She Woke Up Married

by Suzanne Macpherson

  Turner set down the paper. He felt very strange about letting Sarah in on his plan. It felt so private. So much between him and Paris. But she’d found a pathway that might actually help. He stared intently at her, trying to read her sincerity. “First, thank you for your efforts. I see you’ve found a way I didn’t even think of. I should have been more expansive. I’ve been focused on records and documents, and I really hit the wall on that one. Of course the adoption records for her sister are closed, and no one but Paris or the sister herself could even petition for that information. Even then, I doubt they’d give it to her.”

  Turner toyed with the fork he’d propped on his cake plate. “I’m very uncomfortable with this. It’s a very private matter for Paris. You’ll have to agree to be discreet. I’ll be very blunt here. I know you’ve had your doubts about Paris, and I hope you would never use this information to hurt her.”

  Sarah looked down and shifted in her chair. Turner saw her cheeks blush pink.

  “I’m sorry about that, Turner. I’m sorry about a whole lot of things. I know you care for her deeply. I’d like to help you if I can. I think I understand what you are doing. If she sees her mother, if she understands that life can go on, she can stop being so dead-set on leaving you alone with two babies. They are going to need her. I want what is best for your two children, Turner.”

  “This could all go very bad on us, Sarah. Paris could be extremely angry and just refuse to believe this. Plus, her mother might not be alive, or even worse, she could be a wreck, and we might end up opening a terrible can of worms.”

  “We’ll just have to take things one step at a time.” Sarah folded her hands together on the table.

  “Starting with tomorrow. I promised myself I’d put together some of these baby things, but we can call Mrs. Foley and see if she exists.”

  “Why put them together if you are moving?” Sarah pointed to the house plan printout sitting next to them at the table.

  “Paris is in her last weeks. There is no way we’re going to make it into a house before she gives birth.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. That woman can work miracles when she wants to. Even confined to bed.”

  “That would be a miracle. I’ll at least be sure there are two baskets ready for them in case they decide to arrive any day.”

  “She’s done really well with all this. And Millie has been a saint.”

  “Millie knows she and Paris are kindred spirits. Millie used to be a beautiful woman, you know.”

  “I know. I saw her scrapbooks. She looked fabulous in feathers.”

  “No one ever thinks about what happens to women whose lives were based on their looks. It can’t last forever.”

  “Tell that to Paris.”

  “I won’t have to. I’ll just be there when she needs me.”

  “You’re a wonderful guy, Turner.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. And you’ve really surprised me by helping Paris this way.”

  “I guess I owed her one. And you. I’m so excited about tomorrow. I can hardly wait to see what we come up with.”

  We. Turner thought about that and felt a rock in the pit of his stomach. He used to be such a trusting person, until he’d married a woman whose face had been on every major magazine in the country. Now he felt overprotective. But maybe there wasn’t such a thing as overprotective where Paris was concerned.

  “Yes, tomorrow. Don’t get your hopes up. So many patients go through those doors. Emma Foley might not remember anything. And now, you are in my bedroom, and we should all get some sleep.” Turner gestured toward the lumpy sofa.

  “So I am.” Sarah got up and gathered the dishes off the table.

  “Here, I’ll take the glasses.” Turner helped her, and they cleared off their mess. Sarah opened the dishwasher in the kitchen and loaded things in.

  “We’re a good team,” Sarah said.

  Turner looked at her and saw her sadness. He wished things could be different for her. “There will be someone for you, Sarah. Someone special.”

  “I know,” she said and turned her face toward the dishes.

  Turner had the sense to walk away.

  20

  Love Letters

  It wasn’t cold in Las Vegas very often, but this December day was downright nippy. Turner pulled up his jacket collar and wished he’d worn gloves. He stood on the steps of a modest stucco bungalow in an old section of Henderson and rang the bell.

  “I didn’t think it got this cold in Nevada.” Sarah stamped her feet and rubbed her arms to warm them.

  “About once every hundred years or so it snows. Or is it twenty? I forget. It hasn’t ever snowed since I’ve lived here. We’ve had a few cold days. But this year the weather has been very strange.”

  A woman opened the wooden door and stood behind the screen. “Reverend Pruitt?” she asked.

  “Yes, and this is Sarah Eastman. She’s a student nurse at Mercy.”

  “Come in, please. My, it’s chilly out there. My geraniums are going to freeze. Just pick up that pot there, will you? Bring it right in.”

  Turner smiled and picked up the white plastic pot of geraniums while Emma Foley unlocked and opened the screen door and let them both inside.

  “Just set it right there. Thank you so much. Come in, please.”

  Emma was a tiny woman with sharp features. She must be all of five foot three, Turner thought. But she had a strength in her face that said so much, as if she had seen a lifetime of happiness and sorrow and it was all written in her eyes. As they moved through the small house, he noticed pictures on the wall—grandchildren? Maybe her daughter, in a wedding dress?

  “What a lovely family,” Sarah said.

  “That’s my daughter, Ellen, and those are her children, all girls,” Emma said. “We’ve been a very lucky family. My husband passed on three years ago March, but he left me well fixed. He was a very smart man about such things, bless his soul.” She led them into the living room, and they sat on the yellow striped sofa. The room was cheery and clean. Turner propped a floral pillow behind himself so he could sit up straight.

  “I was most interested in your phone call,” Emma said. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Sarah said.

  Turner helped Mrs. Foley pour and watched Sarah drop two cubes of sugar in the small cup for herself. He was nervous. He poured a splash of cream in his coffee. More caffeine probably wasn’t his friend.

  Emma sat down in a pale blue club chair across from Turner and Sarah. Sarah kept her distance from him on the sofa; which made him grateful, for many reasons. Emma rocked her chair a bit.

  “We are so glad to find you. I realize this is going to sound somewhat odd, but we have a very good reason for coming to see you,” Turner said.

  Sarah started talking. “His wife’s mother was in Harmond during the same time you worked there. It was such a tragic case we were hoping you remembered her. The name, as I mentioned, was Lucille Jamison. She had a baby, and a little girl. Her husband died while she was hospitalized. That little girl is Reverend Pruitt’s wife, and we feel it is of vital importance we find Lucille Jamison if she is alive. It’s a matter of hereditary medical conditions and her…peace of mind.”

  Turner tipped his head at Sarah and gave her an exasperated stare. He’d planned on a gentle lead-up, heading toward a reassurance of their utmost discretion and sincerity. So much for that.

  Sarah stared back at him blankly. She obviously had her own ideas. There was a short but weird silence in the room. Sarah picked up one of the homemade shortbread cookies Emma had put out on the coffee table. Turner sighed and picked up one himself but didn’t eat it.

  “Oh, my, yes. How could I forget? Such a sad case.”

  Was Emma Foley really going to tell them all about a mental patient that might still be alive? She’d be violating a whole lot of privacy issues. Turner felt extremely weird even asking the woman to compromise all that.

  “Poor thing. I took a special interest in her case. I sa
w the father bring those two children in to visit her. For the longest time she didn’t even recognize them.” Emma leaned back in her chair and seemed to be reaching into the past for bits of memories.

  Turner—and Sarah, he noticed—stayed so still a breath would have been noticeable.

  “They’d given her shock treatments. They’d actually had some success with shock therapy in cases of severe depression, and she was so depressed, so locked away inside herself. She heard voices. It was sad…I can see why you are concerned. How is your wife doing, Reverend?”

  Turner took that breath he’d been holding in. “She’s actually about to deliver twins sometime in the next few weeks, and she is confined to bed. She is extremely concerned that the birth will trigger a similar chemical depression in herself. Her memories are very traumatic.”

  “She looked so frightened when she came to visit. Harmond was a frightening place for children.”

  “It was believed that Lucille died during that time, but the priest at St. Mary’s school tells me this is not the case.”

  “No, she didn’t die while she was there. But the death of her husband set her back severely. She’d been almost ready to be released. She blamed herself most terribly,” Emma said.

  “But she was finally released?” Turner asked.

  “Yes, and I feel quite proud of that. I spent many hours with her, talking and getting her to eat properly. I had a theory myself, and I had her take long walks with me. I think the fresh air and exercise added to her recovery. These doctors think they know everything, but sometimes the nurses know better, isn’t that right, Miss Eastman?”

  “Sometimes they miss the simple things. Like having someone that cares take the time to walk with a patient. You are a wise woman, Mrs. Foley,” Sarah said.

  This seemed to please Emma Foley greatly. She sat up on the edge of the rocking club chair and poured a little more coffee in her cup. “I don’t get to use the good china much. My friend Sally from next door and I eat dinner together every night, but we keep casual. We take turns cooking. She’s a Mexican lady, and she can cook like nobody’s business. But she loves my tuna casserole.”

  Turner smiled at her and did his best to look reverend-like. “I’m so glad you are blessed with a good friend.”

  Emma sipped her coffee. “I’m not sure how God sent you here to me today, Reverend, but I do have much to tell you. Are you certain that your wife has never heard from her mother?”

  “Patricia is under the belief that her mother died. The nuns at St. Mary’s thought it better. There was a letter.” Turner talked carefully.

  “His wife is convinced this thing will happen to her. Turner feels that a resolution with the mother is the only hope of getting Patricia to understand. Even if he can’t accomplish that, if he could just talk with her, it would help.” Sarah did her blurt-out thing again.

  He looked at her sharply again. She ignored him—again. He guessed women had a different way of going about things.

  “It’s a shame Lucille felt so much guilt about the father, and about Patricia, and the baby. That was the one thing I couldn’t get her to let go of. I can see it has prevented her from reaching out to her daughter. What a pity. At least she found Bonnie.”

  “Bonnie?” Turner looked at Sarah, but Sarah just shrugged.

  “The baby. Bonnie Jamison. Well, I might as well tell you that Lucille wrote to me for many years after her release. Like I said, I don’t know how, but you’ve found me for a reason. I’m sure the Lord has his mysterious ways.”

  Turner felt a rush of excitement, and sadness, and impatience, and awe all at once.

  “It’s best if I just give you her last address. I don’t feel I should say so much more. But she and her daughter Bonnie, the baby that was adopted out, were reunited. Bonnie traced her mother through the adoption agency after she turned eighteen. They let you open the records after that, you know.”

  “Yes, I see.” Turner set down everything he had in his hands so he wouldn’t drop it all. He saw Sarah do the same thing.

  “She and Bonnie had a good talk, and now they know each other, and that’s good for both of them.”

  “Lucille sounds like she pulled her life together.”

  “Well, she met a nice man at the hospital. A patient. I liked him. He was recovering from exhaustion and a terrible trauma. He’s just a fine fellow. I got to taking him on our walks, so I feel sort of like I got them together, which helped both of them.”

  “Love can really heal people,” Turner said.

  “Best medicine. Well, they didn’t have any other children, but they did get married, and she wrote me a few times after that. I have a Christmas card from her for every year.”

  “This year?” Sarah’s exitement was hard to miss.

  “Yes. It’s right here.” Emma casually reached for a stack of letters sitting on a table next to her chair.

  Turner could not believe they’d found someone who actually knew Paris’s mother. “Is she in Nevada?”

  “She lives over by Lake Meade.” Emma handed the card and its torn-open envelope to Turner.

  “I had a feeling she was close by.”

  “That’s less than an hour’s drive,” Sarah said. She sat back on the sofa, apparently stunned by this information.

  “There’s something else. After she got well, she became a nurse. She’s an LPN that specializes in postpartum care, of course. That only makes sense.”

  A chill ran through Turner as he thought of how strange it was that they had found Emma Foley. How Sarah had followed an instinct and led them here. Even how Sarah had come into their lives, perhaps just for this reason, and how odd it was that she was becoming a nurse herself. The universe truly was amazing, and the more Turner opened himself to recognizing that thread of coincidence, the more he was convinced of that.

  And underneath it all, there was his love for Paris, and perhaps her own mother’s love, reaching out to her, no matter what.

  “Thank you so much. I know Lucille will want to help Patricia.”

  “It will help Lucille, too. She needs to know that Patricia doesn’t hate her, or fear her, and that she turned out okay. I don’t know why she couldn’t ever get over the thought that Patricia was better off without her,” Sarah said.

  “Sometimes the wounds are so deep they just can’t be overcome without someone else’s help,” Turner said quietly. He stared at the card he held in his hand. A bright angel with glittering wings hovered above Mary and her infant child.

  Inside, the handwriting was carefully done, as if Lucille had a tendency to write badly so she’d taken time to make the words readable. “With great love, Lucille and Bill Worth.” Her new name. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find her. They even married in another state, so no records were on file for Nevada. He hadn’t gotten to the Utah or Arizona records yet, with so many years to cover.

  He started to put the card inside the envelope and noticed a photograph. He pulled it out and saw a woman who looked like she was in her fifties, a nice-looking gentleman, and a younger woman—that must be Bonnie, because she looked exactly like Paris. Turner felt a twist of emotion hit his heart so hard that he could hardly speak.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a phone number,” Emma said.

  Turner found himself and answered her. “You’ve given us everything we need. Thank you so much, Mrs. Foley.”

  “You let me know how things turn out, won’t you?”

  Sarah stood up and came over to the elderly woman. “I’ll call you myself.” Emma got up out of her chair, and Sarah gave her a hug.

  Turner reached over and shook her hand. “Thank you. We’ll hope for the best.”

  On the car ride home Sarah was quiet. Turner had a million thoughts going through his head. Lucille sounded like a reasonable person. He just couldn’t understand why she didn’t track Paris down. Would Paris ever be able to forgive her for that? So many years had gone by.

  One thing was for sure: Sarah needed a wake-u
p call.

  “Thank you for helping me find Mrs. Foley,” Turner said. He gripped the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road. This was going to be hard. “I have something to say to you that is rather overdue. I’ve let you help me with quite a few things. I might have given you reason to think we were more than friends. When you came here I was happy to help. I still am, but we need to set a few boundaries between us.”

  “I know. I knew this was coming.”

  “Let me just be clear here. I don’t want you to have anything more to do with this hunt for Paris’s mother. It’s between my wife and myself from now on. Do you understand? I feel very uncomfortable that you went this far into the whole thing. I’m grateful that your lead paid off, but now I have to insist that you redirect your energies into your own studies and your own life.”

  Sarah was silent again. But he wasn’t done.

  “It’s been wonderful of your parents to send money for your school tuition and expenses. I really appreciate that. And I want to see you finish up school and become a nurse. It’s a great calling. Your parents should be very proud.”

  “They are. Yours are too. They are all very supportive,” Sarah said quietly.

  “When we make this move to this house Paris has managed to find, I’d like you to stay in the apartment. It’s closer to school, and it would be your first apartment on your own. The rent is extremely low, and with the two bedrooms you could get a roommate and reduce that cost even more.”

  “Millie is going with you?”

  “Yes.” Turner glanced at Sarah and saw that she was fighting back tears.

  “That is a good idea. I could take the apartment.” Her words were choked with emotion.

  “I think that’s best. My wife and I have some things to work out. I love her very much, Sarah.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to drop you off at the college. I know you have a class this afternoon. Do you have everything you need?”

  “I brought my bag with me in case it got late. I have some work to do in the library. I’ll be fine. Drop me off.”