by Becki Willis
The structure before her was quite a bit smaller than she expected. Truth be told, it looked more like an office building. But that’s good, she assured herself, as she got out and locked the car. A small hospital meant fewer records to search through.
Fewer records meant fewer patients. How many women, she speculated, could have given birth on that particular day? In a facility this small, Taryn was certain she could count them on one hand. Spurred by optimism, she quickened her pace.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, a ribbon of worry wormed through her. As hospitals went, this one was tiny. Plus, it looked practically new. They had obviously renovated within recent years. Perhaps they were still in the process, she reasoned, because she didn’t even see their name above the doors.
But why, then, did it call itself The Grayson Group? Feeling increasingly nervous, Taryn hurried up the sidewalk.
She stepped into a stylish reception area filled with soft music and a floor-to-ceiling aquarium. A middle-aged woman looked up with a friendly smile.
“May I help you?” she asked. With her fifties-era beehive stack of lacquered hair, she looked out of place behind the sleek, low-profile desk.
Taryn tucked a strand of her own honeyed-brown hair behind her ear and stumbled into a greeting. “Uhm, is—is this 1724 Milner Avenue?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Taryn looked around in confusion. No nurses milled about in the background. No overhead intercom called for a doctor to report to a particular station, stat. No buzz of activity as patients and technicians scurried back and forth through wide, swinging doors. In fact, she didn’t see a single thing that looked related to the medical field. The over-sized wall art boasted images of houses and buildings and green, rolling pastures.
Dread settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She knew the answer, even before she asked the question.
“Is—Is this still a hospital?” she faltered.
The woman shook her head. A heavy coat of Aqua Net kept each hair in place.
“You must be referring to Lancaster Memorial. It closed its doors in the early to mid-eighties. Why, that old building stood empty for a dozen years or so, before they finally condemned it and tore it down. This is a real estate company now.”
“Oh.” There was a world of disappointment in that one simple word.
She had been so busy dreaming of a happy outcome, she forgot to imagine another what if.
What if she were unsuccessful?
One look at Taryn’s stricken expression, and the woman’s voice took on a sympathetic note. “Are you looking for someone, dear?”
“Myself,” Taryn whispered the word.
The receptionist had no reply to the raw admission. “Are you all right?” she asked kindly. “Would you like to have a seat?”
Without waiting for an answer, she stood and came from around the desk. Like a marionette, Taryn allowed the woman to guide her to a small settee across from the aquarium. Her movements felt as disjointed as any wooden puppet. A touch to the right elbow lifted her right foot. A motion toward the settee guided her left foot. An encouraging smile kept the momentum going, one foot in front of the other.
“Here, this will make you feel better,” the woman promised, pressing a cold bottle of water into Taryn’s hands. “I’ve worked here for five years, and I must say, you’re the first person to come in looking for the old hospital.”
“Leave it to me,” Taryn murmured. She realized she still wore her sunshades. Pushing the tortoise-shell frames up to rest atop her head, she offered her companion a wavering smile.
A strange look crossed the woman’s face, and her hand floated to her chest. If she tried to contain the tiny gasp that escaped her lips, she failed.
“Your eyes,” she murmured in a faint whisper.
Taryn was accustomed to comments about her eyes. Without a doubt, they were her best feature. Long, curly lashes framed her widely spaced peepers, giving her an instant look of sincerity. But it was their unique color—violet—that made them so intriguing.
Most people did a double take when seeing her eyes for the first time, but few reacted quite like this woman.
Quick to recover from her shock, the woman thrust out her hand. Her words came in a rush. “I’m Betty, by the way. And you are…?”
“Taryn.”
“Oh, what a lovely name!” she practically gushed.
Taryn murmured a polite thank you, wondering at the woman’s sudden discomfort.
“I take it you’re not from here?” Betty asked. The casual tone didn’t match the keen expression in her eyes.
“Not really. Not anymore.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. You used to live here.” The beehive bobbed as she nodded, as if it all suddenly made sense. The odd lilt in her voice sounded almost like relief.
“Not really,” Taryn faltered, unsure of how much to reveal. But she had come here to find the truth, and Betty’s face was kind, if not curious. Taryn knew that if she wanted to find her roots, she had to ask questions. She had to dig.
“I was born here. At Lancaster Memorial,” she clarified, motioning to the ground beneath her. “I’m looking for my birth records.”
“Oh, no worries there,” Betty chirped, waving her fingers in reassurance. “I’m sure they have your records over at the county offices.” Her hands were restless in her lap. If Taryn didn’t know better, she would think she made the poor woman nervous.
“I’m hoping to find more than just my birth certificate,” she confided.
“Well, like I said, they demolished the building around the millennium. I don’t know what they did with all their old records. Stored them, I suppose, or eventually disposed of them.”
The thought was devastating. “But…!”
Betty with the beehive was quick to offer a suggestion, “Perhaps your mother has a copy of the records?”
“My mother… you see, I’m adopted,” Taryn confessed. “I have no idea who my birth mother is, and my adoptive mother passed away. I came here looking for answers.”
A strange look crossed Betty’s face. Her eyes were drawn once again to Taryn’s and their unique color. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but she bit her tongue. Literally. The pink tip peeked between her teeth as she contemplated Taryn’s dejected posture. When the chipper older woman spoke again, her tone was gentle, like one would use with a skittish colt. “How did you wind up here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I found a bill from the day I was born. The name was smudged, but I hoped the original would be legible.” Taryn looked around, seeing new where she had hoped to see old. Just like the walls of the defunct Lancaster Memorial, her dreams of finding the truth had crumbled around her.
“And the year?”
“1980.”
Betty nodded the beehive, which still never budged. Taryn swore she saw the numbers calculating as they rolled through Betty’s mind. Her announcement was abrupt. “I have a friend.” Before Taryn could respond, Betty continued, “She worked here during that time. I could call her.”
Thinking it was hopeless, Taryn nodded nonetheless. The woman was only trying to be kind. It wasn’t Betty’s fault she had been foolish enough to brush off her old dream and breathe life into it again. It wasn’t Betty’s fault she had been so naive, thinking this one stop could change her life. Nothing in her life had ever been that easy. Why had she thought this time would be different?
The telephone rang, and Betty jumped to her feet. “I must get that, but I’ll be right back. You stay right here. I’ll just be a minute.”
As if she had the energy to move! It took effort to shift her eyes toward the aquarium.
Fish darted every which way, some seemingly on a mission, others floating at leisure. A long-ago memory splashed mist into her eyes. Her mother used to read to her, something about big fish and little fish, red fish and yellow fish. These were of all sizes and all species, a colorful collection with little in common, other than
the water they shared. Taryn felt like one of them, all alone in a huge and overcrowded fishbowl. She felt the weight of the water around her, swirling in from all directions, tugging and pulling. It took everything she had to keep afloat, to keep the stronger current from sucking her under.
After a lifetime of disappointment, she couldn’t believe how naive she had been, thinking she could find her past so easily. Had the frayed ribbons of her dreams taught her nothing?
She was unaware of the other woman’s return, until she spoke from beside her.
“I’m sorry about the interruption,” Betty apologized. She babbled on about something, but Taryn wasn’t listening. Not until Betty nudged her gently and put something into her hand.
The contact startled her, pulling her from the drowning emotions. “What’s this?” she asked, looking down at the paper with a frown. Lost in self-pity, she hadn’t heard a word the receptionist said.
“It’s the address to the place I was telling you about.”
She blinked to clear her head. “The county courthouse?”
“No, to the coffee shop.”
Taryn stared down at the paper. She was unable to connect the name and address to anything she remembered hearing Betty say. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She blinked her eyes in hopes of clearing her mind. “What is this, again?”
With a generous display of patience, Betty repeated herself, “My friend Helen used to work here at the hospital. She may be able to help you.”
“Really? She knows where the old records are?”
“I really think you should talk to Helen.”
Taryn had the sensation of sleeping through class and waking in time to hear the tail end of the assignment. It had happened to her more than once, when class was the safest place to let down her guard and catch a few winks. Not all foster homes were created equal. Not all were safe, especially at night.
She attempted to focus. “And where is this?”
“About thirty minutes east, to the coffee shop she owns. Be sure and order the lemon sponge pie. An Amish woman makes it from fresh milk every morning, with a dollop of hand-churned whipped cream. It’s to die for.” A serene expression crossed Betty’s face as she placed her hands upon her chest.
Wondering what she had to lose, Taryn agreed to meet Betty’s friend. As she stuffed the paper into her purse, Betty maneuvered the marionette strings again. Before she quite knew how it happened, Taryn was at the door, thanking the receptionist for her help.
“Good luck, Taryn. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”
Her smile was too fragile to be mistaken as hopeful. “So do I.”
Taryn stepped back into the sunshine and pulled the shades down over her eyes. She huffed out a sigh. “So do I.”
Chapter 3
The town of New Holland was a great deal smaller than the city of Lancaster. Both were tiny, compared to Philadelphia.
The borough sprawled along a busy state highway, its main claim to fame the huge tractor manufacturer bearing its name. There was no denying its economic stamp on the city. Taryn drove past the factory with the monster-sized tractor on its lawn to reach Kaffi Korner. The coffee shop was dwarfed by the surrounding warehouses and shipping facilities that sat in its back pocket.
Taryn swore she gained five pounds when she walked through the door. Notes of cinnamon, cloves, and yeast floated on the air, carried by the sweetness of honey and brown sugar. Her stomach gave a loud rumble, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast in lieu of finding her past.
Now here she was, still without roots, and hungry, to boot.
“Hullo!” a voice greeted from behind the counter. Taryn couldn’t immediately identify its source, until she spotted the woman behind a mile-high meringue pie. “What can we get for you?”
After scanning the board with its decadent offerings, she made her selection. She took Betty’s advice and ordered the lemon sponge pie with a cup of their boldest brew. Wise choice or not with these nerves, the sugar and caffeine would at least give her energy.
“Is Helen here, by chance?” she ventured to ask.
A woman spoke from a table out front. Against the glare from the plate-glass window, it was difficult to see the small table tucked into an unobtrusive corner. “I’m Helen. What can I do for you?”
It wasn’t something she could very well blurt out over the café, even if the other tables were all but empty. Two women chatted at a front booth and an older gentleman tapped on his laptop at another. The only other person in sight started her coffee order.
“Come on over and have a seat,” Helen invited with a wave of her hand. “Katie will bring your order.”
Weaving her way to the corner, Taryn took the seat Helen indicated. If the half-eaten sandwich on her plate was any indication, she was on her lunch break.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. A friend of yours named Betty suggested I stop by. My name is Taryn Clark.” She extended her hand for a proper hello. She hoped it wasn’t rude to keep on her shades, but being such a pale color, her eyes were sensitive to the glare.
“Betty Lawrence?” she spoke the name with affection. “How do you know Betty?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know her last name. I met her just now in Lancaster, at a real estate office on Milner Avenue. Where the old hospital once stood,” Taryn clarified.
A guarded expression slipped into Helen’s eyes, but her facial expression never changed. “That’s her. Are you looking for property in the area?”
“What? Oh, no, not at all,” she said hastily. It was a reasonable assumption to make. “Quite frankly, I was looking for Lancaster Memorial.”
“But that closed down years ago!”
Taryn murmured her thanks as Katie delivered her coffee and a generous slice of pie. She left both untouched as she concentrated on Helen. “Betty thought you may know where the hospital records were moved to.”
“Why would I know something like that?” Her voice was almost sharp.
“She said you used to work there. Were you in accounting? Records?”
“Nothing like that. I was a nurse.”
“A nurse?” Taryn wasn’t sure why the news took her by surprise, but it did. She assumed Helen had worked in the office, where she might have a connection to the old files. Why else would Betty send her here for help?
“Yes. Labor and delivery, for over fifteen years.” There was an unmistakable ring of pride in the older woman’s voice. “I helped birth half of Lancaster County. Those not born at home, anyway.”
Something buzzed inside of Taryn’s head. She cautioned herself to stay calm. “What—What years did you work there?”
“From the summer of 1963 until the spring of ’80.” A shadow crossed her face. Sadness slipped into her voice as she confided, “I gave up nursing altogether after that.”
Taryn sensed there was more to the story, but she didn’t pry. They were strangers, she and Helen, and strangers didn’t poke into other people’s heartache.
“But you were there during the first part of 1980?” she confirmed.
“I was.” It was there again, the cautious look in her eyes. This time it stiffened her voice.
Taryn leaned forward eagerly. Her heart pounded in her chest as she dared press for more. “Were you by chance on duty New Year’s Day? Do you remember if you delivered any babies that day?”
Helen didn’t immediately answer. When her eyes took on a faraway memory, Taryn realized the woman must be somewhere in her mid-seventies. “It’s okay,” she was quick to reassure her. “It’s been so long, and you must have delivered hundreds of babies over the years. I understand if you don’t remem—”
“I delivered three that day,” Helen answered quietly, her tone certain.
“You did? You remember that?”
“It would be impossible to forget.” From the sound of her voice, she had tried. Like it or not, some things were ingrained into the memory.
Taryn knew it was a long shot. It was unli
kely Helen remembered the details of any of the births. Still, hope blossomed in her chest. She tried schooling her voice, so it didn’t come out sounding as excited as she felt. “Oh? Why is that?”
“We had a tradition at the hospital,” Helen explained. “Fanfare for the first baby born in the new year. Free medical care for the first year, diapers and formula and a whole slew of new outfits, and a big write-up in the paper. So you can imagine what the first baby of a new decade would get. There were rumors of all kinds of crazy stunts, women trying to throw themselves into labor, just to win.” The ghost of a smile echoed on her face.
Taryn tried to recall what time of day she had seen on her birth record, wondering if she missed the grand prize by minutes, or by hours. Would it have made a difference to her own mother if she had won? Would Rebecca have kept her baby, instead of giving it away for adoption?
It was useless to speculate. “There could be only one lucky winner,” she murmured with reason.
A weary sigh accompanied Helen’s reply. “You would think. But that wasn’t the case.”
Taryn cocked her head to one side. “Twins?” she guessed. “Or strangers, sharing the same moment of birth?”
“Neither. We had a clear winner. Over a five-minute cushion of time.”
To be so forthcoming earlier, Helen lapsed into a thoughtful silence now. Taryn squirmed on the seat. It suddenly felt like it was made of pins and needles. A full moment ticked by without another word.
She could contain herself no longer. “What happened?” Taryn blurted.
“The mother flat-out refused the gifts. We explained it wasn’t just bragging rights. There was a hefty monetary value, as well. The local junior college offered free tuition when the child graduated high school. One of the banks put up a thousand-dollar savings bond. Stores and businesses offered generous benefits for both the mother and the child. It was worth a small fortune.”
“And the father agreed?”
“There was no father. The poor little thing was widowed, and practically no more than a child herself.” Helen clicked her tongue. “It could have made such a difference for a single mother, having all those benefits.”