A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  Chapter 14

  It was the day before Father Bart was supposed to come and everyone was filled with smiles and cheers. I had baked a cake and all were taking part in it, joyous smiles on their faces, when a rapping suddenly came from the door.

  “Father Bart must have come early.” I smiled at the children who for some reason had all grown quiet. It must be Father Bart! I wonder why the children are so paralyzed. They spoke of him so fondly before. Unlocking the door quickly, I smiled as the wind practically yanked it open.

  Stumbling back, I pulled my hair out of my face, “Fall must be coming-” I held my breath as I looked to see who was standing on the other side of the door. “-early.” My heart sank at the sight of a couple standing behind it.

  “Yes, it must be,” the woman smiled, her hand resting on her protruding stomach. She was clearly a woman late in her pregnancy.

  “Please come in!” Father Quetell said cheerfully, walking from his room, dressed in the garments of a peasant. He moved me aside and led the couple through.

  Seating them in two chairs that had been tucked away in some hidden closet unknown to me, Father Quetell talked very cheerfully with them. The children with quiet and solemn faces lined up in two columns. The boys were on the left, the girls on the right, each in order of height.

  It was only when they had done this that the couple’s reason for coming here, and Father Quetell’s peculiar over cheerfulness, began to make sense to me. I had nearly forgotten that this was an orphanage. These people must be her to adopt a child!

  “Yes, yes,” said the woman, her tall husband blushing at the stares of all the little children who eyed his bushy moustache. “We want a sibling for our child, an elder one who can teach our child and, more importantly, be their friend.” The woman glanced thoughtfully over all the little children. All still wearing their solemn faces, all but Verdan that is, his eyes sparkled with delight as he stared at the belly of the pregnant woman. He was clearly in awe of her.

  Not oblivious, the woman could clearly see his eyes boring into her, “Would you like to come and listen?” she asked, her eyes looking back into his. Upon being recognized, Verdan bit his lip and snapped upon himself the same solemn face as all the others. “I-I don’t know, ma’am. Is that okay?” She nodded to him. “It is.”

  Still hesitant, I came up quietly behind Verdan. “Go on now.” I nudged him forward. “You have every right to be in awe of such a great gift.” Nodding reassuringly to him, he smiled brightly. Placing his small hand on her stomach, he laid his ear to it. His cheeks flushing red, he turned to me. “I felt it! I felt it!” he cried. All the other children broke their neat little rows, and their serious little demeanors began to vanish one by one. Smiles and eyes of amazement and wonder illuminated their little faces. Although it was slow at first, they all eventually gathered around the woman, little eyes staring in amazement as they each placed their head to her belly and listened.

  “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, I can get them in order, if you’d like. I-” Father Quetell was short for words. “It is fine,” she said, a warm smile glowing beneath her bright cheeks. “I love children. I would take them all if we could afford it, but we have not the rooms nor the food nor the money.” With a look of understanding, the husband gently patted the hand of his wife, comforting her as her eyes glistened with tears. Wiping them away, she looked at Verdan. Extending her hand, she smiled. “Will you come home with me?” she asked, her hand still extended towards him.

  “But Ma- I mean, Ms. Rosetta is here, and I wanna stay with her forever!” He ran to me. Clinging to my dress, he dug his head snuggly into it. I patted his head gently. “Verdan, you know that you must go with these people. I will not be here forever. In fact, I am to leave very soon. You know that well.” I brushed his hair aside from his face. “And so, go with these people. I am sure you will be greatly loved by them.”

  Tightening his grasp on my dress, he chewed his lips, his big eyes looking into mine. Scrunching his little fingers together, he motioned for me to come closer. Lowering my head to his, he kissed me on the cheek! “Thanks for everything, Momma.” He smiled brightly, red cheeks and all! And I smiled back at him, embracing him once more before he ran off to the couple. The tall husband looked to Father Quetell who had gone out of the room and was returning with a few papers.

  “Are these them?” asked the man. It was the first time he had spoken. It was a low and deep voice, but a kind one. “Yes!” Father Quetell said cheerfully, exchanging pens and papers with the man. I turned my attention back to Verdan who was saying his goodbyes to the other children, who looked upon him with fearful eyes, but spoke only good willed words. They were scared of losing their friend. They were terrified of what would become of him, of themselves, when they too would one day be whisked away by some stranger. When they would be expected to call these strangers names they had never spoken before, or had forgotten. Mother? Father? Such strongly worded titles to be placed upon strangers. It must be an awfully difficult thing.

  “Would you like to call me Momma or Mother?” the woman asked, her hands interlocking with his. With red cheeks Verdan nodded, tucking his head into his chest as he did, as if he could hide his embarrassment and discomfort by doing so.

  It was only a few minutes later that the man had finished talking and signing papers with Father Quetell. Each giving a firm hand shake, they locked eyes, and at that moment one could tell that there was something exchanged between the two. It was a promise, a promise of trust, of fathers.

  Walking out the door, one hand in his new mother’s, Verdan waved goodbye with the other. He was smiling, smiling like child with a family, smiling like all children should.

  “This was good,” I patted the other children who had held back their sobs until he had left. “B-But Verdan and I were gonna be together forever and be best friends, and get married and have lots and lots of babies, all from Father’s orphanage!” Mary cried, fluids seeping from her eyes, mouth, and nose. I laughed at her. “Ha! Well, if he made such a promise, then I am sure he will keep it,” I told her reassuringly.

  A child’s promise is small, but however foolish it may seem to most, it is as foolish as it is strong. As are the words of all children. For they do not yet know how to lie, they only know their innocent truths. It is when they are grown that promises are broken, and lies are told to mask the truth. That is why, at the moment, he has all intentions of keeping that promise. I know it.

  “Hic! R-really? Hic, Momma?” Nodding calmly, I reassured her. “Most definitely. It is good that he goes now, for when he comes back, you will be a lady and he a man, and all will be right for you to wed! You are much too young now. Wait and he will one day return for his little bride and all their children!”

  She nodded wearily, shedding a few more tears with the other’s till they all fell asleep.

  “Such children,” I whispered, carrying them each to their own little beds. I tucked them in warmly, kissing each of their heads.

  “You shouldn’t lie,” Mitch spoke, still awake. He had run upstairs before everyone else and shed his fair share of tears. “No one comes back. They never have. They never will.” He looked up from his little bed of blankets, a sharpness lighting his eyes.

  “Mitch, why have you not any faith in your friends?”

  He shook his head, “They are all just little kids, and they won’t remember such stupid promises. When they leave, they don’t come back. That’s just how it is. I personally feel bad for Verdan. That woman was pregnant with her own child. He will never be as loved as the real child will be, never!” I hushed him, stepping quickly over to him. He sank as I came, crouching as if I was going to hit him. Breathing heavily, I let out a deep sigh. Touching his arm, I slowly hugged him “What are you doing, you crazy old-”

  “I love you all just as I love my own son. And no matter how many horrible things you all do, I will only remember you for all of the good things you have done. The bad memories will hurt,
but you can only have the really good memories when you have accepted the bad ones.”

  “How would you know anything?” he let his arms hang, no longer struggling to push me off as he did before. “How would you know?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “How? How when you don’t even remember who you are?” His arms touching mine pulled away. Bowing his head, he glanced quickly over to his sleeping friend Jelb, still covered in bandages. “I lied to you,” he said softly. “Jelb may not be able to yell, but he can whisper occasionally. Nobody knows it but me. He said it will be a pain if everyone tries to force him to talk. It is really uncomfortable for him to speak, painful even, but he still does every now and again.”

  I did not know what to say to him, and so I simply nodded. “The day you arrived, he whispered to me, ‘It is her! It is her! Mitch!’ He had strained his voice as much as he could. When I asked him what was the matter, he simply cried saying, ‘happy alive, she is, alive.’ He used up all his energy and then began to cough uncontrollably. He damaged his throat and has not said anymore since then.”

  I stared at Mitch and then at the bandaged boy. “S-So he knows me?” I reached for him, but he pulled away. “He is not my son, is he?” Mitch shook his head.

  “No, but I think he has something to do with your past.” He looked at me. “I know his real name, maybe it might—” He shook his head. “It is a long shot but maybe it will unlock a piece of your memory."

  “He told me his name was Robert. He said he couldn’t remember how many, since he was very young, but he said he had quite a few brothers and sisters. Remember, everything he has told me, he has said over a number of years. It took him a while to trust me, and then a very long time to tell me all that I know now.” He continued, “He told me he grew up on a farm, in a place a lot like around here, but at the same time, a lot different. He said he doesn’t remember much, because he was a child when he got burned. I even had to teach him how to speak properly, which was a pain since he could only speak about seven words at a time and had to rest his voice for a few days after.” Shaking his head at the memory, he smiled at his friend, “Jelb, I mean Robert, told me that he sometimes went to what I think was a town or village of some sort. Maybe it was yours? He also said there was a nice lady at his house, who was not his mother, but that she looked like his mother and was kinder to him than anyone else. That lady was his best friend.”

  “Th-that is very,” I stopped, my head pulsing. I laid my head down next to Robert’s for a moment. “Robert,” I whispered. His eyes were still closed, so I spoke to Mitch while studying the bits and pieces of the child’s face that showed through the bandages. “That is a good English name. My sister loved English names, you know. She used to tell me when we were little that all her children would have English names. She told me all the ones she knew and read about, but she said she liked the French as well, and some other countries I can not quite remember. She said they all were so fascinating, those countries so far away from here.” I clutched my chest. Feeling something, I reached into my bosom. I had not noticed for all these weeks, but there was a secret little pocket sewn on the inside my dress. Pulling the thread gently, I raised the little chain with a tiny cross up to my eyes. I wonder why this was hidden there. I had washed it several times. Why had I not noticed it until now?

  Staring in wonder, Mitch’s eyes twinkled. “Will you?” I asked, lifting my hair for him to fasten the latch on the chain. Without a word, he hooked the little cross on. “Thank you.” I looked down at its simple glimmer; the darkness of the room holding no defense against the light which seemed to stretch from it, as if in some vain attempt to light the whole of the dark room. Yes, this was a special cross. A special memory…Memory…Yes…Yes, that’s it!

  “I remember now. My sister had already had her first child when Merek was born. His name was John. She was going to have a second, but I do not know what happened.” Studying the child’s face once more, I tried to pick out some detail that would indicate that he was perhaps my nephew.

  “Um, Robert told me something else,” his voice was serious, grave almost. I rolled to face Mitch, who had grown pale. “He told me that someone had burnt their house down with him and his family inside. He said his mother protected him, wrapping him in a blanket and shielding him with her body.”

  I gasped. Oh, I fear if it was my sister! And if not, bless her soul just as well! “But he said that before that happened, strange people had come into his home and had taken away his best friend. That is, they had taken the kind lady who was like a mother but not his mother. He said there was a man who was very scary, who the lady and his mother knew. But he himself did not recognize the fellow.” He stopped. “Oh, Ms. Rosetta!” he looked up to me, his jaw shaking and fists tightening. “The way he described the scene, I thought of soldiers, the same soldiers that came to my house, and the man, the man sounded the same. The same man!” he pounded his fists, the child Robert stirring as he did.

  As I hugged Mitch close for his and my own comfort, he grasped my arm tight, “That man is evil. He came and he—”

  The door to the stairs creaked open. Father Quetell came up with a boy about the same age as Mitch in his arms. Laying him down where Verdan used to sleep, he frowned.

  “Who?” I mouthed to the Father. Shaking his head, he stepped carefully over the children. Upon reaching me, he helped me to my feet. I looked back at Mitch, but he was pretending to doze. “They come as soon as they leave. I found him out in the garden about an hour ago. He has a horrible wound, I believe it was from a sword.” He walked me over to the child. At the site of him, I nearly shrieked!

  “Th-this is Merek!” I squealed. Quickly covering my mouth, the preacher hushed me. Nodding, I looked once more at the boy, carefully this time. “No,” I sighed, “This is not him, but he looks very much like him.”

  Motioning me to come down the stairs with him, I nodded.

  Sitting by the fire, he strained his eyes to read something that clearly did not interest him, a ploy to not meet my eyes as he spoke. “That boy is very like you, only much worse off. He wears nice clothes, but they are covered in dirt and torn. No one would have known they were of the same value as yours unless they looked carefully. The boy also has a memory lapse, but it is awful. He seems to have forgotten everything, even down to the basics of human communication. He cannot even speak. He simply stared at me when I saw him, unable to answer the simplest of questions. He then fainted from utter exhaustion.”

  “Do you think he could somehow be related to me?”

  Pressing his chin to his fist, his eyes wandered the room, resting on me for an instant, fury blazing in his eyes. A deep hate glowed from them, like an immeasurable ravaging fire.

  I held the cross around my neck, a familiar action to me for some reason. It seemed to comfort me. Finding my voice through the strength the cross gave me, I spoke. “Well, Father, what do you think?” His eyes melted into that softer gleam he usually wore. With a smile, he raised himself from his chair. “I believe he was given to me. He did not come here by accident.” Peering out the window, he tried to hide some type of emotion. The heaviness of his thoughts portrayed only by the intensity of his eyes as they scanned the fields. He pulled the curtains shut.

  “A woman was running to the road. I spied her carriage around the corner of it. I believe it was that boy’s mother. She had a handkerchief in her hands, and was dressed very finely in rich garments. She was young and could not have been much older than twenty, if even that.” Again, he frowned, his smile flashed back just as quickly. “She must have loved the boy very much. Usually rich woman like that leave their children because they are in danger of some sort. However, it puts us in a difficult position, because they could be endangering the other children.”

  He clenched his fist, snapping his eyes shut tight, he shook his head and folded his hands as if to pray. “I don’t want them to be in danger. Such children have their memories understandably suppressed for that very reason, so th
at they are no danger to themselves or others around them. However, whatever danger that child is in could follow him, and still cause the child harm. Sometimes there are assassins sent to kill the children because they are some heir to a large estate or noble’s title. The pursuers will often not rest till they achieve their mission. I have seen it many times before. It puts the rest of the children in grave danger.” Pausing, he looked to me with solemn eyes. “I sadly believe that this boy may be in danger of such an assailant. How else could we explain such wounds?”

  “I know Father, but what you have said is so—so striking! What a horrible burden for such a small child!” I shook my head, my heart throbbing as I remembered those wounds on the boy. How awful they were! They must be so painful. Would such things ever heal? Who would inflict such horrible things on a child? Why? And who is this perilous boy who so resembles my son?

  “Father,” I said aloud, ignoring his trembling. I spoke out an idea that suddenly came to me, a foolish one at that. “How about I take the boy with Father Bart and I? We can go to Vertensburg. It is so much farther from here. He may be safe in that little town.”

  “Rosetta,” his eyes were kind and compassionate, “You have a kind and beautiful heart. One of a true mother.” But suddenly his tone grew intense, almost harsh, “However, Rosetta, such a thing is dangerous! You would be placing yourself in eminent danger!”

  “But think of the children!” I cried, all their faces flashed before me. I could picture their terrified eyes staring into some horrid merciless fiend. “No! I refuse to let such a thing happen! Let the boy come with me! He will be safe. Jobel and I can adopt him.” When I spoke his name, I nearly choked on my words. “We-We can take care of him, he will have a brother in Merek. Nothing will happen, we-”

  “Vertensburg is not as it was! It is the capital, a dangerous place with-” he paused, his fury draining rapidly from his face as he glanced around at the splinters in the wooden floor below, searching his thoughts. When he found what he had sought, his eyes lit up, a grin creeping up his face. “That is why it is perfect!” Grasping my shoulders, he laughed. “Ingenious! Ingenious! Without even knowing it, you have solved our dilemma! Your answer is fanatical but a great one!”

  I looked at him quizzically. What had caused him to change his mind? “I do not understand, Father.”

  “Such a dangerous and heavily guarded place, no one would even dare to cause such a disturbance as a murder or kidnapping of a child in that city! They would fear the King much more than their aristocrat employer.”

  “So it could work?” I smiled.

  “Yes, yes. Ironically enough, you and he would be safe in that devils’ den.”

  Nodding in agreement, we headed downstairs to share a short glee-filled conversation as we sipped quietly some cold tea I had made earlier that day. Father sat in his chair reading some letters and documents, the seriousness of his eyes changing depending on where he was in his reading. He would hold his breath at the top but laugh softly to himself at the end, nearly spilling his tea every time.

  “Thank you for everything,” I told him softly. He smiled that smile I had seen the first time I met him, and nodded quietly. I had found this to be his favorite and most frequent response.

  Upon walking up the stairs, I stopped. Passing the bandaged and injured boys, I ran my eyes over each. Could they be my family? Could God have directed me to them and they to me?

  These thoughts played round in my mind, my heart aching as I mulled over such ideas.

  In my room, I touched the damp wooden nails. “I have grown so old. Those children could be my grandchildren. Or, I thought of Jelb’s - Robert’s - story. He could be my nephew.”

  Suddenly a knock came at the door. I held my breath. I had not heard any footsteps come up the steps. I peeked out the door, little dirty feet kicked the wood. Opening the door wide, I saw that it was the injured boy.

  “Yes?” I smiled, welcoming him in. His big blue eyes dug deeply into my heart, empty though they were, they still pulled at something within me.

  He smiled very lightly at me, his eyes staring at the cross around my neck. I took his little hand and slowly pulled it to the cross. Grasping it, he frowned with the deepest sadness and emotion I had ever seen within any person, and how much more painful it was to witness coming from such a small and beaten child! “Oh! Oh, how you are so like him! But I know you are not him. I know it and yet-” I hugged him tightly. With his arms dangling at his sides, I held him there, and we both sobbed.

  I do not know why, but neither of us could cease our ever flowing tears. So strong was this unknown emotion that plagued us, we could only cry in our ignorance.

  We could not stop. We had not the strength to do so.

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