“Anyway, occasionally I watched Susie. My grandchildren lived all over the country. I enjoyed a baby day now and again.” She looked sternly at Beth. “But I wasn’t looking for a full-time caregiving situation.”
“I understand,” Beth said patiently. “Did Katherine say what she was going to do that day?”
“She said she was visiting her father, that she would be gone all day. I was very gracious about it, mind you. I sensed it was important to her. But she was rather melancholy and jumpy that morning, and she gave Susie a big, long goodbye hug as if she intended to be gone for days. Then she rushed out of the house. In retrospect, I thought it was odd. After she disappeared, I wondered…did she even have a father to go home to? Where was her mother? Why didn’t she want to bring Susie with her? Wouldn’t the man want to see his own grandchild?”
“Her mother was dead, and she was afraid of her father,” Beth said curtly. “The old man is one difficult individual.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “A grandparent always wants to know their grandchildren. I can understand him being totally disappointed with that capricious daughter of his, but that wouldn’t keep him from wanting to meet his granddaughter.”
“Theorize all you want. You don’t know Rod Thompson.”
Eleanor looked toward the dresser uncomfortably. “If you know him, why don’t you ask him where his daughter is?”
“I have,” Beth said sharply. Then she toned it down and mumbled, “It’s complicated.”
“Not nearly as complicated as my life became when Katherine left me with a year-and-a-half-old child. I kept hoping she would return, hoping that there would be a big story about troubles with her father or some other pathetic excuse, but there was no phone call, and she never came home.”
Rebecca interrupted unexpectedly. She peeked in and frowned at Beth. “Perhaps your guest should be leaving now,” she said.
“I can take care of myself,” Eleanor reassured her. “Now go along and polish some forks.”
Rebecca scowled, a look that said life is too short for this kind of treatment. But she did not respond. She closed the door and walked away.
Beth turned back to Eleanor and continued to press for information. “Did she take her things?”
“Except for her purse, she left nearly everything behind – her suitcase, most or all of her clothing, everything that belonged to Susie. Nothing was missing as far as I could tell.”
“I suppose that would be natural if one was leaving on a day trip.”
Eleanor retorted, “Or calculated if one was leaving for good and wanted to have the freedom to put four hundred miles between herself and those she left behind before they noticed something was wrong.”
“Or irrelevant if someone was planning on committing suicide,” Beth muttered in disappointment.
All of a sudden the elephant in the middle of the room whacked Beth over the head. “Where is Susie?”
The old woman looked away – a grim, tired expression on her face.
“Where is Susie? And why didn’t you ask the Bennings for help? They were her godparents.”
Eleanor sighed, fiddled with the bookmark in her book, and finally spoke. “I was so angry those first few days, I didn’t want to talk with anyone, especially not the Bennings. Those folks were part of the problem. They pampered that sinful, irresponsible girl. They contributed to her downfall.”
“They certainly did not get her pregnant. Perhaps they were just helping her out, a young girl trying to rebuild her life,” Beth said in Katherine’s and the Bennings’ defense. “Anyway,” she added sharply, “you have not answered the question. What happened to Susie?” Beth stood up.
“Oh, sit down. I’ll tell you the story. An old woman knows when it is time to let go of her well-guarded secrets. Who knows how many summers I have left? It is time.”
Beth sat patiently, but her stomach churned. She turned her lips inside on themselves and tried to tame her heartbeat with slow, quiet breaths.
“Katherine disappeared on November thirteenth. At first, I thought she was delayed, that she would return. I thought it was unusual that she didn’t call, but she was an irresponsible, self-centered girl. Susie and I kept to ourselves. I didn’t go out. I didn’t answer the phone or the door. We had canned soup for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“That was almost two weeks. I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t ask—”
“Be quiet, young lady. You were not there. You do not know what it was like. To look into those soft green eyes and wonder if you’ll ever have to tell that child her mother isn’t coming home. I figured if I didn’t make a big deal out of it, Katherine would return, everything would go back to normal, and no one would be the wiser. I didn’t get along that well with the Bennings. We’d had words about Katherine, unpleasant words. I was worried that if they took Susie, they might not let me see her again.”
“The freeloading boarder?” Beth asked sarcastically.
“Don’t taunt me,” Eleanor replied tersely.
Beth sighed. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Susie started to cry more frequently. We were running out of food. So I called my son, Gregory, who was living in New Jersey. I told him what happened, and I asked him what I should do. I figured it was time to let the Bennings take her, but I was so distraught, I needed to hear my son’s voice. He told me to wait a few days. He promised to call me back. He warned me not to tell anyone. He said it was very important. So Susie and I held out for a few more days.
“One afternoon someone came to the door. As usual I shushed Susie and hid, leaving the curtains closed and the lights off. But a note slipped through the mail slot. It said, ‘Gregory sent us.’”
Beth’s stomach continued to churn, and she was unable to slow her rapid heartbeat.
“I approached the door cautiously. I peered out the window. A young, well-dressed couple stood at the door. There was no one else in sight. I ushered them in quickly.”
“No, no, no,” Beth mumbled, shaking her head.
Eleanor gave her a long, cold stare before she continued. “They were a very nice couple – young, wealthy, well mannered…decent people. They were from upstate New York. They wanted to arrange a private adoption.”
“You sold her?”
“What was I supposed to do? Turn her over to the state orphanage?”
“What about the Bennings?”
“The Bennings be damned. They didn’t know anything about raising children. They were childless.”
“A lot like the wealthy couple, I would imagine.”
“Those people could provide for her things she would not get here in Bangor. They wanted a child desperately. The woman fell in love with Susie on the spot. It was perfect for everyone.”
“I’m sure it was,” Beth said coolly. “How much did they pay you?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
Beth raised her eyebrows.
“It was a lot of money in those days.”
“I know,” Beth grumbled. “What was that you said about being worried that you’d never see her again?”
Eleanor stuck her chin out and said definitely, “I was arranging a good future for Susie.”
“What if Katherine came back?”
“She didn’t come back.”
Beth had no response. She was seething but Eleanor was right about the last fact. Why didn’t Katherine return? Did she commit suicide? Did she get tired of single motherhood and run away? The Bennings and Mrs. Sharpe relayed drastically different character analyses of Katherine. Which version was the most accurate? Beth stood up and paced the room.
“How can I find her?” she asked pointedly.
“They went by John and Mary Smith, although I doubt that those were their real names.” Eleanor’s lips curled up slyly.
Beth put her head in her hands.
Eleanor sighed. “I kept the birth certificate,” she said quietly.
Beth looked up, “What?”
“Sus
an’s birth certificate. I found it with Katherine’s things when I was cleaning out her room.”
“May I have it?”
“Top left drawer of the dresser.”
Beth crossed to the dresser and opened the drawer. It was filled with silk handkerchiefs and jewelry.
“On the bottom.”
She shuffled past the drawer’s contents and retrieved a manila envelope. Inside was a birth certificate. “Susan Elizabeth Thompson, May twenty-third of 1976,” she read. Her heart stopped for a moment when she saw the “Elizabeth.”
Underneath the birth certificate, she found three letters. She flipped through them. All three were addressed to Rod Thompson in Virginia Point, Maine. Two of them were stamped, but it appeared as if they were never mailed. One of them had been returned to sender because it had no postage, presumably an oversight. All three letters were sealed.
“What are these?” Beth asked, taking shallow breaths. “These were never mailed, I presume,” she said as she held up the two stamped letters. “And this one was returned on November eleventh of that year.”
Eleanor pursed her lips, a look of indifference on her face.
“Here,” Beth shouted as she crossed the room, waving the letters. “Here was Susie’s next of kin. Did it occur to you to let him know of the existence of his granddaughter, Mrs. ‘every grandparent wants to know their grandchildren?’”
Eleanor stared at Beth coolly. Then she looked away with a hint of shame. “The transaction was already underway, I—”
“The transaction? You are a seriously disturbed woman. ‘Looking into those soft green eyes,’” Beth said, mocking the elderly woman’s voice. “I’ll bet you sold her three days after Katherine disappeared. You’re full of shit.”
Eleanor cast her a look of indignation.
Beth retorted as fast as gunfire. “Don’t you look at me so innocent and offended. You make me sick.”
Eleanor shifted her head to one side. She seemed fatigued. “I am an old woman who has carried an ugly secret for thirty-five years. I’ve finally released it. My conscience is clear.”
“Oh really? I think a little penance…” Beth began. Then she glanced at the woman’s feeble condition and added with no compassion, “or purgatory is in order before your soul is cleansed.”
“Listen, young lady,” Eleanor said. “I’ve given you all I have.” She gestured toward the birth certificate and letters.
“Why don’t the buyers have the birth certificate?”
“Now that would not have been very helpful to them, would it?” Eleanor said condescendingly. “A friend of my son forged a birth certificate for them. Susie is their daughter now, by birth, as far as the government is concerned, even if only on paper.”
“And you have no idea what their names are? Or what name was given to Susie?”
“I did not see the final paperwork.”
“Can you ask your son?”
“He did not see it, either. I asked him several years later. I wanted to find her myself, but I could not.” She looked away sadly.
“Oh spare me the sob story,” Beth barked. “Perhaps you can tell it to your cronies in prison.”
Eleanor laughed. “Everyone believes that Katherine took Susan. At this point it is my word against yours.”
“Unless Rebecca quite contrary was listening.” Beth smirked.
Eleanor glanced nervously toward the door. Then she looked back at Beth. “Anyway, the birth certificate and the letters won’t convict me, either. I simply found them after Katherine and Susan disappeared.”
Beth looked at the old woman with disgust. Eleanor was right. It would be an uphill battle. Although Beth wanted to report this woman and her baby-peddling son, what purpose would it serve now? Wherever Susan was, the young couple had been her parents. She might have had a very loving childhood. Did she really need to be burdened with the news that her parents purchased her? That her mother may have committed suicide or just outright abandoned her? Hell, did she even know she was adopted? It was a whole can of worms that probably did not need to be opened, however satisfying it might be to see the unrepentant old woman squirm.
Beth looked down at the birth certificate in her hand. It would be next to impossible to locate the former Susan if her birth certificate was forged. Was any information on the false certificate the same? Maybe the birth date, but it could be off by several days, if not weeks, and still seem authentic. Was she called Susan? Probably not. Did her new parents ever tell her she was adopted? Would they have given her any clues to her past? Did they even know the information on Susan’s real birth certificate?
It was a dead end. Everything had led to a dead end. No Katherine, no Susan, no trail.
Rebecca peeked in.
Before the nurse could speak, Beth said, “Never mind, Rebecca. I’m leaving.” She looked over her shoulder as she exited the room. “Rest in peace, Mrs. Sharpe.”
Then she raced down the stairs and out the front door. She sped out of the driveway, the tires throwing gravel in her wake. She drove about five miles before she pulled off to the side of the road, her anxiety at an all-time high. She fumbled in her purse. No anti-anxiety pills.
Beth disliked confrontational conversations, yet she had been more confrontational and openly angry when speaking with Eleanor Sharpe than she had been with Bill during their divorce. In fact, as she recalled, she had barely even raised her voice at Bill. She wondered why she felt so much passion and outrage about two people she never even met. It was as if she were championing them – two women who had no voice in the turn of events.
After sitting in her car for twenty minutes trying to calm down, Beth realized that she was in no condition to drive. So she found a Super 8 and decided it would be prudent to settle in for the night. She hoped she could get some rest and be fit to drive in the morning. She inserted the keycard in the lock and walked into the small, clean motel room. A bathroom and two queen beds with green-and-gold paisley print comforters were on the left. On the right, a television and a small desk stood pressed against the wall.
Beth threw her purse on the bed nearest the bathroom. She crossed the room and opened the curtains, and then she flopped down on the other bed. She stared at the ceiling for nearly half an hour, thoughts racing through her head. Real or interpretive images circled in her mind: Katherine, Susan, Mrs. Sharpe, Rod Thompson, the Bennings, and a young couple from upstate New York – characters from an ongoing saga of the search for the diary’s author. Over and over again the details played in her head. She felt like she was suffocating in a melodrama she wished she had never invited into her life.
Suddenly she sat up, grabbed her purse, and dumped it out. She found Susan’s birth certificate and Katherine’s letters to her father. The letters. Could there be a clue in the letters? Mrs. Sharpe had never even opened them to check. She probably did not want to know. The transaction, as she had put it, had already been initiated.
Beth opened one of the stamped letters that appeared to have never been mailed. It was dated May 29, 1976. The other unmailed letter was written on December 24, 1975. She read the December letter first:
Dear Dad:
I’m sorry I ran away. I was afraid to tell you the news, which still may come as a shock to you.
I’m pregnant. The baby is due in May. Please call me if you are not angry. I love you and I want to see you. Do you want to see me?
It was signed “Love Always, Katherine.” Underneath her name she wrote a phone number, presumably Eleanor Sharpe’s.
Beth grabbed the letter dated May 29, 1976.
Dear Dad:
I am so sorry I have not contacted you. So many times I’ve started letters that I never finished. I almost mailed you a letter at Christmastime. But I was afraid you would be mad at me. I couldn’t mail it.
I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just come out and say it. You have a granddaughter. Susan Elizabeth. She was born six days ago. I would love for you to meet her.
&n
bsp; Please call me, and please forgive me for running away.
“Why didn’t you mail these, Katherine?” Beth said in desperation. “Why? So much could have been different.”
Beth picked up the last letter, the one with a returned postmark of November 11, 1977. She opened it and a picture fell out. Beth looked at the photo. A young girl, presumably Katherine, held a baby in her arms. Susan had peach fuzz hair, a round nose, and playful eyes. She grasped a small toy and her mouth was open as if in surprise. Katherine wore jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She looked a little disheveled, but her face radiated joy.
A lump formed in Beth’s throat. Here was the woman whose trail she had been chasing for nearly two weeks. Only two weeks? It felt like months. Beth tried to find a resemblance between Katherine and the red-haired interpretation she had created. After a careful examination of the photo she concluded that any similarity was imagined at best. Beth sighed. Perhaps there was a likeness in essence. She would have to be satisfied with that.
She gently placed the picture on the bedside table and picked up the letter.
Dear Dad:
I am so very sorry. I keep trying to write, but I can’t seem to mail the letters. It has been over two years. You must be very worried about me. I am so ashamed about the way I left you, I can hardly bear it. But I am afraid of what you will say when you hear my story…
As you can see from the picture, I have a daughter – your granddaughter. Her name is Susan. She is a beautiful, cheerful child. Oh, how I’ve longed to tell you. I miss you like you’ll never know.
Are you mad at me?
I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry I ignored your advice. I’m sorry I did not tell you I was pregnant. I’m sorry I waited this long to make it right.
I must come visit. I can’t let things remain the way they are any longer. I will drive down this weekend. I will come by myself. I think that is best. I can bring Susan next time.
Love Always and Always,
Katherine
Beth put the letter on the bed. She looked at the envelope and tried to sort out the details. Assuming Eleanor Sharpe was telling the truth, and that was a huge assumption, this letter had been with Katherine’s things. It was rejected by the post office on the eleventh. Katherine probably received it on the twelfth. She left on the thirteenth. Surely she would have noticed that the letter was returned due to lack of postage.
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