by Jan Moran
“Are you here?” She walked in, then stopped in her tracks, happiness lighting up her face. There on the bed lay an autographed photo. Delighted that he had remembered, she picked it up. An excellent photo, it was an eight-by-ten, glossy black-and-white. He wore his famous, enchanting grin, and a sparkle shone in his eyes. His wavy black hair was picture perfect. At thirty-seven, he was at the peak of his appearance, the lines around his eyes only adding to his character.
Katy smiled. He had signed the photo on the diagonal with a great flourish in a large flowing hand, just as Katy had asked, so her mother could read it without her glasses. To Maude, mother of the beautiful Katy, it read. And then, remembering her mission, she swung around to continue her search for Cameron Murphy. As she did, her smile froze, and her scream reverberated through the long white corridors.
Cameron Murphy hung by the neck from an electrical extension cord wrapped around a transom window crank. And scattered beneath his feet, Hedda Hopper would later write, lay a handful of sweetly perfumed letters from his wife, yellowed with age.
31
Abigail sat at her modest desk at Operation Orphan Rescue headquarters on South Beverly Drive, deep in thought. It was October, 1946; a little more than a year ago the war had finally, mercifully, come to a close, first in Europe, then recently in the Pacific. Along with other courageous men and women who’d served their countries, her brother Jon had returned home to England, to Abigail’s enormous relief. It had been more than a year since she’d seen him. She’d missed his last, brief visit to Los Angeles, but she was glad that he had run into Danielle.
Around the world post-war activity reached a fever pitch. The grand ocean liners, converted for troop use during the war, were now ferrying troops home. Families were reunited, while the displaced sought refuge. The war had taken its toll on the most innocent of victims, the children. Many had no home to which to return, no family with which to be reunited.
There were so many needy children around the world and so much disorganization that everything seemed to take much longer than it should have. Their grief tore at Abigail’s heart, and though she helped them find new families, she could not alleviate the horror they had been through.
In front of Abigail loomed a tall stack of slender files of new candidates, of children available for adoption. It was a heart-wrenching task, reading their brief biographies, their diaries of anguish and suffering and loss, each one an unwilling witness to death and destruction. Abigail’s heart went out to them. Every child deserved a family.
As she sorted through the files, she made notes of each child’s age, native country, language, and religion. She noted whether the child had siblings. Whenever possible, she and her staff tried to keep siblings together. Last week they’d had the amazing good fortune to place six youngsters with three brothers and their respective wives, all of whom lived within a two-mile radius in a small town. Each couple had adopted two children. It was a miracle to keep that many siblings so close together, and she’d cried when the children met their new families.
When she opened another file, her heart lurched. Triplets. Eight years old. Almost impossible to place; she’d need another miracle. Most adoptive parents wanted babies, and hardly anyone would take three children. They would probably remain in an orphanage. She sighed. At least they would be together. She studied their photos. One girl, two boys. Alexandra, Aaron, and Aristotle. A lump formed in her throat. They looked so precious.
Birthplace: Russia. She smiled. Lou was from Russia. She’d mention the triplets to Lou at lunch. Perhaps he’d know of a family who might be interested. She studied the photo for a moment longer, curiously drawn to the triplets. Abigail made a notation, then put the file aside and turned to another.
Lou Silverman parked his car outside of Abigail’s office. He rested his hand on the steering wheel for a moment, thinking. In business, he was a calculated risk taker. For a man accustomed to making decisions, there was one decision he’d been hesitant about making for several weeks now. Not because he wasn’t sure of his decision, but because it was so vitally important to him that he wanted to make absolutely sure he chose exactly the right time. He knew the answer he wanted, and he was willing to wait for it.
At noon, Lou got out of the car, and tapped on Abigail’s door. When she opened the door, he said, “How’s my favorite lady? Ready for lunch?”
Abigail smiled. “Sure, but there’s something I want you to see first. Do we have a moment?” Her velvet brown eyes danced with excitement.
“For you, all the time in the world.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. “So what’s on your mind?” He cast an appreciative gaze in her direction. She wore a sleek boatneck beige dress, nipped at the waist and lean in the hips, with beige platform pumps. Surrounded as he was by aspiring starlets and demanding stars, Abigail was like a breath of fresh air.
“I have a real challenge.” Abigail perched casually on a corner of her desk, swinging a trim leg well-shaped from swimming. She picked up a file. “We have a set of triplets to place.” She went on to tell him about the Russian children. “Aren’t they darling? I thought you might know of a family among your Russian set.”
Lou picked up their photo. “Cute kids,” he said softly, then fell silent. After a long moment, he looked up. “Actually I do know of a nice couple. They’d be perfect.”
“Lou, that’s marvelous.”
“So, where are the children?”
“That’s the best part. They’re already here, at our downtown children’s home.”
“With Mrs. B.?”
“Yes, we can see them anytime.” Abigail’s face shined with excitement. “In fact, we could see them today. And you can see the work that’s been done at the home, thanks to you.”
Lou grinned. “Get your coat, gorgeous. We’re taking the afternoon off. And I brought the convertible.”
When Abigail and Lou arrived downtown at the children’s home, they could see eager faces peering from gingham curtained windows. Children aged three to twelve lived in the comfortable home. Abigail smiled and waved, and the children returned her wave.
Lou laughed. “What a welcoming committee.” He turned his gaze to Abigail, admiring her naturalness. When she was with her orphans, her entire persona changed. The mantle of the ambitious fundraiser gave way to her maternal instincts, which sent her doting and laughing and clucking and pampering. She truly loved the children, and they loved her right back. And Lou loved her for it.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him by the hand along the bricked path. “Now remember, every child gets a hug. They need love, they need to be held and made to feel secure and valued. This is most important.”
Lou saluted her. “Yes, sir,” he replied, grinning.
“And wait until you see your studio crew’s handiwork. The carpenters and electricians and painters were wonderful, and the children adore their new rooms. Come on.”
The brightly painted red door flew open and a plump, aproned woman with rosy apple cheeks stood beaming in the doorway. “Welcome,” she called out. “So glad to see you, Miss Abigail, and you, too, Mr. Lou.”
“Mrs. B.,” Abigail exclaimed, and flung her arms around the robust, middle-aged woman. Beatrice Bonnecker was a big-hearted Austrian woman, and Abigail considered herself lucky to have found her. Mrs. B., as she was known to all, held a degree in child psychology, and spoke seven languages fluently, a skill which endeared her to the children. Nothing was more comforting to a frightened, orphaned child in a strange country than to hear the familiar sound of their native tongue.
Mrs. B. greeted Lou with a brisk handshake. “Have we got a lot to show you, Mr. Lou, ja, you’ll like it. You’ll be happy, I tell you, as happy as the children.”
“I like it already, Mrs. B.,” Lou said. “Red was a fine choice for the front door. Cheerful and welcoming, a true reflection of you.”
Abigail was on her knees now, greeting each child. “Hello, Leon, just look at how you’ve grown.
And Marisa, what a pretty pink ribbon in your hair. Tito, what a nice haircut, how grown up you look. Hello Henri, and Maria and Katia. Gerard, why the sad face? I’ve got a hug for you. Oh, I love you all.” She laughed and hugged several children at once.
Lou knew she loved them as if they were her own, and indeed, they truly were her children, the only children she thought she’d ever have.
Lou watched, love and admiration welling in his heart. Then he knelt and chatted with several of the boys who gravitated toward him.
Abigail stood, then glanced down. Her smart beige dress and coat were covered with tiny hand prints, but clearly she didn’t care. “Where are the triplets, Mrs. B.?”
“In the art room. They love the water colors.”
“Excellent,” Abigail said. “We’ll see them now, and as we go, I’ll show our Lou what we’ve done with the home.”
Mrs. B. smiled with obvious pride. “Your stylish friend, Miss Bretancourt, certainly liked it.”
Abigail and Lou stopped and looked at one another, nonplussed. “Danielle Bretancourt was here?”
“Ja, she comes here often. I thought you knew.”
“But, why?” Abigail said.
“She told me she lost her little boy, Nicky. Gave me a nice drawing of him. She hopes to find him someday.”
Abigail threw a worried glance at Lou, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Maybe she still holds out hope, but I thought he’d died.”
Mrs. B. shrugged. “A mother never gives up hope. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Mrs. B., “I’m needed in the kitchen. I hope you’ll join us for lunch.”
“Thank you, yes, Mrs. B.” Abigail and Lou traded glances. Lou kissed her on the cheek. “Danielle will be okay. She’s a tough one.”
“I guess you’re right, but it’s so sad. She’s lost so many loved ones, and now Cameron, too. Well, come on, I have a lot to show you.” Abigail started down the hall and the children followed her, skipping and laughing.
She paused at the first door, where a sun-filled room was painted lemon yellow, and giant cushy cubes of bright green and red and blue were stacked in the center like a pyramid. Thick blue mats for acrobatics were arranged around the cubes, and matching pillows were stacked to the side near a blackboard and a well-stocked bookshelf.
“This is the indoor play room and reading room,” Abigail told Lou. “This is where story time is held. The children learn English through story-telling and pictures, and Mrs. B. uses the blackboard to go over new words and sounds. Communication is essential for placement. We wanted this to be a happy, well-loved room, full of bright colors to hold their attention and keep their minds sharp and alert.”
“And my staff did all this?”
“This and more. Follow me,” she said with a wink.
They wound through the house, examining one room after another. The rambling old home had once been a rundown boarding house. Abigail had bought it at a good price, and with the aid of Lou’s set crew, she’d transformed it.
Abigail opened the door to the art room. There sat three redheaded, freckled eight-year-olds, two boys and one girl, cloaked in smocks, and intent on their artwork. A volunteer worked with them. “Try the blue,” the woman was saying, pointing to the blue paint, and repeating, “blue, blue.”
“Bl-u,” they repeated.
“Very good. Good,” she said, clapping her hands. “Good, good.”
“Good,” they repeated. Laughing and clapping, blue paint accidentally flung from their fingers.
The volunteer was clearly mortified. “Oh, Miss Abigail, I’m afraid you’re blue, too. I’m terribly sorry.”
Abigail looked down. Sure enough, her beige woolen outfit was now splattered with fine blue drops, and Lou had blue splatters across his white starched shirt and burgundy tie. “It’s okay,” Abigail said. “In fact, I rather like it. Greatly improves our image, I believe.”
The children, at first afraid for their transgression, broke into wide smiles.
Abigail said, “We came to see the triplets, Alexandra, Aaron, and Aristotle. We’ll take over, if you’d like to go to lunch. I wanted Mr. Silverman to meet them. He’s also from Russia, and speaks their language.”
“How nice. I’ll see you later,” the volunteer said, then left the room.
Lou removed his dark grey suit jacket and perched on a stool next to the children. Speaking in his native tongue, he said to them, “Hello, how are you?”
At the sound of his words, their eyes widened with delight. All at once, they began to babble.
Lou laughed and looked up at Abigail. “I think we understand each other perfectly.”
They played with the children while Lou spoke to them, then translated to Abigail. She knew a few Russian words, too. “Ask them if they have other brothers or sisters.” He did and they shook their heads no.
They spoke a little longer, then walked with the triplets to the dining hall. After eating, they spent the rest of the afternoon talking with Mrs. B. about children’s pending placements.
“Lou has a couple in mind for the triplets,” Abigail mentioned.
Mrs. B. grew excited. “Is that so?”
Lou nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I think it’s a perfect match.”
Mrs. B. said, “That would be a marvelous blessing.”
Before they knew it, the afternoon had slipped away, and Mrs. B. walked them to the doorway. All the children received another round of hugs before they bade them farewell.
Lou closed the door behind them and slipped his jacket back on. He checked his watch. “We have about an hour before dinner. Shall we take a drive up Mulholland on the way? We can just catch the sunset.”
“That would be lovely.”
Lou folded down the convertible top on his ruby red roadster and helped her in. Turning the key in the ignition, he pulled from the curb.
Abigail drew a silk scarf from her purse and tied it over her hair. She turned eagerly to Lou. “Aren’t the triplets adorable! Do you think your friends will like them?”
“I think so. In fact, I’m certain they would.” He was silent for a moment, then drew a deep breath. “Gorgeous day.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Don’t tease me. Who are they, silly?”
“A great couple, very loving. He’s somewhat older than she is, but they don’t have any children.”
“Sounds fine to me. I trust your judgment.”
Lou draped his arm casually over the back of the seat, and Abigail moved closer. She asked, “What does he do for a living?”
“He’s in the entertainment industry.”
“Is that how you met him?”
He paused. “Yes, that’s how we met.”
“How long have you known him?”
He paused again. “So long that I’ve forgotten how many years. He told me he’d like to have a family before it’s too late. He doesn’t have to work as hard as he once did, and he could reasonably make time for a family. And he can easily afford one.”
“Why haven’t they had children?”
“They’ve just married,” he said quickly. “Sometimes he thinks he might be too old to start a family. But the triplets are perfect. He’d have a head start, you see. It’d be like turning back the clock eight years.”
Abigail nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Yes, of course, you could say, ‘Do you ever wish you’d had children eight years ago?’ and when he says yes–”
“Exactly.” He turned onto Mulholland Drive and began their ascent. “Naturally, I think they’d be well-suited for a ready-made family, and he speaks their language.”
“That’s excellent. But you haven’t told me about his wife. What’s she like?”
“She’s a beautiful young woman from a nice family. Smart, athletic, well-educated, a good head on her shoulders. A great big heart, too, loves children, does a lot of volunteer work. An incredibly busy woman.”
She frowned. “Too busy, do you think?”
“No, she’s extremely energetic and well-organized. But I believe if they had a family they’d spend more time together.”
Her ears perked up at his last comment. “Have they had marital problems?”
He laughed. “Not at all. But children would bring them closer together, they’d be even closer than they are now, I assure you.” He touched her hand in a familiar gesture as he spoke. “Ah, here we are,” he said, maneuvering the car off the road. “Let’s watch the sunset from here.”
Abigail grew silent. The sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean, burnishing the sky with coppery, shimmering shades in the encroaching twilight. She leaned into Lou, comfortable by his side. “They sound like a wonderful couple. I’d love to meet them. Where did you say she was from?”
“England.”
“And who does he work with? Or does he have his own business?”
“He’s with Silverman Studios.”
“Oh,” she said with a start. “I didn’t realize he worked for you.”
Lou made no reply. He gazed out, admiring the changing colors in the sky. His mind was far, far away. He put his hand in his coat pocket, playing with the small velvet box he’d carried for so long.
Abigail shifted on the supple leather seat, mildly annoyed. She sensed he was keeping something from her, and she intended to know what it was. “When can I meet them?”
“Just look at the sunset tonight, Abigail. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“Lou, I asked you a question. When can I meet them?”
“Relax, Abigail.” He stroked his chin. “How about tonight?”
“Tonight?” she exclaimed. “Why, I’m a mess. Did you have this planned all along?”
Lou grinned, glad he’d interrupted her flow of questions. “You just told me about the children today. No, this is one of those pure coincidences, Abigail.”
They often dined with a variety of people, and as she considered it, she realized they hadn’t discussed dinner because they’d been at the children’s home. “But really, Lou, you should have warned me. Just look at my dress.”
“You didn’t mind before, besides, you look lovely. They’ll understand. We have a seven o’clock reservation at Braga’s.”
