Daughters

by Florence Osmund

  “She said no police,” Rachael interjected.

  Barry let out an audible sigh. “She’s had her share of police in her short life.” He allowed Olivia to keep hold of his leg. He patted her head and said, “You’ll be safe with us, Olivia.”

  Marie got more curious by the minute as to what had brought this little girl and Barry together, but refrained from asking any questions for the time being.

  “Rachael, can you take Olivia to the back room and keep her occupied while we figure this out?” Barry asked. Rachael did as she was told.

  “Barry, I know you said it was a long story, but maybe we could help you through this better if we knew how you’ve come to know Olivia.”

  He took in a deep breath. “About two months ago, I was sleeping in the back room. Sometimes if I’m here late, and I don’t feel like driving home, I go out to eat and come back here for the night. Anyway, I was asleep when I heard a noise, like someone was trying to break in. I grabbed a gun and hid behind the door to the back room, and it was light enough—there may have been a full moon that night, I don’t know. Anyway, there was enough light for me to see this guy break in the door and head for the gun cases. So I yelled, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot,’ and this guy pulled a gun on me.” He gulped. “I shot it out of his hand before he could pull the trigger.”

  Karen gasped.

  “Oh my God. How awful,” Marie exclaimed.

  “Tell me about it. The guy yelped and hightailed it out of my store. I called the police and then ran out to see if I could see where he went, but he was gone. Left his car behind.”

  “That seems odd, don’t you think?”

  “Well, there was blood splattered all over my front window, so I suspected then his hand got shattered pretty good and so maybe he couldn’t drive. And I found out later his hand did get mangled because they found his body down by the railroad tracks.”

  “His body?”

  “Turns out he was in this country illegally, with a criminal record, and the police suspected he tried to hop a train before they caught up with him.”

  “And what? He was run over by the train?”

  “They think he missed the train and…well, it wasn’t pretty.”

  “How awful.”

  “Anyway, back to the night of the break-in. The police took my statement and left, and I was going to pour me a healthy glass of bourbon—and I haven’t had a drink in over ten years, so you know the state of mind I was in—when one of the policemen came back in my shop and told me when they searched this guy’s car, they found a little girl. Olivia.”

  “What?”

  “They suspected this guy I shot was her father, and she was in the back seat waiting for him.”

  “Good grief!” Karen said. “So what happened to her?”

  “They took her with them…crying all the way to their car. It was horrible, but what could I do?”

  Marie could tell by the compassionate way Barry told the story that he had been deeply disturbed by the whole ordeal.

  “To make a long story even longer, two weeks later, this woman comes in my store with Olivia, says something to me in broken English that I didn’t understand, and then leaves. So here I am with this…how old would you say Olivia is? Four, five maybe?” Marie and Karen shrugged. “This little girl who doesn’t speak a word of English, and I don’t know if this woman’s coming back or not.”

  “Barry…that poor child. So what did you do?”

  “I had shot the girl’s father. The least I could do was wait to see if the woman was coming back for her. So I showed Olivia the back room, ‘cause I had customers coming in and out, and she stayed back there the whole time.”

  “So the woman came back?”

  “Yep. Two hours later. She said gracias and left.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “And she did that a few more times…until today.”

  Karen had tears in her eyes. “I’m going to check on them. I’ll be right back.”

  “Well, you have to call the authorities, Barry. What else can you do?” Marie paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “By any chance, do you remember when I gave you all those free shooting lessons, you said if there was any way you could repay me…?”

  “Okay, what are you thinking?”

  “Can you just stay here until we get this resolved? I’m in way over my head here.”

  She gave him a friendly smile. “Of course.”

  They called the police and requested a meeting away from the gun shop. Marie accompanied Barry to a nearby coffee house where they met up with Sergeant Farber. He brought along Spanish-speaking social worker, Pilar Hierra. Barry explained the situation.

  Miss Hierra spoke first. “The only Spanish-speaking orphanage I know of is in Topeka. I’m willing to take her for the night, and then I can drive her there tomorrow.”

  “An orphanage?”

  “That’s about all I can do for now. I need time to see if I can locate the woman who dropped her off or some family member or something.”

  “And what if you can’t find anyone? Will someone adopt her? Some other family? A good family?” Marie asked.

  “Maybe. But I can tell you, it’s hard to adopt out Mexican children.”

  We can’t let this happen, Marie thought. Barry, Miss Hierra, and the policeman got up to leave. “Wait,” she said. All eyes were on Marie. “We can’t send this little girl to an orphanage. She’ll be scared to death. Look what’s happened to her so far.”

  “I don’t see any other way,” the social worker said. “We don’t know where she belongs.”

  “She can stay with us.” The words came out faster than her mind could reconcile what she was saying. “Until you can find her family.”

  No one sat back down. Marie stayed put. “We have the room, and I have a daughter who speaks Spanish.” Daughter? “Would there be anything wrong with that?”

  Miss Hierra raised an eyebrow. “It would be highly unusual.”

  “I have found, Miss Hierra, that sometimes you have to take unusual measures to do what needs to be done.”

  Miss Hierra turned toward Barry. “What do you have to say about this?”

  “Me?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “You’re the husband, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m not the husband. But I am a very close family friend, and I’ll be here to help out any way I can.” He put his hand over Marie’s and gave it a squeeze.

  “My daughter is also very responsible,” Marie said. “She’s fifteen and good with children.”

  “So where’s your husband?”

  “I’m divorced, Miss Hierra.”

  Barry shot her a surprised look.

  “A divorcee?” The look on Miss Hierra’s face was nothing short of dubious.

  “A divorcee with a college degree who owns her own business in Atchison and is a pillar in her community, I might add,” Barry blurted.

  The social worker shot him a disparaging look. “I assumed you were married,” she said to Marie.

  “No, I am not.”

  Hierra peered over her glasses and down her broad nose at Marie. “So who all lives with you?”

  “It’s just Rachael and me.”

  “And Rachael is your daughter?”

  “She’s my surrogate daughter.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “Her father was killed in April, and I took her in.”

  Marie didn’t know how to interpret Hierra’s frown. “Okay, for one night, and I’ll come visit you tomorrow to inspect your house to make sure it’s suitable. We can take it from there. Maybe I can get a temporary custody order or something until we find her family.”

  Marie got up and shook her hand. “Thank you. We’ll take very good care of her. I promise you that.”

  Barry took her elbow as they walked toward his truck. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced up at him. “What have I just
done?”

  “The right thing, darlin’. You did the right thing. And Marie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I meant what I said in there. I’m responsible for all this, and trust me, I will do whatever I need to do to help.” Marie knew by his expression he was being sincere.

  Rachael kept Olivia occupied in the back seat on their drive home. Rachael’s Spanish seemed to be fluent enough to keep a good conversation going. After they got Olivia settled in Rachael’s bed for the night, Marie asked Rachael how she learned Spanish.

  “We lived in a Mexican neighborhood once for awhile. It wasn’t hard to pick up from the other kids. I had to if I wanted to play with them.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Daughters

  The social worker arrived at ten the next morning, giving Marie barely enough time to discuss her situation with Julia. Fortunately, with three children of her own, Julia was completely understanding. She and Marie carried a rollaway bed Julia had in her basement up to Rachael’s room and threw a blanket and pillow on it, Olivia’s teddy bear perched high on the pillow being the final touch.

  At the end of the inspection, the social worker took a photograph of Olivia and said she would try to locate any relatives. In the meantime, she was okay with Olivia staying with Marie.

  The sudden addition of Olivia to Marie’s household caused her mind to spin in different directions. While she knew it was unwise to start thinking about the three of them as a family, it was hard not to, especially when she saw how Rachael and Olivia interacted with each other. She knew the minute Olivia’s relatives were found, she would be taken away from her, but even that didn’t stop her from thinking how this unlikely ménage had started to spell out family.

  The last thing Marie wanted to do was disregard her ethnicity in favor of fulfilling her desire to have a family. But I would be giving two children a good home, two children who needed and deserved a good home. She thought about Olivia’s ethnicity, being a Mexican in a white world. She laughed to herself at the thought of Rachael being the only one without a race issue. God knew she had enough other issues to make up for that.

  Suddenly the concept of having her own biological family someday didn’t seem so important. Had the most troubling aspect of her mixed ethnicity been suddenly abolished? Marie didn’t know how she felt about that. Was she compromising her most intrinsic belief that race shouldn’t matter? Or was she making the most of an impossible situation given whites’ current attitude toward Negroes?

  Marie’s thoughts occupied every spare minute of her day and kept her up most nights. In the meantime, she didn’t hear anything from the social worker except for when she periodically checked in on them, and life went on.

  She was more than just a little pleased to see it didn’t take long for Olivia to fit in her household. And it didn’t take Rachael long to start teaching Olivia English—on her own, without being asked, making Marie a proud…a proud what? She wasn’t sure what to call herself.

  Ten days into Olivia’s stay, Marie and Rachael were sitting on the sun porch at the end of the day. The cool mid-October evening breeze was enough to make them don sweaters. Marie drank merlot. Rachael drank Coca-Cola. Olivia was sound asleep in her room.

  “Can we talk?” Rachael asked.

  “Of course, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

  “So how have I been doing?”

  Marie was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re pretty hip when it comes to telling me when I’ve done a good job in school, or horseback riding, and now with Olivia, but how am I doing as your…well, I heard you say to that social worker…you called me your daughter.”

  Marie peered deep into Rachael’s anxious eyes. She knew the time Rachael was talking about. She had wanted Miss Hierra to see a stable home life for Olivia until they found a permanent place for her, but she hadn’t realized Rachael had overheard her.

  The truth was Marie had struggled with the possibility of trying to legally adopt Rachael. The huge step of adopting a child as a single parent was difficult enough without factoring in race. In her heart, she had no issue with being a Negro and adopting a white child, her passing for white notwithstanding. But she knew it would raise more than just a few eyebrows from other people. And while she tried not to let other people’s opinions affect her own actions, it was hard not to think about the potential problems they would likely face down the road.

  Marie stared past Rachael, out the window into the starlit night sky. When she looked back at her, she saw Rachael holding back tears. “You were uncomfortable with that.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Why, hon?”

  “‘Cause I’m not really your daughter.”

  “I know. And maybe I shouldn’t have referred to you as that, but I was trying…”

  “I know what you were trying to do. I’m not stupid.” Rachael looked down into her lap.

  Marie wasn’t sure what to say. The situation was nothing short of complicated. “What about your real mother?”

  Rachael shot her a disgusted look. “I couldn’t care less about her.”

  “You say that now, but…”

  “Please don’t tell me how I feel about her. I hate her. I hate the way she raised me, and I hate what she did to Ben. I want nothing to do with her.”

  “Well, whether you like it or not, legally, your mother is still your mother.” She looked deep into Rachael’s eyes. “What if I was able to legally adopt you? Would that make you feel better about things?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Think about it. Remember, I’m half Negro. What would your friends think?”

  “Who cares what they think?”

  “You may, the first time they call me a name.”

  “Call you names and I’ll give ‘em a knuckle sandwich.”

  Marie peered at Rachael and smiled. Rachael smiled back.

  “Aside from wanting to give them a knuckle sandwich, what would you do?”

  “Look, if you can handle being part Negro and looking white your whole life, I think I can handle a snide comment from a kid or two.”

  Marie wasn’t sure if she admired the child’s way of thinking or was frightened by it. “Look, I’ll check with an attorney, but I can’t promise you anything. Your mother is a big factor.”

  “That’s shitty.”

  “Rachael…”

  “Sorry. Isn’t that a shame?”

  Marie couldn’t imagine what was going through young Rachael’s mind. The pain on her face told her the torment ran deep.

  “I’ll check with an attorney tomorrow, and I can promise you I’ll do whatever I can to make our relationship bona fide.” She took her hand. “But I want you to understand, even if I can’t do something legal to make you my daughter, I’ll always be there for you. Piece of paper or not. Is that clear?”

  “Can’t ask for better than that. But you know what would really put me on cloud nine?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If Olivia was part of the deal.”

  Marie couldn’t speak. Rachael seemed to have this all figured out. But she was just a kid. She didn’t understand all the potential ramifications.

  Three very different daughters living together, growing together, thriving together in a way they in all probability couldn’t do apart. Words her father had shared with her during one of their first visits suddenly came to mind: “God created us different to understand the need for each other.” If he was right, nothing could be truer in Marie’s life right now.

  “You know what?” she said through tears. “Sometimes I don’t think I give you enough credit.”

  Rachael rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s about time you figured that out.”

  Miss Hierra put Marie in touch with a Spanish-speaking attorney who specialized in family law. He found out Olivia’s mother had run off when she was an infant, and up until he died, her father and a variety of neighborhood Mexican women who felt sorry for them had been ra
ising her. He told Marie that given the number of unwanted Mexican children in the state, she would likely have no problem adopting Olivia, and the fact Marie was mixed race herself would be a plus. Marie was fairly certain that would be the only time in her life she would ever hear that sentiment.

  Adopting Rachael was another story. The same attorney told her that Rachael’s mother, prison or no prison, would have to relinquish her parental rights before Marie could legally adopt her. And in fact, the attorney informed her, Marie was taking chances by keeping Rachael in her custody without going through the court system.

  Marie called Greg and Gloria to get their input. “I bet Judy would give up her rights if there was something in it for her,” Greg said.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s clear she doesn’t care anything about Rachael. If she did, she would have tried to contact us. She’s a user, Marie. And that may work to your advantage.”

  “She’s in prison for twenty-five years. What could she use in there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe an attorney could help you with that.”

  Marie’s attorney wasn’t very optimistic. “You don’t want to do anything that will look like bribery or coercion to get legal custody of the girl. If her mother really cared about her, she would give up her parental rights in order to know her daughter would be well cared for while she was in prison, but you’d be taking a risk stirring things up.”

  “I’m not sure I want to give her any ideas. So far we haven’t had any trouble from her.”

  Later Marie explained it all to Rachael. “I can have my lawyer proceed, but you have to understand that your mother could potentially have you removed from my care. She has the legal right to do that.”

  Rachael bit her lip, appearing defeated.

  “You’ll be eighteen before you know it. And then she can’t do anything.”

  Rachael stomped her foot. “It’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t always fair, Rachael. I’ve told you that before. We just need to make the best out of every situation.”

  “I know.”

  “So are you okay with just keeping things the way they are?”