Mary took the paper from Charles and moved it across the counter toward Helen. “This is Jack. Is he—is he the boy who was in your shop?”
Helen plucked the glasses from the chain around her neck and slid them onto her nose. She peered at the picture of Jack. “That’s him, all right. Poor little guy never said a word. We finally figured out he couldn’t hear us.”
Mary reached for Charles’s arm and gripped it tightly. “Pete told us you called the local police?”
Helen nodded. “That’s right.”
“Pete couldn’t remember the officer’s name,” Charles said.
“No, I s’pose he wouldn’t. He only met him the one time,” Helen said. “But he’s in here every couple of weeks or so. His name is Sheldon Leonard—he used to work the night shift.”
“I don’t suppose Officer Leonard told you what happened with Jack?” Charles asked carefully. Mary reached for Charles’s hand and held it tightly while Helen frowned.
“He did come back and tell me. He knew I was worried about the little tyke,” she said. “I woulda taken him in myself if I could have. Sheldon asked me to, but I told him I live here in the back and couldn’t do it . . . then I got to worrying about what happened to him—those brown eyes nearly melted my soul—”
“Helen? What happened to Jack?”
“Oh. Sheldon came right back in to see me the morning after he’d taken the boy—Jack, is it?—to tell me that he’d located some relatives in Evanston, and they’d had a joyous reunion.” She offered them a satisfied smile and handed them back the picture.
“Relatives?” Mary’s voice sounded hoarse in her own ears. “There are no relatives.”
Charles put his arm around Mary’s shoulders and spoke into Mary’s ear. “We knew we’d have to talk to the cop who took him. Now we know his name,” he said quietly. “We’re still okay here.”
“The little fella hasn’t run off again, has he?” Helen asked with concern. “He’s awful young to be hopping into the back of delivery trucks. Not that I should be poking my nose into this, but if he’s running away, he must be unhappy at home.”
“He can’t find home!” Mary said shakily. “He can’t find me—I’m his mother!”
“His mother? Oh my—” Helen waved a hand and stared at Mary sympathetically. “You know, it’s entirely possible I got it wrong about your son. At my age I do my share of scrambling details.”
“We’ll need to talk to Officer Leonard,” Charles said. “Can you direct us to the police station?”
“Take State Street west until you hit Second Avenue. The station is on the corner,” Helen answered.
“Thanks for your time.” Charles nodded. “And thanks for what you did for Jack.”
Charles and Mary turned to leave, but Helen stopped them. “Hold on a minute.” She hurried into the back, reappearing a moment later with a green cap and a single green mitten in her hand. She passed them over the counter to Mary. “He forgot these that night.”
Mary put the cap to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled. Oh, Jack . . .
Charles slipped his hand under her elbow. “Time to talk to Officer Leonard.”
An air of joviality in the Second Precinct took Mary and Charles by surprise. Hearty laughter from several uniformed cops standing around a small desk in the middle of the room was incongruous with the official city seal of Madison on the dingy white wall behind them.
The two stopped at the counter dividing the desks from the entrance and waited. But the officers were focused on a small radio. It took only a few seconds to recognize the familiar voices of Amos and Andy.
“Excuse me?” Charles called. A couple of the men looked over, and one held up an index finger.
“Hang on a second, buddy.” Amos delivered a punch line, and the men all laughed again.
“We’re looking for Officer Sheldon Leonard,” Charles said.
A man poked his head around a fellow officer and eyed them. Charles cocked his head to one side. “Officer Leonard?”
One of the men nudged Sheldon. “Go on—see what they want.”
Sheldon sighed and walked over to the counter. “I’m Officer Leonard.”
“I’m Charles Westerly and this is Mary Godwin,” Charles said. “We’re here about a little boy who was turned over to you.”
Mary watched quick frown lines crease Officer Leonard’s forehead before he neutralized his expression and shook his head. “Little boy? Afraid I don’t know what you’re—”
“This little boy.” Charles was already sliding Jack’s picture across the counter. Laughter from behind as the radio program ended tensed Mary’s nerves further while she waited for Sheldon’s answer.
Sheldon picked up the picture and studied it, then handed it back to Charles. “Cute kid—but I’ve never seen him before.”
“That’s strange, because we just left Helen at the Kopper Kettle, and she tells us the last time she saw this boy he was riding off in a patrol car with you.”
Mary grabbed the edge of the counter. “Please—please, just tell us what happened to him—”
“Look, Helen is a sweet lady and all, but her memory isn’t as sharp as it might be, you know what I mean? Just last week she called and had me check out a possible burglary at her place. She heard noises coming from the back room, and it turned out to be a squirrel with a sweet tooth,” he said with a half grin.
“Helen’s not the only one who saw you drive off with him,” Charles said in a clear voice, loud enough to be heard by the cops now at their desks. “Pete Albert, a delivery truck driver from Chicago, was also there that night. He’d swear in court that the boy was given over to your protective custody.”
A couple of the other officers lifted their heads to look at the little group by the counter. Sheldon reached for the picture again. “Lemme have another look at the kid. Maybe it’ll jog some kind of memory.”
“Just make sure the memory is fact—not fiction,” Charles said firmly as he handed him Jack’s picture. “I may have forgotten to mention that I’m an attorney, and I’d hate to file a dereliction of duty report about you with your chief.”
“Just hang on a minute,” Sheldon said nervously. “I see all kinds of people when I’m on duty. Sometimes they all run together. . . .” He looked down at Jack’s picture. “But now that I look a little longer, I think I do remember this kid. Yeah, yeah, I remember him now.”
“Where is he?”
“It took a little doin’ on my part, on account of the kid being deaf and dumb and all, but I was able to track down his relatives in Waukegan and left him with them,” Sheldon said.
“You told Helen that you left him in Evanston with relatives,” Charles countered.
“Oh, right. Evanston. I had another case in Waukegan and . . .”
“We’d like to see your report,” Charles said.
Sheldon shook his head. “Are you from Social Services?” he asked, lowering his voice and directing his question at Mary. “Is that what this is about?”
“This is about my son! My son who has no relatives in Waukegan or Evanston or anywhere else!” The timbre of her voice rose with her increasing panic and frustration. She carefully enunciated each word. “Where—is—my—son?!”
All heads were turned in their direction. Sheldon swallowed hard and grimaced. “Keep it down, all right? This doesn’t concern anyone else in here.”
“Where is he?”
“Look . . . a kid like that who can’t say a word, can’t hear a word, doesn’t have a parent around to look after him”—he cast a meaningful look at Mary—“a kid like that is gonna eventually end up exactly where I took him.”
“And where it that?” she asked in a strained voice.
“It’s a place a little over an hour from here,” Sheldon said, eyes on the counter.
“Where?” Charles hissed.
“The Rock River Poorhouse,” Sheldon said hurriedly. “They know what to do with . . . people like him.”
“You just left him there?
!” Mary nearly shrieked.
Sheldon shrugged. “If you see a dog running loose on the streets, you know the animal’s better off in the pound, where it can’t get hurt—right? It’s the same thing.”
Mary’s hand shot out and slapped Sheldon across the face. Two officers yelled and started toward them, but Sheldon held up his hand. He gave Mary a wry look. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“How do we get there?” From Charles.
“Head northeast on Highway 151. You’ll find it.”
Charles started to take Mary’s arm, but she was already ahead of him—striding on shaky legs toward the door.
Chapter Forty-two
Rock River, Wisconsin
“I’M MARY GODWIN—UH, MARY Sinclair, and I’m here for my son,” Mary said breathlessly to a woman at a registration desk. “His name is Jack, and he’s eight—no, nine years old . . .”
Charles put a steadying hand on Mary’s arm. “You probably wouldn’t have his name,” he said to the attendant whose badge pinned to her white uniform read Hazel. “He was brought in—dropped off—with no paper work.”
Hazel shook her head with a frown. “We haven’t had anyone recently. . . .”
“It would have been well over a year ago now. . . .”
Over a year! Jack, I’m here! I’m right here to get you! Mary felt as if her heart were going to leap out of her chest. “Please, he’s a little boy with dark hair and brown eyes . . . and he’s very sweet and no trouble,” she said in a rush of words.
“I still don’t know of anyone like—”
“He’s a deaf-mute,” Charles added.
“Oh, I should have told you that,” Mary said. “I just need—want to see him so much—”
“We know Jack is here because a police officer in Madison told us this is where he brought him.”
Mary pulled the well-worn picture of Jack from her pocketbook and spread it on the desk. “This is Jack. Now, please, tell me where he is.”
Hazel looked at the picture, and Mary saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and a flash of something that made her stomach clutch.
“I’ll just need to call someone.” The woman hit a buzzer on the counter next to a telephone. “If you’ll have a seat over there . . .” She indicated some chairs in a waiting area.
Mary shook her head. “No. I don’t want to sit. I just want to be taken to my son. Now.”
A man suddenly appeared in the reception area and walked toward Mary and Charles.
“That’s Mr. Stevenson. He’s the director of the facility,” Hazel said quickly.
Mary watched Mr. Stevenson throw an irritated glance at the receptionist. “What is it, Hazel?”
Hazel motioned for him to come closer, and he frowned as he joined her behind the desk. She lowered her voice as she pushed Jack’s picture toward him. “They’re here about—him. She’s his mother.”
Mr. Stevenson cleared his throat and studied the picture before he handed it back to Mary.
Say something! His room number! He’s a model patient! He eats all his dinner. . . . Say something—anything! Jack—I’m here! I’m so close now. . . .
“There are certain procedures to follow in a case like this,” he finally said. “I’m going to need to take a few minutes to get some paper work together for you to sign.”
“She’ll fill out whatever you need,” Charles said calmly, “but I’m sure you can understand that she wants to see her son immediately. He should never have been here—it was all a tragic mistake. . . .”
“You are the boy’s father?” Mr. Stevenson asked.
“No. The family . . . attorney,” he answered.
“Attorney?”
“Can we talk after I see Jack?” Mary asked urgently.
Mr. Stevenson looked at Hazel and raised a concerned brow. “Locate Horace for me.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll have the two of you wait in my office,” Stevenson said, “while I see to a few things.”
“I do mind! Someone take me to Jack!” Mary shouted.
Hazel turned her back while she spoke into a phone.
“Please,” Stevenson said. “My office first.”
Mary and Charles sat in chairs close together—her hand holding tightly to his large, reassuring grip.
“Where are they?” she said tensely.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re bringing him to you,” he suggested.
She sat up a little taller. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they don’t want me to see where he’s been.” She shuddered. “Oh, please, God, I hope you’re right because I don’t think I can stand another minute knowing he’s right here in the same building with me. . . .”
The door opened and Mr. Stevenson stepped inside with another man in a white coat. A doctor’s coat.
“Mrs. Sinclair, this is Dr. Horace Tanner.” Mr. Stevenson sounded relieved as he took a seat behind his large desk.
“I don’t understand,” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong? Is Jack sick? Is that it? Have you been treating him for something?”
Dr. Tanner cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news for you.”
She pulled her hand away from Charles and pushed to her feet. “I don’t want distressing news,” she said adamantly. “I just want to take my son out of this place. I want to take him home.”
“He’s no longer here,” Mr. Stevenson said quickly.
Mary stared at him. “You’ve moved him someplace else.”
Dr. Tanner sighed and finally looked at her. “No, Mrs. Sinclair. We didn’t move him. He’s not here because, well, because—he passed away almost a year ago.”
Charles stood just as she swayed on her feet. “Mary . . .”
“Passed. Away.” She said the words out loud, but they made no sense to her. Dr. Tanner was speaking again, but she couldn’t hear anything above the blood pounding in her ears. He’s passed away . . . dead? Died? No. My baby? No, no, no, no, no . . .
“. . . and the cause of death was ruled to be congenital heart failure. Probably a defect he was born with and never detected until it was too late,” Dr. Tanner finished.
Defect? Not my boy. No defects . . .
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dr. Tanner said.
“Very sorry,” Stevenson echoed.
“You’re sure it was Jack?” Charles asked. “Maybe another boy in the facility that looked the same or . . .”
That’s right, Charles, tell them they’re wrong. They’re so wrong!
“We’re sure. We have other children here, but no one with his particular—challenges,” Dr. Tanner said. “There’s no doubt it was your—Jack.”
Charles was talking again . . . legal things . . . questions she should be asking, but she couldn’t talk. Am I breathing? I must be breathing. . . .
Their voices were so very far away. She was standing in the same room they had entered, but the walls were closing in on her and the floor felt like rubber beneath her feet—or was it her legs that felt like rubber?
Jack’s gone. . . . This is why I’ve never trusted you, God. Can I go back to yesterday, when I didn’t know—when I had hope. . . . Charles is asking something . . . answer him.
“Mary. Let’s sit down,” he was saying. “Can you get her some water?”
“She’s had a bad shock,” she heard the doctor say. Bad shock— bad life—bad mother, bad, bad, bad mother . . . now I know. Now I know. . . .
Her mind cleared enough to fasten onto something. “I want to see where he was.”
“Oh no . . . that’s not possible—”
“I want to see where my son lived until he died,” she said in a voice devoid of any emotion. “And I want to see it right now.”
They entered the children’s ward with Dr. Tanner. Mary immediately covered her nose. Charles expelled a breath that expressed more than words as he stood next to her. She gazed around the room, at the bars on the windows, the beds stretching in two long rows. The
stench cut right through her and made her stomach turn.
“It’s all my fault,” she whispered.
“Okay, let’s go now,” Charles said in a low voice. “You don’t need to put yourself through this.”
“I put him through this.” She walked a few feet into the room. An alarm rang in the hall.
“That’s for me, and I really need to go,” Dr. Tanner said. “If you’ve seen enough . . .”
“Mary?” Charles asked.
“Not yet.” She shook her head firmly.
Dr. Tanner looked agitated. “I’ll be back,” he said, finally dashing out.
Mary moved slowly through the room, noticing the children, who seemed to be unaware of her presence. A teenage boy was lying on a table in the middle of the room, his gaze on the ceiling above him.
Mary stopped beside him.
“Hello.”
“I don’t belong here,” he said flatly, never turning his gaze from the ceiling.
“Did you know my son? He had dark hair like you—but he was very quiet and never said a word. Maybe you were his friend?”
“I don’t belong here.”
“Hello, you!” a girl’s voice came from behind her, and she turned to see twins—eleven, maybe twelve years old. They stood with their hands clasped, swinging their arms between them.
“Hello,” Mary answered. “I’m Mary.”
“I’m Louise and she’s the other me,” the girl said, nodding her head in her twin’s direction. “She’s the me I can’t be.”
The girls started to skip in unison, circling round the table where the boy lay. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, you’re stuck, stuck—stuck,” Louise chanted.
“Stuck, stuck, stuck, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” her sister chimed in.
“Maybe you knew my boy?” Mary suggested, determined to keep her voice even and calm.
“Mary,” she heard Charles say behind her. “They don’t know . . . they probably can’t remember. . . .”
“He has dark hair and beautiful eyes and is very, very quiet and still,” Mary said as the girls kept skipping.
“Yupper. Quiet, quiet, no talking kid. He was gonna be my husband, but now he’s dead—deader than dead, dead, dead,” Louise sang as she skipped with her sister over to the last bed by the big window. “He slept in this bed, bed, bed. . . .”
The Silent Gift Page 28