So at ten o'clock, while most of his neighbors slept in their beds or headed to church, he stepped out of his house, turned left, and walked a mile and a half to a place he had never seen. At ten twenty-five, he removed the Peach State from his geographic bucket list.
David smiled again as he reentered Tennessee and headed north, toward home, on St. Elmo Avenue. He didn't care much for the unseasonably high heat and humidity, but he did like his tranquil surroundings. For the first time since stepping off the train, he was at peace with himself and his environment.
As he walked through the quiet residential neighborhood, David noticed how much the houses had in common. Though many differed in size and color, almost all boasted arched roofs, sash windows, and covered porches intended for sitting and not showing. Most of the yards had modest lawns, trees, and picket fences. Few of the homes had driveways.
David pondered these similarities for a minute and then turned his attention to people, problems, and possibilities. He thought about Ron, Claire, and their quest to adopt a child and then about his own situation. As he did, he asked himself some questions. What did he hope to do in the next few weeks? What did he hope to see? Did he want to merely manage the trio's trip to the past or perhaps strike out on his own? He did not know.
All he knew on April Fools' Day 1945 is that he had an opportunity to do things he could not do in 2017. He had a chance to put his stamp on a time he would never see again.
David picked up his pace as he walked past a church and then slowed down as he approached a dapper man and a stylish woman headed to that church. He felt out of place wearing a blue work shirt and dungarees. Only prison inmates, common laborers, and clueless time travelers wore clothes like his on a Sunday morning.
David decided to avoid a potentially awkward encounter by crossing the street. He smiled at the couple as they looked his way and then resumed his journey northward.
For the next several blocks, he walked quickly, kept his eyes forward, and did what he could to fly under the radar. Though he always smiled and greeted people on long walks, he decided to make an exception today. The last thing he wanted to do, as a fish out of water on a quiet street, was draw the attention of others.
He almost succeeded. From Forty-Sixth Street to his own block, David walked down St. Elmo Avenue without seeing or hearing a single resident, pedestrian, or motorist. Then he stepped off the sidewalk, crossed the street toward his house, and heard a cheerful voice.
"Good morning."
David turned his head and stared at an east-facing porch. Even from a distance of thirty feet, he could see that his neighbor — his blond, beautiful, not-so-shy neighbor — had already started her day.
"Good morning," David said.
The blonde gazed at him from her porch swing.
"Are you returning from work?"
"No," David said. "I'm returning from Georgia. I went for a walk."
"You're funny."
"Funny? No. Hot? Sweaty? Definitely."
The woman placed a glass on a small table.
"Would you like some sweet tea? I just made some."
David considered the offer for a second and then walked toward the house. He did not stop until he reached the first of five steps that led to the porch.
"I think I would, if it's no bother."
The blonde smiled.
"It's no bother at all. Just give me a minute."
The woman, who bore a striking resemblance to actress and World War II pin-up girl Veronica Lake, got up from the swing, opened a screen door, and entered her home. She returned a minute later with a glass the size of a vase. She walked down the porch steps, gave David the glass, and then wiped her hand — her wet, slender, unadorned left hand — on a bright blue dress she had probably worn to church.
David took a small sip of tea and then a big one. He couldn't remember the last time he had tasted sweet tea, but he wouldn't forget this one. He held heaven in a glass.
"This is delicious," David said. "Thank you."
Veronica Lake offered a smile.
"You're welcome."
Suddenly conscious of his manners, or lack thereof, David shifted quickly from thirsty pedestrian to considerate neighbor. He placed his glass of tea on the middle step, wiped the condensation from his hand, and offered the hand to the woman in blue.
"I'm David Baker."
The woman shook his hand.
"I'm Margaret Doyle. It's nice to meet you."
David stepped back to give her some space and then took his first good look at the girl next door. With blue eyes, milky skin, and soft flaxen locks that spilled over her shoulders, she was even more attractive up close.
"Have you lived here long?" David asked.
"That depends on your definition of 'here,'" Margaret said with a soft southern accent. "I've lived in Chattanooga most of my life, but I've lived in this house just nine months."
David chuckled.
"I should have been more specific."
"That's all right," Margaret said.
David glanced at his half-full glass of heavenly tea and thought about retrieving it, but he decided to let it sit. He did not want to appear rude.
"I saw you the other day," David said. "I saw you open your mailbox."
Margaret tilted her head.
"Was that you? Was that you with the woman on the swing?"
David nodded.
"The woman is my sister, Claire. You caught us just minutes after we saw our house for the first time. We came here from Southern California with her husband Ron."
"That explains your accent," Margaret said. "Why did y'all move to Tennessee?"
David laughed to himself. He didn't know what he found more endearing: Margaret's reference to a California "accent" or her inevitable use of a southern pronoun.
"We came here for three reasons. Ron and Claire are thinking about moving their coffee shop from Los Angeles to Chattanooga. They visited this area a few years ago and liked what they saw. They also came here to adopt a baby. Adoption laws in Tennessee are far less restrictive than in California and most other states."
"So I hear," Margaret said. She looked down for a moment before returning to David. "What's the third reason? Why did you come here?"
"I came here to investigate the schools," David said. "I want to see if I might like teaching here. I teach high school history in Long Beach. Or at least I did until January. I'm on a leave of sorts this semester."
Margaret smiled.
"In other words, you want to stay close to your sister."
David laughed. He loved her perceptiveness.
"I guess you could say that. Claire is my only sibling. We're very close."
Margaret looked at him thoughtfully.
"I envy that. I didn't grow up with brothers or sisters."
David started to ask about her parents but decided to hold the question. He could see from the sadness in her eyes that family was not her favorite subject. After a moment of awkward silence, he opted to end the conversation altogether.
"I should probably go."
"Would you like more tea?" Margaret asked.
Yes!
"No," David said. "I've had plenty. Thanks for asking though."
"OK."
David gazed again at his ravishing neighbor, took a deep breath, and reconsidered his decision to leave. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to impose either.
"Thanks again for the tea."
"You're welcome," Margaret said.
"It was nice meeting you, Margaret," David said. He shook her hand a second time, held it a little longer, and offered a wistful smile. "I'll see you around."
CHAPTER 12: CLAIRE
Chattanooga, Tennessee – Tuesday, April 3, 1945
Claire smiled as she entered the Family Aid Society, took a seat in a counselor's office, and prepared to make her case for motherhood. She knew she had hurdles to clear, forms to complete, and waiting to do, but she did not doubt the final outcome. So
oner or later in the coming days, she would leave this building with a child.
She clasped Ron's hand as she sat next to him in an office that was both older and newer than the one she had visited fifty-five days ago — or at least fifty-five days as the crow flies through time. Like many "antiques" she had seen since leaving Los Angeles, the furniture, the fixtures, and even the carpeting looked fresh from a showroom.
"Are you nervous?" Claire asked.
"I'm excited," Ron said. "I'm as excited as I've been in a long time."
Claire massaged his hand for a moment, gave it a gentle squeeze, and studied a boyish face that had developed a few wrinkles. When Ron met her gaze, she gave him a smile.
"Thanks," Claire said.
"Thanks for what?" Ron asked.
"Thanks for supporting my decision to adopt. Thanks for doing this now and not putting it off. Thanks for taking a leap that some men would never even ponder."
"I'm not doing this just for you, Claire. I'm doing it for me. I want to be a father as much as you want to be a mother. I hope that's clear by now."
Claire kissed him on the cheek.
"It is."
Claire shared some of her hopes and dreams for the coming year and didn't stop talking until she heard two women speak outside an open door. She released Ron's hand and sat up straight in her chair when one of the women stepped into the office and shut the door.
The woman flipped the switch to an overhead fan, placed a folder on a large mahogany desk, and then turned to face her clients. Like Megan O'Connor, the counselor who had greeted Ron and Claire in 2017, she was smartly attired in a dark blue dress. Unlike Megan O'Connor, she was relatively young. Marie Weatherford, a pretty brunette with a warm smile, sparkling eyes, and horn-rimmed glasses, didn't look a day over thirty. The counselor stepped forward as the visitors from Los Angeles rose from their chairs.
"I'm Marie. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"The pleasure is ours," Ron said.
Marie shook her clients' hands and then motioned for them to return to their seats. She took a seat at her desk a moment later, opened her folder, and went through about a dozen forms and letters the Bells had presumably filled out and mailed. When she was done, she set the papers to the side, gazed at the Californians, and smiled.
"Are you excited?" Marie asked.
"We are," Claire said.
"That's good. You should be excited. After going through your papers, I believe we can move quickly through the adoption process. All you need to do now is fill out a few minor forms and tell me what kind of child you would like to adopt."
"What do you mean by 'what kind'?"
Marie chuckled.
"I'm sorry. What I meant to say is, 'Do you want a boy or a girl?' You did not state a preference in the materials you sent us."
Claire took a breath to calm her nerves. She did not want to say or do anything that was at odds with the documents on the desk. She and Ron had come too far to fail.
"We didn't state a preference because the child's gender is not our primary concern," Claire said. "We just want a healthy baby."
"I understand," Marie said. "If that's the case, then you have come to the right place. We handle more than a dozen adoptions every month."
Claire leaned closer to the desk.
"Does that mean some infants are available now?"
"It does," Marie said. "We have recently assumed custody of two baby boys. One was born on February 28, the other on March 3. Both are currently in foster care."
"Can we see them?" Ron asked.
"I'm afraid you can't. That's not how the process works. When you make a commitment to adopt a child through this agency, you do so before seeing the child — or at least seeing the child in person."
"I don't follow."
Marie tilted her head.
"What I mean, Mr. Rasmussen, is that I can show you some pictures."
Ron nodded.
"That would work."
Marie opened a file drawer, retrieved a manila envelope, and pulled out about a dozen photographs. She sifted through the black-and-white snapshots until she found the two she wanted. She slid the pictures to the edge of the desk.
"We named this little guy Jimmy," Marie said as she pointed to a photo. "He's the older of the two. We named the other boy Tommy."
Ron and Claire each picked up a photo. They examined them for a moment, traded them with each other, and then placed the images back on the desk.
"They are both adorable," Claire said.
Marie smiled.
"We think so."
Claire reached for Ron's hand and smiled.
"I think either would be perfect."
Marie laughed.
"I thought you would say that."
"I do have some questions though," Claire said.
"Oh? What are they?"
"You said a minute ago that you named the boys Jimmy and Tommy. Are those their legal names? Can Ron and I change them if we want?"
"You can," Marie said. "You change a child's name immediately. The name becomes legal when the adoption becomes official. That process takes about three months."
"Did you say three months?"
"I did. You are probationary parents until a judge approves the adoption."
Claire sank in her seat. She had assumed from the start that she and Ron would be able to return to Los Angeles and 2017 the moment they assumed custody of a baby. Now it appeared they would have to remain in Tennessee until at least the end of June.
"I see," Claire said.
Marie offered a comforting smile.
"You'll be fine. Judges rarely deny adoptions. They do so only when mothers or fathers prove to be unfit parents."
"I understand," Claire said.
"You seem disappointed."
"I'm not. I'm just a bit overwhelmed."
Marie looked at her client thoughtfully.
"Would you like a few days to consider your options?"
Claire looked at Ron.
"What do you think?"
Ron gazed at his wife.
"I think we should do what we came here to do."
Claire turned to Marie.
"I agree with my husband. Let's proceed. What do we need to do?"
Marie folded her hands atop the desk.
"The first thing you need to do is make a decision. Would you like to adopt Jimmy or Tommy or wait until a little girl comes along?"
Claire retrieved the photos of the baby boys, held them out so Ron could see them, and then put them back on the desk. She looked at her husband.
"Tommy?"
Ron nodded.
"Tommy."
Claire returned to Marie.
"I think we want the younger boy."
Marie beamed.
"It looks like we have a family in the making. If I file the necessary paperwork today, I should be able to introduce you to your son next week."
Claire sighed with relief. She could not believe she had come so far so fast. She tried to imagine holding Tommy for the first time, giving him a bath, and helping him take his first steps. She imagined Christmas for a family of three.
Then she thought a little more about Marie's question and wondered if it might be wise to think things over. She looked again at the counselor.
"Marie?"
"Yes?"
Claire smiled sheepishly.
"Can I ask you one more question?"
"Of course," Marie said.
"If we decided to take the other option and hold out for a girl, how long would we have to wait? How long would we have to wait to adopt her?"
"That depends," Marie said. "If you want a newborn, you might have to wait anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. If you're willing to consider an older girl, you may not have to wait at all."
"You have someone in mind," Claire said. "I can tell."
Marie smiled.
"My dear Mrs. Rasmussen, I've had someone in mind from the very beginning."
"Then why didn't you say something?" Claire asked.
"I didn't say anything because you stated very clearly in your letters that you wanted a newborn, a baby much like the one you lost."
"So who is this child you have in mind?"
Marie widened her smile.
"She's a little girl who will make your heart sing."
Claire leaned forward.
"Tell me about her."
"All right. I will," Marie said. "Hannah is not a newborn. She's arguably not an infant. She is ten months old and on the verge of taking her first steps. She came to us in August through another agency and has been in foster care ever since."
"Why has no one adopted her?"
"No one has adopted her because no one could. Hannah's father contested her mother's decision to put her up for adoption. He did not relinquish his rights until the first of February. We have been trying to find her a home ever since."
"I see," Claire said. "What else can you tell us?"
Marie leaned forward.
"I can tell you that Hannah comes from Norwegian stock, on both sides, and that she is happy, healthy, and adorable. She is the most sweet-tempered child I have ever seen in the five years I have worked for this agency."
"Do you have a picture of her?" Claire asked.
Marie nodded.
The counselor opened the envelope again and went through its contents. A moment later, she pulled out a snapshot and handed it to the prospective mother.
"That was taken three weeks ago."
Claire studied the photo, froze for a few seconds, and then gave the picture to Ron. She watched him closely as he examined the image and reacted in a predictable way.
"She's beautiful," Ron said.
"She most certainly is," Marie said. She looked at Claire, noted her face, and frowned. "You don't have to decide today. I know you came here looking for a newborn."
Claire looked at Ron, noted his wide grin, and then returned her attention to the woman behind the desk. She gazed at the counselor with watery eyes.
"You're right, Marie. I did."
"Does that mean you want to wait?"
"No. It doesn't mean that at all," Claire said. She took a breath and wiped away a tear. "It means I've had a change of heart. It means I want a daughter."
Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5) Page 6