by Lynne Hugo
Chapter 9
Gary
As he backed the van out of his mother’s driveway, Gary couldn’t believe what had just happened. It was definitely a heavenly Sign. All he had to do was find Rosalina, explain to her that this wasn’t a good idea at all, maybe help her with money, which he’d probably have to borrow. He’d just have to make certain nobody found out. It would ruin his ministry for sure to be known as a fornicator, especially after all the talk when Nicole left him—although that was before he’d been Saved, of course, and his flock made allowances for that. But there was no way, no way, he could let anyone find out or all he’d done to redeem himself, all he’d done to build his church, would be lost. So he’d have to find her, was all. Find her. First, though, he reminded himself, he had to get into town and buy supplies for the baby. Aunt CarolSue had given him a list. And made it clear he’d better do it before he even thought about doing anything else.
He headed for the little grocery store in the blink of a town. It wasn’t much to speak of, but they had the basics, he was pretty sure. He’d have asked his mother where to go, but thought her head might explode if he did, and Aunt CarolSue hadn’t been back long enough to have a fix on current shopping. The grocery store had the advantage of being the closest, too, and he really wanted to get to work on finding Rosalina. Or on figuring out where to start looking. He felt amped up, as if he’d been drinking too much coffee, which he actually didn’t drink at all now because there had been a suggestion at that first revival—if he’d understood it correctly—that it might be sinful. Sometimes it was hard to keep all the Gospel rules straight, like what to eat and drink. Books like Leviticus and Judges—so many of them, really—required many readings and much study.
He parked the van at the IGA in Shandon Center and went in. Not helpfully, there were two different kinds of infant formula. How was he supposed to know which one to get? He was just pulling the one that showed a baby girl on the package—the other kind had a boy on it, so that must be how you knew?—when down the same aisle pushing her own cart, wouldn’t you know? Sister Amy! No, no! Gary jammed the formula back on the shelf as if it were a live grenade, turned his back and pushed his own cart down toward canned vegetables, which is where Sister Amy caught up to him as he was putting two cans of sauerkraut into his cart.
“Yes, it’s wonderful on a hot dog with some mustard, I find, and an easy supper when I’m busy,” he explained after she’d effusively greeted him and examined what he was buying.
“I thought we were discussing in Study Group . . . which Book is it that says pork isn’t clean?”
“Sister,” Gary admonished. “You know there are even chicken and turkey hot dogs, right?”
“Goodness! That’s wonderful. I’d not looked. Now I know! Thank you, Reverend Gary.”
They said their goodbyes, Gary paid and left. He’d have to go all the way to Elmont. Shandon Center just wasn’t going to work. He hadn’t been thinking clearly.
* * *
Elmont turned out to be the better choice anyway. There was the big box store there, groceries on one side, home goods on the other. He got the formula with the baby girl on the package, bought a case of it—he could give it to Rosalina to help her out—and then found out, by glancing at the instructions on the back, that he also had to buy bottles with plastic liners, nipples, and caps. Then he searched out disposable diapers. They sold those by the baby’s weight. How was he supposed to know? There was a young ponytailed mother in the same aisle with a baby that looked about the same size as Gracia, sleeping in the shopping cart, so he asked her. She asked how much the baby weighed, which was apparently the key to a kingdom that he didn’t have. “I’m a pastor, and this is a mercy mission for a church member. I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said.
“How old is the baby, then?”
Gary had to do a quick calculation in his head. “I believe she’s over a month but not two months.”
“So say six weeks?” The young mother took a pair of glasses off the top of her head and put them on.
Embarrassed. “Yes, say six weeks.”
She scanned the shelves. “These should fit,” she said, and took a package off the shelf. “They’d fit my daughter, but I use cloth diapers.”
Gary took three more of the same packages. “Um, would you mind showing me what clothes . . .” He consulted his list, “Onesies, I see they’re called, would be likely to fit?”
“Those are right over there. It’s hot right now, though. You might want to get her something cooler, like this, too,” she said, leading him to a circular rack, rifling through some outfits and lifting out a hung-up pink sun suit. “Do you need other supplies, like baby wipes and shampoo? Does the mother have anything?”
“Uh. I don’t really know. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a few things.”
“Well, you probably want some cream in case there’s any diaper rash. They sell a layette kit. Maybe that’s your best bet. See that display over there?” The woman’s baby was starting to fuss now. He watched how she soothed her.
“I’ll get the kit, good idea. Thank you so much for your help, and God bless you,” he said, so she’d know she could be done with helping him.
Gary did buy the layette kit, onesies, two receiving blankets, a baby bathtub, a couple of rattles, Baby’s First Book, and two of the cooler outfits the woman had suggested. It would all go to Rosalina. It was her baby, but he could help, he figured. It was what God wanted.
* * *
“Gary! You said a day. Why have you brought supplies for a month?” His mother was already going nuts and all he’d brought in was the formula and bottles. Ha. And she accused him of being over-the-top.
“Calm down, Mom. Jesus wants us to suffer the little children, remember? And this stuff is for Aunt CarolSue and you to use for a day or two until I find the mother and help her see God’s will. Then I’ll give it all to her, to help her. Okay?”
Aunt CarolSue came in behind him then, carrying a load from the van. “Sister! Wait till you see. I peeked in the bag of clothes and Gary got Gracie the cutest two sun suits. Frilly pink, and a yellow one with duckies.”
“Great, Merry Sunshine. That’s helpful. Do you see the amount of stuff he’s got? For two days? Do you see what’s going on here? I hope we can’t get arrested for this. Gus will—”
“Mom,” Gary interrupted then, although he’d been raised not to do that. “Absolutely forget calling Gus. This is a confidential church matter, between me and a person in need. Churches are protected sanctuaries.” He was relieved he’d thought of that just then.
His mother was taken aback, at least a little. “Two days maximum, son. Gus makes a social call here . . . occasionally.”
“I know. So? He takes you out to dinner,” Gary said. “If you can’t manage to wait a day or two, just meet him outside when he picks you up.”
His aunt CarolSue didn’t say anything, just put down the bag of clothes and went out to get another load. She was different from his mother and the other farm women around here, that was for sure—her streaky blond hair short around her face like something the wind blew, but it was a lucky wind. She wore matching clothes, nice ones, and nail polish, but she was the one to take his side. He didn’t have time to ponder that. Gary did not want to see his mother’s face when she got a load of the baby bathtub, so he went out after his aunt.
CarolSue
Ha! I thought, as I went back to the van and found, of all things, a full layette kit and a baby bathtub in the back. So Gary thinks Gus is taking his mother out to dinner occasionally. Well, the napping is none of his business, but this could be interesting. Could be amusing to stay here until he finds Gracie’s mother. Knowing Louisa, he’d better hop to it.
All I said to Gary was, “How old is she? I forgot to ask you before.”
“Six weeks.”
“Do you have a lead on her mother?”
“Please don’t say anything to Mom, please . . . ?”
I lean
ed on the van, grateful that this time he’d had the sense to park in the shade of one of the big old maples, though the air still felt sauna-like. Straight to his eyes, I said, “I won’t.”
“Not a one. But if you’ll watch the baby, I’ll go get on it right now.”
“I’ll handle things here. She seems healthy, and I know that now people feed babies when they’re hungry, not on a schedule, so that’s what we’ll do.”
He gave me a hug. I felt how hot he was, worry and upset seeping through his skin. “It’ll be okay, Gary, you can do this,” I said. “I know it’s important to you.”
“I didn’t do right by Cody,” he said, his eyes filling. “I carry that.”
I wasn’t sure what this had to do with Cody, but I said, “Gary, honey, we all do the best we can with what we know at the time. We can’t go back. Do the best you can now. It’s all we can do. Be brave and honest and do the best you can. Forgive yourself the rest.” I admit, I had no idea if this was the right thing to say.
He hugged me again and said, “I don’t know if I can. Okay, gotta go now. Thank you, Aunt CarolSue. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey. Call us later. I’m sure you’ll find Gracie’s mother.”
“It’s what God wants,” he said. But then he added, “It has to be.”
Puzzling over that one, I followed the stone path from the drive to the front door, carrying the layette kit and the bathtub. Louisa had opened another bag and found more baby things, including two rattles and a book. Predictably, when she saw me with the full layette kit and bathtub, she didn’t exactly stay calm.
“How about we have some special tea, Sister?” I suggested.
“I’ll make it,” she said. “Your version is anemic.”
“Yours masks the taste of the tea.”
“Exactly the point. What is Gary thinking bringing all this sh—”
“Language, Sister.”
“Mom is dead. Beth is the hen who is offended by language because she channels Mom, I swear, but Beth’s outside, hunting bugs, as any fool can plainly see. Marvelle doesn’t care, and Jessie doesn’t know the difference. Rosie, well, everyone knows goats swear like soldiers, so if Rosie was here she’d appreciate it, but she’s eating the weeds by the barn.” Louisa ranted on while she put the kettle on and got out the Wild Turkey, tea bags, and a jar of honey. “Yes, Marvelle, if you’re good, you get a bit too,” she added. “None of which has anything to do with Gary bringing all this shit here like the baby will be here for a month, not one day.”
“Or two days.” I slipped that in. Jessie thumped her tail at that, which I took as support. Pretty soon I’d be dragging the chickens in to bolster my arguments. I winked at Jessie, who appreciates my sense of humor.
“That’s the maximum.”
“I agree,” I said to mollify her. “We can’t be doing anything crazy, but you know, Gary is trying to do a good thing, Sister.”
“Isn’t he always. Let’s get this tea before she wakes up. And where are we going to put all this stuff? I wasn’t about to say anything to Gary, but what if Gus drops by? Gary would be furious, but Gus would have found out on his own. Problem solved. What do you think?”
“Give Gary a chance. Gus usually calls, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but I don’t tell him he can’t come—”
“Maybe . . . you could say it’s . . . awkward . . . for you, because I’m here and you want to go to his place to . . . nap?”
She paused there in the kitchen, one hand on the kettle, which was just starting to whistle. She turned off the stove and thought about it while she made the tea, then made it “special,” which trust me, about that time we both needed it to be. Really special. Even added a slice of lemon and the honey, steps that can be skipped in an emergency, but I guess she figured we had enough time. I stayed quiet to let her think through my obviously brilliant solution.
“That might work,” she conceded. “We had to be really quiet because you were here. It was a little awkward for us.”
Awkward for you? That was quiet? Bless your heart, I wanted to say, but managed to swallow the words. It required several sips of special tea to wash them down.
Gracie woke and I tended her diaper and showed her the new rattles and book. She waved her arms and legs and I really think she smiled at me. I hoped it was her first smile. What a dear, darling baby. I fed and burped her and she slept again in my arms, content and peaceful. I missed so much, not having one of my own live. Louisa really didn’t know how lucky she was.
Gus called that he wouldn’t be over that night—he said some police work needed his attention. Louisa and I breathed a sigh of relief, while she told him that was too bad, and that she hoped it would go well and she’d talk with him tomorrow, while giving me a thumbs-up sign. She wouldn’t even need my brilliant idea about going to his place, not that night.
I was so busy with the baby all afternoon and into the evening that I didn’t do any of what I’d planned, namely call my real estate agent and have him take my house off the market. I also wanted to look into a moving company to come get what I’d brought to Louisa’s and get it back to Atlanta for me. I’d hire a decorator to get me some new furniture for the house and place it. I’d learned from Charlie that one can do that, and it’s really not difficult. All the appliances were still there. I could hire the help I’d need. It was a matter of making phone calls. Louisa would think I’d lost my mind, but I’d thought that of her on multiple occasions and we’d survived. I just hadn’t realized that there wasn’t anything for me here; this was Louisa’s life, not mine. I missed Charlie desperately, too, and I couldn’t find anything of him here.
I’d piled all the baby’s stuff in my room, which made it hard to get to the bed, especially since Gracie’s carrier was there, too, but it seemed like the best idea since I’d been the one to say we’d keep her overnight. When I got up to go to the bathroom I tripped and woke her up. Then she woke herself, hungry and needing her diaper changed. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, but cuddling her with the bottle, sitting in my bed while I fed her, I felt as close as I ever had to any living being. Except Charlie, sometimes. Maybe being soul to soul is something we can only have for fleeting times. It can’t last. But it was real. We know we had it and we can reach back for a memory to sustain us.
Chapter 10
Gary
When he left his mother’s house for the second time that day, Gary headed for the church, in sore need of spiritual comfort. He was desperately hoping for a Sign, a direct answer to Prayer, because he didn’t have the tiniest notion of how to start looking for Rosalina. All he knew was that he absolutely one hundred percent had to find her. It had come to him like the wave of nausea that comes with the flu sometime in the last half hour, the word: daughter. As in Gracia is my daughter? He strung it together in a sentence, added a question mark, and even then still thought he was going to be sick or pass out.
It felt like an accusation when he first saw the birth certificate and he couldn’t absorb it. He’d needed to look at his calendar when he got back to the church, count back the months, add in six weeks. When exactly had she been here? He waved backward through the pages of the desk calendar, looking at the rough outline of his days, not that her name was there, but other events were.
Oh Jesus, oh Lord.
Okay, but how did Rosalina know the baby was his? Gracia should be with Rosalina. Even if she could be his. Because could is a big word.
* * *
He’d wasted a good hour in his office, fretting, looking for notes he knew in his heart he hadn’t taken or kept, studying the birth certificate for any clue as to where Rosalina might have gone, which he knew was ridiculous, but it didn’t stop him. Even trying to remember exactly what she’d told him of her story was difficult. She’d been distraught, he remembered, frightened and needy, and he’d been moved by her plight. Aroused, yes—but it had first been to tenderness, he was sure—by her soft beauty. It had all started out by doing someth
ing good. How had it gone so wrong?
There was nothing, no hint of where she might be that he could discern. The birth certificate was signed by a Jennifer Morrow, M.D., and the place of birth was Meyer Memorial Hospital in Elmont. He wondered if someone had taken her there when she was in labor—being a public hospital they couldn’t have turned her away, nor called immigration. But the hospital wouldn’t release any information, he knew that, having diligently tried to elicit information from the front desk about Brother John, for his distant cousin, and ended up escorted out by a security officer who was unimpressed by what Jesus wanted. He remembered the church he’d driven Rosalina to when he’d given her the money and told her he couldn’t give her sanctuary anymore. It was as good a place as any to start. Really, it was the only idea he had.
He tucked in his shirt, smoothed his hair into place, and wiped his face with a handkerchief. The Telephone Daily Prayer Squad was gathering outside his office for their list check, adding and subtracting people as needed. He usually attended, to keep squabbling down, but they’d have to do without him today. They always wanted to know who among them had brought in donations from their calls, and he hadn’t checked last receipts yet, which he didn’t want to tell them. Getting through them would be like running the gauntlet, but it had to be done.
He hid Rosalina’s note and the birth certificate in a manila file marked “possible future building sites,” and inserted it in the drawer of his desk and went out to make his excuses.
He drove to St. Peter In Chains Roman Catholic Church near Elmont, where he’d taken her because they also ran something of a soup kitchen certain nights, although it wasn’t strictly for people who needed food and shelter, maybe a little more like members’ potluck supper, but still, it was free food. But he’d struck out—the Rector had no memory of her by name or description, and no, for heaven’s sake, Gary most certainly didn’t have a picture of her. So he drove a circuit of all the churches in the greater Elmont area, way beyond the little village of Shandon, asking at each if they’d taken her in. Some, the larger ones, were wary, probably suspecting a trap—but some acknowledged helping undocumented workers hiding in the city when Immigration was in the area, especially women and children—but none remembered anyone of that name. But who gave their right name? one church secretary asked him, and of course she was right. She was middle-aged and looked Hispanic herself, with those dark eyes and brows, her black hair laced with gray. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s been bad for the past six months with the crackdown on immigrants. The farmers need the help . . . nothing simple about it . . .” She shrugged as her voice trailed off.
