by Liphar
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Corbin tried to sneak off every night he stayed with the Yibsons without any success. Whenever he lay down on the sofa and pretended he was sleeping the couch would absorb him into a comfortable position. It was far more comfortable than the beds at the orphanage, and it would guide him into a peaceful, undisturbed sleep.
On the third day, Mr. Yibson journeyed alone to the orphanage to see what the process of adoption consisted of. The “teachers” as they liked to be called, told him that as long as he had a house and a job, they were willing to give him two children of his choosing. He was disgusted at how they spoke of the children like piglets that could be sold and squandered. There was nothing he could do though to fix the unbelievably horrid place. What was he- a clerk at a grocery store- going to do?
That evening, when Mr. Yibson returned, he summoned Corbin to the kitchen table. “There is a way for you to stay here if you would like to son,” he told Corbin. “A way where you don’t ever have to go back to that gawd-awful place.” He paused for a moment looking Corbin over. “Would you like to be our adopted son?”
Corbin stared at Mr. Yibson, his eyes dilating. “Our?” It slipped out of him. He knew that Mr. Yibson was referring to himself and his wife but he didn’t understand why he was never allowed to see Mrs. Yibson.
Mr. Yibson frowned. “Yes Corbin, our son.” He sighed and scratched his head. “I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “You should probably meet my wife before you decide whether you want to be our son.” He looked uneasy, shuffling his feet. He stared hard at Corbin, thinking about how well the child had behaved over the past few days. He had listened to Mr. Yibson when he told him to put his plate in the sink and he was very polite whenever Mr. Yibson gave him extra food off of his own plate. He also took out the trash without being asked and even put away the garden tools when Mr. Yibson was at work. And all the while he never bothered Mrs. Yibson. Or at least, if he did, she never came out to tell him to quiet down. Mr. Yibson never told him off after his feeding session with his wife either, even though he knew he had made a lot of ruckus one day when he accidentally dropped the pot while putting the dishes away.
Mr. Yibson stretched out his hand towards Corbin. “Come on son, let’s go see Molly.”
Corbin held Mr. Yibson’s hand as he was led towards the bedroom. Corbin felt really nervous and Mr. Yibson noticed so he held on tighter to the young boy’s sweating hand. He opened the door and they walked in.
She lay there, on her back looking up at the ceiling with her eyes open. She didn’t look over at them. The lights were on and the window was open, letting in the cool air from outside along with the smell of the fumes from the automobiles passing by. Up close, Corbin stood shocked. With his eyes open wide, he pulled his hand out of Mr. Yibson’s hand, pulled out the locket and opened it. The picture of the woman inside resembled the woman that lay there on the bed; a slim body with golden curly hair and a slightly long nose but the eyes in the picture were green and the mouth was smaller. The woman who lay before him had brown eyes and large lips.
He took a step back, the tears welling up in his eyes again.
“Come here son, it’s ok. Molly dear, would you like to say hi to Corbin?” he added to his wife.
Mrs. Yibson turned her head towards Corbin and stared at him. He watched her chest move up high as she took a deep breath. She tried to move her arm but couldn’t manage it; her frail body ignoring her mind’s commands. But she did manage a smile to crawl onto her face and all the way up to her eyes; a warm and bright smile despite the sweaty curly hair that moved helplessly in the breeze from the open window.
Corbin felt the warmth from Mrs. Yibson’s smile penetrate his skin and his fear evaporated as he nervously smiled back. “Hi Mrs. Yibby,” he said. He walked over to her and put his hand on hers, all the while Mr. Yibson just stood there watching. Corbin stared into Mrs. Yibson’s eyes for a few moments then finally leaned over and gave her a hug. She managed to lift her hand and put it on Corbin’s back, tears rolling down her face. Mr. Yibson stood there as a single tear escaped his eye. After a minute he walked over and slowly removed Corbin from his wife’s embrace. They smiled at each other once more then he walked out of the room. Mr. Yibson murmured something to his wife and she smiled.
He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He smiled brightly, “I’ll take that as you want to be a Yibson?”
Corbin nodded with a tearful smile. “I do,” he said with a little sob.
“Very well,” said Mr. Yibson, “let’s go to the orphanage and take care of the paperwork.” He suddenly swept Corbin up into a tight embrace. Corbin was shocked at first as he hung limply in Mr. Yibson’s arms but then hugged back.
It was a good minute before Mr. Yibson let him go. “My wife hasn’t smiled in a long time. Thank you Corbin,” he said holding back his tears.
Mr. Yibson went to the kitchen and quickly washed his face in the sink before grabbing the small stack of papers he had prepared to take with them to the orphanage. He called Corbin over and they left together.
They entered the orphanage and immediately two women came running up towards them. “Thank you sir,” said one of the women, “you found our child!” She attempted to pry Corbin away from Mr. Yibson. Corbin screamed and try to hide behind Mr. Yibson.
“Let go of him!” bellowed Mr. Yibson. “Leave him be I say!”
The woman shrank back, afraid. The other in turn piped up. “Sir, we thank you for returning young Jacob here to us.”
“What are you talking about? That’s not his name! And I’m not returning him to your foul treatment. I’m here to adopt him.”
The two women were shocked but the second immediately piped up again. “Sir, you kidnap a child and then think you can adopt him?”
“I did not kidnap him,” he said angrily. “Everyone knows how children try to escape from this slave-port that you call an orphanage.”
The yelling began to escalate until another teacher emerged from a nearby room and hurried over to resolve the issue.
“Ladies! Please!” he yelled over them all. “Go about with your business. I’ll handle this,” he added. The teacher turned to Mr. Yibson with a look of annoyance. “So you’re here to adopt young Jake?”
“His name is Corbin!” bellowed Mr. Yibson. “How many times do I have to tell you! And who are you anyways?”
“I’m Mr. Wrench, the headmaster of this orphanage, sir. Now please will you contain your anger so that I can assist you?” he told Mr. Yibson. “Thank you,” he added before Mr. Yibson could say anything. Corbin looked over at the headmaster, a greasy-haired skeleton of a man. But those shoes, he remembered them too well. He had been lazy about shining them one afternoon and so the headmaster had been lazy about easing Corbin punishment for it.
He hid his face in Mr. Yibson’s back again.
“Follow me and we’ll get these papers signed so that you and young… umm… our young boy here can be on your way home. Would you like that son?” he added to Corbin. Corbin kept his face plastered to Mr. Yibson’s back.
They followed Mr. Wrench to a shabby room that had a single table enclosed by four wooden chairs and a filing cabinet. He offered them seats at the table as he opened the filing cabinet. His face then turned red as he turned around to ask, “what’s the lad’s name then?”
“It’s Corbin.”
“Corbin what?”
Mr. Yibson turned to Corbin who was seated on the chair beside him. “What’s your last name son?”
“Putnam,” he whispered.
“Putnam,” Mr. Yibson told Mr. Wrench.
The headmaster found Corbin’s file and they sat down. He began to ask Mr. Yibson question after question on where he found Corbin and why he wasn’t returned immediately. Mr. Yibson told the headmaster everything that had happened since he heard Corbin cry out to the night. Mr. Wrench looked satisfied with the story so he proceeded to ask questions related to the adoption; what was Mr. Yibson�
��s address and writing down his annual salary until he reached the twentieth question.
“Why do you want to adopt? And what makes you fit to be a parent?” asked Mr. Wrench.
Mr. Yibson choked on his words. He rubbed his hands nervously on his pants then looked at the headmaster. “My wife and I lost our son a few months ago,” he said looking the headmaster straight in the eye. “He was only eight. We weren’t ready for him to leave.” He took a deep breath to try to steady himself as he continued. “Now my wife…she is bed ridden and hardly eats. But when she saw Corbin, she just couldn’t believe we had a child in the house again. When I told her he was an orphan she asked me to adopt him. Since she saw him, she’s been eating again and today…today she even managed to smile again. He’s been a blessing in the few days we’ve had him. We want him to bless us for the rest of our lives.”
Mr. Wrench was unfazed by Mr. Yibson’s story. He quickly wrote down a brief answer to the question and stood up. “Very well, all I need is your signature and we’re done. The child doesn’t have any possessions so you may head straight home afterwards. I hope you treat this boy right and keep him happy Mr. Yibson. Congratulations,” he added as Mr. Yibson handed him the signed papers while trying to hold his temper from bursting through again at the lack of sympathy he was showing. As soon as the paperwork was done they left without even shaking hands with the headmaster and headed home.
On their way, Mr. Yibson decided to take a detour through the cemetery. As they walked in, Mr. Yibson hurriedly walked up the path then stopped at a small grave that had a simple head stone. On it read May he rest in peace. Michael Yibson. 1756-1764.
He let go of Corbin’s hand and began to cry silently. When he could regain his control he looked around but couldn’t see Corbin. He walked around, searching frantically, until he found him. He was standing in front of the head stone buried in moss and vines. Mr. Yibson quickly pulled the clutter off and read what was written on the head stone. Here lies Patricia Putnam. A loving mother. 1734-1759. In Corbin’s hand was the locket, opened. Corbin was staring at it and crying quietly. Mr. Yibson squatted down beside him and hugged him. Corbin hugged back and cried out loud into Yibson’s chest. He cried and cried, holding the locket tighter in his hand. He had lost his mother but he was going to have that love again. He would have a mother that would read to him like his own did when he was so little and a father for the first time to take care of them both.
He hugged Mr. Yibson tightly then slowly began to quiet his sobs. He looked at the grave once more then turned to his father and asked, “can we go home now Yibby?”
