by Hannah Ross
Kate could be heard in the background. "Remind Dad about ice-skating practice!"
"I haven't forgotten," Daniel said, hating that he had to lie. "I'll be back at five to drive her."
He was about to say goodbye when Jordan said, "Dad. What's up? Mom took Ben and…"
Daniel interrupted. "I have to go now. Lots of work. See you later, son."
He cradled the receiver as possibilities raced through his mind. An accident? No, she always has her ID with her. Someone would have called already. An arrest? Even with all our precautions, it's possible. But again, I'd have heard something by now. She keeps talking about how she wants to visit her parents, but showing up in the Country Island with a new baby would be madness. Maybe she really convinced herself it could be done without evoking any attention. I guess I could call there, but if she's not there they'll worry. He suppressed a sigh.
He was too upset to work until his usual hour, and arrived home around four. Kate was busy doing her homework, but Jordan was slumped on the couch, playing a video game. Just as Daniel was debating whether he ought to badger his son about homework, he heard the key turning in the lock and Rebecca came in, cheeks flushed, looking lively and exhilarated. The sleeping baby was held close to her body in a sling she made from a piece of long, stretchy fabric.
"Where have you been?" he demanded.
"I fancied a walk."
"A walk?" Daniel was shaking with suppressed rage. "A walk?"
"Yes, Daniel, a walk. I've not been out since Benjamin was born and felt like the walls were closing in on me. And he needed some sunshine, too. It was a fine day, and I decided to take advantage of it. And don't look at me that way. I took a train to another Island, where nobody knows me. It was perfectly safe."
Daniel forced himself to remain calm. "You were gone nine hours. What did you do all day?"
"Walked the streets. Looked at shops. Looked at people. Went to the park where I could sit on a bench and nurse Benjamin. Do you know how good it feels to be out and about, after you've been shut within four walls for so long?"
"You could have said something. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I didn't know what to do, where to look for you, without raising suspicion."
Her voice softened. "I'm sorry. I should have called. I just got a bit…carried away. I felt free, Daniel, for the first time in a long time. It was intoxicating."
"It was stupid. If you think you took no risks, you're wrong. Worse. You're delusional. What if one of the neighbors noticed you as you were going out or coming in?"
"That's unlikely. I went out very early, and came in at a time when the kids are already back from school, but most adults are still at work."
"I came home early today. Someone else might have, too. What you did was reckless, Rebecca. Reckless and selfish."
Her eyes flashed. "Selfish?"
His face burned with anger. "Yes! Having this baby because you wanted to was selfish and stupid and has put us all in danger. And then you go out in public with him like it's nothing. Like we wouldn't lose everything we've worked for if you were caught. Don't you wonder…"
He forced himself to stop, to let his fury drain away until he finally let out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Becky. I'm sorry I spoke to you that way. It's just…I'm scared. I see our lives, the kids' lives, all falling apart because we kept an illegal child. It's all I can think about. We've worked so hard, so long for the comfortable life we have, the opportunities the children will have, and the thought of it all being taken away…" He snapped his fingers. "…just like that…" His head shook. "Don't you ever wonder what it would be like if we didn't let this happen?"
It was Rebecca's turn to force herself to remain calm. "You mean if we chose to terminate his life before it even began? To kill him? But Benjamin's life is his. It didn't belong to us, Daniel, and we had no right to take it away."
"So you never doubted, not for a second? Never asked yourself if perhaps you're doing something totally insane?"
Rebecca's eyelids fluttered as she glared at him in defiant silence.
Benjamin was three months old when, late one morning, he started to fuss and refused to take the breast. His cry was one of irritation and pain and so unlike the healthy cry of hunger Rebecca was used to hearing. As she held him close and paced the apartment, trying to calm him, she realized he felt warmer than normal and the infant thermometer confirmed her suspicions. He was running a fever.
What can I do? I can't call Daniel at work. Someone might overhear the conversation. And him buying baby medicine would be risky if he met someone he knew who asked why he was buying it when his youngest was eight. If only I could go out to buy the medicine I could always say it's for a neighbor. But there's no one I can trust to watch him while I… She shook her head. Of course. The children. They'll be back from school soon.
Calmer now, she bathed him in lukewarm water. He still fussed, but settled down enough to nurse and relieve some of the heaviness in her aching breasts.
When she heard the children on the landing, she rushed to meet them at the door. Kate looked at her, surprised, as Jordan pushed by her.
"What's the matter?" he asked in a tone that reminded her of Daniel.
Rebecca closed the door and explained the baby was sick but sleeping now, then rushed downstairs. She walked as fast as she could without attracting attention, wasted no time in the store, and hurried home where she was met by a worried-looking Kate.
"Umm…Mom…"
Rebecca paled. "What's the matter?"
Jordan came out of the bedroom, holding the baby wrapped in a towel. "We didn't know what to do so we washed him in the sink."
"But I just gave him a bath. What happened?"
When both looked toward her bedroom, she hurried in, wrinkled her nose at the powerful sour odor. Holding her breath, she discovered the blanket, crib sheet, and mattress underneath it were soaked with dark, greenish-brown liquid. Benjamin's soiled clothes were lying in a small, stinky heap in the crib.
She paled, grabbed some clean clothes, and rushed out to take the baby from Jordan's arms. He felt warmer than before and seemed weak and listless. She hurried to dress him in clean clothes, gave him the medicine, then sat down to try and nurse him while she waited for Daniel to come home.
When he stepped through the door, the first thing Daniel noticed was the stench. He took one look at the strained, anxious face of his wife and, without a word, stepped around her to the bedroom. A minute later, Rebecca watched him carry the dirty clothes and bedding to the washing machine. Then he sat by her on the couch, put a gentle arm about her shoulders, and asked quietly, "How is he?"
"Better, I think," she whispered.
Daniel helped her up and led her to the bedroom. She did not protest. Though Jordan and Kate pretended to be absorbed in their homework, she knew they were listening to every word.
Her breasts were emptier now, and she felt calmer. When she looked at the baby, he seemed more like his normal self. The extent of her fears began to feel excessive, even foolish. If it was not for Daniel's grave face, she might have smiled as she said, "I think he'll be fine."
"I hope so. But he still needs to be seen by a doctor, Rebecca."
She bit her lip. "I know." Then, unable to keep the desperation from her voice, she added, "But we can't."
She felt awful as she remembered how, when Jordan and Kate were infants, they rushed to the doctor's office for every trivial little complaint. Now, however, it was impossible. Going to the doctor would be the sealing of their fate. "He's better now, Daniel. It isn't necessary."
The weight of a heavy sigh seemed to push him back against the sofa. "Perhaps not today, but another day, it will be."
"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing she would not like his answer.
"I mean we all get sick and need to see a doctor at some point in our lives. I mean we all rely, one way or another, on government services. And those who cannot rely on them, in our age, in our reality, are outcasts. I'
m not talking about our future, or even the possible complications for Jordan and Kate. Think about this baby, Rebecca. By going on as we have until now, you are condemning him to a life in which he can never be anything but an outcast, in which he can do nothing but hide. He won't be able to meet anyone outside the family, not without lying about who he is. He won't even be able to get proper medical care. One way or another, this will all explode in our faces someday and the longer we protract it, the more painful it will be."
Rebecca got up from the bed and stood by the baby's crib. She looked down for a long time as tears poured silently down her face. She used to understand the Decree of Population Control. But now, for the life of her, she could not see who would be hurt, what damage could possibly be caused by the existence of this poor, sweet, vulnerable creature.
Daniel rose and stood on the other side of the crib, his expression grim. "You know what must be done."
Where moments ago there was nothing but grief, anger now stirred. "You don't care," she said, her agitation mounting. "You never have. You detached yourself from this baby on purpose, right from the beginning, to prepare yourself for giving him up. For giving up Benjamin. He has a name, you know, but you won't even use it. To you, he's a problem, a hindrance. To me, he's precious. Every day, every moment that he lives and breathes and is close to me, every time I see his eyes focus on me is priceless. Have you noticed he started smiling? No. Of course not. Soon, he'll reach out for toys. He'll roll over. He'll sit, and crawl, and walk, and talk. Would you deprive me, deprive us all, of that?" Her shoulders heaved with sobs. "I want nothing but to see my son every day of my life, to watch him as he grows up. Where is the crime? Where is the terrible crime, Daniel? I don't see it."
Daniel felt his eyes grow moist as he walked over to her, to the woman who shared so many years, so many dreams and fears with him, and enveloped her in his arms. She stiffened at first, but after a moment her resistance melted and she collapsed into his arms, crying as Daniel held her and stroked her hair.
His voice soft, he said, "I do care, Rebecca. Of course I do. For weeks now, I've been going back and forth on this. I wish there was a legal way for us to keep Benjamin, to raise him the way we raised Jordan and Kate, to love him and care for him without being labeled as criminals. But I see no way. If we don't end up in jail now, we surely will after a few months of not meeting the tax requirements. And let's be real, who can meet them? And then we would have to face the choice of who goes behind bars, you or I? What would we tell the children?"
Rebecca wiped her eyes and drew away a step. "The law is unjust. Do you know that parents of illegal children, on average, get longer prison sentences than rapists and child abusers? In the eyes of the law, it's worse to give birth to an unauthorized child than to hurt the innocent. The law is twisted and faulty. It must be changed."
"It must," echoed Daniel. "I hope it will. I believe it will. We'll do everything we can to keep an eye on him, Becky, see how he's doing. And maybe a day will come when we can bring him back."
He tried to sound hopeful, but his words rang hollow. They both knew there would be no way back. Once an illegal child was revealed and given up, the path that awaited him was set. He would be raised in an institution that prepared children for a lifetime of drudgery and sent to the bleakest regions of the Islands. No contact with the biological family was permitted. For all intents and purposes, it would be as if their son had died.
And yet, as horrible as it was, as much as every fiber of her being struggled against acceptance, she could not deny the soundness of Daniel's arguments. He was right. They had no choice.
Mrs. Stocking pushed up her glasses and adjusted her knitting needles. Brow furrowed in concentration, she counted stitches as her rocking-chair rocked slightly back and forth. She often indulged in this innocent, quiet pastime while on night duty and Madam Hart was away or busy shut up in her office. Many considered knitting outdated, an unproductive waste of time, but Mrs. Stocking long ago noticed the scarves, mittens and sweaters she produced were far superior to anything she might buy at the department store. So she quietly went on with her business, knitting for herself, her husband, and her two boys, who would soon finish school. A thought made her smile. Despite their tricky age, her sons, bless them, were never ashamed of sporting a hand-knitted hat.
Night duty was her biggest frustration, not that she actually had to stay up all night. If all was quiet, close to midnight she usually retired to a small side room where a bed was kept especially for her. But bed or not, she missed spending the evening with her family.
When her husband and boys sat down to the table, and she set a pot roast on the table, took off the lid, untied the strings of her apron, and sat down with the rest of the family, it seemed to her as if nothing could be better in the whole world. If she had her wish, they would retire to one of the remote Country Islands and live there in a snug little home where she would be busy all day long, cooking and cleaning, sewing and ironing. But the boys needed to be put through school, then college, and life was expensive. Her husband was a good man and an honest, steady worker who wanted only to provide for his family, but his salary alone was not enough to maintain a comfortable home. Then again, hardly anybody's salary was enough for that these days. Few were the privileged women who did not have to work. Which was why, more than a decade ago, she took up the position of a matron at the orphanage.
Because she was a decent, quiet, hard-working woman, she was favored by the administration. Because she was motherly and kind, in time she came to regard the place, gloomy and cheerless as it was, as almost her second home. For the children, she often told herself, this was likely to be the only home they would ever know, and with the utmost goodwill, she did all that was in her power to make the place more comfortable. The children felt and appreciated it, and the smaller ones often vied for her attention with a zeal that nearly broke her heart. She could not bear them calling her Mother, but many were secretly allowed to call her Aunt as long as Madam Hart was out of earshot.
She thought she heard hurried footsteps crunching on the gravel path and put her knitting aside and adjusted the glasses on her nose again. Who could it be? It was nearly eleven o'clock, much too late for any inspection or delivery, much too late for anything, unless it was one of them. She looked outside the window, squinted, and saw the hunched-up figure of a woman in a long, wide, dark raincoat walking slowly and, it seemed, carrying a bundle in her arms. Mrs. Stocking's heart plummeted. Yes, she must be one of them, poor soul. She knew this was no pre-arranged delivery. When they came, it could be at any hour.
She was glad Madam Hart was away. The Director always made it harder on the poor women, and God knows it was already hard enough. Hearing a hesitant knock, she hurried downstairs as quickly and quietly as her short, plump frame would permit, lit the small, dim hallway lamp, and opened the door.
What a night to be out! The wind was howling, bending the tall, dark trees growing sparsely in the courtyard. A bolt of lightning pierced the sky, followed by a distant rumble of thunder as she felt the first, misty drops of rain on her face.
But all that was nothing compared to the expression on the woman's face. She can't be more than forty, but the poor dear looks like she's lived through a hundred years of torment. She was pale and shivering, and Mrs. Stocking had half a mind to invite her in and offer her a cup of hot tea, but then she looked down at the snugly bundled, sleeping infant in the woman's shaking arms and almost gasped. That's no newborn. Three months old at least. Illegally born, of course and she hid it this long. How? Where? Why?
It was not for her to ask.
The woman put the child in her arms as if holding him for even a moment longer was more painful than she could bear. Mrs. Stocking felt her throat tighten and blinked back tears as she made a futile attempt at an encouraging smile. "It's a boy…a little boy, isn't it?" Her voice was soft and gentle to let the mother know she cared.
The woman could manage but a slight nod.
As their eyes met, Mrs. Stocking saw words were unnecessary, that by handing over the child, this woman was giving away a part of herself, a part of her soul. She was about to turn and walk up the staircase with the infant in her arms, when the mother spoke at last.
"Benjamin. His name is Benjamin."
2
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The little girl turned her face to the dirty white wall, absent-mindedly scratching it with a fingernail. Her tousled, pale-blonde hair was spread across the pillow, though only part of it could be seen, as she had pulled the blanket over her head.
"Come on, Cora." The soothing voice of an older girl sounded in her ears as a gentle hand rested on her shoulder. "It's time to get up."
"I've got the flu," Cora protested. "Mrs. Stocking said I can stay in bed. She said so. I'm not in anybody's way."
"But the Forresters are here to meet you. They came here especially for you. Don't you realize how important this is?"
Cora only stared at her with big, vacant, seven-year-old blue eyes. Perhaps she was too young to understand all the implications, but she did know what a miraculous chance this could be for her, or for any child thus selected from the orphanage. And she was certainly old enough for skepticism.
Her voice sullen, she said, "Nothing will come out of it," as she turned her face to the wall again. But Elisa shook her by the shoulder again, a little more forcefully this time. "You must get up now, Cora. You can go back to bed later."
With a show of reluctance that made Elisa's eyes roll, Cora sat up and swung her skinny legs down from the bed. The dormitory was empty. The other children had hurried off to breakfast, which was not a thing to be disdained, as no other nourishment would be offered until two o'clock. Cora pulled off her grey pajamas and carelessly put on the grey orphanage uniform, consisting of a cotton blouse, stockings with holes in them, and a skirt that was becoming too short for her. Elisa helped her get all the buttons fastened the right way, and brushed her hair until it shone. After putting on her battered black shoes, Cora was ready to go, but still she protested.