DeAnn sat down beside Iloai and slowly eased the child onto her lap. The little girl nestled into her arm and drank from the bottle.
Aiden sat back in his chair and tented his fingers, resting his chin on them. After a few moments, he sat forward again.
"Okay,” he began. “I'm no expert in linguistics, but this one...” He pointed at Kissa, who was now dozing in Connie's arms. “She seemed to understand what I was saying, to the degree you can tell what babies understand. I was saying milk and bottle.
"That one,” he said, pointing to Iloai, “didn't react to the Lugandan words but countered with other words I didn't recognize. I'm not fluent in the other two languages spoken in Uganda, but I'm familiar enough with them I don't think she was speaking either of them."
"So, what does that mean?” DeAnn asked.
"It means we were sold a bill of goods,” DeAnn's husband said. He had slipped into the room unnoticed.
"I wouldn't jump to conclusions based on what I say,” Aiden said. He stood up. “Hi, David,” he said and offered his hand. DeAnn's husband shook it.
"Thanks for coming by and trying to help. Iloai here is having a real rough time, and we're at a loss about what to do for her."
"For what it's worth—and keep in mind, this is just based on my own experience in Uganda, and Africa's a big place,” Aiden said. “But I've seen a lot of Ugandan children, and Iloai doesn't look like them. She doesn't really look African to me."
"That's strange,” Harriet said. “If she isn't from Africa, why would it matter? Why wouldn't they just say where she was from?"
"That's exactly what we'll be asking Joseph at Little Lamb in the morning,” David said.
"He should be able to settle things quickly enough,” Aunt Beth said. “Maybe they just made a mistake with her paperwork."
"Or maybe she just doesn't look typical for her region,” Aiden offered. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He looked at DeAnn and then David. They both shook their heads. “Sorry I couldn't be more help.” He stood up. “I've got a dog I need to check on,” he said, contradicting what he'd told Harriet earlier, and left.
Mavis got up and followed him out. She was gone for a few minutes.
"Aiden would like to speak to you outside,” she told Harriet when she returned, and sat down in the chair he had vacated.
Harriet felt a mixture of anger and humiliation. This was the part of small-town life she hated. Her aunt's friends all felt like they had the right to interfere in her personal life.
Still, it wasn't going to help the two little girls for her to cause a scene by refusing to go, so she picked up her purse and left. If she were to be honest with herself, she didn't like being at odds with Aiden and really did want an opportunity to talk to him, but she'd wanted it to be his idea.
He was leaning against her car when she came through the front door and onto the porch. He was staring at the toe of his shoe as if some alien life form were emerging from it. His silky black hair had fallen forward over his eyes.
"You want to go get a cup of coffee?” he asked when he finally looked up.
"Sure,” she said, and followed him to his vintage Ford Bronco.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 23
"How are the dogs doing?” she asked when they were in the car and Aiden had pulled away from the curb.
"Most of them will rebound. They all have skin lesions of one sort or another. Most of them have dental problems that are a result of poor nutrition, poor conditions and, in some cases, poor bloodlines. One of the reasons we brought them back is so we could clip and shave them under better conditions."
"Why do people do that to animals?” Harriet said.
"I don't know—it's an illness. The weird part is that the people don't look crazy to the outside world. These people in Ephrata worked outside the home, and I bet if you asked people they worked with, they wouldn't have a clue."
Harriet started to relax. It felt good to be talking to him about normal things again, not that dog hoarding could be considered normal. But it was his job, and she liked hearing him talk with such passion about it.
"The local authorities might not have found this situation if it hadn't been for an alert UPS driver. The family worked hard at keeping people away from their house. The kids were homeschooled, and they weren't allowed to have friends over.
"The mistake they made was letting the kids have computer access. One of them ordered a video game and gave the street address and—enter the UPS guy. The parents were out, and the kid answered the door. The driver took one whiff and called nine-one-one. He thought he was reporting a child welfare case, and I guess he was, but he had no idea what was inside the house and in the outbuildings around it."
"I'm so sorry, Aiden. This must be awful for you."
They rode in silence the rest of the way to the coffee shop. He'd driven them to The Steaming Cup, the same place she'd had her phone altercation with Neelie. She watched his face as he parked in the small lot, looking for any indication he'd done it on purpose, but she saw none.
She ordered a hot caramel apple cider at the counter.
"That sounds good,” Aiden said. “I'll have the same thing."
A group of teenagers were sprawled on the upholstered chairs, so he led her to a table across the room. He pulled out her chair for her then sat in the one opposite.
"Nice place,” he said.
Before Harriet could say anything in response, the barista delivered their steaming whipped cream-topped drinks.
"I know Mavis made you ask me to coffee, but you know as well as I do she's going to know if we don't talk,” Harriet said when the silence had stretched to the breaking point.
"You want to talk?” Aiden said, and looked into her eyes. “Tell me this—was that baby Connie was holding the one that's supposed to be mine?"
Harriet stared back at him, then turned in her chair and started to stand up. He grabbed her wrist.
"I'm sorry,” he said. “Stay, please."
"No, I'm sorry,” Harriet said. “But that doesn't seem to be good enough for you, and at this point, I don't know what else to say.” She pulled her wrist from his grasp but returned to her seat.
Aiden raked his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, really. Mavis is probably right."
Harriet sat up. “Exactly what did she say?"
"Basically, she said to get over myself."
"She must have said more than that.” She tried to suppress a smile. “She was out there with you for a while."
"Oh, yeah, she said a lot,” he said with a rueful smile. “But she meant ‘get over yourself,’ and by the way, you can stop enjoying this so much."
"I should have handled things better,” Harriet said in a serious tone.
"How? Some crazy lady shows up with a baby she claims is mine. As Mavis pointed out, they don't hand out babies at the local Walmart. Most rational people would assume that if someone arrives on your doorstep with a baby it probably is their baby, or whosever they claim it is."
"Thank you, Mavis,” Harriet said.
"I said I'm sorry."
"I guess I'm glad you finally understand."
"That's the hard part,” Aiden said and took a drink of his cider. “I still don't understand what's going on, if it's still going on. Why would someone show up with a baby and claim it was mine, when obviously I'd deny it and a simple DNA test would prove it."
"That's what we've been trying to figure out. If Kissa really is from Africa, it would take some time to get her and then come back here with her. Even you didn't know you were going to be out of town when she arrived, so she must have been planning on confronting you."
"But again—why?"
"Assuming she wasn't completely nuts, the next obvious motive is money. She didn't have any—that was why we let her stay at your house. We were worried about her ability to care for Kissa."
"Do you think she thought I'd feel sorry for her and give her money?"
"That w
ould be pretty risky. You might have dismissed her out of hand. No, I think she had reason to believe you would take responsibility for Kissa. Maybe she really did think the baby was yours.
"Do you think Neelie's sister might have been conning her?” she continued. “Maybe she didn't want her baby and figured Neelie wouldn't have the money to return to Africa with her."
"If you're talking about Nabirye, I'm telling you, she didn't have that or any other baby. I'll be surprised if that woman turns out to have been her sister or any other sort of relative. I still haven't heard from her, but that's not unexpected. When she's able to call, she can confirm her part, or lack of part, in this drama."
Harriet sipped her cider, and Aiden did the same.
"I was just thinking about what Mavis said."
"That I need to get over myself?” he asked, and smiled.
"No, the part about not being able to pick up a baby at Walmart. If the baby isn't her sister's—and you say that's not likely—then where did she get Kissa?"
"Unfortunately, if you know your way around Africa, and you aren't a highly visible American pop icon, you can get a baby and the papers to go with it for a few well-placed bribes."
"That's sad."
"That's life in undeveloped countries."
"I wonder what's going to happen to the baby."
"I was going to ask you about that.” He covered her hand with his. “I didn't realize Connie had been certified to do foster care.” He looked at her. “She did get certified, right? Tell me you ladies didn't kidnap that child."
"I don't think it's kidnapping when someone gives you a baby."
"What, exactly, would you call it?"
"More of a failure to return.” She gave him what she hoped was a winning smile. “You aren't going to turn us in, are you?"
"Are you serious?"
"Carla said the baby was undernourished, and we were afraid if we told the police about her, she would be put into a series of foster homes where they wouldn't take care of her."
Aiden laughed. “Are you listening to yourself? Carla is now the expert on baby health and the rest of you were...what? Going to keep the baby until she's eighteen? You've all have been watching a little too much TV if that's your image of our foster care system."
Harriet had the good grace to blush.
"They have a program at the clinic that pairs up dog owners with foster kids who need a dog for the canine Four-H program. All the foster care parents I've met have been selfless, caring people who either don't have children of their own at home or always have room for one more around their table."
"I didn't say it was a well-thought-out plan."
"I can't believe Robin went along with this. As a lawyer, doesn't she have an obligation as an officer of the court to report a crime in progress?"
"I think the rule about not having to incriminate yourself trumps her officer of the court status. Besides, we haven't committed a crime. We were asked to take care of Kissa, and we are. When someone asks for her, we'll hand her over."
"Isn't that what's known as a sin of omission?"
"Repeat—are you going to turn us in?"
"My only professional obligation is to protect any animals involved, so no, but I'd encourage you to let the police know you have her."
"I'll tell Aunt Beth,” Harriet said, and took a long swallow of her cider, effectively ending the discussion.
"How's the raffle quilt coming?” Aiden asked, switching to a safer topic.
"You'll have to ask the Small Stitches. So far, we haven't come up with anything that's even suitable to be used as dog beds, much less the silent auction, and forget about being chosen for the raffle."
"What happened? From what I understand listening to the talk around the clinic, the Loose Threads always produce the quilt chosen to be used in the raffle."
"In the past, there were no rules as to what sort of quilts could be donated. Aunt Beth said the last few years the Threads have used Foggy Point as their theme. This year the auction committee decided that since the event is benefiting dog adoption, the quilts should reflect that topic.
"Mavis and Connie tried to argue they should be making quilts that had the greatest value to the raffle ticket-buying public, but they didn't get anywhere with that, and now we're all stuck with the dog theme."
"I'm sure you ladies will come up with something wonderful,” he said with a smile. He reached across the table and took both her hands in his. “I'm glad we're done fighting,” he added, and Harriet raised her left eyebrow but kept her mouth shut. “I've missed you."
"I missed you, too,” she said. She knew they probably looked like two lovesick teenagers staring into each other's eyes, but for once, she didn't care.
They were interrupted when Joseph Marston passed carrying a ceramic cup of coffee, a teaspoon and three packets of raw sugar. He sat down at the next table. Neither of them had noticed him come in nor had he seemed to see them.
"Hey, Joe,” Harriet said as she stood and took the two steps to his table. The dark smudges under his eyes were darker, if that was possible. He nervously tapped the spoon on the tabletop.
"Oh, hi, Harriet,” he said absently. “I didn't see you. Thanks again for working on those quilts."
His eyes were red-rimmed, and it was obvious quilts were the last thing on his mind.
"Is everything okay?” she asked him. “You seem upset."
"I'm fine,” he said in a loud voice, and then repeated it in a softer tone. “I'm fine. Things are just a little hectic at the agency."
Aiden had started to stand when Joseph had raised his voice, but Harriet glanced at him and gave her head a barely perceptible shake. He eased back down but continued to watch Joseph intently.
"Do you have a lot of adoptions in progress?"
"No, no more than usual. I told you, everything is fine."
"Could I ask you a question about DeAnn's child?"
"You can ask, but I probably can't answer—you know, confidentiality."
"I just wondered where the child is from."
"What do you mean, where she's from? I know DeAnn told you—she's from the orphanage in Uganda. I heard you all talking about it when I was eating my cake the other day. What difference does it make, anyway? She's here now."
Harriet was surprised by his aggressive tone. She didn't know Joseph well, but everything DeAnn had said about him had led her to believe he was meek almost to the point of ineffectiveness.
"It's just that she seems to be having trouble settling in."
"And what? You thought if she was from a different country that would explain it? The adoption process is rough on kids, no matter how much you try to handle them with kid gloves. We're ripping them out of a familiar situation, however grim, and taking them halfway around the world and placing them with strangers who don't look like them or talk like them. The surprise isn't that they start crying. It's that they ever stop."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't even say it. I know, you were just trying to help.” He said this last bit in a mocking tone.
She had planned on asking him a few questions about the quilt Iloai had but could see she wasn't going to get any useful information out of Joseph Marston—not tonight, anyway.
"It was nice to see you again,” she said in a failed attempt at civility.
She stepped back to the table and slid into her chair, leaning toward Aiden. He leaned in to meet her.
"That was weird,” she whispered. “I'll tell you when we leave."
They drank their cider, making small talk as they finished. Harriet kept an eye on Joseph. He fidgeted with his teaspoon then tore his empty sugar packets to shreds. He took a cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and dialed, then slammed it shut without completing the call.
"He's sure acting like a dog with a bad case of fleas,” Aiden commented. “Who is he, anyway?"
"He's the social worker at Little Lamb. He handled DeAnn's adoption,” Harriet murmured.
"Seems like a nervous little twit."
"Something's bothering him. Let's go,” she said.
Aiden took their cups and set them in the gray tub on the collection cart then followed Harriet to the door, his arm draped protectively across her shoulders. Once they were in his car, she recounted her interaction with Joseph Marston.
"It was all rather strange,” she said. “Just a couple of days ago, he was at the shower waxing poetic about children and adoptive parents. Today, not so much."
"Maybe you just caught him at a bad time. As you're well aware, every job comes with its own unique stresses."
"I suppose, but I still think it was weird."
"Shall we go get your car?"
Mavis's Town Car was parked in Harriet's driveway, and the lights were on in her studio when she pulled in. She parked and went to the door. It opened before she'd even reached for the knob.
"So?” Mavis said as she stepped aside to let Harriet into her own house.
Aunt Beth was sitting in one of the wingback chairs, a cup of tea balanced on her knee. Mavis settled into the other chair, leaving Harriet to pull a wheeled chair over from her work area.
"So what?” she teased.
"Are we back to normal?” Mavis pressed.
"After your little ‘chat,’ did you expect anything less?” Harriet asked with a smile.
"Now that my boys are getting settled, I'm a little rusty, but I guess I got the job done, huh?"
"'Get over yourself’ I think was the phrase."
"I didn't put it quite that way, honey, but that was the general idea."
"Well, he got the message, and frankly, I think if he hadn't been so stressed over his dogs, he would have figured it out himself eventually."
"Never pays to take that kind of chance.” Mavis looked at Beth. “Remember Eula Jackson?"
"Of course."
The two older women nodded in agreement about Eula, whoever she was. After a moment's silence didn't produce additional information, Harriet finally spoke.
"Okay, I give—who was Eula Jackson, and what happened to her?"
"Eula was dating Ollie Swenson, and they had a misunderstanding about where they were supposed to meet for dinner, and they each waited all night at a different location, and they both were mad, and neither one was willing to approach the other, and they never spoke again,” Mavis recounted.
Quilt by Association Page 12