Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

The king then instructed that the baby be given to the first woman, declaring her as the baby’s mother. Scripture then says, “When all Israel heard the verdict the king had given, they held the king in awe, because they saw that he had wisdom from God to administer justice” (1 Kings 3:28).

  Peace filled my heart as I contemplated the story. I was reminded that the Lord, the ultimate judge, saw Karen’s and my heart and knew we wanted what was best for the infant. As the perfect judge, the Lord already knew the best option for this child, even if that meant placing the infant with DFS. I had to be open to whatever the Lord decided. I needed to be willing to surrender this child into his hands, giving up my rights and desires. I wanted to trust his will, because I knew his ways are so far beyond what we can understand.

  After a few weeks of working through the adoption plan, Karen decided to give up her legal rights and her desire to have the baby bear her last name in order that her unborn child would have the chance at a good life, with loving people she knew. In return, the reward for her would be knowing who parented her baby and being able to know how the child was doing as it grew up.

  The attorney drew up the documents, we both signed, and then we waited. As the papers were being filed with the court, I received a call from our attorney. She said, “I want to warn you. DFS knows you are working with Karen to adopt the baby. They plan to show up on the hearing date and fight you for guardianship. They plan to get custody of the infant as soon as it is born.”

  Her words pierced my heart, and I felt a bolt of panic surge through me. I couldn’t speak. A sudden ringing filled my ears, and my eyes couldn’t focus clearly. DFS was going to “fight us” for the baby? The words alone felt like an attack. I was overwhelmed with hurt that they would wage a campaign against my husband and me after we’d worked so closely with them for sixteen years. Why? I’d seen us as a team, wanting to protect and help children. Now, they were out to fight us for custody? It couldn’t be because the agency thought we were unfit. We still had two foster children in our home.

  I decided to call the caseworker I had come to care about and value over the past year—Jill, the one who trusted me enough to call and ask me if I had any information that might help with locating Hannah when they couldn’t find her. The one who had enough concern for me to call and let me know Hannah’s body was found before I saw it on the evening news. I wanted to hear from her why they were going to fight to keep us from adopting Karen’s baby.

  I paced the floor of my kitchen, listening to the endless ringing of the DFS line. I yelled into the receiver, “Someone pick up!”

  A feeling of betrayal raged through my heart. These were the very people I had come to trust through the years, some of whom I respected and would even say I loved. I knew in my heart they didn’t think we were unfit to parent the child. But what had I done that they wanted to fight me? There had to be more to this decision.

  I gasped with relief as a live person came on the phone.

  “Department of Family Services, how may I help you?”

  “I would like to speak with Jill, please.” I drew in a breath to try to calm my quivering voice.

  “May I ask who’s calling?” I recognized the voice of the receptionist.

  “Debra Moerke,” I said, my heart pounding.

  She told me Jill was in a meeting and she would be happy to connect me to her voice mail if I would like.

  Having no choice, I agreed.

  “Hi, Jill. This is Deb Moerke. Would you please give me a call back? Today? Thank you.” My message was short and almost curt.

  She’ll know. She’ll know that I heard about the agency’s plan to fight the adoption. But that doesn’t matter. She has to talk to me. I need her to explain what is going on.

  The day ended with no call from Jill. My frustration grew deeper, and I decided that I’d go downtown to the DFS office in the morning and wait in the lobby until someone would meet with me.

  The next day, after Al went to work and all the kids were at school, I drove to the DFS office and stood in line to talk to the receptionist. Through a glass window I could see office workers at their desks. One woman glanced up at me with a surprised look. Watching me, she picked up the phone on her desk, pushed a few buttons, and spoke into the receiver. Suddenly, a side door to the lobby opened and Jill was standing there.

  “Deb! Hi. You want to follow me?” She sounded friendly, but her cheeks appeared flushed as I walked across the lobby to meet her.

  “It’s good to see you,” Jill said with a professional tone as she began walking down a long hallway. As I passed open office doors, caseworkers at their desks looked up and took a double take. From the stunned expressions on their faces, I felt they all knew why I was there.

  Jill entered a large office and motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat.” Then she took a seat behind her desk. “What can I do for you?” Her smile appeared forced.

  Where was the warm young Christian caseworker I had grown so fond of? Jill’s behavior made me uneasy. I looked around the office, wondering if there was a two-way mirror or a tape recorder hidden somewhere. As my eyes searched the room I could sense Jill watching me. I believed she knew I didn’t trust the environment.

  I flashed her a quick smile as I settled in the chair. “I heard that DFS is going to fight us on adopting Karen Bower’s baby. I don’t understand why, and thought you might be able to fill me in.”

  I knew the visit had to be difficult for Jill. She represented DFS, and we both knew that since Hannah’s body was found, our relationship had to change. Hannah’s murder had placed us on opposing sides. I wasn’t looking out for DFS, but I knew she needed to. I respected Jill and tried to make it easier on her, wondering if ears might be listening or eyes might be watching.

  Sitting up straight, Jill took a deep breath and quietly said, “We know you have been visiting Karen at the jail and prison. Our job is to protect children”—my stomach lurched at those words—“and we feel that your relationship with Karen would put the baby in harm’s way if you were to have guardianship. You may take the child to the prison, and that could be dangerous. So, DFS feels that in the best interest of the child, we need to take guardianship and custody.”

  My eyes narrowed and locked in on Jill’s. I paused for a moment and thought, Your agency has been on lockdown for weeks because of the murder of a child that was under the supervision of DFS, and you are worried about us? Fury rose from my heart, and through my clenched jaw I said, “Really?”

  Jill’s eyes widened as if she were preparing for me to blow up.

  Leaning toward her, I drew in a deep breath, readying myself to speak my heart. “You know this baby would not only be safe with us, but loved as well. I believe DFS wants to save face and have control over all of Karen’s other children since they failed to protect Hannah. I know there is a lawsuit being brought against DFS, and I suspect DFS is trying to present itself as the best option for this baby. But it wasn’t me who had authority over Hannah and her sisters and brothers for fourteen months. It wasn’t me who failed to keep an eye on what was going on in their mother’s home after they left mine. And it wasn’t me who failed to find out, for nine months, that Hannah had been beaten to death by her mother and her body stuffed in a garbage bag stashed in the garage of her home.”

  In a deep, unwavering tone, I went on. “We have been foster parents for sixteen years with this agency. My husband and I have been asked, on a number of occasions, to share at trainings for new foster families because DFS felt we were such great examples of a successful foster family. When the news team in Casper wanted to do a special Mother’s Day highlight on their show and wanted to use a foster mother in the community, DFS gave them my name. We have two foster children right now. You haven’t pulled them out, saying we are an unfit or questionable foster home. Now caseworkers feel I would put Karen’s unborn baby in harm’s way if we were to go for adoption?”

  Jill said nothing.

  Though my tone was low, my word
s were firm. “I know you are in a tough position. I don’t know if I am being recorded or watched right now, but I will tell you this. I will do what God calls me to do before I do what man wants me to do. You are a Christian. I know you understand what I am saying. God has called Al and me to move forward in adopting this baby, and that is what we will do. I have gone to court in support of DFS in the past. It looks like this time we will be on opposite sides. That makes me very sad, but even so, I will fight for this baby. I had no authority to protect Hannah, but I do have the opportunity to protect this little one, and I believe God is calling me to do so.”

  Jill didn’t speak. I could see a little sparkle in her eye and the slightest hint of a smile. Was she trying to say something? The stiffness in her body appeared to dissipate. Her shoulders relaxed.

  We sat for a moment studying each other. Neither of us spoke.

  Then I stood, thanked Jill for her time, and walked out of her office.

  Chapter 16The Arrival

  THE PHONE RECORDING FROM the Casper jail played the familiar message. Karen was in town. I knew her time would be limited and that within a day or two she would be returned to the women’s prison in Lusk. It would be important that my short time with her be used to finalize our plan.

  It had been a week since I had spoken with Jill at DFS. My frustration simmered, and my concern for the future of Karen’s baby haunted me as the birth date grew closer. I wanted my trust in God to be unwavering, but waver it did. I had to keep reminding myself to fully surrender this to God’s will—that however it unfolded would be perfect.

  Evening came, and the dinner dishes were put away. Al and I gathered our children in the living room to discuss where we were with the adoption process. Our kids admitted to mixed feelings. What would be best for the baby? Would it be difficult to have Hannah’s sibling in our home as a constant reminder of Hannah and what had happened? Would there be people in the community who would think we should not adopt Karen’s infant, believing that DFS should have the baby adopted out of state or, at least, out of Casper? All were great questions. Then came the big one. If God had called us to adopt this little one, would we be able to protect it from going into the foster care system knowing we hadn’t been able to protect Hannah?

  The decision was unanimous. We would move forward and see what God had in store for the baby as well as for our family.

  As our conversation ended, I told my children I was going to town. “Karen is in Casper at the jail. I want to tell her how we all feel.” I watched as everyone’s demeanor changed when I mentioned Karen. Folded arms, stares out the window, shaking heads—disgust written all over their faces. But no one commented. No one said not to go.

  I kissed Al and each of our children on the top of their heads, then picked up my keys and left. The drive to the jail was lonely. A heaviness of responsibility and uncertainty, of what the future held, weighed on my soul. The questions my family had were the very questions I had mulled over for weeks. As I pulled into the parking lot of the detention center, my silent prayer was one of complete confusion. What am I to do, God? This is so hard. I believe I am to keep moving forward. Was I doubting God, or myself? I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I need confirmation from you, Lord.

  Alone in the visiting area, I paced the short hall remembering every conversation with Karen. We had come far in our relationship over the past three months. What would the sentence be—the death penalty or life in prison? After sentencing, would our talks continue? If DFS ended up with the baby, what would we talk about? What, other than God, would connect us?

  When Karen finally arrived, she appeared so much more pregnant than when I had seen her just weeks prior. She rubbed her stomach as she walked toward me. Her cheeks were flushed with a pink glow and her hair was neatly combed. We both chuckled as we attempted to give each other a hug around her big belly.

  “You look great! How are you feeling?” I asked as we both sat down.

  “I’m feeling good. I can finally sleep. I was brought to Casper for a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I think we are still looking at the end of October or first of November, but I’ll see what the doctor says. At my last appointment she said everything was looking good.” Karen spoke with a lift in her voice. She appeared at peace and not stressed. I had to wonder if part of the reason was because she wasn’t wearing a belly belt or ankle chains for this visit.

  “I talked with my family. We are all on board for the adoption but not without reservations. There are some mixed feelings. I didn’t tell my children yet, but I found out last week that DFS is planning to fight us for the baby.” I watched Karen’s face closely for how she would respond.

  Karen puckered her lips and shook her head as she often did when she disagreed with something. “I know. The attorney told me. I can’t believe it! But she says there isn’t any legitimate reason why DFS should get custody. We have a good chance for the adoption to go through.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. They seem to think they have grounds to prevent the adoption.”

  Karen leaned back abruptly. The shirt of her navy-blue scrubs began to dance across her stomach. We both laughed as the baby kicked and moved within her. At the sight, my heart opened up to the reality of the life within her. I could feel myself becoming drawn to the unborn child. For a sweet moment I focused on the baby and off the tragedy of Hannah. I sensed God turning our hearts to life and away from death.

  “May I rest my hands on your belly and pray a blessing and protection over the baby?”

  Karen nodded and smiled. I pulled my chair closer to hers, facing her, knee to knee. Resting both my hands on her belly, feeling the firmness of the baby inside her, I began to pray. Karen placed her hands on top of mine.

  At first her hands felt warm and comforting. But then I remembered that these were the hands that had stuffed Hannah’s little body into a trash bag and carried her to the garage where she was tucked away for almost a year. I slipped my hands out from under hers and placed them on top. That simple act freed me emotionally to pray for both the baby and Karen and for God’s will and perfect plan. By letting go of my will, my desires, and my hurt and confusion, I gave both mother and child to God. He was in control, not I. His plan for both of them was already set in motion. How I would be used in their lives was still left to be seen. I felt a step closer to the full surrender I wanted to have.

  After Karen’s doctor appointment the next day, she was transported back to the prison. I would not see her for at least two weeks. The waiting for the birth began.

  My friend Pammy had offered to join me at the hospital if Al was not in town, so I called her with the new date for the C-section: November 5. With only weeks before the birth, I wondered what the people at DFS were planning. Surely, they would also have the new date. Would they swoop in and take the child immediately? For now, all any of us could do was wait. Would the baby come before the scheduled C-section? If not, November 5 was circled on my calendar, and I would be prayed up, ready for the birth and the court battle. Our attorney had explained to us that adoption would require a two-stage process. First, we would have to win guardianship at a hearing. Then we’d await court approval of the adoption. When would that guardianship hearing take place? We could only hope to have all of that resolved before the birth.

  On October 28 I received a call from the lieutenant at the jail, telling me Karen would be brought to Casper that evening. The baby was ready, so the doctor scheduled the C-section the next morning at 5:00 a.m. The lieutenant said I had permission to be present at the hospital, but for security reasons, I could tell no one except my family. I explained that Al was out of town and I was planning to bring Pammy, so he gave permission for her to know.

  The next morning, I drove to the hospital around 4:30, leaving Sadie in charge and sleeping children in their beds. A light morning snow fell as I drove to town. It seemed as if I were the only person in the world awake.

  When I arrived, the worn oak bench in the hospital c
orridor was a welcome sight, offering a place for me to rest from my sleepless night. I wrapped my coat around me and sat down at the end. Snow dripped from my boots and formed a small puddle.

  I fixed my eyes on the door to the delivery room at the end of the hall and wondered, Have they started yet?

  The dim, vacant waiting area had an eerie feel to it. Patients were still asleep, and the nursing staff was reviewing medical charts, preparing for a shift change. The memory of being on the same floor only two years before to pick up Hannah’s baby sister as our foster child, flashed across my mind. That event had launched me on this journey. Would I be bringing this baby home just as I had baby Ally?

  Suddenly, the elevator dinged. The metal doors slid open, and like floating spirits, four silhouettes exited and walked toward me. I could see Pammy behind three others. She was a comforting sight. But I dreaded seeing the three who preceded her—a policeman accompanying two social service caseworkers, one of whom was Jill.

  Seriously? A police escort? Why? Are they afraid I’m going to make some kind of trouble?

  Pammy maneuvered her way around the trio and tucked herself in close to me on the bench, giving me a supportive hug, then wrapped her arm through mine.

  An angel unaware. I tried to ignore the unwelcomed opposition now sitting across from us.

  Do they have to sit so close?

  The presence of the three intruders left little privacy for Pammy and me to talk. There was only so much five people in a small hospital waiting area could do to avoid eye contact. Minutes passed. Pammy and I sat silently. There was no place to go. We had to wait for word of the baby’s birth, but I decided I couldn’t submit to another moment of silent intimidation. Taking a deep breath, I looked directly at the three who were staring right at us. Their eyes widened as I offered an introductory smile.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  Each of the three gave a quick, uncomfortable nod. One of the caseworkers whispered, “Good morning.” It was as if none of them knew whether they should be speaking to me.