Chapter 6
Tennyson
After lunch, Ten felt stuffed to the gills. He’d eaten crunchy spring rolls, dumplings, and half an order of crazy noodles. Ronan had done the same. Now, both of them, plus Jude, were settled in at the kitchen table ready to work on their assignments handed down by Fitzgibbon.
“I’m gonna start by calling the rectory at the church to find out about the plots at Angel of Mercy. “ Ten sighed. It was the hardest assignment and he’d rather get it done first so that the task didn’t eat away at him until it was done.
“I think that’s a good place to start,” Ronan agreed. “I won’t say anything as you’re talking, but if I have a question, I’ll write it down on my pad. You too, Jude.”
“Got it,” Jude agreed.
Ten flipped through the contacts on his phone and tapped the one for St. Agnes Rectory. The phone connected and rang once. Twice. Ten was hopeful the call was going to go to voicemail and he could hang up, but it wasn’t to be. “St. Agnes, Father Sam Baker speaking.”
“H-Hello, Father Baker. My name is Tennyson Grimm.” Ten knew he’d made a mistake by using his real name, he could see disappointment written all over Ronan’s face, but there was no way he was going to lie to a priest.
“Hello, Tennyson. I had no idea you were a practicing Catholic. How can I help you today?”
“I’m not exactly Catholic, Father. I was raised in the Baptist church, but I do believe whole-heartedly that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.” Ten felt himself start to sweat. The quicker he got to the point and ended this call, the better.
Jude shot Ten two thumbs up.
“It’s good to hear that, son. What’s on your mind?” Father Baker sounded mild mannered, like the kind of man you could speak to about anything.
“I have a question about the St. Agnes House graves and how one would go about exhuming one so that the poor lost child could be buried in a family plot on consecrated ground. A client came in to see me earlier in the week and I told her I’d make the call.
Her relationship with the church is still strained. ”
“Forgiveness is the only way back to the Lord,” Father Baker said, gently.
“I understand that, Father, but I think being able to bury her lost child in holy ground would go a very long way in repairing not only her relationship with the Catholic Church, but with Jesus as well.” Ten crossed his fingers that the priest would just tell him what needed to be done.
“We’d need the mother to present two forms of identification; a driver’s license and a birth certificate.
A U.S. passport would also be acceptable.
She would need to provide us with the name of the cemetery the remains are being moved to along with a plot number.
Once I have all that information, I can begin the process. ”
Ten didn’t know how Natalie would get around having a grave for Amanda’s remains, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.
“I appreciate your help, Father.” Ten opened up his gift and read the priest. He felt nothing but sympathy for the mother and was trying to figure out what to say to Ten that would get his butt into a pew at St. Agnes this weekend. “I do have one question though.”
“That’s what I’m here for, my son.”
“Now that the Catholic Church has done away with Limbo, is it possible for a priest, such as yourself, to bless the land so that the other children could rest in peace?” Ten never understood the concept of Limbo in the first place, not to mention the additional pain parents of unbaptized babies went through at the thought that their child wasn’t in heaven.
“Hmm.” Father Baker was silent for several seconds. “I would need to speak with someone at the Diocese in order to see if that was possible.”
Ten sniffled. “The thought of those poor lost souls breaks my heart. I would be willing to pay any fees associated with this blessing and would be willing to entertain the idea of attending Mass with my husband and kids.”
“We have a lot of same-sex couples who regularly attend St. Agnes. Don’t worry, I don’t preach fire and brimstone to those people. We’re all one family in Christ. Don’t you agree?”
“I do, Father,” Ten agreed. “You’ve got my number on your phone. If you have any news or questions, feel free to reach out any time.”
“I will, Tennyson and go with God.”
“You too.” Ten’s phone beeped as the priest hung up the phone.
“Why did you ask about blessing the ground?” Ronan asked. “Everly told us the graves were empty.”
“The three of us know that, but I wanted to find out if Father Baker knew as well. I don’t think he does.
I got the impression from him that he’s a genuine man of God and wants to help right wrongs wherever he can.
” This was the first time in Ten’s career that he’d ever read a priest for deception. Hopefully it would also be the last.
“You want us to attend Mass?” Ronan asked. “I haven’t done that voluntarily since before my mother died.”
“If Father Baker is able to help Natalie and any of the other mothers whose children were allegedly laid to rest at Angel of Mercy, then I will absolutely attend Mass. I’m not eating that weird cracker, though.”
Ronan snorted. “You don’t actually eat the host. You’re supposed to let it melt in your mouth. Only heathens chew the body of Christ.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ten grabbed his laptop and opened Facebook.
His first search was for St. Agnes Church and found several groups.
One was for current church members. Ten scrolled through twenty or so posts.
Most were notices for church events. Potluck dinners on Friday.
Bingo on Saturday night. Mass three times on Sunday and the sacrament of First Communion on Mother’s Day.
Ten scrolled through pics of previous dinners and Bingo nights, but didn’t find anything to do with St. Agnes House.
Lastly, he searched the entire group for mention of the place but there were none.
Ten went back to Facebook’s home page and performed a second search, this one more to the point.
He typed in St. Agnes House and pressed search.
Seconds later, he found just what he was looking for, a group called Children of St. Agnes House.
A chill tore through Ten’s body. He didn’t need his gift to know what the purpose of this group was; children who were adopted through the church were now searching for their birth parents.
Grabbing his phone, Ten opened the calculator app and did some quick math.
The St. Agnes House opened in 1955, which meant the first babies born then would be seventy-one years old with their mothers being in their mid-eighties to early-nineties.
Natalie was on the younger end of the spectrum, with Amanda having been born in 1972.
The ads on the page were heartbreaking. Adoptees looking for their birth mothers, elderly mothers looking for absolution, younger siblings looking to connect with long lost brothers and sisters.
“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, setting a hand over Ten’s.
Looking up from the screen, Ten realized he was crying.
“I found a group page dedicated to St. Agnes House children and mothers searching for each other. There are a couple of ads from mothers who say that giving their babies up was the worst mistake of their lives and how it’s haunted them every day since. ”
“I’ve been reading posts from the same page.” Ronan shook his head.
“I couldn’t help thinking about Lizzie.” Ten’s attention was on Jude.
Jude nodded, looking near to crying himself. “I never met her mother because I was still in the ICU recovering from my premature death. Cope met her and he told me the woman couldn’t wait to get Lizzie out of her sight. She agreed to a closed adoption, which was fine with us.”
“What would you do if Lizzie wanted to find her birth mother one day?” Ten asked, not sure if he should have.
Jude sniffled. He got up from the table and grabbed a tissue. After he dabbed his eyes, Jude sat back down. “If Lizzie wanted to find her mother I’d do everything in my power to make that happen for her, but in the meantime, I’m spending every day showing her how much Cope, Wolf, and I love her.”
“It wouldn’t hurt your feelings?” Ronan asked.
“Not one bit,” Jude affirmed. “Lizzie wanting to find her mother isn’t a knock against me and Cope. It’s the first step in her own self-discovery. I could never keep her from that.”
Ten dabbed at his own damp eyes. “That’s beautiful, Jude.”
“Fitz and I have had a lot of conversations over the years about our girls and how to handle the inevitable questions. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s one hell of a man and father.”
“Damn straight he is,” Ronan agreed, just as the doorbell rang.
“Speaking of Fitz.” Ten walked out of the kitchen to get the door. “Hey, there!”
“I brought cookies!” Fitz walked into the house carrying two plates. “One for us and one for the kids. Maybe.”
“I’m glad you’re here, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” Ten led the captain into the kitchen where Jude and Ronan were quick to swoop in and grab the snacks.
“What did you guys learn this afternoon?” Fitz asked, when everyone was seated with a drink and some chocolate chip cookies.
“St. Agnes Church has been in operation since the mid-1700s,” Jude began.
“It served as a meeting place for the local Sons of Liberty prior to the start of the revolution. The building that would eventually become the maternity home began life as a convent for the nuns. It was turned into a convalescent home for soldiers returning from France after World War I and later became a shelter for families during the Depression. In 1945, it again became a home for soldiers coming back from Europe and the Pacific. The building became the St. Agnes House in 1955 after teenage pregnancy rates began to rise. Lastly, the house closed in 1975. The stated reason was a lack of funds, which is bullshit, because we all know how loaded the Vatican is. The real reason, of course, was Roe v. Wade. Girls who would have been forced to have their babies at St. Agnes House now had another option available to them.”
“Were you able to find any priests or nuns who served at the home?” Fitz asked.
“Not yet,” Jude said. “I’ve got several names to check out, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope.
Dr. Anthony Savini was the obstetrician from the time the House opened, until it closed.
He was twenty-two years old when St. Agnes House began to host expectant mothers, which would make him ninety-three years old.
Same goes for the nurses. Some might have been in their teens when they started working there, but even still, that would put them all over seventy. ”
“Keep on them, Jude. See if you can contact children or grandchildren of the doctor and nurses. Anyone who can give us information about what happened to the missing babies.”
“You got it,” Jude agreed.
“Ronan, what have you got?” Fitz asked.
“I’ve been working on social media sites looking for groups searching for adopted kids, Catholic adoptions and things of that nature.
One of the pages I have several St. Agnes House mothers looking for their birth children.
” Ronan blew out a ragged breath. “The posts are heart wrenching. Mothers who know their time is short trying to reconnect with the kids they gave up. Every Catholic adoption from 1955 through the early 1970s was closed. Several women have gone so far as to mention the records being destroyed. Some in structure fires, others under more suspicious circumstances. Asking about the St. Agnes House records might be something to talk about with your new bestie, Ten.”
Fitzgibbon’s eyes narrowed on Tennyson. “What’s Ronan talking about?”
“I called St. Agnes Church and spoke with Father Joseph Baker. I asked him how someone would go about exhuming a grave from the church’s special section.
He told me about the documentation the mother would need to bring in order to get the ball rolling.
Then I asked if it was possible for him to bless that entire section of the cemetery. ”
“Why would you do that? We know those graves are empty, right?” Fitz asked.
“Right. I wanted to find out if he knew they were empty as well. He doesn’t.”
“According to the St. Agnes website, Father Baker is only thirty-five years old, so he wasn’t even alive when the House was shut down,” Jude said.
“No one knows better than we do the way that secrets are handed down.” Ten took a deep breath. “I also found a couple of Catholic adoption pages on Facebook. I’ll sit with them and see if there are posts tagging St. Agnes House or any of the other maternity homes in Massachusetts.”
“Good plan,” Fitz agreed. “As for me, I dozed off watching The Young and the Restless. I haven’t watched that show since the last time I got shot. Nothing much has changed.”
“Kids are gonna be getting off the bus soon. Anyone in the mood for Greek Life?” Jude asked. “I’m too tired to cook.”
“Same,” Ten agreed. “I don’t care what you guys order, so long as there’s salad I won’t feel like a terrible father.”
“Pizza and hot wings aren’t going to kill our kids. Last week, Aurora wouldn’t eat anything but boxed mac and cheese. Sometimes I think the biggest part of being a parent is knowing when to give up the good fight.”
“Amen to that, brother!” Ronan raised his can of ginger ale to toast Fitzgibbon. “Make sure to get some of those buffalo chicken fingers with extra hot sauce and blue cheese.”
Ten grimaced and grabbed his computer. As he walked out of the kitchen the boys were discussing which meal produced their deadliest farts ever.
He didn’t want to stick around and listen to Ronan recount the story, for the hundredth time, about the gas station burrito he’d eaten on a high school field trip.
Instead, Ten would spend a little time going through the Facebook pages in hopes he’d find adoption notices tagging Natalie or The St. Agnes House.
Natalie and the other mothers deserved a chance to reunite with the children they lost or were forced to give up.
Ten was going to do everything in his power to make sure some of them got their happy endings at long last.