Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) (12 page)

“Well, Mom works labor and delivery, not E.R. But I’m sure she’s heard something. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned anything?”

Mentioning her mother reminded Lindsey of the envelope. Inside, there were two regular size envelopes with a stack of legal-looking paperwork. Her stomach twisted and then dropped to her feet as she read the words that had been printed on heavy, rose-colored stationary.

“Oh my God…” she whispered.

“What?” Maddie looked over her seat. “What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

“My mom,” Lindsey began, her voice quivering. “She said she inherited the house from her ‘mother.’ But she wouldn’t explain further. I assumed she meant Gramma. Listen to this.”

Thanksgiving 2007

Dear Elizabeth,

I know that you are called Aimee, but I named you Elizabeth before you were born, back when you and I were together, inseparable. So to me, you will always be Elizabeth.

Dearest, the drugs they have me on will soon render me unable to hold the laptop and type, so I must fit in 34 years’ worth of explanations into a few short pages. There are so many things that I want to say to you, but there is not enough ink, paper, or time. I doubt that you want to hear any of it anyway because no matter what I say the people who adopted you are your parents. I am a nobody to you; a nobody that you’ll never meet, a nobody that you’ll never know, a nobody that will never be able to talk to you so that you might understand why I made the decisions that I did. 

But please know this, dear heart, not one day has gone by that I have not thought about you and what might have been. I did not give you up because I didn’t want you. Quite the opposite, really. I gave you up because I loved you so much and wanted you to have a stable two-parent home. You deserved that. And I couldn’t provide it for you, especially not down here.

I’ve only told one other living soul what I am about to divulge to you here in black and white. I hope that this information will prove useful should you one day decide to explore your roots.

I was the seventh, and very much unwanted, child to a poor, farming family in Tennessee. I made good grades and was ecstatic when I was accepted at the University of South Carolina. I left home the day I graduated high school and never looked back. That was the summer of 1972. I was 17 years old.

Back then people didn’t rely on student loans the way they do today. If I wanted to go to school I needed to be able to pay my way. So, I went to Columbia, S.C. and was lucky enough to find a job working as a maid for the Bosley’s – a wealthy family with ties to the university. This job was going to allow me to save enough to pay for my first semester before school even started.  And when the term did start, I’d have a place to live rent-free and money coming every week. I thought it would be a win-win situation.

Well, the Bosley’s had a son, Luther. Although he was only in his late 20’s, he was already an established lawyer in his daddy’s firm. He even had his own satellite office in the Upstate and was running for mayor of Greenville. He had married the year before and his wife, Cynthia, was expecting a baby. She was having a difficult pregnancy so they came to stay in the big house, at least until the baby was born and Cynthia was strong enough to go back to Greenville.

Luther, well let’s just say that he was too handsome and charming for his own good. He and I shared a love of Gamecock football, so we became fast friends. Well, good acquaintances, I should say because Mr. and Mrs. Bosley would have blown a gasket if they knew that their son was “friends” with hired help!

When I was changing Cynthia’s bedclothes or scrubbing grout when she was sleeping, Luther and I would talk about Coach Dietzel’s chances of turning the Gamecocks into a successful team this year, whether or not it would be wise to leave the A.C.C., and what the coming season would bring.

One night Luther came to the little guest house that I was living in. He said that he hadn’t been able to sleep and was out for walk, that he’d seen my lights on and thought he’d stop by to say hi. One thing led to another and, well, I am sure you can fill in the blanks.

We pretended it hadn’t happened, but it was hard to ignore the attraction we had for each other. We had four other nights together before Cynthia finally gave birth and Luther went back to the Upstate to campaign. Cynthia stayed on with the family for a few weeks while she recovered from the birth and learned to take care of her newborn. I helped tend to her and little Maggie while they were there.

After two missed periods and too many mornings of vomiting, I went to the health department. I called Luther when I got the positive result back. He denied it was his, accused me of trying to trap him. He said that he’d pay for me to have an abortion. I told him that I had no intention of ruining him or killing my baby. I just needed help getting out of his parent’s house and a way to earn a living. I promised him that if he helped me find a new job and a small place to live that I would never bother him again.

He sent his cousin to me with papers to sign stating the child was not Luther’s, that we had never had an affair. Neil had said that they were “insurance” in case I decided to “go public.” 

Neil also gave me money. It was enough to hold me over for a few months until I could find another job.  I managed to start school on time, cruising through my first (and only) semester despite the constant morning sickness.

Neil came to see me on New Year’s Eve and handed me a set of keys (the very set that you hold right now) and a thick envelope of money. He said that arrangements had been made for me to have my own house and money to keep me quiet. He said that I’d receive enough money to raise you on an annual basis but I had to say, in writing, that another man, a vagrant, was your father. It was written like a letter to Luther. It also had a derogatory comment about Neil so that they could dispute me if I ever pointed to him as the go-between.

I was happy at first. Then reality sank in. Don’t get me wrong, the house was gorgeous and I had a little bit of money, but... let’s just say that I spent many nights on the sofa down stairs, crying myself to sleep. I was alone, depressed, and fearful. Fearful not of the spirit of the house or its out-of-the-way location, but of the idea of the way life was going to pan out for you. I was already attracting stares and whispers.  Out of everyone in town, only one person befriended me during that time. She looked past my naked ring finger and protruding belly. But she was it.

I obviously had the means to keep you, but what would I tell you when you began to ask why the other kids had daddies and you didn’t? How could I soothe you when one of the backwards people in town called you a ‘bastard’ or insulted me in front of you?  Did I want to lay that emotional burden on you? How do you tell a child that their father has no desire to be a part of their life?

So I called Neil and told him that I wanted to place you for adoption, that you deserved two parents and a safe, friendly place to grow up. He agreed and said that he’d begin searching for “the perfect couple.”

You were born on a clear, unseasonably chilly night. (It was 45 degrees that night in May which is unheard of down here!) It broke my heart to know that you’d soon be going to another home, that you would snuggle into the arms of another woman, that you would no longer be mine. 

The month I had with you, oh it was bitter sweet! You were so beautiful, so perfect. I got very little sleep because I just held you and kissed you, and tried to remember everything about you. I told you your story at night when you were fussy and refusing to sleep in hopes that one day we would meet again and you would know me on some primal level.

I loved to sit and rock you and talk to you until the sun began to break through the darkness, kissing the land with the gift of another day.

June 13, 1973 began as a beautiful day. The sun was shining and life in the estuary behind the house was all a-buzz. I was happy yet heartbroken when Neil arrived unexpectedly at the house during lunch – happy that you were going to a “normal” family, away from the stares, comments, and questions, but so very sad for myself and the loss I was about to suffer.

Neil told me that he had found a wealthy couple desperately hoping to adopt, that they were waiting at a nearby hotel to take you. I signed papers giving away my rights as you napped in my arms. Then he took you from me. It was really the last day of my life. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, leaving a huge, gaping, bleeding void. I ran down the dirt drive after his car, trying to stop him so that I could say goodbye one last time, but the dust choked me and the uneven earth caused me to stumble.

I sat under the big oak tree near the porch, clutching your baby blanket to my chest, and cried like I’ve never cried before. It was several months before I was able to move your little bassinet to the shacks out back. And your little clothes, oh those little dresses that held your scent for so long! I kept them, too, unable to get rid of any reminder that you had once lived with me, that you had once loved me.

The house, Neil said, was still mine as a good faith gesture to never come forward with my story.  I kept it, holed myself up in it for years; a hermit some called me. A scary lady, possibly a witch others said. Neither was true, of course. I was just heartbroken. My life was passing me by, but at least I was certain that yours was perfect. My one a good friend listened and understood; she really was an angel from God. I hope that you get the chance to at least meet her.

I have tried to find you for years, but the lawyer had hidden your trail well. I thought I might have opened an avenue to you a few years ago but it was quickly closed. When I finally took my medical papers to his office, begged him to help me, Neil said that he’d tell me how to contact your adoptive mother but that it was up to her when it came to your information.

Your mother told me that you were studying in Rome and that although you’d never expressed any desire to find me she would give you my contact information.

I haven’t heard from you and I fear that I won’t make it long enough for you to decide to initiate contact. Oh, how that breaks my heart, but I do understand. I pray to God that I will get to meet you, but if I don’t, please know this: I love you more than anyone ever has loved you or ever will. I loved you enough to rip my own heart out and send it to Indiana in the hands of complete strangers in hopes that you would have a better life than could be provided here, that you’d grow up without the stigma of being a child of an unwed mother and an unnamed father who was more concerned with his reputation and career than with his own flesh and blood.

I gave you life. Then I gave you a family that could teach you how to live it. Now all I have to give you is your heritage and a house.

The Marla Rae is a beautiful, historic house. I hope that you will take her and know that every night a prayer was said for you within her walls. I hope you will take her because she was your first home.  I hope you will take her because she is the only thing that I have to pass on from your father and myself. She has a personality, a spirit if you will, all her own.

She is also spacious, so if you have a family or are planning to start one, there would be plenty of room for everyone to have their private area. At the very least, she is a good tax incentive since she’s historically significant – on the National Register of Historic places. That in and of itself would render it capable of being a beautiful, profitable bed and breakfast if you have the drive and energy to run it. I had hoped to do just that but then I got sick.

I can feel my senses dulling from the medications I took, so I must go. Just know that I love you so very, very much, my beautiful Elizabeth. I am sorry that I never got to know you.

With all my love now and forever,

Angela

Lindsey dropped the letter on to her lap and put her face in her hands. She was in shock but it was nothing next to what her mother had obviously been going through all alone.

“Wow,” was all Michelle could say.

“Do you think your mother is angry with your grandmother for not telling her sooner?” Maddie asked.

“Angry?” Lindsey held her hand over her mouth. “How could she be? I don’t know, though. This has to be what they talked about just before she died. They sent me out of the room for coffee… and when I got back Gramma was crying and apologizing. Mom was standing several feet away from her bed… She hasn’t talked to me about any of this and she’ll be pissed that I found out like this. But I would hope that she wouldn’t be angry at Gramma. Shocked, maybe. But not angry.”

“I mean, really,” Lindsey continued, getting angry at a woman she’d never known existed, this woman that seemed to be the reason her own mother had abandoned their life in Indiana. “What does this woman matter anyway? So she was really the one who had given birth to mom. But she didn’t seem to care because she gave her away. What kind of person would give their baby to complete strangers? Why should mom d really even care about what she had to say?”

“Lindsey,” Maddie started, but Lindsey shook her hand to silence her. 

 She refolded  the letter and stuffed it back into its envelope. Out of the second envelope, she pulled two crinkled, time-faded papers. The spaces had been filled in with an old-timey typewriter. Some letters were darker than others; some were nearly faded all together.  She perused the adoption papers in silence. One thing stood out – there was information missing.

“Hey,” she was confused. “On these adoption papers there’s no information on Mom’s … biological dad.”

“Maybe she didn’t know,” Michelle muttered, slowing to allow a mangy dog to sniff its way across the road.

“No, she did,” Maddie retorted. “Weren’t you paying attention to that letter? Lindsey’s grandfather is Luther Bosley.”

“He’s not my – ” Lindsey started to argue but Michelle spoke over her, glancing sideways at her twin sister.

“First off, I was paying attention to the road. Secondly, did you just say ‘Bosley’? Why does that name sound so familiar?”