Finding Ashley

by Danielle Steel

  “Probably more than she’d expect, at first, but she’ll be gracious about it. She gave me everything I needed, an education at the best schools, nannies to take care of me when she was on location, beautiful homes to live in, vacations in terrific places. I never lacked for anything. She just wasn’t around a lot of the time, but I wasn’t unhappy. It was part of the territory of having a famous movie star mother. I was never mistreated or neglected,” she reassured Hattie, who believed her, and she seemed very forgiving of her adopted mother’s faults. “She never remarried after my father died, so I didn’t have to compete for her attention.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful person,” Hattie said admiringly.

  “She is. And she’ll be happy for me once she gets used to the idea. How soon can we do the DNA test?” she said, looking excited. Hattie already knew it was a simple mouth swab and they needed a DNA kit from the doctor.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Fine. I’ll call my doctor.”

  “I can do it too if that will speed up the process.”

  “I’d like you to come and meet my kids and my husband tomorrow,” Michaela said warmly. “How long will you be here?”

  “As long as I need to be,” Hattie said quietly, basking in the warm glow of the hope that she had actually found Ashley. It seemed too good to be true. The needle in the haystack had shimmered in the sunlight of truth, and she had found it, with Fiona Eckles’s help. It really was a miracle, for them all. She had Fiona to thank for putting her on the right track.

  After promising to come for dinner the following night, Hattie called Fiona from her hotel. It was late in Dublin, but Fiona had said that she worked late at night, so she called her and told her what had happened.

  “And where does that leave you now?” Fiona asked her, as Hattie wondered what she meant.

  “An aunt, I guess, if the DNA test shows that she’s my sister’s child.”

  “And how are you feeling about the Church?” Fiona asked her pointedly.

  “I’m not sure. I have no respect for the nuns who were involved in it, particularly those who burned the records, and ruined countless lives when they did. Others won’t be as lucky as we were, thanks to you, and a famous adoptive mother, which made it easier to track her down.”

  “Don’t forget, those nuns had the blessing of the Church for what they did. They weren’t protecting anyone’s privacy, they were covering their tracks and the money they raked in for the Church, so no one could criticize them for it. And they forced the girls to give their babies up, with their parents’ blessings.”

  “What are you saying?” Hattie asked her, looking worried.

  “I’m saying that a vocation is a delicate thing. It’s made of spun glass. Mine was shattered forever by what I saw and what I learned at Saint Blaise’s.”

  “I think mine is still intact,” Hattie said quietly. “This was only about my sister for me, nothing else.” She wasn’t on a witch hunt to condemn the Church, like Fiona had been with her book.

  “It’s about all of us, Hattie. It’s about integrity and honesty, and pure motives. Even the Church has feet of clay sometimes. In the end, I couldn’t accept that. I felt as though I had committed myself to a life of hypocrisy that was all about money, not about helping those childless couples and poor girls who were too young to know what they were doing and the price they would pay later on. Look at your sister, and what you say it did to her.”

  “My vocation is strong,” Hattie said, wanting to convince herself as much as Fiona.

  “Then I’m glad for you. Mine wasn’t. I had to leave after all I knew. Maybe I was never meant to be a nun. I went in for shaky reasons, after a broken engagement, when I got jilted at the altar. That isn’t good enough to last for an entire life.” Hattie knew why she had gone into the convent, and she hoped the reason was good enough to carry her all the way. There was no question, what she had learned about Saint Blaise’s had shaken her respect for some of the decisions that people in the Church made, but not her faith. She had sought the convent as a refuge and safe haven, and it still was for her.

  She thanked Fiona again for the invaluable information that had led to Michaela, and hung up thinking about what the ex-nun had said. Hattie could only conclude that Fiona’s vocation had been fragile, and not strong enough to withstand all that she’d seen at Saint Blaise’s, and her role in it. Hattie had no part in that. There was no blood on her hands. She had only been a child when it was happening. But Fiona’s words kept echoing in her head…a vocation is a delicate thing…like spun glass…and in her heart of hearts, Hattie knew just how true it was.

  Chapter 7

  Both Michaela and Hattie had the mouth swab for the DNA kits the next day. Michaela went to her doctor, and Hattie to a lab at UCLA and made the request. Melissa would have one too eventually, which would be conclusive, but this would give them some significant idea if they were related, and on the right track. Hattie didn’t want to give Melissa false hope and then break her heart again.

  She went to Michaela’s house for dinner that night, and met her husband and their children, Andrew and Alexandra. David Foster was a handsome man in his late thirties, with dark eyes, dark hair, a cleft chin, and looked like a movie star. Michaela said he had done some acting and modeling before he went to law school and became an entertainment lawyer. He worked for a prestigious firm. He seemed to be very much in love with Michaela, and was great to his kids.

  The children, Andrew and Alexandra, were adorable, and very well behaved. They were six and four, and all together they looked like the poster for the perfect family. Michaela had dark hair like Melissa, and had the same tall, lean build. Her features were more like her grandmother’s, but when she moved, Hattie was instantly reminded of Melissa. She found it hard now to believe they weren’t related. It seemed so obvious to her.

  The children loved playing with Hattie before and after dinner, and she was falling in love with the idea that she might be their great-aunt, although she felt a little young for that. Hattie was only ten years older than Michaela, since Melissa was so young when she had her.

  Michaela had explained everything to David the night before. He knew of his wife’s attempts to find her birth mother, and it seemed right to him that somehow they had found each other, if indeed Hattie was correct and she had miraculously found Melissa’s long-lost baby girl. Hattie thought about them the next day all the way back to New York. She and Michaela had agreed that Hattie would not say anything to Melissa until they got the DNA results back. And Michaela was waiting to tell her adoptive mother too. She was on location anyway, and wouldn’t be back in L.A. for a month. It wasn’t the kind of news Michaela wanted to tell her on the phone.

  Hattie and Michaela promised to stay in touch while they waited for the test results to come in. And when Hattie wasn’t thinking of them on the plane to New York, she was thinking about everything Fiona Eckles had told her, and what she had seen of Saint Blaise’s herself. It validated everything Melissa had told her the last time they’d seen each other, when Hattie visited her at her new home.

  Hattie had a deep sense of shame being associated with a church that would use people for gain, and exploit their griefs, leaving young girls forever damaged by giving up their babies in such a cruel way. It went against everything she believed about the Church, and she wanted time alone now to give it more thought.

  She had been gone for barely a week, but she had seen and learned so much, in Dublin and Los Angeles. She felt like a different person as she flew back to New York. The nuns were still at the house at the lake, and weren’t due back for another week. Hattie could have joined them there, but didn’t want to. She needed time to absorb all that she’d seen and heard. She wasn’t ready to see Melissa again either. There was no way she could have kept from her the fact that she’d met Michaela, and was almost sure she had found her
daughter.

  All she wanted now was to return to the convent that was her safe haven. She knew she would be at peace there. It was like climbing back into the womb for her.

  She emailed Mother Elizabeth when she got home to the convent, and told her she was staying in New York to recover from the trip. It led the superior to believe that the journey had been disappointing, which didn’t surprise her, and she was sorry for Sister Mary Joseph and the long trek she assumed she had made for nothing. It had been a loving gesture to her sister, even if it had come to naught, and this way she could tell herself she had done all she could to help her.

  Hattie spent the next week in prayer, giving thanks to the merciful God who had led her on the right path to find Melissa’s daughter. The DNA test seemed almost superfluous. She was sure she’d found the right person. But what was tormenting her was the suffering of the young girls, and that most of them would never be able to find even a trace of the infants they had given up. It seemed so profoundly wrong.

  She was very quiet the night the nuns came home from the Adirondacks. They looked tanned and relaxed, and were full of tales of what they’d done and the fun they’d had. They were like a girls’ school returning after going to camp, which was what it was. It was all innocent play, and healthy pursuits in the sun and fresh air, that would have done Hattie good too, if she’d been in the mood to join them.

  Mother Elizabeth invited her to her office after dinner that night.

  “I take it the trip wasn’t a success,” she said solemnly, as Hattie sat across the desk from her. The superior looked deeply sympathetic, knowing how much it had meant to her.

  “Not at all, Mother,” Hattie said with a slow, peaceful smile and a light in her eyes the superior had never seen before. It was a kind of blissful joy. “I think I found her. It’s a miracle really. We had a DNA test to see if we’re related, and we’re waiting for the results.”

  “How on earth did you find her?” She looked genuinely shocked, remembering that Hattie had said she wouldn’t try to meet her, but it sounded like she had.

  “One of the nuns who had been a midwife at the same time my sister went there left the order and wrote a book about it. What she saw at Saint Blaise’s caused her to ask to be released from her vows. The book is shocking in its painful nakedness. I met her. She didn’t remember my sister. But apparently, a lot of the adoptive parents were from Hollywood, some were famous actresses, and almost all were from the States. Three movie stars adopted babies that year. She remembered that with perfect clarity and who they were. It’s why I went to L.A. One of them adopted a baby boy, and the other two baby girls. I’m almost sure that one of them is ‘Ashley,’ the infant my sister gave up. Marla Moore, the actress, adopted her. I don’t think she was a fantastic mother, but the young woman seems to have had a good life. She’s a social worker in L.A., working with inner-city kids, and her husband is an entertainment lawyer. They have two adorable children, a four-year-old girl and a six-year-old boy. And I did meet with them, although I told you I wouldn’t. I couldn’t determine if she was the one unless I did.” Mother Elizabeth nodded and didn’t comment. “She contacted the convent fifteen years ago, wanting to find out what she could about her birth mother, with her adoptive mother’s agreement. They told her about the fire, and that all trace of the adoptions had been destroyed. She gave up after that, just the way my sister did. If I hadn’t found the ex-nun who wrote the book, I would never have found her. It was a long shot, but I think it’s going to pan out, and she’ll turn out to be the right one.”

  “Have you told your sister yet?” Mother Elizabeth asked her, pleased for her. She could see that there was more to the story that Sister Mary Joseph hadn’t told her yet. She was sure there was a reason why she hadn’t joined them in the Adirondacks, although she’d been back in New York.

  “I want to wait for the test results. If I’m a match with this young woman, then it’s almost a sure thing my sister will be.”

  “So why do you look troubled, my child? Your eyes say there’s something you’re not telling me. Are you afraid it won’t be a match?” Michaela also had the right birthday, which could be a coincidence.

  “Not so much. It’s everything I heard and saw in Dublin that upset me deeply. How could they do what they did? Made money from all of them, and consciously destroyed all evidence that would have helped mothers and children to find each other again one day, or at least the mothers could find out what had happened to them.”

  “I’m sure they thought they were doing the right thing. Open adoptions were unheard of then, or very unusual, as was finding birth mothers on the Internet. Those were all highly confidential matters back then. It was considered information that could have ruined people’s lives if it got out.”

  “That doesn’t explain why all the girls who went there were from families who could afford to pay the fees to the Church. There were no poor girls there, and no locals for that reason. And the adoptive parents were all very rich Americans. They were taking full advantage of the situation and ran it like a business.”

  “It sounds that way now, but it was probably efficiently run, which is to their credit, and everyone’s benefit.”

  “It was more than that, Mother. It was highly profitable. My sister calls it a baby mill, and after what I know now, having been there, I think she’s right. And after talking to the author of the book I read by the ex-nun who was a midwife there, I have serious questions about the Church, and the people who ran it. They didn’t even let the girls touch or see their babies when they were born, or hold them. It must have broken their hearts,” just as it had Melissa’s. Giving her daughter up was still an open wound for her.

  Mother Elizabeth sighed as she listened. “Women who have been released from their vows are never a strong source to solidify one’s faith,” she reminded Hattie, who thought about it and nodded.

  “What she saw and experienced there drove her out of the Church.”

  “Maybe she would have left anyway. A weak vocation won’t hold you forever. It’s like a weak bridge, sooner or later it breaks, and if you’re standing on it, you fall into the abyss. Did she try to influence you?”

  “Not at all,” Hattie said, although she knew it wasn’t entirely true. “She just shared that it had been a test of faith for her.”

  “Which she failed,” the mother superior pointed out. “She didn’t stay and respect her vows. She abandoned them.”

  “I think she was very deeply marked by what happened there, and her part in it.”

  “We must all learn to forgive, ourselves as well as others. Our Church isn’t perfect, nor the people in it, nor any of us. I have to believe that the nuns who ran Saint Blaise’s and the convents and mother and baby homes like it had the very best of intentions while they did it. Who can blame them for only accepting stable, financially sound adoptive parents? At least the babies they adopted would be safe and never have to struggle. They didn’t make large donations to the Church in order to abuse them. And if you’ve found your niece, she sounds like she had a good life with her movie star mother, an enviable life. Who wouldn’t want that for a child they were giving up? And you forget that the girls who went there, like your sister, were barely more than children themselves, teenagers at best. What kind of life could they have given their children? A life of shame and disgrace, ostracized and shunned by their communities and the world, and even their own families. I think the nuns at Saint Blaise’s made the best of a bad situation, and it sounds like they did it quite successfully, for the benefit of the Church as well. You need to put this behind you now, Sister Mary Joseph, and thank God you found the girl, if she’s the right one. I’m sure your sister will be very grateful, particularly to know that she was adopted by people who took good care of her, and she had a good life.” The superior refused to see the sordid side of it that had shocked Hattie and Fiona Eckles deeply. “You cann
ot let this shake your faith in everything you believe in and have dedicated your life to. You have a strong vocation. In the life of every religious, at some point, there will come a challenge that will try to break them. You must resist that, and come out of it stronger, better, and more dedicated.” Hattie was chastened into silence, could only nod, and kissed the superior’s ring before she left her office, feeling like a schoolgirl who had been sent to the principal’s office to be reminded of the tenets and beliefs of the school. But even after Mother Elizabeth’s speech, Hattie hated everything she now knew about Saint Blaise’s and felt it was wrong. And like Fiona Eckles, her faith had been shaken by it, and possibly her vocation.

  The next day Mother Elizabeth suggested to her that she spend more time in prayer until she felt better. Her trip out in the world and the people she had met there had obviously upset her.

  She spent her lunch hour at the hospital in silent prayer that day, and stayed longer in chapel than the others at the end of the day. She stayed after Mass in the morning and skipped breakfast, and went to confession. But no matter what Hattie did, the test of her faith was getting the better of her. She had never fought as hard to strengthen her beliefs and cling to them, and she felt as though she were hanging onto the edge of a cliff with her bare fingers and below her yawned the abyss, waiting to swallow her.

  “You’re wrestling with the devil himself,” the mother superior said when she called her to her office again. She could see that the younger nun was still having a hard time. She had hardly smiled since she got back from her trip, and she was spending all her spare time on her knees in church. She scrubbed the kitchen floors every night as penance, but nothing helped. No amount of self-denial or ardent prayer had brought relief. Hattie wondered if the superior was right, and the devil had her in his grip. But the only devil she could see were the nuns who had been at Saint Blaise’s while the girls were there, and what they had done to eliminate every trace of where their babies went.