Somehow, he knew Erina had no papers, nothing to prove who she was.
He felt Erina's trembling and placed an arm around her shoulders.
"Why did this happen?" she asked the doctor in a shaking voice. "Did you not believe me?"
"Colin's records indicate several risk factors that child welfare considers crucial. Since you had no answers--"
"I answered your questions! I told you the truth."
"Ms. O'Shea--"
"Let's not get into finger pointing right now," Grant interrupted. "We're just going to have to deal with the situation."
"I don't know what--"
"Let's talk about it later, okay?" he asked gently, hoping Erina wouldn't tell the doctor anything incriminating. "Remember the talk we had?" he whispered into her hair.
She nodded, but held herself stiffly, still slightly trembling and obviously upset.
"If you'll excuse us, Dr. Cook?" Grant asked. "Unless you have something else to report about Colin's condition."
"No, he's doing well. I hope you can convince Mrs. Henshaw that he's in good hands. She's new to the department, I understand, and plays everything by the book. That doesn't mean you've done anything wrong. You both apparently love him very much."
With that, the doctor left the room. Erina sagged against him, but when he tried to steer her toward a chair, she pulled away and turned toward Colin. "I won't let them take him away, but I don't even know what they want," she said as she looked down at her son.
Grant watched the baby. The doctor thought he loved Colin, probably as a father loves his son. Dr. Cook didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, Grant knew he cared for the boy, but he didn't love him. Not as a father. He was just doing the boy and his mother a favor.
Colin's eyes were open, his fists flailing as he smiled up at his mother.
"Just in case the authorities get involved," Grant said, "do you have any documentation on coming to the U.S.?"
"Back home, in my apartment."
"And that would be?" Finally, perhaps faced with a crisis, she'd admit where she'd been living and what she was doing in Galveston.
"I've already told you that I live above Mrs. Abernathy's Dress Shop," Erina said, distracted by Colin's antics.
"I see."
"I don't believe you do," Erina said, turning to Grant. "That's really where I live. The only other place that might have a record of me entering the country is the office that admitted my da and me when we left the ship."
"So even faced with losing your son, you're sticking to this time travel story."
"It's the truth."
"Well, they're not going to believe it any more than I do."
"I know. How long do you think I might have before they come to take Colin away?"
"They're not taking him anywhere," Grant said, surprising himself with the surge of emotion he experienced at the thought. Fight or flight, he recognized as the reaction, but for him, fight was the only option.
"I could take Colin away . . ."
"No! We're going to come up with an explanation that will satisfy the most stuffy bureaucrat, if it comes to that."
"But I have nothing with me!"
"There are ways to produce any document," Grant explained, "and with computers, we should be able to produce some sort of history for you."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't worry about it. I'll find a way to get you documented."
"Why are you gettin' involved with this new problem?" she asked cautiously.
"I told you; I care about Colin and you. I don't think taking him away from you would be in his best interest."
"Of course not! But I still don't understand why you're makin' this your concern."
"Let's just drop that for now, Erina."
"You don't want to talk about it."
"That's right. Now, let's see Colin for as long as we can."
They stood beside the bed and talked to him, silly gibberish that he seemed to find amusing. He looked so good that it was hard to believe he'd been gravely ill just days before, that he'd had no chance of a future without the surgery. And Erina appeared so happy, despite her obvious urge to cradle her son close without the wires and tubes.
"I'd like to feed him myself today," she said softly.
Grant looked down at the baby's cupid bow mouth and then realized what she was saying. She wanted to nurse him--right now. "I'll check with the nurse on duty to see if that's okay."
The PD-ICU nurses' station was only a few steps away, but he could clearly imagine how beautiful Erina would look, nursing her son. Her breasts would be full and white, so soft . . .
Taking a deep breath, he stopped in front of the nurse. "Ms. O'Shea would like to know if she can breast feed her baby."
When he secured the approval, plus a caution for Erina to be to mindful of the tubes that still connected to Colin to the monitors, he returned to the room and watched as she turned her back to him and unbuttoned her blouse. He imagined that she was blushing. She carefully picked up her child. He wanted to stay, he realized. Very badly. He wanted to be part of this mother/child bonding.
"I'll be feedin' him now," Erina said softly.
He thought for a moment of asking her permission to stay in the room. He wanted to. But that would sound too much like begging, and he wasn't a man who begged. "I'll wait for you outside. Then we can go get some breakfast."
"I'll be finished in ten or fifteen minutes," she replied before sitting in the chair beside the bed.
The last glimpse Grant had before going out the doorway was Colin's downy hair, his head pressed to Erina's breast, his tiny fist beating happily against her chest.
#
Over a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of toast, Erina regarded Grant in the hospital cafeteria. She should feel frightened and nervous, of the social worker saying she was not a good mother, of herself being judged illegally in the United States, of a thousand other things. But when she was with Grant, she'd realized upstairs in Colin's hospital room, she felt as though she'd be safe, no matter what.
She believed Grant when he said that he'd find a way to document her entry and protect Colin from the social worker lady. She believed with all her heart that she'd found a true miracle in Grant Kirby.
"Are there no old records of immigrants that came to Galveston?" she asked after sweetening her cereal.
"I suppose there are. I think there's a database of immigrants at the dock, down by where the Elisa is berthed."
"Can you check those records for my da and me?"
"That wouldn't prove much, would it?" Grant said after swallowing a bite of eggs. "I mean, that's just a name. If I were a skeptical man," he said, giving her a searching look, "I could say that you'd found a name on a manifest or as part of the immigrant files and taken that name so you could convince me of your identity."
"I did no such thing!" How could he be so wonderful one minute and then turn cruel by doubting her once again?
"I'm just saying that's a possibility."
"Maybe, but it's not the truth."
"Erina, there's no way to convince me you're from the past, so give it up. Let's try to think of a way to get you legal. I assume you have no papers anywhere?"
"Just back at Mrs. Abernathy's--in 1896."
Grant took a deep breath. "Okay. How about Colin? Is there any record of his birth?"
"Of course. I registered his birth at the county offices."
"And that would have been . . ."
"He was born a month early, August 24, 1896."
"Right. Look, Erina, it would really help if you'd cooperate."
"I'm tellin' you the truth! You'll find no record of me in your time because I'm from the past. If I could produce some documents, I would. Do you not know that I'd move heaven and earth to save my son?"
Grant sighed and looked very serious. "I know that. That's why your story is so hard to believe. I keep thinking that there must be something very serious that keeps you from revealing y
our identity."
"A miracle is very serious business, but it doesn't keep me from revealin' anything. Check the old records if you'd like."
"Even if I found your name on a manifest and Colin's name in the birth records, that doesn't prove a thing, and I certainly can't use that for Mrs. Henshaw."
"Then what can we do?"
"Come up with a story to satisfy even her hardened heart."
Erina leaned forward, pushing her food aside. "I'll do anything to keep Colin safe. Even if I have to lie to Mrs. Henshaw, I'll do it."
"Oh, we'll both have to lie before this is finished," Grant warned. "Just be certain you can carry it off. I'm not going into the interview alone to potentially face some county or state charges of child abandonment or abuse."
"You didn't abandon Colin! You've done everything possible to save him!"
"Well, I'm not sure I'd give so much importance to my efforts, but you have to understand what the hospital staff and Mrs. Henshaw believes: that I'm Colin's father and I've kept him a secret for the past two months."
"That's ridiculous!"
"I know, but that's what they believe. If I deny it, they'll just think I'm lying."
Erina sank back into her chair. "I didn't mean for you to be accused of fatherin' a . . . a bastard child." She knew she couldn't keep the catch from her voice as she said the word that branded her baby illegitimate.
"No one's calling Colin a bastard," Grant said forcefully.
"I can face the truth. But I'm going to give him every chance to have a good life anyway."
"Erina, no one cares much for those titles any longer."
"You mean your friends wouldn't ask about Colin's da? Their children wouldn't wonder where his da was when they talked to Colin? I think you're not recallin' how cruel children can be."
Grant shook his head. "You may be right. But legally, he's under no disadvantage."
Erina said nothing more on the subject; Grant's mind was made up about Colin and she couldn't discuss the issue without becoming angry. Anyway, she would do whatever was in her power as a mother to keep him happy and safe in whatever world he entered--the 1800's or the 1900's.
"What will this story be?"
"Excuse me?"
"The story we're going to tell to Mrs. Henshaw. You said we'd have to lie to the woman."
"Oh, that. I'm going to have to think about it."
"Shouldn't we discuss it together?"
"I want to talk to Brian Abbott. I think I mentioned his name before. I need some advice on what could be criminal and what can be proven in court."
"You think we'll have to go to court?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe. Don't worry about it though. If we do, I'm sure it will just be a technicality."
"What's that?"
"A matter of establishing the proper records."
"Oh. I still think I should help--"
"No. Let me talk to Brian first. Then you and I can discuss the strategy."
"You mean you'll be tellin' me what to say."
"That's not what I meant. I have to find out what's possible and what the officials will believe."
"I'll not be goin' along with just any story," Erina said vehemently, "not when my son's future is involved."
"I promise I won't do anything to harm Colin. I told you I care about him."
"I know you do," Erina said, leaning forward again. "But he's my son and my responsibility."
"We'll get through this together," Grant said gently.
The idea of no longer shouldering all her burdens alone sounded like heaven on earth to Erina. But was she being fair to Grant? He certainly hadn't expected to become involved in the life of a two month old baby. Would she be ungrateful if she took Colin from the hospital and disappeared, away from all the Mrs. Henshaws of the world, away from the commanding presence of Grant Kirby?
She'd be unfair to Colin at least. He needed care and she had no idea how to provide the nursing he'd need to recover. But after he was recovered? She'd have to wait and see. If life in this new time became too complicated, she might have to leave Grant and elude the bureaucrats.
No one was taking Colin away from her, but at the same time, she couldn't take advantage of Grant Kirby's kindness.
#
Grant left Erina at the hospital that afternoon and decided to do a little investigating on his own. Before he tried to formulate a plan with Brian's help, he needed to know what information Erina might have had access to when she devised her story.
At the Seaport Museum, Grant paid his admission and walked immediately to the computer which housed the immigrant database. However, when he began his search, he found no records of the year in question.
"What's the problem with researching 1888?" he asked one of the employees of the museum.
"The records from 1871 to 1894 were lost, mostly during the hurricane in 1900. I'm sorry, but there is no way to find out who came over then."
Damn. Had Erina intentionally chosen a year where she couldn't be proven wrong? What was he thinking? Just the idea of time travel was absurd. He didn't need an immigrant database to tell him that.
"Thanks," he said distractedly. When the employee began to walk away, Grant stopped him. "Is there any other place that might have records of that time?"
"The Rosenburg Library has some records, but I'm not sure what. You might check with them."
"I'll do that. Thanks again."
Grant left the dock area, drove to The Strand, then turned left on 23rd down to Post Office Street. In one of the buildings along this street, Erina claimed Mrs. Abernathy had a dress shop. Was there an actual building or had she made that up? He cruised by slowly, watching the Victorian era buildings for a clue. Several looked old enough, but of course there wasn't a dress shop anymore.
Damn! There had never been a dress shop. For some reason, Erina had made up her elaborate story! The fact that he still didn't have a clue as to why filled him with frustration. What did he have to do to show Erina he could be trusted?
He pulled to the curb along the tree-lined street in front of the Rosenburg Library. Two children ran along the sidewalk and up the steps into the building. A mother and child walked by, returning books to the library. An old man using a cane made his way slowly toward the entrance.
Had Erina stood on that sidewalk and observed a similar scene when researching the past? Is this where she got the idea to become a Victorian era seamstress, a former maid to a well-known family? Maybe there was enough historical detail in the archives to allow her to create a credible past. Erina had the ability to put herself so far inside the character that she'd surprised him on several occasions with her "ignorance" of common, modern conveniences and terms. Would she ever return to the present?
He wouldn't--couldn't--believe she was crazy. She was simply confused. Or in trouble. Or had experienced something she couldn't face. He wanted to make whatever was wrong, right again. But he couldn't if he didn't know what was bothering Erina.
Slamming the door of the Jeep, he walked quickly into the library. After learning from the reception desk that the reference library was on the third floor, he took the elevator upstairs. Across the hall, the glass-walled historical archives seemed deserted this afternoon.
He signed in and received five books from the reference librarian on Irish immigrants. He also learned that there were no records of immigration; all documents had really been lost in the hurricane of 1900. But he scanned articles, books, and newspapers from 1888 to 1896, hoping for some mention of an Irish gardener name O'Shea, of his daughter who might have worked for the Kirby family.
He did find a mention of Mrs. Abernathy, who designed a dress for Miss Bettie Brown, one of Galveston's legendary citizens. However, no details existed, nothing was mentioned of her shop or an apartment above where a baby named Colin was born.
Of course not. All of that was a figment of Erina's active and vivid imagination. There was no mention of her in the past because she'd never lived then. She w
as probably an Irish immigrant, but from 1996. And just like he'd guessed when he'd first met her, she'd created this fantasy to save the life of her son, whom she really did love with all her heart.
Could he fault her for bearing a mother's love for her son? Hardly. If Colin were his son, he'd probably do the same thing, given the same set of circumstances. No, he wouldn't hold her actions against her and he wouldn't deny Colin the best medical care available.
Grant knew that when he met with Brian Abbott tomorrow, he'd upset his old friend, mentor, and attorney even more. Because he was going to become even more involved in Erina and Colin's lives.
CHAPTER TEN
After three hours of meeting with the Phoenix management company officials, eating a catered lunch in the executive conference room, and drafting a contract to be completed later, Grant was ready for a few minutes privacy. Brian would be busy for a while seeing the rest of the attendees out, so Grant slipped into his office and behind his desk.
Funny, but he hadn't been in for four business days--six calendar days--and he hadn't missed the office one bit. He usually sweated the details, right along with Brian and the rest of the staff. Since he'd spent so much time with Erina and had concentrated on Colin's recovery, he hadn't worried about the real estate market in Houston or the other cities where he owned property, he didn't check the bond markets and interest rates every morning, and he didn't wonder what the next quarter's occupancy rate would be.
He picked up a large glass paperweight that his mother had given him last year for his birthday. Blue and lavender swirls caught the strong sunlight coming in through the wall of windows behind his desk. His mother loved to purchase expensive, showy, worthless gifts like the paperweight. He supposed she just didn't know what else to buy her son, especially since his only hobby was rock climbing and he didn't need another briefcase.
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