Kentucky Woman

by Mike J. Brogan

  A woman’s voice said. “Is everything okay, Mr. Parker?”

  “Yes. I just wondered if there’s much more road construction between here and Harlan?”

  “No, sir. Just the minor slow-down where you are now. It clears up in a half mile.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Parker,” she said, hanging up.

  Ellie was impressed. “Is the OnStar lady always so helpful.”

  “Always. Maybe your adoption agency is too. Do you know which agency placed you with the Stuarts?”

  “No. The Stuarts didn’t tell me they’d adopted me until I was fifteen. My birth certificate actually lists them as my natural parents.”

  “Wonder where they got that certificate?”

  “I have no idea.”

  They drove in silence for a while.

  “So where should we go first?” Ellie asked.

  “I think the Harlan County courthouse. They may have copies of county birth records. But if they have nothing, I’ll call my friend, Tim. He’s in records at the state capital in Frankfort. Maybe he can help us.”

  He said us! She liked that. It felt wonderful having someone with legal knowledge helping her.

  “Many years ago,” Quinn said, “informal adoptions were much more common. You know, a birth mother dies, then her sister takes the child.”

  “My adoptive parents, the Stuarts, had no brothers, sisters, aunts or uncles.”

  “Any cousins?”

  “All deceased.”

  They drove past a large horse trailer filled with two beautiful thoroughbreds, their coats gleaming in the sunlight, reminding Ellie how much she loved Kentucky horse country.

  Ahead, she saw a billboard for Chanel #5, featuring a stunning model that looked a little like his girlfriend, Jennifer Dubois.

  “So how was Jennifer’s debutante rehearsal yesterday?”

  He paused a moment. “Very elegant.”

  “So is Jennifer, Quinn. She has a beautiful smile.”

  “True, but well … she’s not smiling about this trip.”

  “Why not?”

  “She wanted me to go with her this morning to pick out her dress for the ball.”

  Ellie understood. “She wanted you to tell her she looked fabulous in the dress. It’s a girl thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Whichever dress she chooses, Quinn, she’ll look gorgeous!”

  “That’s what I told her, but … .” He paused.

  “But what?”

  “Well … she also wasn’t happy about this trip for another reason.”

  “What?”

  “You …”

  “Me …?” Ellie paused. “Just because you’re driving me to Harlan?”

  “Yep. Jennifer’s kind of ah … possessive.”

  Ellie thought about that a moment. “That’s another girl thing.”

  “With her it’s a major thing.”

  Ellie said nothing.

  “Question for you Ellie.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How many of these damn girl things does a guy have to worry about?”

  “Honest answer?”

  “Yep.”

  “A shitload.”

  Quinn laughed, but Ellie wondered how Jennifer possibly could be concerned about someone like her. Jennifer was drop-dead gorgeous, a campus VIP who came from one of Louisville’s wealthiest families. Ellie was a country bumpkin and came from a loving, but dirt-poor family in Harlan. Jennifer shopped at Neiman Marcus, Ellie shopped at Sam’s Second Hand Shoppe when she had a couple of bucks.

  “Almost to Harlan,” Quinn said, pointing at a road sign.

  “It’s always nice to come home. But lately I wonder if my birth mother still lives around here. Maybe she’s someone I actually know, but is afraid to tell me.”

  Quinn nodded and glanced in the rearview mirror.

  “I wonder what she was like. A teenager too young to raise me? Did she simply make a mistake one night and felt overwhelmed with the responsibility of raising a baby? Was I a reminder of someone she wanted to forget? Did she never want me?

  “I’m sure she had a good reason, Ellie.

  “I hope so. I also wonder if she ever thinks about me … or has ever tried to find me? Is she searching for me right now?”

  “I know it must be difficult, Ellie.” Another glance in the rear-view mirror.

  “It is.”

  “I even wonder about darker possibilities. Were my parents bad people, criminals? Or inmates in an asylum? Or in prison? Was I born in prison?”

  She noticed Quinn kept staring in the mirror.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “You said a dark blue van tried to hit you while riding your bike to school.”

  “It almost did hit me! Why?”

  “A dark blue van has followed us since Lexington.”

  She turned around. It looked like the same van.

  SEVEN

  HARLAN

  As Quinn turned onto Harlan’s Main Street, Ellie was relieved to see the dark blue van no longer followed them.

  Moments later, she recognized two elderly ladies chatting outside the Cumberland Jewelry Store. Last time she was in town, they were chatting in the same exact spot.

  That’s what she liked about her hometown. Stuff stayed put. Stores remained pretty much where you left them.

  Like the old Bank & Trust Building Quinn was driving past. It had stood on Central Street since 1872. She’d once proudly deposited two dollars a week from her allowance in the bank. Ellie saw the Margie Grand Theater building where she and her best friend, Carrie, had worked as ushers on weekends. The building now held a loan office and day-care center. Many women needed the former to pay for the latter. When the coalmines closed, husbands lost jobs and many wives had to find work.

  Ahead, she saw the Harlan County Courthouse where she hoped to find some record of her adoption.

  They parked, got out and walked toward the entrance. She noticed the big statue of the World War I Soldier that reminded her of Gary Cooper in Sergeant York. Her neighbor lady had said, “Ellie, you look just like Gary Cooper’s beautiful co-star, Joan Leslie.” Ellie thanked her, but then learned the neighbor was legally blind.

  They walked past the Coal Miners’ Wall built in the 1920s.

  “Why does the wall have two water fountains?” he asked.

  “One for Coloreds, one for Whites.”

  “Ah yes, the old South. But times change. President Obama may now drink at either fountain.”

  Inside the courthouse, they walked up to a reception counter. Ellie recognized the sixtyish, gray-haired woman wearing a red plaid dress. Around her neck hung gold-rimmed glasses. Her hazel eyes were locked on her computer screen.

  “Hi, Mrs. Browne.”

  Agnes Browne turned and smiled. “Well, I declare, Ellie Stuart, if you aren’t getting prettier by the day!”

  Ellie felt herself blush. “Thank you, ma’am. “This is Quinn Parker.”

  Quinn and Mrs. Browne shook hands.

  “How you liking Louisville, Ellie?”

  “Just fine, ma’am.”

  “Good. How can I help you, hon?”

  “Well, as you know, I was adopted by Harold and Joyce Stuart.”

  Agnes nodded. “Joyce told me a few years back.”

  “I wondered if you keep records here of county adoptions from twenty-one years ago?”

  “We used to, Ellie, but since 1962 all adoption records are filed up at the Department for Community Services at the capital in Frankfort.”

  Just like Quinn said they were.

  “But hang on,” Agnes said. “We keep some old backup files in the storage room. Your record should be back there.”

  Ellie’s hope rose.

  “Y’all have a seat while I look.” Agnes gestured toward some wooden chairs, then walked into a room filled with wall-to-wall filing cabinets.

  Ellie and Quinn sat and waited. She looked aroun
d and recognized three other middle-aged women working at computers, but not the young man with a silver earring who was sorting mail into wall slots.

  Is he the same guy I talked to on the phone a couple of days ago when the line mysteriously disconnected?

  Agnes Browne walked back toward them, looking puzzled.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie asked.

  “Well, I found the backup files for the year you were born and adopted. But for some dang reason, your file was missing!”

  Ellie slumped against the counter.

  “Do you have a copy of your birth certificate, Ellie?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ellie took a file from her satchel, pulled out her certificate and handed it to Agnes.

  As Agnes scanned the document, she frowned at something in the corner.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie asked.

  “This state seal, hon, is … too small.”

  Agnes reached into a drawer and pulled out another birth certificate. “This here’s the genuine seal. The state’s began using this larger seal about eleven years before you were born.”

  Ellie saw the genuine state seal was at least fifty percent larger.

  “I’ve seen some of these small-seal certificates over the years. Turned out they were all … ah … well, not genuine, you know, fakes.”

  Quinn leaned forward. “So whoever set up Ellie’s adoption, gave Joyce and Harold this fake birth certificate.”

  “Seems to be the case,” Agnes said.

  “What about the judge who oversaw adoptions back then?” Quinn asked.

  “Judge Warren Nesbitt. He handled adoptions in these parts then.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Agnes pointed out the window. “Judge Warren’s over at the Sunshine Senior Center on Cumberland Street.”

  “Can we visit him?” Ellie asked.

  “Sure. But … well … I hear Warren’s memory is kinda dotty. You know good days, bad days.”

  “Maybe he’s having a good day,” Quinn said.

  “Damn sure worth a try,” Agnes said. “If y’all go, tell old Warren that Agnes Browne said hi.”

  “Will do. And thank you, Mrs. Browne.”

  “You’re welcome, hon. And good luck!”

  As Ellie and Quinn walked from the courthouse, she hoped Judge Nesbitt was having a good memory day.

  But the way her luck was running, he probably couldn’t remember what he ate for breakfast.

  As he sorted the courthouse mail, Barrett Sinkhorn watched Ellie Stuart and the big guy named Quinn leave the building. Sink-horn tugged his silver earring, knowing what he had to do. He’d gone on full alert when he’d heard the name Ellie Stuart – the name he’d been paid to listen for over the past six years.

  And for six years, he’d heard nothing. Then a few days ago, Ellie Stuart herself phoned him and asked about her adoption records. He’d put her on hold, and seconds later, disconnected the line.

  Then today, she shows up here, snooping around.

  Sinkhorn had to report the news immediately.

  “Agnes?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m fixin’ to go out for a smoke,” he said, heading toward the door.

  Agnes frowned, but nodded.

  Outside, he walked behind the trash bin area, lit up a cigarette, made sure no one was listening, then took out his cell phone and dialed.

  A man answered.

  “Ellie Stuart was just here.”

  Long pause. “And …?”

  “Well, she was asking about her adoption papers.”

  Longer pause.

  “Agnes went to the storage room to check for Ellie’s old backup file.”

  “But you destroyed that file, right?”

  “Yes, sir, I sure did.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, Ellie’s fixin’ to go see Judge Warren. See what he remembers.”

  “He won’t remember jack-shit. His brain’s mush!”

  “You want me to do anything.”

  Long pause. “We’ll handle her from now on.”

  EIGHT

  Quinn and Ellie drove away from the courthouse and headed toward the Sunshine Senior Center. She hoped Judge Warren Nesbitt’s “dotty memory” would remember something about her adoption. If he didn’t, she had no idea where to search next.

  As Quinn paused at a stop sign, Ellie noticed a frail woman in her eighties inching her way across the street.

  “She looks like Celeste, the lady I care for.”

  “How long you been caring for her?”

  “Since freshman year.”

  “Hers …?”

  “Ha Ha. Everyone’s a comedian.”

  “Does taking care of Celeste cover your tuition?”

  “My scholarship covers my tuition, thank God. But caring for Celeste gives me room and board and a little spending money.”

  “Good for you, Ellie.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re bootstrapping your way through college with no assistance from family.”

  “What family? I’m a family of one. But hey, Quinn, you’re no slouch. Football All-Conference, law school scholarship.”

  “Dad was a terrific athlete, and mom’s smart as a whip. Luck of the gene pool.”

  Again, Ellie wondered about her gene pool and whether it included additional genes for early onset Alzheimer’s. Or maybe the BRCA genes for breast cancer.

  Diseases that she could do something about now … if only she knew about them now?

  NINE

  “So, Quinn, what kind of law do you plan to practice?” Ellie asked as they drove toward the Sunshine Center.

  “Criminal law.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Yeah. And I just received a nice offer to join Wagner, Hoffman and Musterman after graduation.”

  “Wow! They’re one of Louisville’s best firms. How’d you get the offer before you graduate?”

  “Well, the Wagner firm handles legal work for Kentucky Whiskeys, Jennifer’s father’s company. He suggested they might want to interview me. They did and made me an offer.”

  “You should feel proud!”

  “I feel lucky to know the right people.” He passed a truck stacked with bales of hay. “So Ellie, tell me what kind of law interests you?”

  “Miner’s law.”

  “Minors in trouble?”

  “Miners in mines. Coal miners with lung diseases. Men who’ve suffered for years from greedy mining companies and greedy health care providers who won’t acknowledge their disease.”

  He nodded. “Don’t forget the greedy life insurance companies who keep rejecting their claims until the miners give up or die.”

  “Sounds like we’re both pissed off!”

  “Sounds like we should open a free law clinic.”

  “Sounds like we call it the, ah … POMFLAC.”

  “The what?”

  “The Pissed Off Miners Free Legal Aid Clinic.”

  He laughed as his cell phone rang. He pushed the speaker button.

  “Hi, Quinn,” Jennifer said.

  “Oh, hi … . Did you find a nice dress?”

  “Yes. It’s fabulous. A white, low-cut full bodice Vera Wang.”

  “Sounds beautiful.”

  “It is. So how’s the drive?”

  “We made good time. Already in Harlan.”

  Jennifer paused. “And so … did you stop at all the bars?”

  Quinn reached over and quickly turned off the speaker, then placed the phone to his ear. “Well, no … none.”

  Ellie wondered why Jennifer asked about bars? Did Quinn have a drinking problem? He didn’t seem the type, but one never knows. And why did he turn off the speakerphone so fast?

  She listened to him chat about the Cotillion debutante party. As they talked, Ellie imagined how beautiful Jennifer would look in her Vera Wang dress and how handsome Quinn would look in his tux. The perfect couple.

  Quinn hung up. Ellie noticed he seemed a bit up
set by the call.

  “What’s with ‘stop at all the bars?’” Ellie said.

  He hesitated. “Oh, that … well ah … you see, Jennifer’s advertising class is ah … researching bartenders, asking if they think the new Budweiser commercials are working.”

  “Oh …” Ellie sensed he’d made up the answer and wondered why? Maybe he did have a drinking problem. And what about the pain pill he tossed in his mouth a while ago? He’d said it was for a knee injury he got playing football. But he hadn’t played football for several months.

  “So, Ellie, what about you?”

  “What about me?

  “Do you have a significant other?”

  She paused. “I had one. Mark was a senior when I was a sophomore. We became serious when he began his masters program.” She felt the heaviness hit her again. Would it ever go away?

  “Did he complete his masters?”

  “No. The National Guard called him to active duty. Weeks later, he was stationed near Kabul.”

  “How long was his tour?”

  She swallowed a dry throat. “Four months. The army brought him home in a flag-draped coffin.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “After Mark’s death, I kinda buried myself in schoolwork.”

  They drove in silence for several moments.

  “Question for you,” he said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you know anyone in town in a red Ford pickup with a NASCAR sticker on the front bumper?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The one behind us has taken the same four turns … make that five, that we’ve taken since we left the courthouse.”

  TEN

  Ellie watched the red Ford pickup turn down a side street as Quinn parked at the Sunshine Senior Center. Maybe the pickup wasn’t following them. Maybe it was being cautious and waiting them out.

  Maybe she was growing paranoid.

  The Senior Center looked just like it did when she volunteered here during summer break. The magnolia trees were in full bloom, the wheelchair ramp still needed paint, the gardens were filled with crimson roses that smelled wonderful.

  But inside, the roses were overpowered by disinfectants and deodorizers and what Ellie called the air de decline, old people knowing that the end was drawing near.