The Waiting

by Cathy LaGrow

  Everything was a miracle. The baby’s deep-blue eyes stared up at Minka as if they knew her. As she slept, Betty Jane’s mouth worked at an imaginary bottle. One time when Betty Jane smiled in her sleep, Minka laughed so delightedly that the baby woke up and began crying. But her baby easily soothed, and Miss Questad told Minka that Betty Jane was one of the best and sweetest babies she’d ever seen at the house.

  Each day, Minka’s heart became more tightly bound to the little newborn. Nothing else mattered now.

  The first week passed, and another. Minka’s confused thoughts swung wildly as her new emotions burrowed deep. She couldn’t put a stop to either of them.

  There were days when she knew she’d never part with her precious daughter. Somehow they’d make it. Her mother had been alone with three children when she was only a few years older than Minka.

  But then a glance at her own hands would remind Minka. As Betty Jane slept, Minka pictured her child growing up on the dairy farm. She imagined her wearing overalls, her hands growing callused from chores and her little fingers bending until they would no longer straighten.

  How could Minka provide for her child in the way she wished? Her own mother had been blessed by meeting Uncle. Would she be as lucky, especially since it was her own selfishness that made her want to keep the baby?

  Not selfishness, her aching heart screamed, this is love. A mother’s love. Her love. The greatest love she’d ever known.

  Minka longed to give her little girl all that she’d never had—a closet stuffed with beautiful dresses and hats in the latest style. Necklaces and strands of pearls. Betty Jane should have piano lessons at a young age and sing in the church choir.

  But how would they walk through town without everyone believing the worst of Minka, and of Betty Jane? Minka would not allow this precious girl to work as she had. But what could they do?

  Wrecked hands, callused fingers, stains on her teeth from Uncle’s well water, no education, no skills beyond milking cows and twisting sausages . . .

  Minka would give her life for this girl—she would not hesitate. She wanted the very best in the world for her daughter.

  But was she the best for little Betty Jane?

  * * *

  Minka was watching Betty Jane, asleep in her bassinet, when she heard the gentle knock. She already knew it was Miss Bragstad by the rhythm of her footsteps down the hall and her usual four raps on the door.

  “Minnie? Is this a good time to talk?”

  Minka wanted to decline. Talking with Miss Bragstad before the baby’s birth had opened up a new world of possibilities and a window to self-confidence. But today, Minka did not want to discuss the subject that the older woman had delayed raising—the subject that had been waiting in the shadows, haunting her through restless nights ever since she’d returned from the hospital.

  But Minka’s manners won out.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

  Miss Bragstad entered, smiling at the bassinet. She laid a hand lightly on the baby’s stomach, then turned to Minka. The smile didn’t waver.

  “We must talk about your plans.”

  Minka nodded her head, but her eyes jumped to the baby. She reached into the tiny bed and gathered up her infant. Betty Jane groaned and grunted as she was jostled from her deep slumber, then settled back to sleep at the sound of Minka’s heartbeat and the feel of her warm arms.

  “What have you been thinking, Minnie?”

  Miss Bragstad believed in the benefits of their policy. Young women were expected to tend to their own babies for up to six weeks after the children’s births. The staff could not care for the infants, and the young women needed to be at the House of Mercy to heal after their deliveries. After a month, the babies had adapted to a nursing bottle. Any illnesses or problems had been identified. The mothers were physically ready to return to their homes.

  But many were also attached to their babies, and that was when this most difficult decision could be made with full awareness.

  “I don’t . . . I can’t.” Minka fought back tears. She did not feel strong, but panicked.

  “All right,” Miss Bragstad said in a gentle voice. She placed her hand on Minka’s back.

  “Mom said it is best that Betty Jane have a home with a mother and a father. She . . . I have no education. I’m just a milkmaid.”

  Miss Bragstad already knew this.

  Minka did not say the other thing they both knew—that the child would grow up with the shame of not having a father. Her perfect little girl would be called names. And what would Minka say when Betty Jane began to ask questions about her father?

  “This is your decision, Minnie. Only you can make it.”

  Minka wanted to say that she had made it. That there was no way she’d ever leave her baby girl. But she envisioned her own gnarled fingers pointing at her, taunting her. Those perfect baby fingers will look like yours if you keep her. What kind of life will she have with you? You have not one thing of your own.

  “What do you think I should do?” Minka whispered.

  Miss Bragstad didn’t answer for so long that Minka looked up to be sure she was still there.

  “I will never be a mother,” Miss Bragstad said.

  “You could; someday you . . .”

  “No,” Miss Bragstad said with a shake of her head that didn’t convey self-pity, only acceptance. “Motherhood is not in the divine plan for my life. I can only observe and imagine what you feel for Betty Jane.”

  Minka listened. With Miss Bragstad, she’d grown accustomed to the nourishment of conversing on equal terms with another person, someone she respected. Now, as Minka watched the proper and disciplined matron pace the floor, she realized Miss Bragstad struggled with the dilemma. This wasn’t easy for her, either.

  “When I consider what is best for you, I have many hopes for your future. Raising a child as an unmarried mother . . . though that wasn’t your fault, you will be judged. It is the way things are. I also consider what is best for your Betty Jane.”

  “And she would be better off with someone else.” Grief tore at Minka’s voice.

  “That is not true. Look at you. You are a natural with her. But she, too, will be judged, all of her life.” She paused. “But I do not believe anyone could love her any better than you do, Minnie.”

  For Miss Bragstad, every word of this conversation was painful. Minka had become a favorite of hers. From the first moment she saw Minka holding little Betty Jane, Miss Bragstad knew that the girl was smitten with motherhood. The days ahead would be terribly difficult, devastating even.

  Miss Bragstad also knew that a baby would prevent Minka from making a fresh start, and what would become of both mother and daughter if Minka kept her? Who would marry Minka with an illegitimate child, even if the pregnancy hadn’t been her fault?

  “You have more to offer the world than just milking cows. I’m going to talk with your mother about your work. Perhaps she will get you music lessons, or you can go to college.”

  The words were empty comfort. Miss Bragstad would indeed impress upon Minka’s mother the importance of giving the girl a different life after she returned home. But for Minka, music and education were nothing now, in comparison to the baby in her arms. Miss Bragstad realized that Minka’s entire disposition had changed. Some girls experienced a cold detachment after their babies were born and didn’t want to hold them. Others bonded deeply with them.

  Minka was completely in love.

  Miss Bragstad excused herself after a few more minutes.

  “I will pray that you will make the right decision, whatever that might be.”

  They discussed it on other occasions, in hesitant pieces of conversation. In the light of day, Minka settled on the belief that Betty Jane would have a better life with a respectable family. She made the decision, certain that she could be Betty Jane’s selfless champion, sacrificing her own wants for her daughter’s future.

  At night, when the moon cast a lonely glow across her bedr
oom floor, Minka wanted to clutch her daughter in her arms and flee to points unknown.

  But finally the daytime prevailed. Minka went to Miss Bragstad, carrying the child in her arms down the creaking stairs and through the hall to the matron’s office. She didn’t wait until Miss Bragstad made her rounds to check on the girls or until they sat together at a meal—Minka had to speak her decision before she took it back.

  “You’ll find a very good family?” she asked after the dreaded words, the worst words she’d ever spoken. “A mother and a father for her? The best mother and father?”

  Miss Bragstad wished she could share the letter she’d received from Reverend and Mrs. Nordsletten. A better home for Betty Jane could not be imagined; this family was like an answer to a prayer that no one had yet prayed. Miss Bragstad could not violate privacy rules. But she wanted to offer Minka a bit of comfort.

  “Yes, Minnie. I promise you. In fact . . . I have a family in mind. One that is looking for a little girl. It is a minister and his wife.”

  Minka looked up. “A minister?” The anxious hope that filled her eyes made Miss Bragstad’s heart ache. “Are they from here? Around here?”

  “I can’t tell you any more than that, Minnie. But it’s a very good home. I couldn’t hope for a better one.”

  Minka bent close to Betty Jane.

  “Did you hear that, sweet girl? You’re going to grow up in a minister’s family.” A flush of pride swept through her, followed by a fresh wave of hurt. Betty Jane’s future was arranged.

  Already, strangers were waiting to bear her away.

  * * *

  Another baby cried from a room down the hall, wailing all through the night. “Colic,” Miss Bragstad told the girls at breakfast.

  Minka had been taught all her life that pride was a sin, but she couldn’t help feeling proud of her daughter. It seemed there had never been a more perfect baby. She couldn’t stop staring at Betty Jane and rarely set her down. Now that she’d made her decision, she further drank in the sweet face, storing up every detail for the time to come.

  “Today, Margaret is leaving us,” Miss Bragstad announced one day. Minka knew this meant that the girl was leaving, not the baby.

  That night, Minka heard the baby crying from the other room. The child had been colicky before Margaret’s departure, but somehow his cries sounded more lonely now.

  Minka didn’t leave her room the next day except to use the bathroom and to prepare bottles. She spent the hours with Betty Jane, holding her close, smelling her hair, her skin.

  A dozen times, her resolve faltered. She did not know how she would do it when the time came. How could she leave her baby here? How could she hand her over and actually walk away?

  Betty Jane stared up at her with those blue eyes. One of the girls had told her that all babies’ eyes were blue and that they’d change in color over time. Minka didn’t want to think of this. She didn’t want to consider all the things she’d never know about her sweet Betty Jane. For now, this was her baby. Hers alone.

  Minka thought of Jane and the dairy. It seemed like another life now. She’d been a child then. Now she was a woman. Not just a woman—a mother. Nothing would take that away, no amount of pretending or returning to the dairy as if nothing had occurred. Everything had occurred. She’d awoken from a dream, and she could never fall back into her former sleep again.

  Although Minka knew that Betty Jane would never remember her, she lavished affection on her. She wanted her daughter to know her love, to never feel that Minka had abandoned her. Somehow, maybe, she could convey that.

  * * *

  Miss Bragstad had already gently explained that she would not be at the House of Mercy when Minka left on June 27 to return home to Aberdeen. The matron had planned a trip East long before she’d even met the DeYoung girl. The conflict in dates saddened her—she felt a sense of failing Minka by not being with her on her most difficult day.

  Over the years, Bertha Bragstad had said good-bye to more young girls than she could count, but she had a feeling that she would not be able to conceal her own emotions when it came time to bid farewell to the strong yet sensitive Minka.

  At least before she left, she could secure the best possible home for Minka’s daughter.

  June 17, 1929

  Rev. and Mrs. Peder Nordsletten,

  Dear friends:

  Referring to your inquiry for a baby girl, I beg to state we now have a very fine baby girl, born on May the 22nd, who will be ready for a home by the 28th of this month. We require our mothers to stay with their babies a certain length of time, and this time will be up the 29th of this month.

  This child is a very normal baby, blue eyes and brown hair. The mother is of Holland descent. Comes from a very good family and was referred by Rev. Kraushaar of Aberdeen, who spoke very highly of the girl and her family. . . . Very little is known about the father of the child.

  We feel this is a very desirable child, and it certainly would be a comfort to the mother and people of this girl if they could know the baby went into a good Lutheran home. They think a great deal of the child, but realize it would be much better for her to live in a foster home and so are willing to have her placed now. The mother is seventeen years of age. . . .

  Sincerely yours,

  Miss Bragstad

  * * *

  On the morning of June 27, the Sunnyside Dairy truck returned once more to the House of Mercy. As Jennie stepped down onto the driveway, she saw Minka sitting on the porch, holding a bundle wrapped in a blanket. Jennie wasn’t aware of closing the truck’s door. She didn’t hear the hinges squeal. Her eyes were large as she came up the porch steps toward her daughter.

  “This is Betty Jane,” Minka said. Her voice was as proud and awed as a courtier announcing the presence of royalty.

  As Minka passed the newborn into Jennie’s arms, Jennie glanced at her daughter with a flash of panic in her expression. Then she looked at the baby.

  A soft gasp escaped from her lips. Her vision blurred until she blinked.

  “Zo mooi,” she whispered. So beautiful. The baby wore a white baptismal dress. One chubby arm batted at the air.

  “We’re waiting for the minister to come,” Minka explained. “They said we could . . . we could have her baptized before we . . . before we go.” The last words trailed off.

  Honus had come up beside Jennie. All three of them stood staring at the baby.

  When Minka spoke again, it was more firmly.

  “We will baptize her, and then say good-bye.”

  Minka was wearing a pretty black dress that Jennie had never seen, and she had a strand of white beads around her neck. Her hair had been cut in a bob and was now curled into perfect waves. She looked sophisticated and smart. Her voice held an authority Jennie had never heard before.

  And her dear face was so ravaged that Jennie had to look away.

  Honus nodded at Minka’s words. His hair was matted down from the hat he now held in his hands. He stepped away to gaze out from the porch toward Miss Bragstad’s flower garden.

  The local minister arrived. Minka had witnessed baptisms at church, where babies often cried from the sprinkle of water. Betty Jane just kicked her legs. Minka could not focus on any of the words the reverend uttered. Her heart raced; her stomach churned. She wished these moments with her baby would never end. She wanted to stay here forever.

  Honus took a photograph in the garden. Betty Jane lay on a wicker chair, propped up by bunches of thick blankets. Minka knelt beside her, facing away from the camera. She couldn’t bear to take her eyes off her infant daughter for one moment. Minka didn’t know it at the time, but this picture would become her physical link to this day, to her child. She would carry the photograph with her for the rest of her life.

  Her mind raced frantically with all the private words she wished to say.

  I love you so much, my sweetest darling. I am only doing this for you. Please don’t think that I’ve abandoned you. I wish I could be with yo
u every day of your life. But you will have a better life without me. How I wish I could be the mother you deserve. But you will have a happy life and a happy home. You won’t have to work so hard. You will wear pretty dresses and bows in your hair and necklaces. No overalls—I hope never overalls for you. I will love you every day of my entire life. I promise you that.

  Minka carefully lifted Betty Jane again. She could say a hundred things more. She could hold the small bundle for the rest of her life, if only time would stop.

  She felt the back of her baby’s soft neck, her velvety cheek. Minka slipped a finger into one tiny palm and felt Betty Jane’s fingers wrap and squeeze her crooked one. Her head pounded, and she closed her eyes. She’d never fainted in her life but was in danger of doing so now.

  The small group walked along the dirt drive of the House of Mercy toward Honus’s truck, Minka cradling her daughter in her arms. The scent of cut grass lay sharp around them, and when Jennie glanced at the house, she saw faces floating in two upper windows, hands holding back the lace curtains. Other pregnant girls, witnessing their own futures.

  Minka bent and kissed Betty Jane’s cheek once, then a desperate second time. When she handed the small bundle to Miss Questad, one end of the white blanket slipped down, exposing skin mottled pink and cream. Minka tucked the blanket back around the baby, patting it with her twisted fingers. A tear dripped onto the soft yarn, and she patted at that, too. Then one explosive sob escaped her trembling mouth.

  Jennie’s own vision blurred. Never before had she felt so incapable. There wasn’t a thing her hands could do to smooth this moment out, to shape it into something that worked. She would never see her first grandchild again. Suddenly, that knowledge seemed unbearable.

  Miss Questad wrapped one arm around Minka, holding her tight with closed eyes. Minka finally stepped back. She turned away from Betty Jane, faltered once, then straightened her body and walked toward the truck. Honus nodded to Miss Questad, whose arms were now too full for a handshake. Jennie helped Minka climb in.