“About the tests he did last week?”
“I assume so, yes.”
Mom’s smile faded. “Did he find something?”
“I can’t really say. It’s best if he talks to you about it.”
She can’t say? That means there’s a problem. Jennie felt the joy drain out of her and slip into some dark hole. Please, God, she prayed. Please let our baby be okay.
Minutes later they sat side by side in twin chairs facing Dr. Ellison from across a wide, cluttered desk. He had several pictures—one of himself and Dr. Phillips holding golf clubs and a trophy. Another of Annie and one of Annie and her parents. His wall was nearly covered with assurances that he was not only an award-winning gynecologist but had received many accolades in research and community service.
When he came in, Mom told him about Jennie’s project. He nodded in response, his attention clearly focused elsewhere.
“Marie said I might be able to watch you deliver a baby,” Jennie said.
“Yes, I’m sure we can work something out.” He cleared his throat, still preoccupied with the chart in front of him.
“Mrs. McGrady, Jennie.” His solemn demeanor told Jennie the problem was serious. She hoped she was reading him wrong. “There may be a problem. I … um … I was hoping your husband would be with you today.”
“He was—”
The office door opened. Dad poked his head in. “Sorry I’m late. Got here as quickly as I could.”
“Come in, Mr. McGrady.” Dr. Ellison took a folding chair from the corner and set it beside Mom’s.
Mom looked up and gave her husband a wan smile.
Dad took her hand and sat down. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Ellison looked at the file on his desk, then slowly let his gaze slide from Dad to Jennie and finally to Mom. “As you know, Susan, we did several tests last week. We’re not one hundred percent certain, but the test results show your baby may have Down’s syndrome.”
Jennie’s hand tightened around her braid. A dull ache bore into her chest in the vicinity of her heart.
Mom fiddled with the straps of her handbag.
“Are you sure?” Dad covered Mom’s hand with his.
“These tests are usually right, but there is always a slight chance the baby could be fine. I need to go over some alternatives with you.”
“Alternatives? Are you going to suggest I have an abortion?” Mom asked.
This can’t be happening. Jennie hardly dared to breathe. Her gaze passed from one to the other. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mom wouldn’t do that, would she? Didn’t children with Down’s syndrome have just as much right to be born as anyone else? Weren’t they just as important as other kids? Jennie had personally met only one child with Down’s—Kathryn, a cute, bubbly little girl whose parents went to Trinity.
“No, of course not,” Dr. Ellison said. “I’m not recommending anything at this point. But I am required to give you the information. Ultimately the choice will be yours.”
Jennie swallowed past the lump in her throat. Choice.
“Of course,” Mom said. “It always boils down to that, doesn’t it? A woman’s choice.” She looked over at Dad as if she expected him to do something—to somehow turn back the clock and make the pain go away. “It’s not my choice alone.”
Dad squeezed Mom’s hand but seemed as much at a loss for words as Jennie.
“I’ll give you some information about Down’s syndrome to read over,” the doctor went on. “If you do choose to terminate the pregnancy, you’ll want to have it done as quickly as possible. I’ll need to refer you to another doctor. As you know, I don’t perform abortions.”
“Yes. I do know that. I’m surprised you would even mention it as an option.” She met his gray blue gaze.
“I have to. Patients have a right to make informed choices.”
“What if I decide not to abort the baby? Is there any way of knowing how severely handicapped the child will be?”
“I’m afraid not. Many women have opted to give birth to their Down’s children and are happy they did. There are varying degrees of disability—retardation, a short life span. You may want to go to one of the support group meetings. They can give you an idea of what it’s like to raise a child with Down’s. I will say that many of these children do quite well. There is a wide range in their abilities.”
“I … I’m aware of that.” Mom stared at something on the wall behind Dr. Ellison’s head. “I can’t imagine aborting this baby. I don’t understand why this is happening, but I do trust God to work it all for good.”
“I feel the same way, honey. Regardless of the outcome, we’ll manage. I think we should go ahead with the pregnancy.”
His words seemed to revive her. Mom squared her shoulders and turned to look at Jennie. “How do you feel about this, Jennie?”
“I think you should keep the baby.”
Mom smiled. “I would like to see the Down’s literature, Dr. Ellison. But I’m not going to have an abortion, and I really don’t think I want any more tests. It’s better not knowing.”
Dr. Ellison nodded and seemed relieved with their decision. “In some cases, I agree. On the other hand, there are problems that can be corrected in utero. But we can talk about that later. His gaze wandered to the picture of Annie. “I’m grateful that we’ve made so many advances.” He picked up the photo. “My granddaughter, Annie,” he said proudly. “Being born prematurely, Annie wouldn’t have made it back when I first started in medicine. There are pros and cons with everything.
“I’m sorry.” He set the picture down. “Is there anything more I can help you with?”
“No. I’ll see you next week.” Mom gave him a tight smile and managed to get to the car before breaking down completely. Dad gathered her in his arms and held her.
“Jennie,” Dad said, “why don’t you go ahead. I’ll take your mom home.”
“Sure. Is it okay if I go by the hospital to see Rocky? I don’t have to go to any classes today.”
“That’s fine,” Mom said.
Jennie hugged her mom, holding back her own tears. “I’m glad you’re going to have the baby. Nick and I will help. It’ll be okay.”
Mom nodded and crawled into Dad’s car. Jennie slowly made her way across the parking lot to her own car, then remembered that Marie was going to give her research material for her project. Jennie hurried back inside, got the books, thanked Marie, and left.
As she pulled out into the street, she headed for the hospital. But fifteen minutes later, she drove into the parking lot of the Park Hill Clinic instead. She hadn’t meant to stop there but had seen the sign, made a U-turn at the next light, and gone back.
It was one of those crazy things a person did without thinking. Now that she was there, Jennie didn’t know why she had come or what she should do next.
“Follow your hunches,” Gram had often told her. “Sometimes you need to go with your instincts rather than your head.”
A dark green van sat at the curb in front of the clinic, its side door open. It seemed to serve as a pit stop of sorts for several protesters. At least a dozen picket signs leaned against the side. The words were painted in red: “Baby killers.” “Abortion is murder.” An older woman in a white blouse and black slacks sat on a folding chair in the shade of a midsize tree, drinking from a water bottle. She glared at Jennie. Jennie quickly looked away.
Two protesters carried signs and walked back and forth in front of the clinic. One of them, a clean-shaven man with a slight build, carried one of the baby-killer signs. The woman carried one that read “Stop the insanity.” Another woman carried pamphlets. They were all watching Jennie as she left her car and walked toward the clinic.
“Abortion kills babies!” one of the women yelled.
“Murderer!” the man screamed a
t her.
Jennie stared at him in surprise. “I’m not …” She started to defend herself when he took a menacing step toward her. His hateful gaze bore into her. Jennie’s words caught in her throat. Nervousness about going into the clinic melted into a consuming terror. She’d seen that look in only one other person—the neo-Nazi skinhead who had attempted to kill her only a few weeks before.
21
Jennie’s feet froze to the concrete walk. Her heart hammered against the wall of her chest.
The woman with the pamphlets grabbed the man’s arm. “Adam,” she soothed, “you can’t—” He shrugged away and glared at Jennie again but didn’t come any closer.
“Don’t kill your baby.” The woman held one of her pamphlets out to Jennie. “There’s a better way.”
Anger welled up inside Jennie, easing out a portion of her fear. These people had already judged and condemned her, and she had done nothing but follow an urge to come to the clinic to ask some questions.
“Baby killer!” the man shouted again.
Even though he hadn’t made a move toward her this time, Jennie stepped back. Maybe she should leave.
“Come in. Quickly,” an urgent female voice called.
Jennie glanced toward the clinic. An attractive woman wearing a long, floral print dress and a white lab coat held open the door.
Jennie turned from the protesters and ran inside. When the door closed behind her, she began to breathe normally again.
The waiting room had only one other person in it besides Jennie and the woman who’d rescued her—a receptionist who sat behind a large desk, phone to her ear. She glanced briefly at Jennie, then began writing something on a yellow legal pad.
“I am so sorry,” the woman said. She had shoulder-length permed hair and smelled of gardenias. The gold name pin on the pocket of her lab jacket read E. Whitestone, R.N. “Did they hurt you?”
“N-no. I’m fine.” That wasn’t quite the truth. The encounter had left her trembling.
E. Whitestone, R.N., sighed and shook her head. “We call the police almost every day. Unfortunately, they have a right to protest as long as they don’t come onto our property.”
“They’re out here every day?”
“Almost. Oh, not the same people. They alternate, but …” She sighed again. “Usually there isn’t a problem. Once in a while, though, we get radicals like the man out there today. His type worries me. He’s volatile and … there are days I literally fear for my life.”
“I can see why.”
She smiled as though putting the traumatic moment out of her mind. “I’m Ellen Whitestone. What can I do for you?”
Jennie introduced herself. “I … I wanted to ask you some questions.”
She gave her an understanding nod. “Certainly. Let’s go back to my office. We can talk there.”
Ellen was apparently under the same assumptions the protesters were. Jennie didn’t bother to set her straight. That could wait. Jennie followed her down a hallway and settled into the chair in front of a desk. Instead of going around behind the desk, Ellen pulled a chair beside Jennie.
“Now,” Ellen said, “how can I help you?”
“Like I said, I have some questions.” Jennie sighed. “I should tell you, though, I’m not pregnant.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Did you want to talk about birth control?”
“No,” Jennie said quickly. “I’m into abstinence. See, I don’t plan on having sex until I get married, and for me that’s a long way off. I just want to ask you about the clinic that was bombed a few days ago.”
“The Marsh Street Clinic?”
“Yeah.”
A frown wrinkled the soft skin around Ellen’s eyes. “What did you want to know?”
“I just wondered if you knew anyone who might have worked there about sixteen years ago.”
Her frown deepened. “Sixteen years—that’s a long time. Why do you ask?”
Jennie pulled a newspaper article out of her pack. “This woman was murdered last week. Her name is Noreen Smith. She used to work there.”
Ellen studied the photo. “At the Marsh Street Clinic? There must be some mistake. This woman was a pro-life advocate. She wouldn’t be working in a clinic like this.”
“I think she did a long time ago. There may be a connection between this Noreen Smith’s death and the bombing. The crimes were committed within a few of days of each other.”
“Even so, the serial killer has been caught. I’m sure the police are …”
Her eyes narrowed again. “What is this? Are you with the police or something? You seem so young.”
Jennie smiled. “Not yet, but I do hope to be in law enforcement someday.”
Her eyes widened in recognition. “Wait a minute. I thought you looked familiar. You were on television the other night. Debra Noble interviewed you.”
“Um … yeah. Look, I’m here because a friend of mine just found out she was a throw-away baby and asked me to help find her birth mom. According to the papers, Annie’s mom threw her away, then called the police and told them where to find her.”
“How sad for her. I can understand your wanting to help, but the chances of finding the birth mother seem pretty slim.”
“I know.” Jennie shrugged. “But see, I don’t think her birth mom threw her away. I might have some new evidence in the case. I have a hunch this nurse”—Jennie pointed to the photo in the article—“put her in a dumpster and called the police. I also have reason to believe she was working at the Marsh Street Clinic at the time. The trash bin is only a short distance away from the clinic. See, I think my friend’s birth mother had an abortion and her baby survived.”
She shook her head. “That’s not possible. Most doctors won’t do late-term abortions—especially on healthy fetuses. It would be extremely rare to have babies live through an abortion. Besides, if a baby does happen to survive, we would never throw it away. We’d do everything we could to save it.”
Jennie pinched her lips together. “I’m trying to figure out what might have happened. I was hoping maybe I could find someone who worked at the Marsh Street Clinic and who might have known Noreen.”
“Well, we did have a nurse come in to apply for a job yesterday. She had been working there for the past seven years.”
“Did you hire her?”
“No. Unfortunately, we don’t have an opening right now.”
“Who is she?”
“I’m sorry, Jennie, but I can’t give you that information.”
Jennie sighed. “I just want to ask her some questions. It’s really important.”
“I suppose I could give her a call. Wait here a minute.” She stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.
Jennie got up and walked to the window. The protesters were talking to a young girl—maybe high school age. She looked as frightened as Jennie had been. Jennie felt sorry for her. Something was very wrong with the picture framed by the window. Jennie didn’t like the idea of women having abortions. She didn’t like heavy-handed bullying by some of the anti-abortion protesters either. Intimidation was hardly the way to get a pregnant girl to change her mind.
What would Jesus do?
The question hung in her head unanswered as Ellen returned. “I may be able to help you after all. The gal we interviewed doesn’t know Noreen, but she gave me the name of a woman who might.” Ellen handed her a business card on which she’d written the name Lucy Bennett and a phone number.
Jennie thanked her and left, but instead of going straight to her car, she went out to the curb. The girl she’d seen earlier was inside the clinic now—away from her tormentors. Jennie’s anger at the way the protesters had accosted them far exceeded any fear she’d felt earlier. She straightened and deliberately squared her shoulders, not stopping until she was face-to-face with the man who’d
been so hateful. She was taller than he was by at least four inches.
Surprise glinted in his gray-green eyes.
“There’s something you should know.” Jennie hooked her fingers around the straps of her backpack.
He frowned and took a step back as if being too close to Jennie might contaminate him.
“I am not pregnant.” Jennie stepped forward. “I have no intention of getting an abortion. And I have no intention of letting you or anyone else threaten me. What you are doing is wrong.”
“I wasn’t threatening anyone.” He seemed less formidable now. “God hates abortion. It’s wrong. We have to stop it.”
“God hates divorce, too, so why aren’t you out there picketing lawyers’ offices?”
The man’s face contorted in anger. “You’re comparing the murder of innocent babies with … with divorce?”
“A sin is a sin. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”
He raised his fist.
“Adam, don’t—” The woman with the pamphlets put a restraining hand on his arm.
“Stay out of it, Claire.” He pushed her aside.
“Go ahead and hit me.” Jennie leaned toward him. “I’ll have you put in jail so fast—”
She should have turned and run the other way. She didn’t really think he’d do it. His fist shot out. Jennie raised her arm to ward off the blow, but he slammed her arm away and clipped her jaw. The force of his blow knocked her backward. Her foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk. She landed on her rear and was absolutely certain she’d never be able to get up.
By the time the pain settled down and she realized she’d walk again, a squad car had pulled up behind the van. Jennie struggled to her feet. A uniformed officer emerged. “What seems to be the problem here?”
“We called, officer.” Ellen hurried down the walk toward them. “This man has been harassing our clients, and I just saw him assault this young girl as she was leaving our facility.”
Jennie rubbed the sore spot on her arm. Adam looked stunned. The woman he’d called Claire was crying. The officer pulled out a pad and turned to Jennie. “Want to tell me what happened?”
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