by Debra Dixon
Instead, I’m in a wheelchair and there are many things I can’t do. I’m Hank’s part-time receptionist and bill collector. Even that isn’t working. I end up reducing the bill. He doesn’t complain. He’s accepted our lot in life. I haven’t. Hank tells me not to worry, but I know he’s impatient with me because I’m not the determined person I once was. Since I helped our softball team beat Bigelow in the co-ed league, I’ve not strapped on my braces again. But when puppies or kittens are being delivered, Hank always calls.
Hank’s Tree and Walker Hound, Belle, delivered her second litter of fat little hounds, now two weeks old and climbing over each other to find the freest flowing nipples. Their liver-colored speckles aren’t there yet, but they will be by the time they’re ready to be sold. Laying her head in my hand, Belle stretches out, allowing her babies more access to the dinner table. I think back a year ago to her first litter and feel an ache scissor through me. I was jealous of Belle for having babies when I couldn’t.
Hank and I have been married for over four years and I stopped taking birth control pills almost that long ago. I could live with not being able to walk but even though I’m paralyzed from the waist down, I never gave up on living a normal life. Not having children was a big void Hank and I wanted to fill.
“If it’s meant to happen, babe, it will,” Hank always said, as if it didn’t matter. But he did care and so did I. That’s why he gave in and went to the fertility specialists down in Atlanta. Neither of us wanted to confide our dilemma to my father. Dr. Chance Champion might keep secrets, but we didn’t want to take a chance on his staff. It turns out that the specialists down in Atlanta couldn’t give us answers. We ought to have children, but we don’t seem to be able. We might blame my medical condition for that but the doctors didn’t.
“We could adopt,” Hank would say, unable to conceal the tightness in his voice.
“We could,” I always agreed, but the possibility floated around in the air and never settled anywhere. Every time a four-footed patient whelped I felt the joy of new birth and the pain of having it withheld from us.
* * * *
It’s almost lunch time today and Hank’s heading over to Chinaberry to check a mule named Mason who conveniently becomes lame every year when it’s time to pull the wheel that grinds the sorghum cane to make syrup at the annual Mossy Creek Harvest Festival. Hank’s dad could probably have told the farmer the mule was faking but it took every reference book in the university library for Hank to realize that a mule needs a psychological approach rather than a medical one. Hank finally had a heart-to-heart talk with Mason and offered him a bribe. A half pint of moonshine at the end of the day in return for a split work session of two hours each. Hank mixed the moonshine in what he calls Mason’s vitamin mixture and directed Mason’s owner to administer the treatment.
“But be careful,” Hank warned the farmer. “Don’t let Mason anywhere around O’Day’s Pub. He might decide to join happy hour.”
My husband might have started out to be a veterinary surgeon in a research hospital, but James Herriott has nothing on him now. And, to his credit, he actually thinks it’s fun, treating every kind of animal in north Georgia. That, or he’s fooling me. With a final word of congratulations to Mama Belle and her new pups, I wheeled myself back to the clinic’s front desk and checked my e-mail. I had a lot of free time so that, other than volunteering at the library and working with the girls’ softball team, I’d become a secret chat room lurker, particularly those dealing with adoption. My first stop was the site dealing with the adoption of Chinese babies, mostly girls.
On the message board proud parents extolled the virtues of their round-faced, black-eyed little girls. After waiting for years, they told stories about being denied American children because they were single parents, too old to qualify, or there weren’t enough babies to go around. These Chinese children didn’t care and since there are more than 300,000 little girls abandoned every year, the Chinese government was happy to make adoption easy.
My heart went out to them and I wondered what Hank would say when I told him that I’ve contacted an agency, CCAI, Chinese Children Adoption International, for information.
Later that afternoon I drove my specially equipped van into the library parking area and operated all the levers and lifts to get my electric scooter and me to the pavement. I gave a wave to Dan McNeil, our local fix-it man, as I worked the throttle that gives my machine the juice to head up the ramp he built for me. There’s even a sign naming the ramp the Casey Blackshear Bridge. So far, there aren’t many other handicapped people in Mossy Creek, but there will be for our population is growing and our retirees are getting older.
Hannah Longstreet, the librarian, met me at the door with a smile. “You’ve got a crowd. What story are you reading today, Casey?”
Until this morning, I hadn’t been sure. “A Mother for Choco,” I said, driving my chair to the circle of children already waiting. >From the carrying box Hank had attached to my scooter, I pulled out a soft-stuffed doll sporting shiny, black hair and big black eyes. “Good morning, children. This doll’s name is Ming. Do you know where she came from?”
“Maggie Hart’s store?” one child said.
“As a matter of fact, she did,” I answered. “But I mean what country? We’re Americans. But some of our ancestors are from other places. The original surveyors who laid out Mossy Creek came from England. Where did Ming’s family live?”
A sea of confused faces finally brought an answer from Hannah. “China,” she said.
“How do you think a little Chinese girl would feel coming to Mossy Creek to live with people who weren’t like her?”
“She’d be sad,” one child said.
It was time for my story.
“Not necessarily. Listen to the story of Choco, a little bird who lived all alone. He wished he had a mother. He went to look for her. Choco was just a baby; he didn’t know he was a bird when he came upon a giraffe. Choco asked if the giraffe was his mother, the giraffe said, “No, I don’t have wings like you.” A walrus said, “No, you don’t have striped feet,” and the penguin said, “You don’t have round cheeks.” Choco was very sad. He was all alone and nobody wanted him. Until he came to the bear who listened to Choco’s story. The mother bear took Choco home to meet her other children. Choco was surprised to find Hippy Hippopotamus, Ally Alligator and Piggy Pig. All the children rushed out to welcome their new brother. It didn’t matter. They were all different.”
Half the children wanted to check out the book, and the other half wanted to take the doll home for the week. When the youngsters had gone Hannah suggested that we get cups of hot tea at The Naked Bean, then sit in the gazebo in the middle of the square. Once settled, she gave me a puzzled look. “Now what was that all about? And don’t tell me you were just reading a story. I saw the tears in the corner of your eyes.”
I told her about the fertility clinic and that they’d found no reason why I hadn’t gotten pregnant. “Normal adoption can take years and I’ll be on the bottom of the list because I’m in a wheelchair. We . . . I’ve been thinking about alternatives.”
“Alternatives?”
“Chinese babies.” There, I’d finally said it. The rest came out in a rush. “Hank doesn’t know anything about my idea but I’ve sent for information. You have to meet the same home study requirements that American adoptions require. There are mountains and mountains of paperwork to be filled out and notarized. The agency is in Colorado. They set everything up. A team goes with you to walk you through the process and get you back home with the baby. It’s expensive but we can afford it. What do you think?”
“I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve seen you excited.”
“Then you’ll go with me?”
“To China?
“Yes. I’ll pay your way,” I promised.
“What about Hank?”
“He . . . he might not be able to get away. It’s all right. It’s not uncommon for friend
s, grandparents or other relatives to accompany the mother.”
Hannah didn’t look too sure, but she finally said, “I’ll go if Hank can’t.”
And so it was decided. Fair-haired Hank and Casey Blackshear would take in an abandoned black-haired, black-eyed child. Just like Choco, the little girl would join the motherless group I had already collected. Now all I had to do was find a way to convince Hank.
As it turned out, by the time I got home Hank already knew. He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the CCAI folder and my correspondence when I came in. He knew I was there but for a long time he didn’t look up from the tablet he held in his hand. Then, he said, “I see you’ve been busy. When were you going to share this with me?”
There was no smile, no recriminations, only a hurt expression. I overlooked the mud on my clean floor and the unmistakable odor of the pig pen emanating from Hank’s boots and drove my scooter as close to the table as possible. “I was waiting for the right time. I didn’t know what you’d say.”
“When have I ever refused you, Casey?”
“When I wanted us to elope. Then after our automobile accident when I told you to go on to Angel Memorial to do your residency and leave me in the hospital. Then when I wanted you to sell your father’s clinic. Hank, I know this adoption is a wild idea. I . . . I sent for the details. Just forget about it.”
“Casey, I can’t say that this excites me. Maybe when I have had time to get used to the idea I’ll feel differently. But I love you and I want a child as much as you. So, get over here, and look at this.”
I swallowed hard and took the paper he was holding out. He’d drawn an extension onto our house labeling it baby’s room. Everything penciled in was child height — which coincidentally was perfect for me. He smiled. “What do you think? It’s either this or use one of the inside kennels. And I don’t know how to make them wheelchair accessible.”
“Oh, Hank. Are you sure? I mean it’s going to be expensive. I have to go to China to get her and she’ll be different and . . .”
“We’ll have to go to China,” he said, cupping my cheeks in his big rough hands. “We never had a honeymoon, did we? I don’t think I would have chosen China, but why not? And why on earth would you ever think we’d be ordinary? I’m a trained small animal surgeon knee-deep in the mud while I’m learning how to deal with large animals, and you’re an Olympic athlete in a wheelchair who coaches a softball team. I’ll start on the nursery and you start on the paperwork.”
* * * *
A small picture came of our daughter. Her face was covered with blotches, said to be chicken pox, and she was crying. Her name was Li Hai Kui. The agency said that she belonged to us, if we would accept her. How could we not? She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I looked at her and remembered Ellie Brady’s philosophy in asking her husband, Ed, to bring her an ‘ugly’ Christmas tree each year. She said something that many of us in Mossy Creek took to heart: “Everything is beautiful when it’s loved.”
I didn’t know how the town would feel about our plan but Hank was determined to involve them. “It takes a village to raise a child,” he said. The baby girl’s picture was published in the Gazette. Before Li Hai Kui Blackshear ever arrived, her family name, Li became her first name, and she’d been adopted by the entire town. O’Day’s Pub had the official calendar which marked off the days until Li came home.
* * * *
We disembarked from a 747 in Hong Kong where we’d spend the night, then take a smaller plane to the airport in a city named Guangzhou. I was grateful that Hank had arranged for a friend to fill in at the clinic, though I knew it meant a drop in our income. Getting me around China would have been impossible were it not for a couple of men in our group who insisted on hoisting my motorized wheelchair when there were no ramps. The adoption agency arranges for several sets of parents to travel to China together. I was afraid Hank still had reservations about our adopting a Chinese baby, and I loved him even more for being with me.
While the other fourteen mothers, fathers, friends, grandparents and children in our group went out to eat that night, Hank took me to our hotel and ordered dinner brought to our room. We ate at a small table near the window and looked out at the most colorful panorama of people, lights and signs either of us had ever seen. I was too tired and too excited to sleep.
If New York was America’s ‘town that never sleeps,’ Hong Kong had to be China’s. I thought about Mossy Creek and our peaceful life there and wondered what had ever made me think I could do this. Now, over 7,000 miles from Mossy Creek, the small town that nurtured all who came, I allowed myself to acknowledge my fear. Could I do this? Could I be a good mother to a tiny stranger?
The next morning, a small silver plane with propellers that Hank swore operated on wind-up power took us to Guangzhou. We were then driven to a hotel near Li’s orphanage. Our child would be delivered to our room where we would exchange the clothing she was wearing with what we’d brought. A final acceptance would be verbalized and we’d be responsible for a child we’d never seen before.
Nerves shortened my temper and I snapped at Hank. He didn’t respond. Instead, as we waited he turned on the television and found a local news station with subtitles. He watched for a moment, then turned it off. The news in Chinese just didn’t work.
“How can you be so calm?” I asked.
“You’re jumpy enough for both of us,” he said.
My heart seemed to twist. I’d pushed him into this. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this child. A tightness welled up in my throat and I fought to breathe. Even after our automobile accident, when I learned that I’d never walk again, I’d never felt such pain.
The phone rang. One of our Chinese guides. “The babies have arrived. You must stay in your room. Your baby will be brought to you.”
In the silence I heard the elevator open and a child crying. The sound of footsteps in the hallway paused and moved on. A door opened and the excited voices of the couple next door filtered out into the silence. One by one, the girls were delivered. Hank pulled the camera from his knapsack and waited by the door.
Finally, the footsteps stopped outside our room. There was a knock. I waited as Hank opened the door. This stalwart of strength on which I’d built this dream seemed frozen. Finally, I wheeled myself to the door and pushed him aside. A tiny wizard of a woman, identified as a nanny, looked at me and down at my motorized vehicle with shock in her eyes. She turned back to the man behind her. He nodded. Even I could recognize the reluctance with which she stepped inside and held out the pink bundle she was holding. I took it, searching for the baby within.
Every inch of the baby was covered except her small round face, which squinched up as she let out a wail of displeasure. I heard the click of the camera. Hank was making pictures.
“You must give back the clothing,” the official explained as if I didn’t know. “They will use it over and over again for the children they are giving to the new parents. You will have this afternoon with the baby, then we start on the paperwork. In the meantime, if you need me, we’ll be in the business office downstairs. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes!” I held the squirming child in one arm and guided my wheelchair to the bed. I hadn’t counted on a fight with our new daughter, but she had no intention of making it easy on me. If I bonded with her, it would be up to me. So far, Hank hadn’t moved. Finally I managed to remove the snow suit bunny outfit she was wearing, pulling back the hood to discover a mass of thick black hair. By the time I’d uncovered her totally, she had held her breath until she was a shade of pink somewhere between a tomato and a half-ripe watermelon.
“Hank? Could you help me, please? Hank!”
Finally, he walked toward us. Looming over the child, he whispered her name. Even now, I can’t describe the sudden calm that swept over the room. Li stopped crying. She looked up at him and held out our arms. “BaBa?” she said, hiccuping as she repeated the word daddy in Chinese.
I said yes, but I didn’t believe him. For the next two weeks we visited one government office after another. Our papers were examined and accepted. Gifts were exchanged and Li was issued a birth certificate. We promised that we would never abandon the child we’d already come to love. Hank looked very unconcerned when the Chinese doctor gave her less of an examination than he would have given a new pup and pronounced her “Well baby.”
Hank said all the right things, joined in the conversations with the other American fathers and grandfathers discussing their worries and their plans, but in the night I’d hear him wake and walk to the window. He either paced or stood in the solitude like a sentry waiting for the sound of the approaching enemy.
Had I pushed him into something he was having second thoughts about? Was I being fair to this child I’d already taken into my heart? What if I couldn’t keep up with her? What would she think when she was old enough to know that one day I could be her responsibility just as she would soon be mine? I didn’t dare ask Hank, and I felt the constant pressure of the obsession of my longing.
Car seats adjust. Interest rates adjust. But my Chinese daughter showed no signs of doing so. As independent as I was in Mossy Creek, operating on my own in China was a different thing. Hong Kong might have been wealthy enough to provide handicapped access, but in Guangzhou the sidewalks were uneven and many of the shops were simply holes in the wall with the door opening off the steps leading to the next level.
Hank suddenly had two dependent children instead of one. Finally Hank put away the stroller and transferred Li to a Snuggly which attached her to his chest and satisfied her totally. It was me who cried, but I didn’t let the others know. I pretended that everything was fine.