold. They’re giving up a child who is in a fragile state and that multiplies the loss. And the guilt.”
“Will some of the girls keep their babies?”
She nodded. “Some, but not too many. Society bears unwed fathers no ill will. For unwed mothers it’s a different story.”
Mike was living that reality. The two-fold sword cut deep. “So the home helps place children?”
“Through private means or the Children’s Aid Society. Would you like me to tuck her into bed?” Karen swept Laurie a look so sweet, so maternal, that Mike saw his future in her eyes, a glimpse of the family they could have together. A future he hadn’t considered since coming home from the front, sad and resigned, jumping from one responsibility straight into another.
“I kind of like holding her. If you don’t mind.”
Karen’s smile softened, as if she read his loss, his pain, his questions and knew the warmth of a child could heal. “She seems most content and that’s never a bad thing.”
“When she’s better . . .” Mike swept Laurie a quick glance. “I’d like you two to visit us in Brooklyn. My sister and me. And I’d like to show Laurie the lights of Midtown at night, if that’s okay.”
“We have planned on doing that, but it’s tricky,” Karen admitted. “I only have two days off per week, and sometimes they’re on nights when she must get into bed early for school.”
“Then let’s plan on this Saturday if she’s better,” Mike decided. “I can have you back here in time for your nursing shift. Who watches Laurie while you work the overnight?”
“The girls take turns sleeping here. They do it as a service to me, no fee required.”
“So no babysitting expenses and low rent.”
Karen tipped her gaze up. “Nursing pay isn’t huge, but it’s better than industrial wages right now and I love it. And isn’t that the important thing, Mike? To love what we do?”
Mike couldn’t argue the wisdom in that. “I love police work.”
Her smile deepened. “It shows. But I expect your parents worried every time you went to work.”
Mike shook his head. “They didn’t, really. We bleed New York blue in our family. My father. My grandfather. He was one of the first Polish American officers in New York City and that was because he married a police captain’s daughter. Lucy Carmichael.”
“A tight society.”
“A brotherhood,” he corrected her. “Although that isn’t always a good thing. But mostly, yes. We work together. But, sadly”—he glanced at his watch, grimaced, eased Laurie’s head onto the pillow, and stood—“I must go. Mary Lynn will be wondering what’s happened to me.”
“Mike, thank you for coming.”
“For finding you?” He stepped closer as she rose and was pretty sure the mix of emotions said his pursuit earned him points in the “nice” column. “I kind of pretended I was here on official police business.”
She laughed, then scolded. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”
“When a girl doesn’t give out her number . . .”
Karen blushed and dipped her chin.
“Or her address.”
She made a face that said he’d caught her out.
“And barely lets a guy buy her coffee . . .”
“Mike, I—”
“It’s okay.” He smiled down at her and tipped her gaze up with one strong finger beneath her chin, and the touch of her skin to the pad of his finger . . .
That single connection flooded his heart and brain with possibilities he hadn’t expected and now longed for. “Now that I’ve found you, I’d like to visit now and again. And have you visit me.”
“Mike—”
* * * * *
His hand cradled her chin. The touch sent warmth spiraling through her, but she understood the danger of believing too much, too soon. And this was much too soon in Karen’s book. She took a firm step back, toward the door, knowing she should waylay his entreaty.
She didn’t need more complications in her life.
Laurie’s existence shouldn’t be clouded with adult choices that would most likely fall through. Wasn’t it better all around for Karen to stay on her own? Less confusing for mother and daughter? If one didn’t open one’s heart, there was no chance for someone to break it, and Karen was pretty sure she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in Mike’s gaze when he realized she wasn’t a war widow but an unwed mother like the girls she served.
She turned back, square into Mike’s broad chest. His strong arms braced her, kept her from falling, and that single moment pushed her to meet his gaze. “Yes.”
His grin widened. His eyes dropped to her mouth once more, then he glanced around. The sleeping child, the open door, the possibility of others coming down the hall . . . she read his expression, that this wasn’t the best place for a first kiss.
He made a face of chagrin and tweaked her nose. “I’ll do the bell ringing tomorrow. Can you let me know if Laurie is doing better?”
She walked to the door with him and frowned. “Probably not. It’s rare to get a phone line to use here. With so many people . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “Really early in the morning or very late at night are the best options.”
He laughed. “Well, our party line is no different, so
I understand. Then I’ll walk by Macy’s to see you the day after. Or I’ll call you here late in the evening.” He turned and went through the door, then swung back. “I’m glad you like the wreath.”
“I love it, Mike.”
Was it her words or her tone that softened his gaze? Brightened his eyes? She didn’t know, but as he walked away, she remembered her manners. “And thank you for ringing the bell tomorrow.”
“My pleasure, Karen.”
He disappeared around the corner, but for long seconds she stood and listened to the sound of his footsteps fading on the tile floor. She couldn’t hear them once the connecting door clicked shut, but she stood there anyway, fingering the pretty wreath, imagining she could still hear him. See him.
Common sense tried to rein her emotions in.
Mike’s kindness tempted them out of hiding.
Which was the right way to go? Which was in Laurie’s best interest? And would Mike’s opinion change when he realized that she not only worked at Booth Memorial Home, she’d been a client here five years ago?
What would he think? Would he be as attracted to a fallen woman? Would he want his younger sister around her?
Probably not. Worse, she couldn’t blame him, a young man, old before his time, charged with raising a teenager in the thick of postwar opportunities.
She’d think and pray and ask God’s guidance. She’d begun this new friendship, determined to guard Laurie’s heart. But in reality, she was choosing to guard her own and that made her feel like a coward.
“She’s doing better?” Major Flora approached Karen from the opposite end of the hall.
“Yes. The aspirin is keeping her comfortable.”
“And we’ve added something new, I see.” Major Flora’s hiked a brow of interest to the wreath adorning Karen’s door. “Your police officer visited.”
“He’s not mine, but yes. He stopped by.”
“To talk about the mugging?”
Karen made a face. “No.”
“Ah.”
“He’s interested in me. I see that clearly.”
“And the interest is returned.” Major Flora raised her shoulders. “Then what would be the problem with that?”
“He believes I’m a war widow.”
“So do the girls.”
“I know.” Karen waved Major Flora into the apartment and shut the door gently. “I’m living a lie and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Major Flora’s gentle expression argued that point. “There is only one way, of course. The truth.”
“But Laurie . . .” Karen sent the sleeping child a look of dismay. “I don’t want to embarrass her. Or have her labeled. Her father made it clear that he had no interest in her or responsibility for us once he knew of my pregnancy. Should she have to live with that rejection as a small child? Is a white lie so bad when it protects her?”
“Is it the child we’re protecting? Or the mother?” Major Flora wondered. When Karen began to answer, Major Flora held up a hand. “I don’t need an answer, it is just something to think about. I think there is truth in both, and protection of one’s self and one’s child is what keeps us safe from danger. But you must decide if the omission is doing more harm than good. And then face the answer head on.”
“I should examine my conscience.”
“And your choices.” Major Flora moved back to the door. She wasn’t a demonstrative woman. She didn’t freely hug or embrace, but her steady determination showed her love. “God places the paths before us. We choose the ones we travel.”
“Blessed be the name of the Lord,” Karen replied.
Major Flora was right. She’d put up walls to barricade herself and Laurie from hurt, but was it time to bring those walls tumbling down? Was this her Jericho?
She’d lived her childhood with her chin down, embarrassed by the drunken squalor that surrounded her life. She understood the scornful looks, the mean asides, the darkness of hopelessness when she was home.
She’d clung to school, her lifeline to new and wondrous choices. She’d excelled, not for her parents’ sake, but to open new doors of achievement and possibility for herself as she matured.
And then she’d fallen for a glib-talking soldier, a man who saw her youthful naïveté and played it well.
Her fault, she knew. And she’d worked so hard to mend the broken pieces of her life. Her past, her shame, her choices.
And here they were, staring her in the face again.
Maybe there was no escape from past sin. Maybe that was the penance, meted out year by year.
She turned, half-hopeful, part-despairing, and her gaze fell on the small sampler she’d stitched while carrying Laurie in the womb. “As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.” The psalm promised forgiveness. Christ’s sacrifice guaranteed it. Why did she find it so hard to absorb? Why did she find it so easy to comfort others, yet impossible to forgive herself?
Laurie stirred on the couch. Karen moved to the counter, prepared another dose of crushed aspirin, and kept her hands busy tidying things that needed no attention. If she couldn’t straighten out her soul, she could at least keep a neat-as-a-pin apartment.
Chapter Nine
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Karen worked at a home for unwed mothers.
How could that be a coincidence? Was this an answer to prayer? His and Mary Lynn’s? She dreaded having the neighbors know what she’d done. And he hated to see her go through any more suffering or consternation.
She hadn’t been as sick these past few days. He took comfort in that. But he longed for her to be able to move on from this experience in six months’ time.
For her to move on? Or you? How will you explain a new baby in the house? Think, man. There are no secrets in the neighborhood. You know that.
It didn’t hurt to talk to her, though. To offer the option if it was truly available. He’d check further, but this would solve so many problems. She wouldn’t be alone. She could study at the home, maybe even complete her senior year. And if she offered the baby for adoption, her college plans wouldn’t have to go on hold. Their mother’s dream for her daughter would come true, no thanks to Mike.
He broached the subject after supper that night. “Mary Lynn, have you ever thought of going to a home for expectant mothers to complete your pregnancy?”
Her face washed pale. Quick tears smarted her eyes. “You want me to go away.”
Chagrined, Mike shook his head. “No, no, it’s just something that popped into my head,” he protested, but too late.
She sank further into the overstuffed chair. Tears slipped down her cheeks in rapid-fire fashion. She didn’t sob or cry out, she just looked wretchedly helpless and lost, and that was worse. He crossed the room but she drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and buried her face.
“Mary Lynn, I didn’t mean you have to go away. I just wondered if you’ve given it any thought. If it might be easier on you. You told me you were worried about facing the neighbors. Going to school. Having people find out. I just thought—”
He wasn’t sure what he thought, but her reaction said he hadn’t thought enough. Or offered the option with proper care. Befuddled, he ran a hand through his hair. “Talk to me, Mare.”
“No.” She sniffled, head down, face hidden, and he couldn’t feel worse than he did right then. Could he possibly mess up this situation any more than he already had?
Most likely not.
“Mary, I . . .”
She darted up, gaze down, and raced for her room. The slamming of her door punctuated the emotions of the night.
He stood there, staring at the staircase, wondering what to do. Should he go to her? Try to explain?
Thoughts of Maggie came to mind. She’d been extremely emotional during her pregnancy with little Joe. And the two miscarriages had put her in a mental tailspin, his mother said.
Karen told him that pregnancy wasn’t a diseas
e but a normal state of being.
Right now he didn’t see one thing normal about any of it.
* * * * *
Mary Lynn refused to speak to Mike the following morning. Gaze averted, she ignored his questions and marched off to school, leaving him more frustrated than he thought possible.
Questions mentally flogged him as he trudged toward the subway station earlier than necessary. He’d be ahead of time at the bell-ringing site, but better there than mulling in the house, wondering how one man could possibly mess up so badly. The dark day reflected his mood, cold and gray, a leaden sky promising heavy rain by noon.
How could he fix this? He didn’t know a thing about pregnancy or pregnant teens or being a dad in place of his father. He couldn’t confide in family and break Mary Lynn’s trust. That would come soon enough. Where could he turn?
He noticed a wooden sign as he passed the church of his youth, a beautiful stone building decked with tall, stained glass windows in pastel tones. He stared up, eyeing the poignant Biblical scenes portrayed, window by window.
His mother thought the colors pale and lifeless compared to Polish art, but Mike had always loved the muted scale the original glass artist employed.
The small sign graced the concrete walk leading to the narthex door. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Mike felt weary. Laden. Burdened. But he’d felt that way since hearing of his father’s death, mid-war. Caught on the battlefield in a major game of life and death, he had no option to come home and offer comfort to the women of the family. Duty commanded he stay the course, and he had, but his mother and sister had paid a price in his absence.
He’d gone to church as a child. And he’d believed in the holiness of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
But maturity and war turned him away. What form of God allows the callous inhumanity of battle? Of concentration camps and gas chambers, millions of sad souls cast aside by one man’s crusade to “cleanse” the world?
The thought of Hitler’s evil made his heart lurch.
But the sound of an infant squalling pulled his attention closer to the top step just beyond the sign. Drawn, he moved forward, senses reeling.
