Prodigal Daughter

by Patricia Davids

  “Not many people knew. Apparently it was quite scandalous behavior for a young, unmarried woman in those days. I wonder how many other women of Lettie’s generation were denied credit for their work for the same reason?”

  “I’m sure there must have been a few, but after all this time, it would be hard to find out who they were.”

  “It’s not fair. Lettie and the others should be recognized for what they accomplished.”

  “What can you do about it now?”

  She grinned at him. “Are you kidding? My family owns the paper. I’ll need to do some research, but I think I can convince Ed Bradshaw that this is a story worth writing. In fact, I know someone who might jump at the chance to write it.” She thought of Felicity and how she had spoken of her struggles in a male-dominated profession.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, something tells me this would make a great personal interest story for the paper or maybe even for our magazine. I’d really like to find out more about these women. I think it’s time to give credit where credit is due, or in this case, long overdue.”

  Richard couldn’t help but notice the way Melissa’s eyes sparkled with excitement. It was obvious that she wanted to pursue this project. He was glad. She needed something of her own to sink her teeth into. She needed something besides her own problems to focus on.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know.” Her smile was so bright and her enthusiasm so genuine that he wanted to kiss her. He leaned closer.

  Chapter Ten

  Richard bent toward Melissa, but just then, Lettie and the girls returned from the kitchen. He sat back and pretended interest in the shoe box contents. At least the interruption had come before he’d made a fool of himself and embarrassed them both.

  Melissa turned her attention to his aunt. “Lettie, what would you think of my paper doing a story about your reporting back in the day?”

  “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “Not at all. I’m serious about looking into this story.”

  Lettie grinned. “I reckon it won’t hurt my reputation after all these years, but I’m not sure it’s newsworthy.”

  “Our paper is always looking for personal interest pieces. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do a little more research on your work and the work of any other women you can recall.”

  “All right, you come over tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have some letters and such for you to look at.”

  “That would be great.”

  After spending another hour with Lettie, Richard drove Lauren, Samantha and Melissa home. He followed them into the house, but as the girls headed for the kitchen to store their teensy pies, he stopped Melissa with a hand on her arm.

  “I have the adoption forms and information for you. They came in the mail to my office today.”

  “Your friend didn’t waste any time.” She turned away but not before he saw the troubled frown that chased the happiness from her face.

  Lord, lend this woman Your strength. Help her make the right decision.

  “Melissa, if you aren’t ready for this, I understand.”

  Her chin came up as she faced him again. “I’m ready.”

  After setting his briefcase on the coffee table, he opened it and withdrew a bundle of papers. “I’ll let you look these over. I’ll be around if you have any questions.”

  She nodded but didn’t answer as she took the forms and walked down the hall toward her room.

  “Melissa, wait.”

  She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to invite you to attend church with us in the morning.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  He walked toward her, uncertain of his next words. God’s infinite love was waiting for her if only she would open her heart, but how could he make her believe that? He stopped beside her and asked gently, “Why?”

  She looked down. “I’d just rather not.”

  “Are you ashamed to be seen in church?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

  “Oh, some people would disagree.”

  “Tell me something. Are you sorry for the way you behaved?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s a stupid question. Of course I am. I know that I hurt other people. If I could undo the choices I’ve made, I would, but life doesn’t have a rewind button, so I’m stuck with my regrets.”

  “Have you forgiven Dean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I used him to get back at my father. I guess I shouldn’t be angry that he used me, too.”

  “All God asks of us is to forgive those that trespass against us and to seek His forgiveness for our sins. Jesus did the hard part. He died for us.”

  “I don’t want to be a hypocrite. And that’s exactly what I would be if I stepped inside a church. Besides, there’s so much sadness and pain in the world. Why should God bother with my petty troubles?”

  “Your troubles aren’t petty and your needs aren’t a burden to God. He has the capacity to know and love each and every human on earth. You are as special to him as Samantha and Lauren, as special as Lettie or myself. All the stars in the sky are there by His command. Even the birds in the air are held up by His will. He has no limits. If you truly want to change, you can. He will help you every step of the way.”

  “He turned His back on me and on Jenny.”

  “I’ve heard you say that before. I’m pretty good at reading people, Melissa. It’s kind of a gift I have. And that gift is telling me that you’re lying. You don’t believe God abandoned you. You were angry. You wanted to punish someone for Jenny’s death and the only one you could find was God.”

  “You’re right. I hate Him for taking Jenny away.”

  “I know you do, but your anger hasn’t punished God, Melissa. The only one hurting…is you.”

  She looked at him, her eyes filled with turmoil and icy bitterness. “Are you finished now?”

  He nodded, feeling as if he had lost the most important argument of his life.

  Melissa fled down the hall to her room and away from Richard and the confusion he brought to her. Why couldn’t he and his family leave her alone? If she didn’t want to attend church, if she didn’t want to love God, that was her business. She closed the door and leaned her head against the wood. A tear slid from the corner of her eye and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. The crackle of paper drew her attention to the pages she had clenched in her fist.

  She moved away from the door and sat on the bed, then carefully spread them out around her. This was the official start to the adoption—her means of solving her unwanted problem. Only, why did it become harder every day to think about giving up her baby? She had to. How else could she right the mistakes she had made? Getting her life back together was tough enough. There was no way she could do that and raise a child…was there?

  Maybe this was her punishment for her sins.

  No, she wouldn’t think that way. This was her decision and hers alone. God had nothing to do with it. She was doing this because it was the best thing for her—and for the baby.

  She picked up the first paper. It was a Dear Birth Mother letter written by a couple from Memphis. That wasn’t too far away.

  Dear Birth Mother,

  I know that we are strangers to you. That very fact makes it difficult to find the words to convey how much we will love your baby if you give us the chance. We offer your child a financially secure life filled with happiness. What more can we say? We are asking for the greatest gift you can bestow. Please consider us.

  Melissa laid the letter down as tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t expected the message it to be so heartfelt. The woman was begging for a child to love. Picking up another sheet of paper, she saw it contained questions a birth mother should ask herself before making an adoption plan. She read them carefully.

  W
hy are you placing your child for adoption?

  Will you be able to explain it to the child someday?

  How does the child’s father feel about this plan?

  Do you want the adoptive parents to be birthing coaches?

  Would you allow them to be in the delivery room?

  Would you like to spend time alone with the baby in the hospital?

  Do you have a name for the baby?

  Would you like to receive letters and pictures over time?

  Would you like phone contact with the adoptive family?

  Do you want to see the child occasionally? How often?

  Will anyone else in your family want this privilege?

  Is there anyone you would specifically want to exclude?

  Melissa dropped the paper. Suddenly, it was all too real. It was too much. How could she possibly make decisions that would affect so many lives? Did Dean care if she put their baby up for adoption? Would her parents and siblings want to visit and see pictures? Did she want strangers in the delivery room with her? What if these people gave the baby a ridiculous name?

  She rose and went to stand at the window. She pulled the drapes aside, but she didn’t really see the grass or the trees blazing with color in the late-afternoon light. She placed her hand on her stomach.

  “Why should it matter what name someone who wants you chooses?” she whispered. “Any name is better than ‘my little problem.’ That’s the only thing I’ve called you. I didn’t want to name you. I thought that I wouldn’t become as attached to you if you didn’t have a name. How silly is that?

  “I can’t run away from this, can I? No matter what I do, you’ll be with me every step of the way.”

  Melissa let the curtains fall into place and turned back to the bed. With a heavy heart, she picked up the letters and began to read them one by one and sort them into piles of yes, maybe and no. She wiped tears away more than once before she was done. Each letter added to the no pile meant another hopeful couple would keep on waiting for a child. Afterward, she found a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to answer the questions on the form.

  Nearly an hour had gone by before she heard a knock at her door. She looked up and said, “Come in.”

  Samantha peeked in. “Are you busy?”

  Melissa gathered her papers together. “I’m just finishing. What can I do for you?”

  “Would you have time to help me practice my vocal scales?”

  “Of course.” She reached over and put her papers in the drawer of the bedside table.

  “Cool.” Samantha entered carrying her keyboard under one arm. “I want to blow them away with my singing tomorrow at church.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Lauren came in behind Samantha and joined them on the bed. Sprawling on her stomach, Lauren propped her chin on her hands and watched her sister set up the keyboard. Samantha glared at her. “Don’t you have something to do?”

  Lauren smiled and said, “Nope.”

  “Find something.”

  “I don’t mind if she stays,” Melissa said, pulling the keyboard onto her lap.

  “Uncle Richard said you won’t be coming to church with us in the morning. I wish you would.” Samantha’s statement took Melissa by surprise.

  Heaving a weary sigh, she shook her head. “I’m not a churchgoer.”

  “Sweet,” Lauren said. “That means I can stay home with you.”

  Melissa half turned to see the child better. “What?”

  “I’m tired of going to church every Sunday. I want to sleep in and goof off. Who needs church, anyway?”

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. Like Mom and Dad are going to let you do that.”

  “If Melissa doesn’t have to go to church, neither do I.”

  “Whoa!” Melissa said. “I’m an adult. You are not. You have to do what your parents tell you. Don’t put me in the middle of this.”

  “That’s right, Lauren. You’re just a kid,” Samantha chided.

  “I won’t always be a kid. Someday I’ll be a newspaper reporter, and travel, and have a cool life like hers. Maybe I’ll have a boyfriend in a band. Maybe I’ll even be in a band myself.”

  The blatant hero worship in Lauren’s words stunned Melissa. While she didn’t need God in her life, the idea that she might have influenced this child to turn away from Him shocked her. The revelation triggered a flood of confusing thoughts. She never expected to be a role model. Her anger at God was personal, but until now, she hadn’t considered the kind of example she was setting. Richard and his sister were probably sorry they had offered her a place to stay.

  “Lauren, you mustn’t think you want to be like me. I don’t want you to give up going to church because I don’t go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…I don’t know…because my life has been shallow and pointless up until now. I’ve hurt people who love me. You don’t want a life like mine. Trust me.” She reached out and laid a hand on Lauren’s shoulder.

  Lauren’s disappointment was painfully clear. “You think I’m just a dumb kid who doesn’t know what she wants.”

  “I think I was a dumb kid who didn’t know what she wanted. I don’t want to see anyone make the same mistakes I did.”

  She glanced toward the papers on the bedside table. “Sometimes the price we have to pay for those mistakes is way too high.”

  Sunday morning Richard’s entire family went to church and Melissa stayed behind. Her intention was to catch up on some reading, but instead she found herself wandering from one incredibly quiet room to the next until she found herself in Richard’s study.

  She trailed her fingers across the edge of his oversize desk as she walked around it. Sitting in his chair only made her feel small, not large and powerful the way he seemed when he was seated in it. The photos on the desk were mostly of his family: Angela, Dave and the girls at the beach; Lettie, looking happy and proud beside a man with thick, gray hair slicked back and a handlebar mustache waxed into points.

  One of the photos she picked up to examine more closely. It was Richard when he was younger, perhaps in high school. He was standing on the steps of a small white house. Beside him sat a collie looking up with adoring eyes.

  She returned the picture to its place and picked up the last one. It was of Richard and her father the year they won the charity golf classic, a fund-raiser for the new hospital. They looked happy and relaxed, each of them holding up one side of a silver trophy. Her father was fortunate to have a friend like Richard. She was fortunate to have him for a friend, too. She spent a long time looking at her father and trying to remember the last time she had made him smile.

  She set the photo down and dipped her hands in the jelly bean jar. She scrounged around until she found several cherry ones and popped them in her mouth.

  Rising, she crossed the floor to the bookcases and studied the titles. For the most part, they were law books, thick and imposing and offering little temptation to browse through their pages. At the end of one shelf she found a group of westerns, a half-dozen mysteries and a well-worn bible. She lifted it down and opened it to the page marked with a thin gold ribbon. It was Proverbs.

  She read part of the passage aloud. “‘My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding, and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the Lord and the knowledge of God.’”

  Why had he marked this section? Did he seek wisdom and understanding? With the exception of her mother, Melissa considered Richard to be one of the wisest and most understanding people she knew. Was this where he found his patience and kindness? Thoughtfully, she closed the book and returned it to the shelf.

  Later that afternoon, Melissa was once again seated in Lettie’s front room. The elderly woman had three large, leather-bound scrapbooks and several worn sh
oe boxes set out on the dining room table.

  “These are all I could find. I hope it’s what you need,” Lettie said.

  Melissa opened the first book. Black-and-white photos and newspaper clippings with crumbling edges were affixed to the thick pages with brittle tape. In a shoe box, she found dozens of letters, their ink faded by time. For the next hour, she pored over the letters with interest, taking notes on dates and names. All in all, she discovered four other women who mentioned articles they had written.

  “Are you finding what you wanted?” Lettie asked.

  Melissa folded the last letter and returned it to the box. “I am. Now I need to go through the archives at the paper. If I can match some of these articles, I can see from the bylines the names the women used. Are any of these ladies still living?”

  “Only Belle Crawford. She is up at the nursing home in Langford, but I haven’t seen her in over a year. I believe her son owns a pharmacy over there. You might check with him.”

  Melissa wrote down the information. When she looked up, she saw Lettie had put on her coat and was setting a ruched, black velvet hat into place on her head. Feeling guilty for monopolizing the generous woman’s time, Melissa stood and stuffed her notes into her bag. “I’m sorry. You should have told me I was keeping you from something.”

  “You weren’t, sugar. In fact, I was hoping you might come with me. I’m not feeling all that spry today.”

  “Are you sure you should be going out if you aren’t feeling well?”

  Lettie pulled on a pair of black gloves. “I haven’t missed a Sunday afternoon with my Gilbert in twenty-seven years. I’m not going to miss today because I’m feeling a mite peaked. If you don’t mind coming with me, that is?”