Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

  “It would be different if we adopted the baby,” I said. “The parents of an adopted child have total legal rights, whereas guardianship can change. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be able to rip another child out of our care.” My heart pounded as I reflected back to the desperate times when I had argued with the caseworker, pleading for protection for Hannah, but seemed to be ignored. I’d held no place of legal significance in Hannah’s life other than that I was once a foster mother to her.

  Al nodded. We sat silently for a moment. “So . . . what do you think about adoption?” I asked.

  “I would say . . . that would be the only way we would agree to take the baby.”

  “So if Karen agrees to adoption, would we do it? I’m not sure that’s what we want to do. But if we don’t, then DFS would need to find a family to adopt it. Right?”

  Al’s expression didn’t change. He was thinking.

  Then he said, “Yes, but we know how that can go. The baby could end up in foster care for a long time before being adopted. I’m not sure what’s best at this point.” We both let out a sigh of frustration.

  We sat there for a while drinking our coffee. Then Al looked me in the eyes and said, “What do you think?”

  I suddenly became emotional. The weight of the decision hit me. Fighting tears that reminded me of how much healing I still needed, I said, “We tried everything to protect Hannah, but it was out of our hands. We couldn’t do a thing. If we adopted this little one, we would have full legal control. We would not only have the responsibility, but also the ability to protect this one.” Passion filled my heart and my words. “We couldn’t save Hannah, but we could save this one. This is Hannah’s brother or sister.”

  With his chin resting on his hand, Al looked at me and said, “Do you realize I will be almost seventy years old by the time this baby graduates from high school?” I looked at him, smiling. He continued, now grinning, “I’ll probably be in a wheelchair by then.”

  I grinned back at him. “Well, look at it this way. You’ll have somebody to push you around in the wheelchair.” And we both laughed. We looked at each other and suddenly knew. Yes. If God opens this door. Yes. We had the confidence that if God chose us, then he would work it out. And if he did, then yes, our hearts were ready to receive this baby as our own.

  We would agree to adoption, but not guardianship. If Karen wanted us to adopt, we would. Our hearts were one on the matter. Now to ask the kids.

  “We might adopt the baby? I’m in!” fourteen-year-old Helen said, wiggling with excitement. Helen, the baby-lover. We’d known what her answer would be before we even sat down with our kids to get their opinions on the adoption. Charles and Sadie? We were about to find out.

  “It isn’t fair. She wouldn’t let us have Hannah, then she killed her,” Charles said, resentment dripping from his words. “Now we’re going to take care of her new baby?”

  I understood my twelve-year-old’s anger. Would he ever be able to see the baby as ours and not hers?

  “Karen won’t be allowed to keep this baby, no matter what,” I explained. “Either she’ll spend the rest of her life in prison or she’ll get the death penalty. We didn’t have the power to save Hannah. But if this baby becomes legally ours, we could protect it from Karen and the foster care system.”

  I watched his thinking shift. “Karen won’t have anything to do with raising her?” he asked. “It would come home to us right from the hospital? It would be our baby and not hers?”

  “That’s right, Charles,” Al assured him. “The baby would be a Moerke, not a Bower.”

  “Then yes,” Charles announced.

  Sadie, now sixteen, was clearly struggling with the pros and cons. As she mulled over the idea, she seemed hesitant. Finally, she spoke. “I give my approval, too,” she said.

  Our son Jason was still stationed in Germany with the air force, and our oldest, Elizabeth, was still away at college. They hadn’t been living at home during our time with Hannah, though they’d been caring and supportive from a distance. They said they’d support us in whatever decision we made.

  So now we knew how the Moerkes felt about adopting the baby. But what would Karen say? She hadn’t offered us the option to adopt; she’d only asked us to take guardianship. Unless someone else stepped forward, which didn’t seem likely, Karen would have to choose us as the adoptive parents or relinquish the child to DFS.

  I sent Karen a letter telling her we could talk about the baby the next time she was in Casper. I would present the options and leave the outcome in God’s hands.

  As days passed, however, I realized with surprise that I still felt conflicted over the matter. Had Al and I made the right decision? Wouldn’t this tie us forever to Hannah’s murderer? Would we be able to celebrate this child without a cloud of grief always hovering? My ache for Hannah haunted me, and I realized that I still had a lot of grieving to do. I cried. I cried in the bathtub and when alone in the car. I cried when Al was at work and the kids were out of the house. I cried often, and I always cried alone. I knew I needed those tears to grieve Hannah, but I had to be selective of when and where I released that grief.

  I decided not to discuss this with my local friends. They wanted to protect me from the agony I felt when I visited Karen—an agony that I couldn’t deny even though I knew I was called to be involved with her. They would advise me to stop seeing Karen. Add to that the public sentiment that was so hostile toward her. Who would understand my decision to visit Hannah’s murderer, pray with her, and consider the adoption of her child? I simply couldn’t deal with the hatred of others toward her—it was all I could do to manage my own tumultuous feelings. It was all so complicated.

  I did have Dale and Lauree in Texas to confide in. We called one another “covenant friends” because we’d made a covenant always to speak God’s truth to one another, to hold one another accountable spiritually, and to encourage one another. I was up front about what I needed from them.

  “Don’t baby me,” I told them. “And don’t try to comfort me. Speak God’s truth to me. That’s what I need.” They both expressed mixed feelings but said they’d support our decision to adopt and would pray that God’s will be done.

  Even so, I needed more time to wrestle through my emotions with God alone.

  Within a few weeks of our family decision, I received a collect call from Karen at the Casper jail.

  “Hello, Debra? I’m in Casper. Can you come see me?” Karen sounded better than she had at the prison. Her voice was strong with a note of excitement. She seemed happy just hearing my voice.

  “Yes, I will come this evening.”

  “Good. I really want to see you. Did you talk to Al about the baby?”

  “We did talk about it. I will let you know what we are thinking when I see you. I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

  I watched a brilliant sunset through my kitchen window as I rinsed the dinner dishes and placed them in the drying rack on the counter. The children had finished their evening chores and gravitated to their bedrooms to finish their homework. Al relaxed in his recliner, watching the evening news.

  I announced I was making a grocery store run and would be back soon. After a soft, “I’m leaving,” to Al, along with a knowing look, I grabbed my keys.

  When I arrived at the jail, a handful of people were in the lobby. At the security window Jean welcomed me with a sweet smile. “I think I know who you’re here to see. I’ll let you in and then I’ll call for her.”

  I was grateful that Jean didn’t announce my visit over the intercom with so many people within earshot. Even though two months had passed since the murder became public, the local media was still abuzz with news of the murder and pending trial, and public outrage remained high. I gave Jean a thumbs-up and a smile.

  I made my way to a visitation cell and waited. Within minutes, an officer appeared at the door with Karen.

  We exchanged hugs. Before Karen pulled out her chair, she asked, “What did y
ou and Al decide about the baby?” Then she sat, resting her folded hands on the table. She was ready to talk business. I wasn’t sure I was. I hadn’t yet felt a final confirmation from the Lord, and I now felt unsure of the option I was about to offer her.

  “We did talk.” I sat back in my chair and rested my hands in my lap. I wanted the conversation to be relaxed, easy. I didn’t want it to appear that this was all business.

  “So, this is how Al and I feel about your request.”

  Karen tilted her head, ready to listen.

  “We do not believe guardianship would be in the best interest of the baby.”

  Karen’s look of anticipation fell into disappointment.

  “Wait. I’m not done yet,” I said. “You know you will never be able to raise this baby. With you in prison and no family to call its own, guardianship would leave this little one in limbo all its life. If DFS takes guardianship of the child, they will go to court to have your rights relinquished. Then they will adopt or foster the baby out to strangers because no family member is stepping forward. It’s your decision. Al and I are willing to adopt the baby, but we will not take guardianship. You can let DFS make the decision, or you can make it. You need to give careful thought and prayer as to what will be best for the baby.”

  Karen and I locked eyes as we had so many times before. It seemed that we found understanding deep in each other’s eyes. A truth that words could not convey. Something within me began to stir. A new depth of positive feelings for her began to take root—feelings that only God could bring. A slowly emerging love was taking us out of the harsh reality we were living and moving us to a place of pure grace.

  “I don’t know,” Karen said. “I don’t want DFS to take the baby, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to relinquish my rights and give the baby up for adoption.”

  I sat silently, letting Karen process her choices.

  “The baby is not due until the end of October,” I said. “You have some time to think, but not that much time. If you decide that you want us to adopt, we need to find an attorney to start the process. We’ll talk again. It’s your decision. I trust God will help you make it.”

  I needed to take my own advice. I needed to trust God for the outcome as well. I couldn’t allow myself to get emotionally attached to one outcome or the other. Not while my emotions were still so raw. I couldn’t trust myself to know what would be best for the innocent, unsuspecting infant who continued to grow in Karen’s womb. I, along with Karen, would have to wait to hear from God.

  The visit was short, maybe fifteen minutes. When I got home I walked into the living room where Al looked up at me with questions in his eyes. With a smile and a wink, I let him know I had delivered the message. We would wait on God to speak to Karen. However long that would be.

  Two days later, I called the jail and learned that Karen had been returned to Lusk. I would have to wait until I received a letter to know when to set up another visit.

  A few days passed, and then a letter came from Karen with the name and number of an attorney. She wanted me to call the woman and discuss adoption with her. Karen wasn’t saying she was ready to relinquish her rights; she was just taking the first step. I contacted the lawyer, and she informed me about the process. I told her I would get back to her.

  I wrote to Karen, telling her I could come to Lusk for another visit. We would talk about what she had decided to do.

  I prayed during the drive to the prison in Lusk. Was I the best mother for this baby? Was it wise to raise this baby in a home that would always have the memory of Hannah’s brutal death? Would some young couple, not able to have children, living somewhere far from this tragedy, be a better choice? I had struggled, wrestled, and lost sleep over such thoughts. Only God knew what was best for this little one. We had sought his will, and I needed to rest in that.

  At the prison, I sat in the small room and watched as an officer brought Karen inside. She was still in ankle chains and cuffed to a belly belt, but this time he uncuffed one of her hands so she could hold the phone more easily.

  She didn’t waste any time telling me her decision. “I have decided to relinquish the baby to you and Al. The attorney I wrote to you about wants to help. She will do the paperwork for me at a low cost, but I don’t have any money. Can you pay her? You would have to pay for your own attorney as well, I guess. Can you do that?” Her drawn face and bloodshot eyes showed the stress and wrestling she had been going through.

  My throat tightened. I found it hard to speak. “If we do this, we’ll use your attorney. I want to make sure that we both agree about everything, without any regrets. Are you okay with that?”

  I kept my eyes locked on her, trying to read her eyes, her face. I was looking for sincerity. For conviction. I wasn’t going to play around with such an important decision. I needed to know she was sure of what she was saying.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine.

  Our joint decision had now been made. God’s decision had yet to be revealed.

  Chapter 15Unexpected Standoff

  THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING.

  For sixteen years, as an extremely active foster mom, I was used to frequent communication with DFS. Whether discussing new children arriving, current children leaving, upcoming or recent home visits, health updates, or progress reports, I’d always appreciated the excellent communication we had. My yellow phone had been like an umbilical cord passing critical information back and forth and connecting each of our 140 foster children to the agency that bore responsibility for their well-being—until the Bower children were abruptly placed back with Karen. Then it had become my useless conduit for concerns about Hannah that went into what seemed to me like a black hole of apparent DFS incompetence. Even then I’d placed hope in every call I’d made. During those frustrating months that Hannah was missing, I’d continued to accept calls from DFS, taking in the foster children who needed a home.

  Now, as the community’s anger boiled over a child lying dead in a garage for nine months while DFS didn’t even know she was missing, DFS went silent—not for a matter of days but for weeks. And not just with me, but with everyone—the press and other foster families included. It was as if they had shut their doors and pulled the shades until attorneys instructed them how to handle the community that had united in outrage. Letters to the editor, newspaper articles, and general conversations throughout Casper appeared to focus even more outrage toward the Department of Family Services than toward Karen.

  “I bet heads are rolling there.”

  “They are sure to have a major lawsuit against them.”

  “They dropped the ball on this one. How could a child fall through the cracks like that?”

  According to the Casper Star Tribune, Hannah’s father had filed a lawsuit against DFS.

  I resonated with the anger and criticism in the community. We all wanted answers.

  Then, the first week of September, two months after the heart-wrenching call that Hannah’s body had been discovered, I received a call from a DFS caseworker. It was someone I was unfamiliar with. Though surprised at the call, I felt hopeful that communication with the government agency was about to resume. The woman on the phone told me, rather firmly, that our conversation would be limited to only the needs of the two children I was fostering—a premature infant and an eight-year-old boy. No other questions would be answered. Her statement sounded rehearsed, a directive I guessed came from attorneys and her supervisors.

  Our conversation was brief. I said nothing of my visits with Karen. I felt I needed to keep that information to myself until I knew the intent of DFS in this case. Though glad to have finally received a call from someone at the agency, I continued to wonder what was going on behind the closed doors and why the phones went unanswered.

  Meanwhile, the adoption attorney gave us papers to fill out and asked for copies of certificates and documents. We had maybe five weeks before the baby was due to have everything in order so she could present our cas
e to the court.

  Then we hit a snag. Karen wanted us to keep Bower as the last name for the child. Al and I strongly disagreed with her. If we were to adopt, the last name would have to be our family name. We talked about keeping Karen’s last name as, perhaps, a middle name. I agreed we would think about that, but Moerke needed to be the legal last name. The child would otherwise always feel he or she was not a full member of our family in the same way our other children were.

  Working out an agreeable adoption plan took time—time we didn’t have. A date for Karen’s C-section was planned for late October, but the baby could come early. If we didn’t have everything signed and in place prior to its birth, DFS could step in and take the infant. We had to compromise. We agreed to pray about it once again and do what we all felt was best for the child.

  As I prayed, giving the decision up to God, I felt drawn to the story in the Bible from 1 Kings 3:16-28 in which two prostitutes living in the same house each had a baby son, born three days apart. During the night, one woman inadvertently rolled over onto her son, killing him. So she sneaked to the bedside of the other woman who was sound asleep and switched babies.

  The next morning when the woman awoke, she saw that the baby by her side was not only dead but was not her child. The two appeared before King Solomon, each arguing that the living child was her own. Neither would relent in their argument, so finally the king said, “Bring me a sword.” Then he issued an order: “Cut the living child in two and give half to one and half to the other.”

  The real mother, moved out of love for her son, said to the king, “Please, my lord, give her the living baby! Don’t kill him!”

  But the other woman said, “Neither I nor you shall have him. Cut him in two!”