by Selena Kitt
Then Leah began to speak, slowly at first, then faster as the memories flooded in. She told him the facts—the social worker, a woman all the girls at Magdalene House had nicknamed “the ghoul,” had come in for her final visit that morning at the hospital. Leah had decided to keep her baby. She’d told the ghoul this in no uncertain terms, and Leah had naively believed the social worker had accepted this decision. Leah’s mother was due to come pick them up—Leah’s plan was to get on a bus to New York with her baby and start a new life.
That plan had come crashing down around her head, simply because she had been too naïve to believe the social worker would do something so underhanded, so utterly heinous.
Leah told him the social worker had presented her with hospital discharge papers and asked her to sign them. She had been distracted, getting Grace ready to go, waiting for her mother to arrive, and she’d signed them without thinking after the ghoul told her what they were.
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
Leah remembered it only vaguely, even now. The sudden loss of her baby, the way Joan Goulden had lifted her right from her bassinette and walked out with her, the mass of doctors and nurses who had descended on Leah like a swarm of locusts straight out of the Bible, like they’d all just been waiting for that very moment. It was a well-orchestrated dance, all the moves pre-choreographed, steps those doctors and nurses had taken a hundred, a thousand times, restraining Leah and preventing her from running after the woman who had stolen her baby.
She related the story as matter-of-factly as she could, like Joe Friday said on Dragnet, revealing just the facts, ma’am, watching the lawyer writing everything down on the yellow legal pad, filling up one page and flipping to the next as she talked. Leah answered his questions when he had them, feeling her breath caught in her chest, shallow and light, her heart beating as fast as a bird’s.
She told him what happened, but it was the things she didn’t tell him that tore her apart. How sweet Grace’s little rosebud mouth had been when she made sucking motions in her sleep. How thick her dark hair had been, already curling around the tiny shell of her ear. How the baby’s hand had grasped her mother’s finger, those dark eyes tinted blue as they looked up into Leah’s face. How, the first instant she had looked into her baby’s face, she had fallen in love instantly, more completely and without any reserve, than she ever had or would again in her life.
Those things weren’t important, not to Donald Highbrow, even though, for Leah, they were the only things that mattered.
“You’re certain Mrs. Goulden told you they were hospital discharge papers?”
“Yes.” Leah insisted. “She intentionally tricked me.”
“Were there any witnesses to that fact?”
“I don’t know.” Leah cocked her head, trying to remember. “There were no nurses in the room, but it wasn’t a private room. There were other girls with their babies. Someone might have overheard us.”
He nodded, taking more notes. “You were discharged the same day, correct?”
“Yes. My mother arrived to take us home but… Grace was gone. And I went home with Rob.”
“But I understand you were readmitted to the hospital two days later?”
“She was...” Rob interjected, squeezing Leah’s hand again. “She had a little breakdown. We called our family doctor in, and after he made a house call, he felt it best to admit her overnight, so he could sedate her more fully...”
“Is that bad?” Leah swallowed shameful tears. “I didn’t mean to. I just… kind of… lost it...”
“I understand.” Donald Highbrow gave her a long, sympathetic look. “It wasn’t your fault. But I need to be honest with you, Leah. You have to understand, if we end up in court, they’ll use that against you.”
“I was hysterical with grief!” she protested,
“They’ll twist everything you said or did to fit their purpose,” he explained slowly. “You’ll be presented as an unwed mother, and that’ll be bad enough. Most courts would see you as unfit for that reason alone.”
“She won’t be an unwed mother for long,” Rob snapped. Leah saw his jaw working and knew he was angry—really angry.
Donald smiled sadly. “I can’t change the way the world works or how the judge will see things. If we end up in court, they’ll do everything in their power to show you as unfit, Leah, even if your circumstances have changed. I’ve gone through enough of these cases to know their tactics.”
“But I’m not unfit!” Leah choked, blinking back the tears that threatened.
“I know,” the lawyer reassured her. “But even your overnight stay in the hospital could be used as proof that you’re mentally unstable.”
Leah covered her face with her hands, defeated. “Oh my god.”
Donald wasn’t done dealing out the facts. “They’ll want to force you to submit to a psychiatric exam with one of their doctors. He, of course, will diagnose you as sexually deviant because you got pregnant out of wedlock in the first place, and hence, you may be judged unfit to be a mother.”
“What the hell?” Rob exploded. Leah looked over at him, incredulous. “It’s like the Salem witch trials. If she drowns, she’s not a witch, but if she floats, she’s a witch, and we get to burn her!”
“Very much so, I’m afraid.” Donald nodded slowly. “If you are, indeed, married by the time we reach a courtroom, they’ll likely swap the sexual deviancy argument.”
Rob sat back. “Well that’s a relief.”
“I didn’t say they’d drop it. I said they’d swap it.” Donald tapped his pen on the yellow legal pad. “Instead, they’ll label Leah as neurotic. They’ll point to all of those natural reactions of grief—crying jags, bouts of anger and depression, irritability, low self-esteem, anxiety, even chronic headaches and stomachaches—as signs of neurosis that prove her unfit to be a mother.”
“Is there any hope at all?” Leah whispered, feeling the sick ball in her stomach tightening with every word out of the lawyer’s mouth.
“Of course there is!” Donald insisted, giving her a reassuring smile. He really was a handsome man, sharp in his suit, his salt and pepper hair neatly cut and combed. He had always given off a sense of confidence Leah had deeply felt. When he talked, people really listened and trusted what he had to say. It was probably what made him such a good lawyer.
Donald reached over and patted Leah’s hand. “I just want you to be prepared for the worst. We’re gearing up for war here, and we want as much ammunition as possible on our side. That’s why I need to know everything, absolutely everything that might be used against you. I can’t create a good defense if I don’t have the whole picture.”
Leah met Rob’s eyes and she knew he saw the panic in hers. What if they found out? About the secret room under the loft? The pictures? The Mary Magdalenes? Rob pressed his lips together and gave a small shake of his head, but it wasn’t reassurance enough for Leah.
“Is there anything I should know?” Donald asked, looking between them.
“We’re living together,” Leah admitted, looking back at the lawyer. “In sin. Technically.”
Donald nodded. “I’d recommend you get married as quickly as possible. Elope. Go to the Justice of the Peace if you have to, just so you have a marriage license on file with the state. Appearances are important now, more than ever.”
Leah nodded, remembering this was the man who had arranged to fake her mother’s marriage license.
Donald wrote something else down, underlining it. Twice. “Is there anything untoward in your pasts I need to know about? Any history of mental illness in your families? Any criminal history?”
Leah and Rob looked at each other. She knew what he was thinking. How could they risk telling him?
Rob shook his head. “No, not that I’m aware of. I’m an upstanding citizen. We go to church. I donate generously.”
“Your age difference is going to be problematic,” Donald said, looking directly at Rob. “No judge is going t
o like the fact you impregnated a girl half your age, even if you did end up married to her.”
“I understand that.” Rob’s jaw was working again. “But it’s your job to make them understand we’re good people, we love each other and we want to keep our baby.”
“Yes, that it is.” Donald flipped his notepad over the desk. “And trust me, I’ll do my job.”
“That’s why I hired you.” Rob held out his hand and Donald shook it.
“Not yet. There’s still a matter of my retainer.” Donald laughed and nodded toward the door. “You can pay it on your way out.”
“So there really is hope?” Leah asked. “I really might get her back?”
“I’m a cautious optimist,” Donald explained, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tented under his chin. “In these cases, I find social workers and doctors take advantage of naïve young girls like yourself who know nothing about the law or their rights under it. They’re told all sorts of lies, like they’ll have to pay the hospital bill before they can take their baby—which isn’t true, of course. Or they’re told their babies are already promised to families.”
Leah gasped. “That’s exactly what she told me!”
“Of course it is.” Donald grimaced. “She wanted your baby. Every baby adopted means she’s doing her job, and of course, it means there’s a large donation made from a happy adoptive couple to the church.”
Rob frowned. “Is it really so nefarious?”
“Oh, no.” Donald waved the thought away. “I think these social workers really believe they’re doing what’s best for the baby. I mean, if you hadn’t come riding in on your white horse to rescue her, Leah would probably be on the streets of New York right now, doing God only knows what, with a newborn. What kind of life is that for a child?”
Leah glared at him. “A better one than without her own mother...”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Donald countered. “I believe you have rights as a mother, and the law does too. And I’ll defend them. I bet Mrs. Goulden didn’t tell you that you have six months from the time of your baby’s birth to change your mind, even if you did sign the adoption papers.”
“No!” Leah sat up, eyes wide, her heart soaring.“Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” the lawyer assured her. “I’m going to file a motion in court on Monday morning using that argument to attempt to force the social worker to relinquish your baby.”
“Oh, Rob!” Leah turned to him, seeing the light in his eyes, and she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy!”
“Well don’t count all the chickens before they hatch.” The lawyer sighed, looking between the two of them. “I’ve filed motions like this before and have had social workers stall, giving the judge reason after reason the baby can’t yet be relinquished. They try to stall past the six month mark, because they know they law.”
Leah sat back in her chair. “Oh...”
The lawyer leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking directly at her. “Leah, this may be a long, hard fight. I want you to be prepared. We always prepare for the worst but hope for the best, right? What we want to do is create a case so solid they feel overwhelmed by the evidence against them and simply give up the fight before it comes to blows. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I’m not an unfit mother, Mr. Highbrow.”
“I know you’re not, Leah,” he said softly, glancing toward the door. “Speaking of motherhood… you should know your own mother misses you very much. I’ve known her a long time, and I can tell you she truly only wants what’s best for you.”
Leah felt her spine stiffen at the mention of her mother, but the way he spoke about her, the look on his face, his demeanor—it all contained an element of truth she couldn’t deny. She could feel it, his words seeping in past her defenses, melting the ice around her heart.
Could it be true?
Rob stood, taking Leah’s hand, and when he stopped at the front desk to write a check—a retainer so large, it made Leah feel faint, watching him write all those zeros—she found herself face to face again with her mother. Rob gave her the check, turning to say goodbye to the lawyer, who was talking about motions and future depositions and subpoenas, but Leah didn’t pay attention.
She watched the way her mother filed the check, turning away to dab her eyes with a tissue she hid on the other side of her typewriter.
“Mom?”
Leah’s mother looked up, almost reluctantly, like Leah might be ready to hit her with something, and the thought made Leah instantly sad and regretful.
“Erica and I are going wedding dress shopping at Hudson’s tomorrow around noon. Do you want to come?”
Leah’s mother opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and bit her lip. She glanced over at the lawyer and he smiled, some sort of communication passing between them, and he nodded encouragingly. Leah waited, already regretting it, but she couldn’t take the invitation back now. Maybe it would give them a chance to talk, clear the air. Maybe that would be possible.
“I’d love to,” her mother said, her voice almost a whisper. “Tomorrow at noon?”
Leah nodded, letting Rob take her hand. “Erica and I will meet you there.”
On their way out, down the hall, as she and Rob were embracing at the elevator and he was whispering to her how brave she was, how beautiful, how much he loved her, Leah thought she heard her mother burst into tears, but she told herself as they got into the elevator such a thing was impossible. It had to be her imagination. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen or heard her mother cry.
Chapter Four
After a morning of opening gifts around the tree and eating the cinnamon rolls Solie had made the day before and left them for breakfast, Erica did what she did every Christmas—she took all her new stuff to her room and lined it up on her bed. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing Christmas gifts laid out this way.
Normally, she would call Leah’s house to ask what she got and they would compare notes and talk about what they were going to wear for the Nolan family dinner. Her father had kept up the tradition after Erica’s mother died, inviting Leah and her mother, as well as Father Patrick and Father Michael. Sometimes they would bring guests too, a stray nun or perhaps a generous church benefactor. Erica never knew who was going to show up, but Solie would arrive around two in the afternoon to start putting dinner together. Half of it was already prepped in their refrigerator.
Erica looked at her lineup of presents, finding it far less satisfying in the moment than she had on former Christmases. For some reason, her new clothes, records, jewelry and perfume didn’t make her anywhere near as happy as she’d been in the past. She should have been on the phone with Leah, but instead her best friend had gone up to the loft with her future husband, something Erica couldn’t have imagined happening in her wildest dreams, effectively shutting her out. Things weren’t the same, even with Leah back, and she knew they’d never be the same again, in spite of the way everyone kept pretending they were. It made her sad.
Then she remembered the piece of paper shoved into the pocket of her winter coat.
Erica went down the hall and dug it out—it was a flyer for the midnight mass at Mary Magdalene’s church advertising the “live nativity scene.” There was a picture of the scene on the front. Father Michael had commissioned Robert Nolan to take it for him, and it was a lovely photo of Erica dressed as the Virgin Mary holding a baby Jesus—only this was really just a doll wrapped in a blanket, its face turned away from the camera so you couldn’t tell. Father Michael didn’t introduce a real baby to the mix until the big night.
The Virgin Mary’s face was turned up to Joseph, played by Clayton Marshall Webber III, who was handsome even in his simple robes and goofy sandals. She’d never noticed the way he was looking at her before, like he worshipped the ground she walked on. He was clearly a good actor. It made for the perfect photo of the scene they were portraying, but after the night she’d spent with Clay,
she wondered how much of it was really acting. She turned the flyer over and found the number he’d scribbled there.
He had asked for her number, but Erica had hemmed and hawed. The truth was, she didn’t want him calling her house and having Leah answer. She didn’t want to explain his presence in her life aside from Father Michael’s play. And then she’d gone and snuck out to meet him and then invited him to Christmas dinner, of all things. So much for her original plan.
Erica headed back down the hallway, slipping though the living room, glancing up at the loft where her father—and now Leah—slept. It was quiet. She went down the hall toward the kitchen, stopping at the telephone table and staring at the phone. Erica had never called a boy in her life, except for Bobby, and they’d been going out forever by that time. And even then, she didn’t do it often. Only when she had to. Good girls didn’t call boys. They didn’t ask boys out. They didn’t ask them over for dinner. They certainly didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night to meet them and they definitely didn’t have sex with them. Ever. Let alone on the first date.