Chapter IX
The incessant chatter of a fellow rider to her girlfriend about her office-mate’s new hairstyle scraped along Mae's last nerve. Mae considered telling her that she didn’t care about Suzanne’s hairstyle—thank you very much—and that most likely her friend didn’t either.
But instead, she tightened her grip on her purse, feeling the wool of her gloves wrinkle beneath her knuckles.
Her mind drifted back to the clerk’s expression as she had asked about Judge Darnell.
She was sure that it was the same office clerk who had been there the umpteen times she had done business at the Children’s Court.
Why had she acted that way at the mention of Judge Darnell?
Maybe Mae had mispronounced the name? But the clerk had flinched—as if she were afraid, not annoyed.
Mae turned over the names in her mind, trying to remember anything else.
All the recent files had Foster as the special assistant, too.
She thought of Henry’s notes that she had collected.
Maybe she had missed something in his notes that would help her?
She would have to look when she got home.
Her hand went to the paper that she had tucked into her jacket at the office.
The names on that paper may hold the key to getting Simon back.
Gong. Her head snapped up at the resounding noise of the church bells.
Gong. She sucked in a deep, cold breath that burned her lungs.
Gong. She needed to hurry.
Gong. Her hand pressed against her coat flap.
Gong. A shop door thudded closed to her right.
Gong. She could see the walled-off, imposing structure of the Foundling House.
The high brick walls continued on for what seemed like miles as she hustled down the sidewalk toward the monumental building.
The wrought-iron fencing atop the brick protruded starkly into the night air as if each were a sentry called to halt by a commander.
She heard the faint ding-ding of the streetcar as it pulled away.
The wagon traffic had slowed and only a seldom creak of a cart interrupted the clicking of her heels on the walkway.
Her path hugged the brick wall as it veered to the right and opened up into a grand entrance with stairs on either side of the pavilion, culminating in an immense arched doorway.
In the dusky moonlight, the building looked different from her daytime memory.
The tall, rectangular windows looked out upon the street like hollow eye sockets.
No curtains visibly adorned the dark interior.
The stark Victorian building’s only ornamentation came from the two white stripes of brick that lay horizontally between each of the first-floor windows.
The dainty white bricks offsetting the dark red to form a striped uniform for the fortress-like edifice.
A chill prickled down Mae's spine as she contemplated Simon having to spend even one night in this soulless prison.
The heavy doors protested her entrance with a loud groan as she entered the vestibule.
She saw the administrative nun shuffling by the front desk.
Her bonnet was tied tight under her chin, hiding her face.
A dark cross hung down to her middle and was the only contrasting feature to her white ensemble.
“Excuse me,” Mae called out to her. The woman froze and spun toward the sound of Mae's voice.
“Good evening,” the nun’s surprised voice broke the quiet. “Are you looking to place a child?” The nun tried to see behind Mae as if waiting for a child to magically materialize from beneath Mae's coat.
“No, I believe my son has been brought here today accidentally, and I’ve come to bring him home.” Mae tried to smile at the woman more to calm her nerves than for any of the other woman’s benefit.
The nun returned Mae's smile, but it stopped short of reaching her dull gray eyes. “Well, we do have many children brought in daily. Follow me and we can take a look at our intake book.” She shuffled away toward the same office in the back corner that Mae had entered just days ago. Mae fell into step behind her. This time upon entering, Mae noticed the austere furnishings of the intake room: a large wooden desk with water stains creeping up the legs, a stiff high-backed wooden chair, two smaller chairs in front of the desk, and a large wooden filing cabinet located directly behind the high-backed chair. The large canvas-covered intake book lay perfectly centered in the middle of the desk. “And the child’s name?” the nun intoned without looking up.
“Simon. Simon Turner.”
“Brought in today?” The nun’s dry, bony finger traced through the names from top to bottom, flipped the page and continued along the left edge to the end of that sheet as well.
The yellowing page flipped over again, and the woman’s finger perused the third page of names.
“I don’t see any entries under that name for today.
” She raised her eyes to Mae, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it was for today?”
“Yes, Sister,” Mae replied. Like she wouldn’t notice if multiple days had passed. “I was told that he was remanded to your care by the Children’s Court due to truancy.”
The nun tsk’ed and shook her head. “Well, sometimes they don’t make it here if the sly ones slip out on the truant officer while he’s transferring them.”
“My Simon wouldn’t do that.” Mae ground out as she felt warmth beginning to spread from her chest and up her neck.
“If the Court sent him without a parent present, Ma’am, it’s because the Court believed there was no parent to answer for him.” The nun’s head tilted to the side as her eyebrows shifted upwards. A sardonic smile crept onto her lips.
The word ‘Unknown’ flashed through Mae’s mind. She gritted her teeth as the jab found its mark. “Is there any way that his name might have been missed?” she tried again.
“Ma’am, if he’d come in here, he’d be in this book,” insisted the woman.
Slapping the lid shut, she came around the desk and ushered Mae out of the office.
Mae craned her neck back to glimpse the faded blue canvas cover.
“I’d check again with the truant officer to see if your Simon might’ve given him the slip,” she continued as she all but pushed Mae out of the office.
Mae righted herself as the expulsion was completed. “Sister Agnes,” came a rigid voice. Once again, Mae's head snapped to attention. Her eyes came up to meet those of Father Cary once again.
“Father… Cary,” Mae sputtered.
Father Cary’s gaze spun over to Mae. His mouth hung open with unspoken words for Sister Agnes, and then closed again. His face transformed into a serene mask, similar to the one she had witnessed earlier that day. “Mrs. Turner, what brings you here?”
“Do you work here in addition to St. Andrew’s?” Mae practically stammered with surprise.
“Why, yes… yes, I do.”
Of course he did. “Father, Simon was brought here earlier today. He was sent in by the Children’s Court for truancy.
But the sister couldn’t find his name in the register.
Have you seen him?” Her words tumbled out in a rushed and pleading fashion as her hands wrung in front of her chest. Mae saw the words sink in as the priest’s face went from bland to surprised to understanding.
“Well, as a matter of fact… I have seen him here.” Mae's frantic wringing stopped. Her whole body went rigid, and the breath she was exhaling became lodged in her throat.
“You… You’ve seen him?” Mae’s eyes narrowed on Sister Agnes. “Then Sister Agnes was mistaken. Why isn’t he in the register?”
“You misunderstand the process.”
“No, Father. I understand perfectly well that I was told he was not here, and now you are telling me he is.” Mae's eyes shot past down the dimly lit hallway. “You didn’t notify me?”
“There was no reason to notify you when the probation officer would have done so by now. He’s in a holding ward until the probation officer finishes his inquiry. Intake entries lag behind.”
“But… But you knew what happened to Henry…” Her eyes grew round as she stared into his unmoving features.
“The Lord will search for the lost and bring back the strays,” he recited to her by way of an answer.
“He’s not a stray!” Her voice had risen an octave on the last syllable. The trembling of her hands had turned into an uncontrollable tremor. Her purse swung back and forth in front of her like a pendulum.
“The courts have determined that he needs closer guidance. We must submit ourselves for the Lord’s sake to every human authority…”
“Then whose authority keeps a child unentered in the register?” she shot back.
“As I said, intake entries lag behind.”
“And until they are written down, who is accountable for where he is?”
“Mrs. Turner, you are upset…”
“Upset, yes. Confused, no,” Mae couldn’t listen to his preachings anymore. “I need to see him!”
“That isn’t an option right now. We can’t disrupt the children’s schedules.” His calm voice contrasted with her frantic plea. “..now, Mrs. Turner, there is nothing to be done tonight…” She heard the patronizing words of the priest washing over her ears.
“It’s for the best, Ma’am,” the nun commented placidly, her chin coming up as her hands found the hanging cross and rested upon it. “All will look better in the morning.”
These two supposedly holy figures astonished Mae.
Both preached reverence to Jesus and his Mother Mary; however, both were just as quick to sever the bond between mother and child.
Fire began in her core and spread throughout her body, creating a tingle in her toes and fingertips.
She forced her hand to stay by her side as her stare focused on the priest’s unwavering cheek.
A loud tone sounded in her ears and drowned out his continual sermonizing.
The high ceilings of the foyer grew distant in her vision, and the floor tilted.
She fell hard on her knees as Simon's angry face from the prior night flashed before her eyes.