Miss Janie’s Girls

by Brown, Carolyn

  “I love this screened porch and the smell of roses.” Miss Janie took a long breath. “I was scared when Mama said I had to come here to live, but I’m glad she did. Aunt Ruthie was a wonderful person. Did I ever tell you about my girls?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, and I believe they might be coming home soon.” Noah knew he was her only living relative, which was why he’d come home to Birthright, Texas, to stay with her.

  “They had beautiful black hair,” Miss Janie sighed.

  There was a moment of silence, and then she went on. “And even though folks say that a baby’s eyes change from when they’re born, I know they stayed brown like their father’s. He was a very handsome boy. I want to see my girls before I die, and I don’t care how much money you spend to find them.”

  “They’ll be home soon. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Noah tried to steer the conversation away from the girls. When she mentioned the two girls she had fostered, she got weepy. To see his sweet great-aunt cry broke his heart.

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Why are you still here anyway? I hired you to find my girls, not make my breakfast.”

  “I’m your great-nephew, Noah. I used to come see you fairly often,” he said gently.

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for several more seconds. “You’re Luther’s grandson, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Luther was your brother, and his son was Adam. I’m Adam’s son, Noah,” he explained like he did at least twice a day.

  “Adam and Noah, just like in the Bible. Daddy used to preach about those two men, and David and Daniel. Were they twins like my girls?” she asked. “I have trouble remembering what Daddy said about them.”

  “No, they lived in different times,” he told her.

  “I wanted to keep my girls.” She teared up. “In those days we didn’t get an option about keeping our babies.”

  Two years ago, when she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she’d told him about the twin girls she’d given away at birth and had insisted that he find them for her. He’d had to jump through a few hoops, but he finally located them—in El Paso, Texas—and found out that they’d died together in a car wreck when they were twenty-five years old. One had been married two years without any children; the other one had still been single.

  When he’d told her about her daughters, Miss Janie had wept for a week, and then one morning she’d come out of her bedroom and asked him if he’d found her girls. He was hoping that when Teresa came back to Birthright, if she did, Miss Janie would forget all about the babies that she’d birthed and concentrate on at least one of the girls she had fostered when they were teenagers.

  Janie’s gray eyebrows knit together, and she tilted her head to the side. From the few pictures that Noah had seen of her, she’d once had brown hair. Now her thin hair had grayed, and her blue eyes had faded, as if so many of the memories of her life had washed out from her mind. “What month is it?”

  “Today is the first day of August and it’s Saturday,” Noah replied. “It’ll be fall pretty soon, and then winter will come on fast after that. Then it will be too chilly to sit out on the porch for breakfast. Why don’t you eat your breakfast before it gets cold?”

  Fine screen wire covered three sides of the wide porch, letting the breezes flow through but keeping the mosquitoes out. When Noah was a boy, he’d begged his mama and daddy to let him sleep out there, but they never did.

  She pushed her plate back. “I don’t want eggs. I want chocolate doughnuts and milk.”

  The doctors had said she’d probably be gone by Christmas, so Noah figured it didn’t matter what she ate. Let me eat what I want and die when I’m supposed to—that’s what she always said, even now. He took the plate back to the kitchen and brought out a box of chocolate doughnuts from the pantry. He poured a tall glass of milk, put both on a tray, and carried it out to the porch.

  “Look at that sunrise.” Miss Janie smiled. “Aunt Ruthie and I watched a sunrise like that the morning she brought me here to live. Where is Aunt Ruthie? Has she gone to the store?”

  “No. She died the day I was born,” Noah gently reminded her. “Remember when you told me that there are only so many souls in heaven and they have to be reused, so I got Aunt Ruthie’s when she died? And it would help me to grow up independent and able to make up my own mind about things?”

  Miss Janie giggled like a schoolgirl. “Aunt Ruthie could make the devil sit on the front row in church and get saved, sanctified, and even dehorned. She was a tough old bird.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I was kind of afraid of her when I was a little girl, but when I came to live here, I learned really quick to love her. I never told her that. I should have.”

  “Was she mean?” Noah asked.

  “No,” Miss Janie replied. “And she wasn’t exactly strict—she was set in her ways. Did I tell you that she got me a job at the school? She took care of the cafeteria, and when I graduated, she talked the superintendent into giving me a job working with her. The next year the secretary job came open, and I applied and went to work for the high school principal. I saw dozens of principals come and go before I retired.”

  “You did tell me that.” Noah was glad to hear her talking about something other than her girls.

  “When does school start back this year?” Miss Janie asked. “I have to go two weeks early to get things set up for the kids.”

  “Not for a while yet.” Noah watched her eat several doughnuts and drink the whole glass of milk.

  “Is Luther coming this summer?” she asked. “I always look forward to his visits.”

  “Grandpa died a while back,” Noah reminded her.

  “Luther died?” Miss Janie’s eyes misted over. “So now I’m all alone in the world? When is the funeral?”

  “You’re not alone. I’m here with you. I moved in last June, and we set up an office for my investigative work in one of the upstairs bedrooms.” Noah laid his hand on hers.

  She dried her eyes and blinked several times. “Of course you did. Did you find my girls?”

  “I’m still searching for them,” he answered.

  Teresa packed everything she owned in three boxes and the now-ragged suitcase that Miss Janie had given her when she graduated from high school. Since she hadn’t given a thirty-day notice, she lost the deposit on her garage apartment, and she’d used nearly all of her meager savings to put a new alternator in the truck so it would get her from Hope, Arkansas, to Birthright. She had thought she would use the money to replace at least two of the bald tires on the vehicle, but tires weren’t worth much if the damn truck wouldn’t even run. Maybe the bald tires and prayers together would get her there.

  The sun peeked over the eastern horizon by the time she tossed the boxes and the suitcase into the back of the truck. She locked the door to her tiny apartment and turned the key over to the manager of the place. Noah said that she’d have a place to live until Christmas, and she sure hoped he stuck to that.

  Her cell phone service died at noon that Saturday because she used a pay-as-you-go plan and hadn’t bought a refill card. She was still fifty miles from her destination, so she really was traveling on a prayer from that point. She tossed the phone over on the passenger seat and figured if she had a blowout, maybe some kind soul would call Miss Janie’s house and Noah could come help her. He had said he would pay her, and God only knew how bad she needed the money, but a fresh wave of guilt washed over her when she thought about charging him to help with Miss Janie.

  The truck might be running on fumes, but the radio still worked, so to keep her mind off the thoughts of blown-out tires or no fuel in the tank, she turned the dial.

  “And here’s ‘Storms Never Last’ by Miranda Lambert. She sang this recently at the Grand Ole Opry, and I was privileged to be right there on the front row,” the DJ said.

  “I hope you’re tellin’ me the truth, Miss Miranda,” Teresa said as the words flowed by, talking about bad times passing with the wind. />
  An hour later, hungry and hoping that there were some leftovers from dinner, she parked in front of the big two-story house that intimidated her every bit as much now as it had the day she’d moved a box of clothing into it just before eighth grade. Black clouds rolled in from the southwest, and a loud clap of thunder followed a jagged streak of lightning. Teresa didn’t have time to sit there and think.

  She could see the sheets of rain coming toward her, and if she didn’t get her things from the bed of the truck and onto the porch, they’d be soaked in a few minutes. She rolled up the window, jumped out, and grabbed the suitcase and one box and jogged across the yard. Her jet-black ponytail flipped back and forth as she ran to the truck for the other boxes. A hard wind blew the first raindrops across her face as she hurried up onto the porch with the last box. Out of breath, she knocked on the door.

  After a week of giving herself lectures concerning Noah, she thought that she had things under control, but when he was right there on the other side of the door, her knees turned to jelly.

  “Come right in.” He stood to one side. “Can I help you with—”

  “Yes . . . ,” she butted in. “Three boxes. I can get the suitcase.”

  They’d gotten all her things inside when another crack of thunder brought a deluge with it. Miss Janie came out of the living room and stared at Teresa for the longest time, as if she wasn’t sure who she was; then her frail hands went to her cheeks and her eyes widened. “You found one of my daughters. You did it. You found one of my babies. Come here to Mama, darlin’ girl, and give me a hug. Have you seen your sister? Is she coming?” She opened her arms.

  Teresa didn’t mind being called Miss Janie’s daughter. Noah had said that she had developed Alzheimer’s, so that was understandable, but Teresa damn sure didn’t want to be recognized as Kayla’s sister. That girl had been a handful the whole time they had lived together in this house, and all they’d done was argue and bicker.

  Miss Janie wrapped Teresa up in her arms and wet her shoulder with tears. “I’m so sorry I gave you away. I thought about you girls every single day and prayed that your adoptive parents were good to you. What did they name you, child?”

  “My name is Teresa Mendoza, and I haven’t seen Kayla.” Poor Miss Janie hardly looked like the same strong woman who’d cried as she’d stood on the porch and waved goodbye as Teresa went away to college. That little secondhand car Miss Janie had bought for her had served her well. She almost wished she were driving it back here.

  “Oh, no!” Miss Janie took a step back and put her hand over her mouth. “They split you up and put you in different homes. I wanted them to keep you together.”

  “Miss Janie, Mendoza is my married name, but I’m divorced now.” Teresa shot a look at Noah.

  “That’s good.” Miss Janie dried her eyes. “I’m glad we can be a family again. Maybe your sister will come later. How long has it been since you sisters have seen each other?”

  “A long time,” Teresa muttered.

  “Are you hungry?” Miss Janie asked.

  “Starving,” Teresa admitted. “I drove straight here and didn’t stop for breakfast.” She didn’t say that she was afraid if she killed the engine of her old truck, she might not get it started again.

  “Well, let’s get you fed, and then Noah can help you get things up to your room. I want to know everything about the people who raised you,” Miss Janie said as she shuffled back down the wide hallway to the kitchen. “What do you want? Noah is right good at making breakfast.”

  “Whose plate is that?” Teresa pointed to a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns.

  “That would be what Miss Janie didn’t want this morning,” Noah explained.

  “I’ll heat it up in the microwave and have that,” Teresa said. “No use in wasting food.”

  Miss Janie sat down at the table and frowned. “Young man, who are you? Are you the one I hired to bring Teresa to me, or are you her husband?”

  “I’m Noah, your nephew,” he said. “Luther’s grandson.”

  “That’s right.” Miss Janie touched her forehead with her fingertip. “Teresa, darlin’ girl, you will have to overlook my forgetfulness. Sometimes I can’t remember too well, but I remember the day you two were born very well.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all about that day.” Teresa bit back tears. She worked with Alzheimer’s patients in the nursing home, but seeing Miss Janie like this was tougher than she’d expected it to be. Poor soul thought that she’d birthed Teresa and Kayla, and on the same day, which would make them twins. Teresa remembered the day when Social Services came to the trailer to take her out of her school in Sulphur Springs to a group home up near Paris, Texas. When Miss Janie had heard what happened, she had stepped in and applied right then for an emergency foster care license and had taken Teresa out of the group home and to Birthright with her that very night.

  “I will,” Miss Janie agreed. “Leaving my sweet babies in that home was the saddest day of my life.”

  The microwave dinged, and Miss Janie started to stand up. “It’s time for me and Greta to go to class now. The bell has rung, and our teachers get upset if we’re late.”

  Noah laid a hand on her arm. “Today is Saturday. You don’t go to class today.”

  “That’s right.” Miss Janie settled back down as Teresa retrieved her food from the microwave and started eating.

  “Tell us more about that day you gave the babies away.” Noah took a seat at the other end of the table.

  “What day?” Miss Janie’s gray brows drew down into a heavy line. “Noah, who is this woman? I told you not to hire someone to take care of me. I’ve been doing all right on my own since I was sixteen and Mama and Daddy put me here.”

  “This is Teresa. She’s one of your girls that you wanted me to bring home,” he said.

  “My girls aren’t grown women,” she argued. “You were going to find both of them. Where’s the other one?” She frowned.

  “That was sixty years ago, Miss Janie. You took in Teresa and Kayla when you retired. You became a foster parent to help Teresa and then Kayla,” Noah said. “Your babies would be sixty now, not twenty-eight and twenty-nine.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you try to fool me. I gave birth a few days ago. I still hurt from it. Where’s Aunt Ruthie? She’ll tell you that I’m right.”

  The poor old girl really was confused. She had never married nor had children. “I’m so sorry that you hurt. What can I do to help you? I can ask about pain pills, or we can go sit somewhere where the chairs are softer.”

  “You’ve had a lot of excitement yesterday and today,” Noah said. “Maybe you just need to rest a bit. It is past time for your little afternoon nap.”

  “I am very tired,” she agreed. “And I’m still sore from the birth, but at least the milk has dried up. That was so painful, and so embarrassing the way it kept making my shirts all wet. Aunt Ruthie says it’ll get better in a couple of weeks. I wish I could hold my babies one more time. They were so little, and I wanted to keep them so bad.”

  As she got up out of the chair, she held the bottom of her stomach and walked slightly bent over, like a woman who’d recently had a baby. Teresa laid her fork down and hurried to her side. “Let me help you.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Janie smiled shyly. “I never realized how much having a baby would hurt, but I’d do it all over again to be able to hold them for another hour. You’re a good nurse. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Teresa, and you are Miss Janie, right?” she answered.

  “I’m Sarah Jane Jackson. I’m sixteen. The father of my babies is in Mexico now. He’s a sweet boy, but I didn’t love him. I’m glad I didn’t marry him,” Miss Janie whispered. “I don’t want to get married—not ever. I don’t want a man to run my life for me. I want to do that for myself.”

  “I understand,” Teresa said, but she didn’t really. Miss Janie had expressed Teresa’s thoughts exactly about not wanting a man to
run her life, but what was all this about giving birth? When Miss Janie sat down on the edge of the bed, Teresa knelt in front of her and removed her bedroom slippers. “Are you cold? Do you want me to cover you with that nice fluffy throw?”

  “No. I want Aunt Ruthie’s quilt.” Miss Janie pointed to a patchwork quilt draped over a rocking chair.

  Teresa shook out the folds and covered Miss Janie with it. “There now. You rest, Sarah Jane, and I’ll be back to check on you a little later.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Janie said. “You’re one of the good nurses. The one I had last night was really hateful.”

  “I do my best.” Teresa tiptoed out of the bedroom and eased the door shut. When she got back to the kitchen, her food was cold, so she reheated it again in the microwave.

  “Okay, Noah, you need to explain to me what’s happening here,” she said. “You didn’t mention anything about babies or tell me how bad she is when you offered me this job.”

  Noah’s tired blue eyes met hers. He raked his fingertips through his dark-brown hair and squared his shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here to help me. Seems like she gets worse every hour, and there are some things I can’t do for her like you can. She’s got bone cancer that’s spread through her whole body and Alzheimer’s on top of that. The doctor has given her anywhere from four weeks to three months, but probably the end will come closer to the six-week mark. But there’s the possibility she might still be here at Christmas.”

  “I know that.” Teresa brought her plate back to the table. “But what’s all this about babies?”

  “When they first diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s, she called me.” Noah’s deep voice still made chills chase up and down her spine like it had when she’d met him for the first time. “She wanted to get everything out in the open, so she told me that she’d had twin daughters when she was sixteen. I thought she was already advanced in the dementia and only thinking that she’d given birth, but I followed the thread of what she told me and did some research. She was remembering that part right. She really did give birth to twin daughters when she was sixteen.”