by Selena Kitt
Lizzie had tears running down her face, and she hugged Leah one last time, grabbing her hand and pressing something into it, closing Leah’s fingers around it.
“Give this to Jeannie.” Lizzie whispered into Leah’s ear. “I kept Henry’s, but I wanted Jean to have mine.”
Leah kept the object in her hand, watching with a lump in her throat as her friend’s parents appeared at the doorway. Lizzie’s mother wore a little pillbox hat, her dress navy with white buttons, spotless, pressed. She looked very prim and proper, with dark hair, so unlike Lizzie. Her father stood with his hat in his hands, revealing the blond hair Lizzie had clearly inherited, although not the curls. He was wearing a suit, plain brown, and his voice was like gravel when he spoke.
“There’s my little lion cub.” Lizzie’s father held his arms out, and his daughter ran to them, letting him catch her up in a hug, lifting her two feet off the ground.
Leah would have been touched by the scene, if she hadn’t known this was the man who was responsible for Lizzie’s internment at Magdalene House in the first place. She didn’t understand how Lizzie could possibly smile and hold her father’s hand and talk lightly to her mother about stopping for lunch on the way home because she was starving. Maybe it was easier to keep a secret, like a clenched fist, than to open it and set it free into the world.
There were girls coming down the stairs, nap time interrupted, calling, “Goodbye, Lizzie!” a cacophony of voices raining down from the stairwell. There was nothing else to do but walk her to the door, say goodbye again, and wave from the porch as Lizzie took her last long walk down the stairs at Magdalene House.
Leah would never forget seeing Lizzie get into the back seat of her father’s Chevy. Watching the car pull away from the curb, heading down the gravel drive, seeing her sweet little cherub face, her eyes so big, so full of fear and dread and loss. She looked as if someone had died. No, she looked as if something inside her had died. And Leah guessed it had. Innocence could be lost more than once after all.
Leah opened her still tightly clenched hand, thinking of poor Jean upstairs, and saw the plastic band the hospital had put on Lizzie. Only it didn’t say Elizabeth, the name on the band was Carolyn Anne Schumacher. That was the girl they said goodbye to. Leah slipped it into her dress pocket, shivering in the October wind, leaves blown onto the porch from the nearby maple crunching under her feet as she turned back to the door. The girls had scattered already, back to their rooms, listening to the nuns as they shooed them away.
Leah closed the heavy wooden door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh. Glancing up the stairs, she saw Jean standing at the top, her hand on the railing. Her face was still stained with tears for Lizzie. The bracelet in Leah’s pocket wouldn’t make up for the loss of her friend, but at least it was something Jean could hold onto. Leah opened her mouth to call out, to say something comforting perhaps, but Jean let go of the railing, she let go of Lizzie, she let go of her life, she let go of the banister and tumbled.
Leah stood, frozen, watching in horror as the woman went head over heels, down the stairs, in some kind of freefall dive that snowballed toward the bottom landing. And she was screaming all the way, every ounce of emotional pain turned physical in that moment, until she came to a sudden, silent end at the bottom of the stairs. It was Marty who reached her first, even though she was in the sitting room, baby outfit forgotten, staring with horror at the sight of Jean crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Marty had her fingers on Jean’s neck, and Leah realized she was checking for a pulse. The older woman’s arm was bent at a funny angle beneath her, and Leah didn’t want to look at it anymore.
“Get Sister Benedict.” Marty looked up at Leah, still paralyzed. “Hurry!”
But Sister Benedict was there already, moving Marty out of the way, taking over. Leah hadn’t noticed until that moment, but a dark stain was growing on Jean’s gray wool dress.
“She cut herself.” Leah whispered the words, feeling Marty’s hand slip into hers and squeeze.
“It’s the baby.” Marty shook her head as Sister Benedict tried to bring Jean around. “So stupid. Remember what we said the other night? She must’ve heard us.”
Leah couldn’t believe it, but it made sense. Jean, so distraught over losing little Lizzie, had thrown herself down the stairs in an attempt to get rid of her own baby.
The ambulance came quickly. They didn’t have far to come. They loaded Jean onto a stretcher, still unconscious, and the girls gathered at the sitting room window to watch them put her into the ambulance. The nuns extended nap time, after all the afternoon drama, hurrying them off up the stairs back to their rooms.
Frannie pulled the covers up and fell asleep to the sounds of Buddy Holly on the radio. It wasn’t until Marty took Leah upstairs, leading her by the hand like a child, that she realized she still had Lizzie’s—Carolyn’s—ID bracelet clutched in her hand. Marty took it from her, putting it in the night table drawer, before crawling into Leah’s twin bed with her, the two of them spooned together in silence.
Leah let the tears come, crying not only for lost little Lizzie—Carolyn—or even poor Jean, whatever her real, given name was, or for their babies, brought into the world under such horrific circumstances, but crying for herself, finally, as well. For her own horrific circumstances, for the inevitable loss of her baby, the fantasy of keeping him warm and safe inside of her forever just a dream. She knew then giving up this baby would be impossible. She would do what Jean had done, try to kill herself and her child, before she let someone take her baby. What, then, was she going to do? She didn’t know. She only knew this baby, whatever its lineage, was hers, and she was determined to hold onto him. She cried in Marty’s arms and they took whatever comfort they both could.
At her previous session with the ghoul, Leah had hinted she was considering keeping her baby. Lizzie’s experience, the way she talked about her perfect little boy, had really affected Leah. Lizzie’s baby had been fathered incestuously, but there had been nothing wrong with him. The doctors and the nurses had all deemed him healthy and whole. Leah’s worst fear had been giving birth to a monster, but now she had hoped her baby too, would be perfect. He was the outward expression of her love with Rob. And yes, it had been a sin for them to be together, but they were innocent, like Adam and Eve in the garden, they had not eaten of the tree of knowledge. They knew not what they did.
Leah went to her next session with the ghoul filled with trepidation, knowing the social worker was going to make her life difficult if she continued talking about keeping her baby. She and Marty had both been talking about it, snuggled in Leah’s little twin bed, swollen bellies touching, little prods and kicks, like their babies were playing together. She expected a fight, but she hadn’t expected the ghoul to call in reinforcements.
“Mother?” Leah’s whole body felt cold and numb when she stepped into the ghoul’s office and saw her mother sitting, straight backed, in a chair.
“Have a seat.” The ghoul closed the door, and took a seat at the desk. Leah had no choice but to sit beside her mother.
“How are you?” Her mother inquired politely, like they were talking about the weather.
”Fine.” Leah crossed her arms, getting ready for the onslaught.
“I’ve talked to your mother about your refusal to give up this baby,” the ghoul said, eyes boring into Leah. “Mrs. Wendt, can you please tell your daughter how you feel about that?”
“Very disappointed.” Patty Wendt had crossed her arms too, preparing for battle.
“I can understand that.” The ghoul nodded sympathetically. “I am too. When you came to Magdalene House, you did so with the assumption that the nuns here harbor you, feed you, give you clothing and shelter, with the understanding at the end of your term, you would surrender your baby for adoption.”
“But I’ve changed my mind,” Leah retorted.
“Lily dear, it isn’t like having a doll. Or a dog. Ba
bies are work. You think it’s going to be all cute baby clothing and dress up doll time and like having a dog to love. It’s not.”
“I don’t think that,” Leah protested the ghoul’s assumption. “I know it’ll be hard being a single mother. But my mother did it. If she can do it, so can I.”
The ghoul sighed. “Mrs. Wendt, can you tell your daughter what it was like for you, being a widowed parent?”
“It was hell.” Patty Wendt turned to her daughter. “I want more for you than that. Don’t you understand? You know how hard I work, think of all the things I missed. Your first word, your first step, Ada was there for that. Not me. I had no husband, so I had to work because I had a child to take care of. You think it’ll be sunshine and roses, but you don’t know what you’re going to miss out on. You’re too young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Giving up this baby for adoption is a gift, not only for the couple who adopt it, but for you as well. Give yourself that gift, Leah. Please. Take it from me, because I’ve been there, and I know how hard it is. I don’t want you to have to live that life.”
“It’s my choice. I know it won’t be easy. But...”
“No you don’t know,” the ghoul piped up. “You think you know, but you don’t know. Babies are expensive. Diapers, bottles, clothing, cribs, baby buggies, playpens, toys, daycare because you’re going to have to work, and what skills do you have exactly to get hired out there in this job market?”
Leah responded, “I can sew. I could work with a seamstress. I can do… things.”
The ghoul was writing furiously. “You can’t leave Magdalene House, Lily dear.”
“She’s right.” Leah’s mother sided with the ghoul.
“You can’t stop me. I came here voluntarily. I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions.” Leah moved to stand, mind made up, when the ghoul sidelined her.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’ll get together with the doctor and the nuns and we’ll give you an invoice that will need to be paid before you leave.”
“An invoice?” Leah sat back down. “For… For what?”
“Do you think all of this is for free? Room and board of course. Medical fees. You see the doctor once a month. And there’s the matter of my fees as well. I don’t work for free, Lily dear”
“I have to pay for that?” The thought of having to pay for these torture sessions was abominable.
“Not if you stay here until your baby is born and then give him up for adoption. Then there are no fees at all. But if you decide now or in the future to keep your baby, those fees will be your responsibility.”
“How much?” Leah whispered.
“So far? A thousand dollars. Perhaps more. Once your baby is born, there’ll be hospital fees too. Having a baby is expensive, Lily dear.”
“But I don’t have that kind of money.” Leah glanced over at her mother, pleading with her eyes. “Mom…?”
Patty Wendt threw up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I don’t have that kind of money either. And even if I did, it’s not something I want to invest in. As you say, you’re an adult, so those fees would be your responsibility. It’s your choice, right?”
“Are you ready to stop with this nonsense about keeping your baby?” The ghoul leaned forward on her elbows, and Leah knew she was moving in for the kill. Leah was cornered, trapped, no way out. And everyone knew it. “It’s not practical, it’s not possible, and it’s not the right thing to do. I already have an adoptive couple who wants your baby. How do you think they’re going to feel when I tell them you want to keep it? You, a nineteen-year-old unwed mother, with no husband, no prospects, no job, no money. Oh, but you have lots of love. I forgot. That should be a great consolation to those adoptive parents. I mean, what do they have to give a newborn? Let me think...”
The ghoul ticked off her baby’s intended parents’ desirable qualities on her nicotine stained fingers. “They’re happily married, he’s a doctor, she’s a housewife who just happens to not be able to have children of her own, so she has a great deal of time on her hands. They have a beautiful house, the perfect stable environment in which to raise a child. Now what kind of social worker would I be if I advised you to keep this baby, when there was not only a viable alternative, but an alternative leaps and bounds better by far than what you, his biological mother, have to offer?”
Leah couldn’t argue with her. She was trapped. It didn’t matter how much money she stole or earned and saved and put away, she could never afford to take her baby from Magdalene House. Not by herself. And there was no one else she could turn to. Not even her own mother.
“Mom, did you give him the letter?” Leah didn’t look at her mother, she didn’t look at the ghoul either, she just looked at the floor, hoping, praying, for a way out.
“Of course,” her mother said. “Don’t think he’s going to come rescue you. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. You need to face it. You’re on your own, just like I am. You have to be strong and smart and do the right thing.”
So there it was. Rob knew the truth, Leah was in fact his biological daughter, that she was carrying his child, and planning to give it up for adoption. And he didn’t care. He had washed his hands of her. Not that she could blame him.
“I heard Jean’s okay?” Leah decided to change the subject.
“Concussion and a broken arm.” The ghoul shook her head, blowing smoke like letting off steam from between her lips. “Stupid girl. But her baby is just fine. Now we just have to hope it isn’t as retarded as she is, hm?”
“I think our time is up.” Leah stood—it was getting harder and harder to go from a sitting to standing position, the bigger she got—looking at the woman sitting across the desk. Leah knew she had made mistakes in her life. She was far from perfect. But she thought there had to be a special place in hell for women like Joan Goulden, self-righteous, self-proclaimed saints who claimed to do God’s work—with a vengeance—who just liked to play God, like moving pawns around on a chess board. It made them feel superior. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to go lie down.”
“I have to get back.” Patty Wendt stood, tucking her pocketbook under her arm. “Are we done here?”
“That’s up to your daughter. Are we settled then, Lily dear?” The ghoul didn’t look up from scribbling in Leah’s growing file. “You’re staying at Magdalene House?”
“Yes,” Leah whispered, tears stinging her eyes, head down, defeated.
“And you’re giving your baby a good start in life by signing the adoption papers when he’s born, yes?” the ghoul inquired.
Leah gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Good. See you next time, Lily dear!”
The ghoul and her mother shook hands, a deal done.
Leah shuffled out, leaving all hope behind.
Chapter Ten
It started innocently enough, meeting Father Michael for coffee at the Mayflower every morning before school. They had to put their heads together, compare notes, and plan strategies, after all. She had enlisted his help in discovering more about the Mary Magdalenes, and he seemed willing enough to do so, but she didn’t dare tell him she’d been invited into the inner sanctum. When he asked about her meeting with Father Patrick, she had lied, telling him he’d been right all along, Father Patrick wanted her to head up a project for him, a secret celebration for Mother Superior’s fiftieth anniversary of entering the nunnery. Erica had overheard Father Patrick’s secretary, Mrs. Ketchum, talking about her work on the surprise party, and had simply usurped it for her own use.
“So that explains the secret,” Father Michael had said, nodding. “I thought so. Do you still want to pursue the secret society bit?”
Erica should have let him off the hook, but since he’d agreed, she kind of liked having him dangling there, so instead of doing the smart thing and telling him she had dropped it, she urged him to continue digging. She had been impressed, so far, with his reporting skills. He had found two former alumni who had been will
ing to speak to him anonymously, sources protected, about the Mary Magdalenes. But as Erica listened to the details he relayed, she knew, now that she was a full initiate herself, the information his sources were giving him only skimmed the surface of who and what the Mary Magdalenes really were.
The truth was, Erica was in the thick of it, and she was way in over her head. She wanted to tell father Michael the truth, but her reporter instincts kept her from it. Besides, she loved having an excuse to sit across from him every day, watching him sip black coffee and smile at her across the table. She knew it was crazy, falling for a priest. Maybe it was genetic. Her mother had done the same, before Erica was even born or conceived. She found herself anticipating those far too early morning visits with schoolgirl excitement.
“So, Sherlock,” Father Michael greeted her as she slid into the booth seat across from him. “How’s sleuthing?”
“Nothing new.” She started dumping sugar and cream into her coffee. He had ordered for her already. That made her smile.