Adopted Son

by Warren, Linda

  “But you have the grandson.” Tuck laughed.

  “You can change that, too.”

  Tuck held up a hand. “Don’t rush things. I can only take so many changes at one time.”

  “It’s good to see you happy,” Eli said.

  “It’s been cathartic going through Ma’s and Pa’s belongings. I can’t keep my life as a shrine to them. I finally can see that and I have peace about it. I’ll probably never let go of the kid thing, though. Helping kids is just a part of me. Grace and I will work through it.”

  He returned the velvet box to the larger cardboard one and pulled out a humidor. “Remember this?”

  “Damn, I’d forgotten about that thing. Is it locked? Pa always kept it locked.” Eli scooted closer to Tuck.

  “Yes, but Ma taped the key to the bottom when Pa died.” Tuck flipped the dark walnut case over and found the key. Flipping it back, he unlocked it.

  The pungent smell filled his nostrils and memories swirled around him. He and Eli were never allowed to open the box. Ma forbade Pa to smoke in the house or around the children. He would take the box to the porch and sometimes Tuck and Eli would slip out to watch Pa ready a cigar to smoke, unless Ma spotted them and made them come inside.

  “There are cigars still inside,” Eli said, and reached for one and sniffed it. “Man, that reminds me of Pa.”

  Tuck opened a drawer near the bottom. “The cigar cutter and lighter are here, too.”

  Eli stuck the cigar in his mouth and leaned back. “This smells great. If I lit this thing, it would probably blow off my head. I’m not too sure about aged tobacco, but it doesn’t smell tainted or anything.”

  “Pa loved his cigars, and wait—” he lifted the half-empty tray “—there’s a full tray below this one.”

  Eli handed him the cigar. “Put this one back.”

  Tuck looked at it. “You’ve slobbered all over it.”

  “So? No one’s ever going to smoke it.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Tuck slid the cigar in with the others and tried to put the tray back, but the humidor wouldn’t close. “Something’s wrong. I must have the trays in backward. Hold this one.” Eli took the tray and Tuck lifted out the other. There was a piece of yellowing paper beneath the bottom tray.

  “What’s this?” Tuck asked, pulling it out.

  “Who knows? Maybe something Pa didn’t want Ma to see.”

  “Pa never kept secrets from Ma.”

  “Tuck, he was human. Sometimes you forget that. Open the letter and let’s see what kind of secret Pa was keeping.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t,” Tuck said. “It’s been hidden all these years. Maybe we should just let it be.” Tuck didn’t know why he was hesitant, but he was.

  “Give me that,” Eli snapped. “It’s probably an old receipt or a bond worth millions. Now wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants.”

  Tuck held on to the paper, not letting Eli have it. Slowly he opened the old, yellowing, thin paper. There was a printed heading of an orphanage, Sisters of the Guadalupe. Tuck knew the place. He passed it many times on the outside of Austin. The letter was handwritten and still legible.

  Goose bumps popped up on his skin in chilling intensity as he read. Anger slammed into his stomach. Eli gasped over his shoulder.

  The letter read:

  Dear Mr. Tucker,

  The baby has been born and he will be left at 6:00 a.m. as we discussed. Please pick him up immediately as we would not like him in the elements any longer than necessary. The mother’s only request is that he be called Jeremiah.

  We, the sisters, know you will give this child a good home.

  And, Mr. Tucker, remember you have promised before God to keep this secret forever.

  May God bless you and your family.

  Yours in Christ,

  Sister Frances O’Rourke

  The letter was dated the day Tuck was born.

  Tuck and Eli were frozen in place. They couldn’t move or speak. The only sound was the grandfather clock ticking as loud as a gunshot. Tuck tried to absorb what he’d read, but anger kept blocking his thinking.

  He knew. He knew. Pa knew, kept ripping through his mind like bullets at a target.

  Tuck jumped to his feet, the humidor tumbling to the floor. He waved the letter at Eli. “Pa knew who my mother was. He lied to me. Pa lied to me. He said he did a thorough investigation and there were no clues. He lied! He knew exactly where I came from and he never told me even after I was grown. How could he?”

  Eli walked around the chair and faced him. “Calm down and let’s think about this rationally.”

  “I’m not in a rational mood.” He pushed past Eli. “I’m in a mood for some honest answers and I’m going to get them.”

  “Tuck.” Eli grabbed his arm.

  “Let me go,” Tuck shouted.

  “Not until you calm down.”

  Eli might be bigger and stronger, but Tuck was functioning on pure adrenaline. He jerked his arm away and Eli grabbed him again. Tuck shoved him and Eli went flying backward. Tuck made a dash for the back door.

  As he swung open the door, Grace stood on the other side. He ran, unable to talk to her. Unable to talk to anyone.

  “Tuck,” Grace called, running after him.

  He jerked open his car door and got in. Grace jumped into the passenger seat before he could back out.

  “What’s wrong?” She saw Eli standing at the back door and she was sure he was cursing. “Did you and Eli have a fight?”

  He handed her a piece of paper he clutched in his hand. It took about five seconds before she fully understood the situation and she felt an incredible sadness for him. But she had other concerns first.

  Tuck was driving fast and erratic.

  “Pull over and let me drive.”

  Tuck didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead at the country blacktop road. Luckily it was a farm-to-market road and there wasn’t any traffic. Trees and ranches whizzed by.

  “Tuck.”

  They turned a corner, swerved to miss a car and plowed through a bar ditch and came to a stop.

  Grace let out a long breath, her hands gripping the dash. Glancing at Tuck, she saw him lean his forehead on the steering wheel. He was crying. Her heart twisted at the sight.

  She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. “Tuck, don’t, please.”

  “Pa lied to me,” he mumbled brokenly.

  “I’m so sorry. Let’s go back to the house and talk.”

  “No.” He wiped at his eyes. “I have to go to the orphanage. I have to have some answers.”

  “Okay.” She brushed away a tear. “I’ll go with you, but slow down, please.”

  He backed out of the ditch and they headed for the main highway. She wished she could ease his pain, but all she could do was be there for him and offer him comfort when he needed it.

  She was so glad she’d left work early to spend more time with Tuck. If she hadn’t, he would have been gone with this terrible pain in his heart. Being with Tuck was suddenly the most important thing to her. Not her work. Not her family.

  But Tuck.

  She would always be here for him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THEY DIDN’T SPEAK as Tuck drove steadily toward the orphanage. He seemed to know where he was going and Grace didn’t bother him with questions. He was lost somewhere in the past, somewhere within himself.

  He turned off the highway and pulled up to an ancient gray stone building with a traditional bell tower. Huge live oaks shaded the courtyard and a religious statue surrounded by blooming flowers adorned the center. The orphanage was in the shape of a horseshoe, with a main building and a wing on each side. The yard was neatly maintained, but there was an austere feeling about the place.

  Tuck killed the engine and stared straight ahead. “I was born here.”

  “So it seems.” She couldn’t stand the torment on his face. “Tuck, it was so long ago. Maybe it’s best to just…”

  “No.�
� He cut her off. “I have to know.”

  He got out and she quickly followed. They took the walk to the main building. A nun came out a door and walked briskly toward a wing.

  “Sister,” Tuck called.

  The nun stopped and glanced at them. She wore a habit so it was difficult to determine her age. Grace didn’t think nuns wore the traditional robes anymore, but evidently some orders still did.

  “Yes, my son,” she asked, in a soft almost whisper.

  “Could you tell me where the main office is, please?”

  She pointed. “It’s right through that arch, first door on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bless you,” she replied and moved on.

  They walked through the arch and approached the door.

  Tuck paused for a second, and then he opened it. A musty, old smell mixed with the fragrance of incense greeted them. He removed his hat and spoke to a nun sitting at a desk. The room was very stark, equipped with just the bare essentials and a few candles and religious statues.

  “May I please see the nun in charge?”

  “That would be Sister Theresa.” The nun rose to her feet. “I’ll let her know someone wishes to speak with her.”

  “Thank you.”

  In a minute, she was back. “This way, please.”

  They walked into a small room with a desk, typewriter, filing cabinets and more candles and statues. Large windows looked out onto the playground where children of all ages ran and played. A nun sat at the desk and rose to her feet. She was tall and thin, and Grace guessed she was somewhere in her sixties.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for Sister Frances O’Rourke,” Tuck said.

  “I’m sorry. Sister Frances is in declining health and is no longer in charge of the orphanage.”

  “I still would like to speak with her.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Tuck held out his hand. “I’m Jeremiah Tucker, Texas Ranger, and this is Grace Whitten.”

  “It’s very nice to meet both of you.”

  The nuns took politeness to a new level.

  “I was born here,” Tuck said bluntly. “And I’d like to know who my mother is. Sister Frances knows.”

  “Oh, my son, Sister Frances is very elderly and feeble. She can’t help you. Her memory is faulty.”

  Tuck’s eyes didn’t waver from the nun’s. “I’m trying to be nice, Sister, but I can have a court order within an hour to search every file in this place. So what’s it going to be?”

  Sister Theresa waved a hand. “Sit down. Maybe I can help you.”

  They took seats in straight-back chairs across from the desk.

  “Why are you so sure you were born here?”

  Grace still had the letter in her hand and Tuck reached for it. He laid it in front of Sister Theresa. “I found this in my father’s things.”

  The nun glanced over the letter. “Jess Tucker was your adoptive father?”

  “Yes and…” Tuck paused as the door opened and Eli stepped in. “This is my foster brother, Elijah Coltrane.” He introduced Eli as if it was quite normal for him to show up. But Grace knew Eli was worried about Tuck. She was, too.

  “I see. Both of you were raised by the Tuckers.”

  “Yes. Did you know my father?”

  “I knew Mr. Tucker well. He helped us out on many occasions. He and your mother are sorely missed.”

  “He told me he didn’t know who my mother was, but he knew. He kept a secret for Sister Frances, but now I want to know.”

  “Sister Frances is eighty-nine and very crippled with arthritis. We try to keep her comfortable and I’m afraid I can’t disturb her.”

  “I don’t plan on disturbing her. I just want to talk to her.”

  “She’s in her room in her bedclothes and it’s just not allowed.”

  Tuck studied the nun. “Sister, I’m forty-two years old and I’ve waited a long time to find out about my mother. I don’t plan to do anything with the information. I just have a need to know. I’m sure you can understand that. All I’m asking for is a few minutes with Sister Frances. And I know God wouldn’t mind if I spoke with her in her room. You might have heard, He’s very forgiving.”

  Sister Theresa’s lips twitched. “Yes. I’ve heard that.” She tapped her fingers on the desk in thought. “Please give me a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” Tuck rose, his hat in his hand as the nun left the room. He stared at the children in the yard, the unwanted ones, and Grace’s heart broke at the anguish in his eyes.

  “Tuck…”

  He didn’t respond to her and fear edged its way into her chest.

  Eli placed a hand on Tuck’s shoulder. “Tuck, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Tuck clenched his jaw. “It does to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “I know.”

  The nun returned. “Sister Frances will receive visitors.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  They followed the nun down a long corridor. The hall seemed to be made of stone and their footsteps echoed eerily, sadly and with a morbid reckoning. It was a morose feeling and Grace couldn’t shake it.

  As the nun unlocked a door, Grace realized they were going into the nuns’ quarters, a place where secular people weren’t allowed.

  They were ushered into a sitting room with dark walls, threadbare sofas and shelves of religious books. Grace stared at the huge cross that hung on one wall, a table of candles around its base. She rubbed her arms, feeling something she couldn’t describe.

  “Have a seat.” Sister Theresa motioned toward a sofa. “Sister Frances will be here shortly. Please don’t expect too much. Some days Frances is forgetful and uncooperative. I hope you get the answers you desire.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  Another nun wheeled a woman in a wheelchair into the room. She was dressed in a white robe; her long gray hair hung over one shoulder. Thin and feeble, Sister Frances’s gnarled hands shook slightly in her lap.

  “Frances, this young man is here to see you,” Sister Theresa said.

  “But I’m not dressed.” Her voice was raspy, weak.

  Tuck pulled a wooden chair close to her and sat down, facing her. “That’s okay. I just want to ask some questions about the baby you left at the Tuckers’ mailbox many years ago.”

  Sister Frances blinked at him and her gray eyes looked enormous behind the wire-rimmed glasses. Tuck wasn’t sure she’d understood what he’d said.

  A gnarled hand suddenly reached for his face, shaking against his cheekbone. “Bernadette.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’d know those eyes anywhere. You’re Bernadette’s son.”

  Tuck swallowed. “Bernadette who?”

  Sister Frances glanced at Sister Theresa. “What was Bernie’s last name?”

  “Martel, I believe,” Sister Theresa replied.

  “Yes, yes, that’s it.”

  “Tell me about Bernadette,” Tuck asked, his stomach feeling queasy. “Tell me why she gave me away.”

  “Oh, my son, is it wise to stir the ashes of the past?”

  “I’ve waited forty-two years to find out the truth. I’m old enough to take it.”

  Sister Frances nodded several times. “Then you shall know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Theresa, it’s cold in here.” Sister Frances wrapped her arms around her waist. The other nun placed a gray blanket over Sister Frances’s knees. “That’s better,” she mumbled, and looked at Tuck. “Who are you?”

  Tuck took a hard breath. “Jeremiah. Bernadette’s…son.” The words felt strange, unreal.

  “Oh.” The nun blinked as if she didn’t know where she was.

  “Sister Frances, please stay focused. I want to talk about Bernadette. Tell me about Bernadette.”

  “Okay.” Her head bobbed up and down, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Sister Frances…”

  “Yes
, my son?”

  “Please tell me about Bernadette.”

  “I’ll do my best. Let’s see—” her dull eyes grew distant “—Bernadette lived with an aunt and uncle and their children. Her parents were killed when she was very small, I believe. The uncle was a mean drunk and beat them often.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “One day he was beating one of his daughters. Bernadette intervened and tried to protect her. The man broke her jaw, her arm and her leg, and then began the round of despicable foster homes for her. She was about fourteen, I think, when she was finally placed with the Tuckers. God was watching out for her. He always does.” She bobbed her head again. “Yes, He was. At the Tuckers’ Bernadette found out about family, love and faith.”

  She stopped talking and Tuck drew a breath as painful as any he’d ever taken. It burned his throat, his insides, and all the way to his soul.

  His mother had been one of the Tucker kids. Grace was right.

  Sister Theresa handed Sister Frances a glass of water with a straw in it. She took a sip.

  “What happened to her after that?” He pushed the words past his scorched throat.

  “She was very happy with the Tuckers, but at sixteen she made a life-affirming decision. Jess and Amalie tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant.”

  “What was it?

  “She joined the convent.”

  “What!” Shock ran through his system.

  “She was Sister Bernadette, but we called her Bernie.”

  “My mother was a nun?” He had a hard time processing that.

  “Yes. She enjoyed teaching the children. The outside world had been so cruel to her, but she found peace in our structured, secure environment.”

  “But something changed?”

  “Yes.”

  Tuck waited, but she didn’t say anything else.

  “Sister,” he prompted.

  Sister Frances looked around. “Where are we?”