Plain Roots

by Becki Willis

  She had been thinking the same thing earlier, about her own mother.

  “I agree that’s odd, but I’m sure she had her reasons.”

  “I don’t know…” Helen’s voice trailed off, sounding decidedly doubtful. She stared out the window, caught up in an old memory. “If you could have seen that look in her eyes. She looked… haunted.”

  “Perhaps she was simply heartbroken,” Taryn offered. “Grief does strange things to people.”

  “The girl was scared to death.” This time, Helen’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “I would be, too,” Taryn admitted, “facing the prospect of raising a child alone.”

  Helen all but pounced on the opening, her face whipping back around toward Taryn. From the fire still burning in her eyes, Taryn knew without a doubt that Helen had been an excellent nurse. She truly cared about her patients. “Exactly!” she said. “All the more reason to accept the gifts. They could have changed that poor girl’s life, and her baby’s, too.”

  “You couldn’t persuade her.” It was a statement, not a question.

  When Helen shook her head, she seemed to age a dozen years. Sorrow had a way of doing that to a person, seeping into one’s pores and stealing what was left of one’s youth and vitality. “Lord knows I tried. But she flat-out refused. She was so desperate, almost in a panic. I was afraid she was a flight risk. In her fragile state, both mentally and physically, I feared for her, and for her sweet baby.”

  She was no longer talking to Taryn. She was talking to herself, reliving a past that still held her in its grip. Her voice dropped an octave. “I convinced the doctor we had to protect her, for her own good. He wanted no part in the deception, but he agreed to go along with it.”

  Caught up in the sorrow in Helen’s voice, Taryn forgot her personal quest. Fully vested in the story of the young widow, she had to know why it wrought Helen such pain. “What happened?” she all but whispered.

  “When the reporters came, I told a direct lie.”

  It was there in her face, the guilt she still carried after all these years.

  “They came before we had time to formulate a plan. We couldn’t force her to accept the gifts, but the first baby of the decade was big news. Back then, there was no such thing as HIPAA or patient privacy. There was no reason not to share the happy news. Before the staff could make a statement, I blurted out another name. I gave them the story they came for, but in my haste, I made a mistake. I told them about the baby born at 1:07, not the baby born at 1:01.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “You can’t imagine. The 1:01 parents were furious. They didn’t even know, until they saw it on the evening news. They threatened the hospital with a lawsuit, which I knew would call attention to the true first birth of the year, at 12:56.”

  Having worked for a law firm, Taryn could imagine the litigation involved. Her mind ticked off possible scenarios, but it was easier to simply ask. “So what happened? How did it get resolved?”

  Helen’s eyes drifted back to the window, her mind adrift in the past. “It was a huge mess. The bank agreed to put up another savings bond, and a generous donor stepped up and paid for a second scholarship. A few of the other sponsors pitched in, as well, but it really wasn’t their fault.” Her voice quietened. “I, alone, bore that responsibility.”

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  “There wasn’t a single thing honest about it,” Helen said mournfully. “I lied. And then I did a terrible thing, even worse than the first.”

  If she once hid secrets, Helen was no longer guilty of the fact. There was no reason for her to lay her soul bare to Taryn. They were strangers, and Taryn had only asked a simple question. Yet nothing about this past deed was simple, and Helen saw no reason to run from the truth. She made her confession, the pain in her eyes honest and raw.

  “I changed the time stamp on that first birth. I erased the ‘one,’ making it read 2:56. I willingly committed fraud to hide the truth.”

  She couldn’t explain it, but Taryn felt a strong connection with the nurse and her plight. She felt the need to defend her, even to Helen’s own self-imposed censure. “You were protecting your patient.”

  “Doesn’t matter. As with any lie, it all came out in the end. Of course, the first reports were skewed. The 1:01 parents stirred a ruckus, trying to say the 1:07 parents paid me off, but that’s simply not true. They were as innocent as those poor babies, all of them caught in the middle of my sorry mess.”

  She shook her head resolutely as she continued, “No. No one was to blame but me, and I paid for it with my career. The hospital came short of pressing charges, but only because I stepped down and agreed to never practice nursing again.”

  “That seems rather harsh,” Taryn murmured, even though she was fully aware of the criminal ramifications of falsifying legal documents. She toyed with her coffee cup, her heart heavy for this dedicated and compassionate woman. “Did the first mother, the young widow,” she wondered aloud, “ever thank you for your sacrifice? After all, you did all that to protect her identity.”

  Another layer of sadness dug into Helen’s furrowed brow. “I did it to keep her safe. I’m not sure if I was protecting her from past demons or from herself, but the fear in that girl’s face was real. And I was right. She was a flight risk. She snuck out of the hospital that night. I never saw her again.”

  Taryn couldn’t help but gasp. “So she never knew?”

  Helen shook her head, but she seemed less certain. “She had to have seen it. It was in all the papers, and in all the news.”

  “I have no doubt you were a wonderful nurse. Few nurses would go to such lengths for one of their patients.”

  Helen disagreed. “The ones worth their salt would.” She took a deep breath and visibly pulled her tattered soul together. “But enough about me. I’m just a foolish old woman, one who gets lost stumbling around down memory lane.” She peered at Taryn with curious eyes. “I still get occasional reporters now and then, trying to revive an old horse that’s been ridden hard and put out to pasture.”

  “I’m no reporter,” Taryn was quick to assure her.

  “Just as well. There’s no story here. Nothing left for me to hide; you can read all the sordid details in the archives.”

  “I’m looking for my own birth records. I had no idea about… all this.” She made a gesture with her hand.

  “I can’t imagine why Betty thought I would know where the records went. The hospital didn’t close for another four years after I retired. And after all that happened, I would be the last person privy to such information, don’t you think?”

  “Do you remember anything else about the babies that were born that day?” A thought occurred to her and her voice rose with excitement. “Wait. If it was in all the papers, their names will be there, too, right?”

  Helen’s smile was wry. “Remember? No HIPAA.”

  “So even without the official records, I may be able to find my mother,” Taryn murmured the words to herself. Not but a half hour ago, she ridiculed herself for being so foolish, for still believing in dreams. One whiff of a clue, and here she was, her heart dancing with fanciful hopes and her mind reeling with possibilities. She leaned in closer and confided in the other woman.

  “The truth is, I’m here looking for my birth records. I have reason to believe I may have been one of those New Year’s babies. My birth date is January 1, 1980, and I think I was born at Lancaster Memorial.”

  Helen’s eyes filled with suspicion. “I told you, the first mother wanted nothing to do with the promotion. She ran away, to keep from claiming the prizes. And the fame.”

  Taryn shook her head, trying to make Helen understand. “I’m not talking about the first mother.” It didn’t make sense that a heart-broken young widow would give her baby away, not when the child was her only link to her recently deceased husband. “I think I may have been baby 1:01 or 1:07.”

  “Impossible,” Helen said with complete certainty. “Baby 1:
01 was a male. Baby 1:07 was black. You couldn’t possibly be either.”

  Practically growling in frustration, Taryn grasped at straws. “Then tell me about the widow’s baby.” She pushed her sunglasses onto her crown and adjusted her blouse, turning up her sleeves. It was time to get down to business. She settled in to get comfortable, while Helen took to looking out the window once more.

  “She was a lovely little baby girl, with the cutest bow of a mouth.” Helen touched her own lips, recalling the perfection of that long-ago miracle of birth. “She had a healthy cry and eyes that were already stunning. Most babies are born with blue eyes, still cloudy from birth. But this baby’s eyes were clear from the start, and just as lovely as her mother’s.”

  Helen turned back to Taryn, the smile lingering in her words. “They were such a unique color, exactly like her m—” She stopped mid-sentence, her words swept away by an audible gasp.

  She recovered with a sputtered exclamation. “Ex—Exactly like yours!”

  Chapter 4

  Taryn stared at the nurse in disbelief. “What are you saying?” Her whispered words were faint, but they strengthened, fueled by something akin to hysteria. This didn’t fit the fantasy already weaving its way through her heart. She was so close to learning the whereabouts of her birth mother… to finding out whether she had siblings… to finding her roots. This didn’t sound at all like roots.

  “Are you saying I was the 12:56 baby? That… That my mother was the widow who ran?” Her voice hitched another notch. “Why would she do that? It makes no sense!”

  Helen’s voice was more than weary. It was defeated. “You’re asking the wrong person. Nothing about that fateful day made sense.”

  She gathered her sweater around her, girding herself with its armor. The thin weave offered little defense to the chill seeping into her soul.

  “I knew something was wrong, right from the start,” she admitted. “That young mother was scared out of her wits. She came in all alone. Said there was no one to call. She said her husband had recently died, but at one point…” Helen broke off, shaking her head. “I’m just not sure. Something she said didn’t quite make sense, but there was no time for chitchat. She was in hard labor when she arrived, and she delivered not two hours later.”

  “What? What did she say?”

  “I—I don’t remember, not exactly. Called a man’s name a time or two when the pains came hard and fast, wishing he were there with her. Then the pain would subside, and she was only slightly more coherent. She begged us not to tell. I don’t think she was talking about the same person, but she never said who couldn’t know she was there. Just that whatever we did, we couldn’t let him in.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Frustrated, Taryn ran her hands through her hair, knocking her sunglasses askew. They fell unnoticed into her pie. “What name did she call?”

  Helen shook her head in apology. “It’s been almost forty years. I don’t recall the name. But I swear. I’ll never forget the look in that poor girl’s eyes. She was running from something. Someone.”

  “What about her name? Was her name Rebecca?”

  “That doesn’t sound quite right. But again, I’m terrible with names, and it’s been so long…” Her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

  Taryn pulled the old hospital bill from her purse. “Maybe you can decipher what this says. Maybe it will help jog your memory.”

  Helen patted her sweater pocket. “I don’t have my glasses on me,” she mumbled. She turned to call to the woman behind the counter. “Katie? Would you be a dear and fetch my glasses? They may be by the register. And bring more coffee.” Twisting back around, she added under her breath, “We’re going to need it.”

  “This is the only connection I have to my past,” Taryn explained. “A smudged hospital receipt and a brief note from my birth mother. She signed it ‘Rebecca.’ No last name, no nothing.” She knew her voice sounded pathetic, even as she admitted, “This is all I have.”

  Helen’s eyes were sympathetic, but she clearly had her doubts as to whether she could help. “I wish there was more I could do.”

  “Tell me anything you remember. Anything at all.”

  “Well, let me see.” It was a slow process, but a few details gradually emerged. “It was cold out, and I remember she had a dark, heavy coat. Nothing fancy. It looked almost like a man’s coat, and her belly was so swollen, it didn’t come all the way together. At first, I thought she had lost all the buttons, until I realized it had hooks and eyes. I remember she said she was still cold, so I laid the coat over her, atop all the covers to keep her teeth from chattering.”

  “Was it snowing?” Not that it mattered in the least. It was just another detail, one of the many missing in her life story.

  Molly loved to tell of her first son’s birth. It was raining so hard she and her husband were both drenched by the time they got into the car. The streets were flooded, and the windshield wipers didn’t work. Unable to see, her husband missed the turn to the hospital. They had planned to name the baby Kevin, but after the flooded drive, they chose the name Noah, instead. Molly laughed about it now, but it was terrifying at the time.

  Knowing whether it snowed on the morning she was born was a nice touch for the story Taryn would someday tell about her own birth.

  “Yes. I remember the 1:07 father coming in, his hat covered in snow and dripping on the floor. He almost didn’t make it in time to see their baby born.”

  Taryn couldn’t help but feel sad. At least that mother had someone with her, unlike her own. Poor Rebecca went through the experience with no one by her side, except for this kind nurse. No wonder she was terrified.

  “Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?”

  Katie arrived with the eyeglasses and fresh cups of coffee. Taryn gulped hers down, welcoming the burn. She needed the distraction as Helen took her own sweet time in reading the bill. The older woman cleaned her glasses before slipping them on but wasn’t happy with a smudge she left. Taryn gritted her teeth while Helen repeated the process with great care. Once the glasses were back in place, she had to settle in her chair again and find a comfortable distance to hold the paper. She studied it for what seemed to be forever.

  “I can’t quite make it out,” she fretted. “Is that an A?” She brought it closer, but then held it at arm’s length. “It looks like—” She pulled it in again. “Oh, yes, that was it! Jane! Her name was Jane.”

  “Jane?” Taryn was clearly surprised. “Not Rebecca?”

  “No, I remember now. That was part of the hullabaloo. She said her name was Jane Hirsch.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did that cause trouble?”

  “Because Hirsch is German for deer. Or,” she explained, taking off her readers and setting them aside, “as we most often say, Jane Doe.”

  Something occurred to her. “How did my parents get this bill?”

  “I have no idea. The girl left without paying and the address she gave, like the name, wasn’t real.”

  “And later? When she snuck out?”

  Helen shrugged. “I wasn’t on duty that night. And it’s just as well, because my nerves were shot. By then, the news had aired and the 1:01 parents demanded answers. The hospital kept calling me at home. When the reporters started calling, I took my phone off the hook.”

  “No one saw her leave?”

  “Security cameras showed her using the back exit in the wee hours of the night.”

  Katie appeared at the table once again. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but they shorted us on delivery again. The driver’s waiting to talk to you.”

  Helen sighed and told Katie she would be right there. She apologized to Taryn, handing back the fragile link to her past. “I’m sorry, but I must attend to this. I thought opening a coffee shop would be less stressful than nursing, but most days I wonder about that.”

  “There’s nothing else you can tell me?”

  She must have seen the desperation in Taryn’s violet eyes. �
�If I think of anything else, I’ll contact you,” she offered. “Are you staying in the area?”

  “I don’t have a hotel yet, but probably so.” How could she leave now, with things still so unsettled?

  “We have several nice ones to choose from. And don’t forget all the bed and breakfasts in the area, and the guest cottages. I’m sure you’ll find something.” She struggled to her feet, and Taryn saw that the years had taken a toll on her body. Her back was hunched, and her legs were less than steady. It took her several moments to get her balance and stand upright. Taryn had plenty of time to dig in her purse to find a business card.

  “Here’s my cell number. Please, call me if you think of anything else you can tell me.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more.”

  Taryn tried to be positive. “You gave me more than I had, so that’s something.”

  “Well, good luck to you.”

  With that, her one link to the past shuffled away.

  Helen moved as quickly as her swollen feet allowed, but her efforts were slow. She carried more than a body ravaged by time and disease. No matter what she said about having no more secrets, she carried one now, and it made her conscience heavy and burdensome.

  She hadn’t been completely honest with that young woman out there. She withheld the truth in an effort to spare her, just as she had done with her mother all those years ago. And there was no doubt about her being Jane Doe’s baby. They had the same unique eye color.

  Those eyes had looked so hopeful just now, staring at her there across from the table. The woman was simply searching for a link to her past, something that offered the connection she so desperately craved. Helen couldn’t bring herself to reveal everything she remembered from that night. She couldn’t be so cruel.

  What did it matter now? The hopeful woman—Tara, was it? Or Terri? She was terrible with names— didn’t need to know that her mother had held her but once. Helen had placed the baby in her arms and watched as the girl hugged the bundle to her. She remembered Jane staring down at her newborn for a long moment, as if remembering every line of that sweet face. She had cried big, silent tears, and one splashed onto the baby’s cheek, startling her into a cry. The young mother panicked and held the baby away from her, but Helen remembered her calling her back at the last moment.