Elizabeth saw her reflection in the hall mirror. Her red hair was piled up on top of her head with curls in the front. She wore a yellow summer dress with short sleeves and a collar, cultured pearls and matching earrings, the picture of the physician’s wife.
She ordered herself to remain calm. I’m a trained nurse. I can handle this.
“It looks like you have everything under control,” Ida said. “You’re very organized for someone who just moved in. I was in boxes for a year.”
“Old habits,” Elizabeth said, hoping her voice didn’t break. “I’m a nurse. I like everything in its place.”
“Really? Where did you work?”
Elizabeth busied herself with the kettle, turning her back to Ida, and pulling teacups out of a kitchen cupboard.
“I trained at Hopkins. But then I got married.”
“So you didn’t go overseas?”
“No. I was very tempted. I almost wished they had instated the draft for nurses.” It would have kept me out of GWU, Elizabeth thought. But God had a plan. He wanted me to save Mitzi. Otherwise, why would I have been there?
“Ah,” Ida said. “Your husband wanted you to stay at home.”
“Exactly. Sugar for your tea?”
The ladies settled in the kitchen since the dining room was still filled with china barrels and wood crates.
“Do you have children, Mrs. Katz?”
“Call me Ida, please. No, no children—yet. It’s just Jack and me.” She sipped her tea. “And you? Any children?”
“A daughter. She’s napping.”
“How old is she? What’s her name?”
Elizabeth struggled to remain calm. “She’s four. Her name is Bessie.”
“A beautiful name.” Ida smiled.“I would love to have a daughter.”
The pause in the conversation stretched out to an uncomfortable length. Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She knew that if there ever was a time and place to confess to Ida, this was the moment. Instead she said, “Tell me about Pikesville.”
“We have our own police sub-station, with twelve officers on duty around-the-clock.” Ida chattered on and on. Elizabeth thought she’d never leave.
Finally, as Elizabeth walked Ida toward the front door, Mitzi began to cry. Panic struck Elizabeth. What was she thinking? If Ida discovered the child was hers, Elizabeth would be sent to jail. Hadn’t she just been told they had a dozen police officers? She felt light-headed, dizzy with the terror of being discovered.
“Sounds like someone wants her mother,” Ida said. “I’ll be on my way.”
Elizabeth never invited Ida back to her home.
The memory faded away as she heard the words being read aloud by Sarah, Elizabeth still felt the pain of the decision to place Mitzi at the Asylum and Training School for the Feeble Minded. She was less than ten miles away from her real mother, but Mitzi might as well have been hidden away in another country. Sixty years later, the folly of it all hit Elizabeth again. The rusty anvil of guilt turned into despair. She was going to go to hell, of that she was sure.
Mitzi’s real mother was dead. Murdered. There was no hope of confessing her sins to Ida Mae Katz now. Who would take care of Mitzi? Elizabeth had to tell someone. Who could she trust to do the right thing?
* * * *
By the middle of the third chapter in the romance novel, Elizabeth was asleep. Sarah gave her mother a kiss goodnight and headed out the door with Dan.
“I need to run by the office this evening to get that laptop.”
“Oh, I see, a few quickies with me, and it’s back to work for you,” Dan pushed his lower lip out in a pout. “I guess I’ll go visit my mother while you run downtown.”
“That’s a good idea. She’ll be happy to see you. Can you take me by the rental place so I can get a car since the police have impounded mine?” She paused. “I wish I could find Betty. I know she’s key to getting these charges dropped.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes.” As she told him everything she knew about Betty, an idea occurred to her. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed information, asked for WorkForce.
“Hi, this is Sarah Wright. I’m calling on behalf of my aunt, Ida Mae Katz. I need to reach a woman she hired through your agency. Her name is Betty. I don’t know her last name. It’s extremely urgent that I reach her.”
A woman said. “What’s the full name and address of her employer?”
Sarah gave the woman the information.
“I’m sorry, we have no record of placing anyone with an Ida Mae Katz.”
“Maybe you know her by sight? Two hearing aids, thick glasses, mousy brown hair? Sort of dumpy, usually wears blue jeans and sweatshirts.”
“When did she begin work with your aunt?”
“About a year ago.”
“Oh, I wasn’t here then. They were using a lot of temp workers. Do you want the administrator to call you?”
“Yes, please, I’d appreciate it.”
“No luck?” Dan asked.
“Dead end.”
* * * *
At nine in the evening, Sarah had no problem getting a good parking space in the Outpatient Garage. She waved her identification card at the security guard and walked toward her office. The halls were devoid of the usual crowd of milling people, except for an occasional cleaning lady. Right outside her door, she smelled a familiar fragrance. Sarah was positive it was the same scent as before. She glanced around. The hall was empty.
Sarah put the key in the lock and pushed the door inward. The only light in the office was coming from the monitor of the desktop computer, silhouetting the shape of a woman. Sarah reached to turn on the overhead light.
“Please don’t turn the light on,” Arlene said.
Sarah closed the door and pulled the visitor’s chair next to the desk chair. Arlene’s face was puffy and a pile of tissues sat in her lap. The scent of her perfume filled the office. Sarah finally remembered the name of the perfume: Obsession.
Arlene held a piece of paper in her hand. The sleeves of her sweater were rolled up, exposing white bandages on her wrists.
“Arlene, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.”
Puzzled, Sarah couldn’t imagine why Arlene would ask apologize to her. “For what? You’re welcome to use my office. You heard about me, didn’t you?”
Arlene sniffled. “Yes, it’s terrible what they’re saying.”
“I didn’t kill my aunt, Arlene. I hope you believe me. I love her.” Sarah was weepy, too.
“I know what it feels like to be unjustly accused. The weight of it burdens your heart and soul,” Arlene said. “It makes you lose sleep at night and hardens your heart. It’s such a terrible sin that it’s in the Ten Commandments, ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.’”
“Thank you, Arlene. That means a lot to me.”
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Picking up a laptop. Jazmin was supposed to leave it in my office. Marian told me not to come during normal business hours. Didn’t want me to ‘frighten people.’ Maybe I’m being harsh. Maybe it was for my own good.”
Arlene snorted. “Yeah, ‘for your own good,’ how many times did I hear that in my life? Mama must have said it to me about twenty times a day. Even more, after my big sin!”
Sarah didn’t say anything. She didn’t know where this was going.
“You were at Mama’s funeral. Did you think it was perfect?”
“Well, I don’t know about ‘perfect,’ but a lot of friends spoke well of her.”
“Oh, no. Mama was perfect. She never did anything wrong in her whole life.”
The burden of grief was heavy for Arlene, she could see that. “You were right, those are big shoes to fill.”
“Well, they don’t fit. I’m throwing them back. I’m ready to tell the truth to everyone in the world. Mama’s dead and buried. I can’t hurt her with this anymore. It’s killing me. I’ve been told, we’re only as
sick as our secrets. I guess that makes me a very sick person. It’s time I got well.”
Arlene reached over and grabbed Sarah’s hands. “I need to tell you something—Something terrible.”
“I’m here as long as you need me,” Sarah said.
“Thank you.” Arlene took a deep breath. “It started with the ‘God’s Children’ club, a group of misfits. We were fat, ugly, slow, whatever nasty label other people put on us. He told us we were all God’s children and took us in for weekly group therapy. Some of us were ‘special’. He met with us privately, in his office. It was a beautiful space, full of nice things. He gave us juice and cookies. I loved those chocolate chip cookies. His wife made them.”
She paused and Sarah waited, afraid to speak.
“He said I was perfect, just the way I was. I was fat and wore thick, ugly glasses. He was tall, thin, and handsome. He said he’d be there for me. My father had left when I was three years old. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Mama raised me alone. He said we were his chosen ones.”
She blew her nose.
“There was a full-length picture of Jesus in his office, holding his hands out to a group of children. They were throwing down their crutches and going to him. It was beautiful. On the top of the picture it said, ‘Suffer the Little Children.’
“At first, we just talked about school, my daddy, my Mama. Then he started telling me how perfect I was. He said ‘God doesn’t make junk!’ I was only eleven years old, fat, and ugly. I wanted to believe what he said.”
Arlene rubbed her right hand on the bandage on her left wrist.
“One day, after my cookies and juice, he told me to stand up. I remember feeling woozy, but I did what he asked. He told me to stand in front of the full-length picture of Jesus, to close my eyes, and be very, very still. I could feel him touching my hair, my glasses, and my clothes, but it was like it was happening to someone else. Then he told me to open my eyes.”
She clutched her wrist and her hands shook.
“The full-length picture of Jesus was gone. Instead, there was a full-length mirror, with my naked reflection. I started to cry. He told me not to weep because God made me perfect, just the way I was. He touched my skin and told me I was the color of cocoa, and my hair was like silk. He told me God made my body, and what I did with it was a gift. I felt special and beautiful.”
She closed her eyes and sobbed. “He said it was our secret, not to tell anyone because they wouldn’t understand.”
She opened her eyes. “I was twelve years old when I found out I was pregnant. I went to my Mama, because she taught me to tell the truth. Always. I told her the truth and she beat me. She called me a liar. She said I was a whore and that I was whoring around at school.”
Arlene looked directly into Sarah’s eyes.
“She sent me away. She wouldn’t let me have an abortion. She said it was God’s punishment. She said, ‘These are the wages of sin!’ She sent me to live with my aunt in Connecticut in a little town in the middle of nowhere. My aunt beat me and said Jesus told her to do it.”
She looked down at her lap. “After I had the baby, I stayed there for a little while. Then I came home because I found out I had syphilis and my baby had congenital syphilis. He was blind, partially deaf, and brain damaged. I knew I needed to get help. Mama let me come home under the condition that I never speak of the circumstances of my pregnancy. Shortly after I came home, we moved to Randallstown.”
Arlene took a deep breath.
“That was ten years ago. I have lived with my lie every single day for ten years. I’m tired of lying. My mother made me lie. She called me a whore and a liar.”
Sarah’s heart pounded against her chest as if it wanted to get out. Something terrible was coming. She knew it. “Arlene, why are you telling me this?”
“I couldn’t tell Dr. Peter, he’s a man. I don’t trust men. I trust you. You know what it’s like to be falsely accused. I knew you’d understand.”
“Why did you know I’d understand?”
“Because of the poster in the hallway. As soon as I saw it, I knew who it was. I didn’t have the nerve to come right out and tell you because my Mama was still alive, but, she’s gone now. I can tell you who the sexual predator in that congregation is.”
“Who is it, Arlene?”
“Why, it’s Pastor Black.”
“Pastor Black? Where was his wife?”
“His wife? Oh, she was there, too. She brought the cookies and juice to our special sessions. She made videotapes of everything.”
Sarah felt ill. She had seen the Very Reverend and his wife just days ago. They had seemed so normal. Was that the face of evil? Not the twisted monsters of our nightmares, but the pleasant, banal visages of everyday evil—right in our own backyard? How had Arlene had the strength to be near them, much less at a celebration of her mother’s life?
“Oh, Arlene,” Sarah said, hugging her. “I’m so sorry.”
Arlene sobbed so hard she shook the chair and Sarah.
Sarah was at a loss for words, her mind kept going back to the day of Arlene’s mother’s funeral and the questions she’d asked. Arlene had almost run away from her. She should have known. The answer had been right under her nose all along.
What kind of mother denies their own child’s pain and fears? What kind of mother believes the worst of her daughter? Did the need to be the perfect ‘pillar of the church community’ overpower Bessie’s need to be a good mother to Arlene, the “fallen woman” who was really just a child? Arlene’s mother had sent her away to punish her and to ensure that she continued to be disciplined.
Her mother had sent her away to save her. For one of the first times in her life, Sarah saw with stunning clarity how much her mother loved her. Savaged by her husband, she did the best she could at the time with the resources she had. At least Sarah had been sent to live with a grandmother who adored her.
Variations on the theme of motherhood swirled in Sarah's mind. Culture, religion and society differences gave external structure to the role of women, but within those man-made constructions, women created their own realities, their own relationships with each child. The environment compressed the mother-child into configurations as varied as snowflakes. She had a sudden insight.
“The young man sitting between you and Jazmin at the funeral—he’s your child?"
“Yes. His name’s Darnell. We sat in the front row so Pastor Black and his wife would be forced to see him during the entire service. I’m not hiding my son anymore.”
“Are you willing to go to the police with this?”
Arlene nodded. “They have to pay for what they did. I don’t have the strength not to go through with it. Do you see these bandages?”
“I noticed them earlier.”
“Every time I feel the shame overwhelm me, I cut myself. The pain helps me to stop thinking of the shame, but my therapist told me someday I’d go too far. I might die from my cutting. Then, who would look after Darnell? When I saw your poster, I realized they hadn’t stopped. They just kept doing terrible things to girls like me whose only sin was to want to be loved.”
Sarah took a deep calming breath. “Arlene, what do you want me to do?”
“Can you call that woman detective for me and tell her we need to see her right now?”
“We may have to go to the police station. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. I can do anything now. No one else should have to suffer like I have.”
Detective O’Grady wanted Arlene to come in to make a statement. As Sarah organized herself to leave, she picked up the laptop and put some files in her backpack. She looked around her office, knowing it could be the last time she’d see it. The computer was still on and Arlene was in her office, getting her coat. Sarah moved the mouse to log out. The screen saver of tropical fish disappeared, and the document Arlene had been working on came back into view.
A detailed account of everything Pastor Black and his wife did to Arlene, inclu
ding the denial that the child was his appeared on the monitor. They told Bessie Brown she needed to pray for Arlene because she was a sinner. They also told her the child needed to be disciplined. Bessie Brown had beaten her twelve-year-old pregnant daughter with belts, hangers, and broomsticks. While her mother beat her child, Pastor Black and his wife held Arlene down and said prayers to drive out Satan. Sarah recalled the first message Arlene left: Satan pretends to be an angel.
Sarah printed out the document, put it in an envelope, and handed it to Arlene in the hallway. “I think you’ll need this. It will speak when you can’t.”
A smile played at the corners of Arlene’s lips. “Oh, it’s speaking volumes right now.” “How so?”
“I posted it on every website, discussion group and bulletin board I could find on the Internet. The world needs to know what they did. People need to protect their children from these predators. Even if they try to flee, by this time tomorrow, that bastard and his evil wife shouldn’t be able to get another church-related job in the United States, if not the world. ”
At the police station, with the little detective's quiet questions, Arlene’s statement took several hours. Sarah sat with her and witnessed an amazing transformation. With each hideous revelation, Arlene became stronger and more certain of herself. By the end, she didn’t really need Sarah there. She was Superwoman, able to take on sexual predators all by herself. After Arlene’s story came out, other victims would come forward. Perhaps, the demons that drove the young woman to self-mutilation would be exorcised, and her healing could begin.
Sarah hummed a little tune to herself as she waited for Arlene to go to the ladies room.
She called Peter, got his voicemail and left him a message, “We got our man—and woman. Call me when you get a chance.”
Just as she finished, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
“Hello, this is Ralph Harlow,” said a man with a deep voice. “I’m the Administrator of WorkForce, Inc. Is this Sarah Wright?”
Some Other Child Page 20