Chapter Forty-Eight
LIFELINE
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—APRIL/MAY 1921
ELAINE
Only days after the baby Arthur was born, Elaine started back to work. By day, she continued to work as a housekeeper; in the evening, she took high school classes at Woodward House. After classes, she studied until lights out and then lay awake as long as she could, afraid of her own dreams, of seeing the squalling face of a baby or dreaming that she was back with her brother Stephen and then waking to find it wasn’t true.
Mr. Seward had asked her to let him know when the baby was born. But there would be no baby to show him. At least she could tell him the baby was a boy, and that she had named him Arthur. If he wanted to set up a trust for someone he only suspected was his great-grandson, then he’d have to go through the nuns to find the family that adopted him. She’d cashed the money order, but she wasn’t going to ask for more. She saved every penny from her job, and if she could stay on at Woodward House for a few more months to finish classes, she’d have barely enough to rent a room for herself. Stephen could join her as soon as she had a steady job. She’d promised him she would graduate early and find them a place together, and she meant to keep that promise.
After several agonizing attempts, she wrote Mr. Seward a carefully considered letter.
April 22, 1921
Dear Mr. Seward,
On April 15th, I had a healthy baby boy. I named him Arthur, after you. He was big—eight and a half pounds—and the nuns tell me he is handsome, but I never saw him. I chose to give him up for adoption so he could have a proper home. To find the family, you will have to contact the Sisters of Mercy at Woodward House. I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to see him either.
I hope you are well and thank you for the money you sent. Please watch over Stephen for me.
Sincerely,
Elaine Margaret Fitzgerald
Once a week, on her day off, Elaine wandered the market rather than stay and socialize with the other girls. The first time she went, she noticed that Pete was still there with his pigeons, and an idea began to take shape. It would involve a few lies, but they weren’t big ones. The next week, she dressed as carefully as she could and went straight to Pete’s booth in the market.
“Well, if it isn’t Elaine. It’s been a long time since I’ve laid eyes on you. And where’s your little brother?”
“I’m off at boarding school, and Stephen is still with the Gossleys. I was wondering if you might do me a favor. I’d be willing to pay for it,” she added quickly.
“And what favor could I do for you?” Pete stroked his stubbled chin while his eyes twinkled at her.
“I’d like to send my brother a pigeon post by way of Father Kearny. Stephen could pick it up from Father Kearny, and then send one back to you. I’d get it from you each week. It would be a game. I’d come every Saturday to pick it up. He loves to get mail by pigeon post.”
Pete cocked his head like one of his birds. “Well, I don’t see why not. It wouldn’t be much of a letter, the paper’s so small.”
“That’s okay. It’s only a game.” Her pulse drummed in her ears.
“Where is this boarding school of yours?”
She hadn’t planned for this question. Looking out toward the river, she said the first place that came to mind.
“Manhattan. I come to the market on Saturdays and visit my brother and the Gossleys.” Her words trailed off, sounding ridiculous even to herself, but it was the only way she could think of to get news from Stephen. And she was desperate.
“Write a note here.” Pete handed her a slip of paper and stub of pencil. “I’ll send one of Father Kearny’s pigeons off today.”
She scribbled a note, explaining Stephen could write her back and send it with a pigeon. She handed it to Pete. “Do you think Father Kearny will mind?”
“What, him? Nah, he likes any excuse to fiddle with the birds. He’s got Lucky with him now. I suppose that school keeps you pretty busy.”
“It does, but I’ll be back next Saturday.”
“The Gossleys must think highly of you, paying for a private school and all.” Pete slipped the rolled paper into the small metal cylinder.
Elaine bit her cheek. “May’s always fond of causes. I have to go now, but thank you so much.”
Pete waved a thick hand in her direction. “You can help me clean cages next time you’re here.”
She felt his gaze follow her through the teeming market crowds.
All week she was torn between hope and fear. What if Stephen hadn’t forgiven her for leaving? What if he didn’t answer at all?
On Saturday, she hurried to the market as soon as she could get away. Pete was selling bunches of lettuce to a crowd. Elaine watched from the edges. Had an answer come for her? The pigeons were all in their crates. Her heartbeat filled her ears.
As the shoppers thinned, she edged closer. “Do you have mail for me?” The words, thick with anticipation, had trouble leaving her mouth.
Pete looked up, startled. “I didn’t see you there.” He wiped the mud from his hands on his great white apron. “Been saving it for you.” Unzipping a leather pouch, he lifted out a pair of tweezers and a metal cylinder.
Elaine grew dizzy.
He handed both to her. “Thought you might want to take it out yourself.”
She poked the tweezers into the tube and withdrew the small roll of paper. After handing the tweezers and tube back to Pete, she carefully unrolled the paper. Stephen’s cramped writing made her eyes hot with tears.
Miss you, when are you coming home? School is good.
I’m taking piano lessons.
She wanted to run to him. Her breath came in short snatches. “You don’t know how much this means to me. What can I pay you?”
Pete looked at her steadily. “Not a dime, but I still want you to help me with cages.”
Slipping the paper into her bag, she nodded and got to work.
What Pete told Father Kearny, Elaine never knew, but pigeon post became her lifeline—that and books. The sisters said she had a talent for writing and research. Reading and the few lines from her brother made life at Woodward House bearable.
A few days after sending the first pigeon post, she’d also received her second letter.
May 2, 1921
Dear Miss Fitzgerald:
I regret to inform you that Mr. Arthur Seward passed away on April 27th. He has left instructions for me regarding you and the child he believes to be his great-grandson, Arthur. Arthur will inherit a trust at age twenty-one. You will have enough money to house you and allow you and your brother to complete college.
Please contact me regarding the terms of Mr. Seward’s will.
Sincerely,
John Parks II
Elaine stared at the letter, willing the words to say something different. This was a world where people vanished out of your life forever in a moment, before you could even catch your breath. Just like her father. The same way baby Arthur had vanished. This pain was too sharp for tears, and she clutched her stomach as if the words had settled there.
Again, she reread the letter. A will. She didn’t know how those worked, but there would be money for her and Stephen to go to college. College. It was too much to take in. Suddenly, the world was wider. She should have told Mr. Seward that Arthur truly was his great-grandson. Even without knowing for sure, he left her the money. And he left a fund for the baby. But the baby wasn’t real. He had been in her and then he was gone. She had Stephen to think about, and she needed to tell him about their good fortune.
Mr. Parks appeared at Woodward House later in the week as the single rose bush by the door bloomed. Elaine hadn’t seen him since Mr. Seward’s birthday picnic, when Howie first kissed her. Mr. Parks was different now, serious in a suit and tie. They sat in the front room, and as he talked his right leg jiggled up and down. The money, he told her, could only be accessed when she finished her high school studies. She told him that
she was almost done and that the nuns were letting her stay until the end of summer so she could finish. He wiped his hand across his forehead, which had begun to sweat. They’d make plans then, he said, for living arrangements—and by the way, Howie was not to be told until he finished college. That was a condition of the will. Elaine nodded solemnly. She understood. What did it matter now? The future fluttered just beyond her reach. She could almost grasp it, and it smelled of hope.
Three days later, Sister Anne was waiting for Elaine when she returned from house cleaning. The look in her eyes made Elaine’s heart beat faster.
“Your baby was returned. He’s contracted scarlet fever, and the family doesn’t want him infecting their other child.”
Elaine looked into the sister’s face. Tiny fissures had appeared above her lips as she compressed her mouth, and now her forehead furrowed into rows. She was still speaking, had just said something that was important. But Elaine wouldn’t let the words in. It was only a child she had barely seen, who was stricken. But her palms were slick with sweat and her heart raced.
When Elaine didn’t reply, Sister Anne rested her hand on her shoulder. “Not many survive at so young an age, but we’ll do the best we can by him. He could use some mothering now.”
Elaine looked out the window. A crow hunched in the branches of an ash tree, cawing the same note over and over. Summer was in the wind. She and Stephen would be starting their real life soon, a life she had been waiting for, for years. Without a word, she turned.
And walked away.
Chapter Forty-Nine
THE WAY HOME
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA—AUGUST 1955
Molly
“How are you feeling?” Uncle Stephen asked, pulling a chair up to the bedside. The rest of us huddled awkwardly in the doorway of Mr. Whipple’s room.
“Sore. They tell me I’ve cracked a few ribs. Every time I take a breath, it hurts. And maybe I fractured my spine.” But he looked awfully happy for a man with a fractured spine.
“Well, we appreciate what you did for the boy. It was heroic.”
“I’d been watching the whole thing. I wish I could have stopped them.”
Furrows appeared between Mom’s eyes. “Where did you see all this from?”
“My car—”
“The blue Chevy Bel Air. You’re Arthur,” Angus cut in.
This was the man in the mystery car? Everything was in fast forward. I couldn’t keep up. Was he a reporter, or a miracle investigator watching Uncle Stephen?
“That’s right. I’m sorry if—”
This time it was Mom who cut him off. “You’ve been watching children in the neighborhood? I should call the police right now. Stephen, this man is some kind of pervert.”
Uncle Stephen looked as puzzled as I felt.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any alarm.” The man continued: “I confess I’ve been watching your house.” And here his round face burst into that smile that looked so familiar again. “I asked that my family be allowed to come in and see me.”
Mom gawked. Uncle Stephen’s eyes yo-yoed back and forth between Mom and the man in the bed.
My uncle cleared his throat. “There must be some mistake.” Angus inched a bit closer to me.
“Arthur Whipple is my adopted name. My birth name was Arthur Gossley. I’m Arthur, Mom. And Molly and Angus are my half brother and sister.”
Mom’s shoulders began to shake in a funny way. I grabbed her arm in case she was about to have some kind of seizure. The name Arthur Gossley meant nothing to me, but it appeared to have a powerful effect on Mom. I threw a worried glance at Uncle Stephen, but he wasn’t any help. He was running both hands through his hair until it stood straight up in mangy tufts. Mom began to hiccup, which for all I knew was a prelude to spasming. What right did he have to call my mother Mom? I had only one brother.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s a sick game. Arthur Gossley died of scarlet fever.” Mom’s face was red and swollen. Her words, sharp staccato bursts.
“But I didn’t die. The nuns saw me through. I grew up in upstate New York with a family by the name of Whipple. They’re good people who couldn’t have children of their own. They never planned to tell me I was adopted, but when I was ten years old, a lawyer tracked them down and said that their kid—me—had some money coming to him from a big-time architect named Howard Gossley.”
Mom sat down with a thump on the straight-backed chair, and Uncle Stephen went over and put his arm around her. “But how could he know—”
Arthur held up a pale hand. “I finally met my father, Howard Gossley, when I was eighteen. He was a fine man, and we stayed in touch until he died last year.”
“Died?” A little puff escaped from Mom like someone had knocked the wind out of her.
“He had a heart attack. Shame, because he was only in his fifties, but then I suppose you know that. So, I decided it was time to meet the rest of my family. I hired a detective and gave him the scoop. He did a little investigating, and then he discovered an ad in the New York Times classifieds. He gave me an address in California.”
My heart gave a sudden lurch. “What did the ad say?” Had I drawn this crazy person to us? There had to be some mistake.
“I don’t remember exactly, but it had a name, Elaine Fitzgerald Donnelly, and an address. I hoped you were looking for me.” He looked at Mom.
“But I didn’t place any ad. I thought you were dead.”
“I saved it. It had your address and said to contact Molly. So I drove out as soon as I could.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Molly?” My mother sounded like she was about to choke. “But how could you—”
Arthur kept right on talking. “I thought it would be better if I watched for a bit before I barged in. I didn’t want to cause any problems. It took me a while to figure out you two weren’t married.” He nodded at Uncle Stephen. “Lots of husbands wouldn’t put up with their wife’s kid showing up on the doorstep.”
I thought about the hair ring. Things were beginning to sink in.
Arthur looked over at me and Angus. “And I got kind of caught up watching my brother and sister here. When I was growing up, I used to pretend I had siblings. I was planning on introducing myself tomorrow, but then with the accident and all . . .” He shrugged and then winced.
Uncle Stephen was blinking his eyes and swiping at them with the palm of his hand.
Mom stood and walked out the door.
I started to follow. But Uncle Stephen grabbed my arm. “Let her be. It’s a lot to process.”
For a few seconds, no one spoke. We simply looked at each other.
What had I done? I’d been trying to fix our lives, and now it looked like I might have destroyed them. Placing the ad had been opening Pandora’s Box. Did my father know Mom had a child with someone else? Did this mean he’d never come back now?
Angus broke the silence. “You’re my brother? You don’t look like it.” He walked closer to the bed.
“I guess I take after my father.” He laughed, and then grabbed his side as he turned a greenish shade of white. “How’s the boy?”
“He survived, thanks to you,” Uncle Stephen said. “He needs to have surgery on his leg. It was shattered pretty badly, and apparently he bit clean through his tongue. Things could have been a lot worse.”
We fell silent again. I felt the minutes tick by on my skin. What if she wasn’t coming back? Fear rose like bile in my throat. I locked eyes with my uncle. My fear was mirrored there. Even he didn’t know what she’d do.
I stood. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused any grief. I thought—” Arthur cleared his throat. “I hoped.”
“You did the right thing,” Uncle Steven replied.
“Is Mom coming back?” Angus’s voice rang with a high note of panic. I put my arm around him
“She needed some fresh air.”
Chapter Fifty
FAMILY
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA—AUGUST 1955
Molly
A nurse came in with a clipboard. “Mr. Whipple could use some rest. We’re going to give him something to manage the pain and then we’ll take him down for more X-rays. But family is welcome to wait for the results.”
When none of us said anything, she wrinkled her forehead. “You are family, aren’t you?”
There was a movement in the doorway. Mom hesitated. Her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying. Her hands covered her nose and mouth. Uncle Stephen looked at Mom; there were questions in his eyes, but there was hurt too. For the first time I realized this news might be as surprising to him as it was to me.
She offered the briefest of nods. My heart took a roller-coaster dive.
“Yes, we are. We’re family,” Uncle Stephen said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.
Arthur lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, thick lashes fanning against his cheeks, while the nurse gave him more pain medication. Mom was staring at Arthur so hard that I don’t think she heard a thing the nurse said. I searched for a resemblance between my elegant, red-haired mother and this pudgy, dark-haired man. And I knew then why his smile had made me feel at home.
The nurse ushered us out of the room, but Mom stayed behind.
ELAINE
She looked at this stranger in the hospital bed and searched for herself in him. Dark stubble speckled his pale face. His brown hair was already thinning. When she’d met his dark eyes, for a minute she’d lost her balance. They were quick and lively, and maybe that’s how she’d known, even before he said anything. When he did speak, his voice most of all was his father’s. Every time he spoke it was like peeling a scab from a wound.
She had spent years forcing herself not to imagine Howard Gossley, and then when she wanted to call his memory back, it refused to come until she heard Arthur’s voice.
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