Chapter XII
MAE HOPED FATHER Cary was not at the Foundling this morning.
She felt in her bones that he would do anything in his power to prevent her from reuniting with Simon.
As she ascended the steps to the grand entrance of Simon's prison and looked around, she remembered it being much livelier at this time of day.
Nuns in white habits now escorted children of all ages in the hallways.
She slipped into the main hallway and slid quickly into a waiting chair along the wall.
As she kept watch, a line of four- and five-year-olds toddled along behind an older child.
She was still amazed at the order of the subdued children.
No one stepped out of line. Each held the shoulder or shirt back of the one ahead.
Some older children were filing in the opposite direction.
There were obvious signs of contempt as their faces peered longingly toward the front door.
One girl whispered something to the young lady in front of her, and they both eyed the entrance with the deviousness of a plan.
But as their left toes aimed toward the door, a nun swept up on their left and shooed them hastily back into line, ruler in hand.
There! She could see Simon down the long hallway, sandwiched between a blonde-haired younger boy and an older teenager.
Her feet moved unconsciously and picked up speed as Simon's brown hair floated out in front of her, just yards away. “Simon!” she called, but no heads turned. One nun broke off from the group and circled back toward her. At this distraction, a few of the children turned their heads. Mae concentrated wholly on the brown-haired head, willing him to turn toward her. He did. She saw his ear, then his cheek, and finally—it wasn’t Simon.
The expectant brown eyes were blue. There were no freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose.
His blank stare didn’t hold any form of recognition.
Her quickening heartbeat stopped. Her outstretched hand fell to her side.
As her lips quivered, the nun promptly intervened.
“Ma’am, you cannot be in this hallway. The registration desk is in the main vestibule.
Please return to that area with any business you might have.
” The older woman’s round face was a fleshy white protruding from her starched bonnet.
Her flushed cheeks showed her exertion from the sudden, speedy intervention.
Mae turned slowly away from the onlooking group. Her feet moved as if she were trudging through the muddy riverbed of the Hudson after a long rain. As she approached the office, she heard the beautiful music of a familiar voice.
“Mama!” Simon's cracking voice echoed through the unadorned vestibule of the building and sent waves of joy ricocheting through her system.
Turning back, she saw Simon break ranks from the line that was plodding along and rush to her.
Her purse dropped to the floor as she sprinted toward him, her arms extending to shrink the distance between them.
The hallway’s length was an evil distortion whose distance grew farther the faster she ran.
Just one more moment and Simon would be in her arms. As Simon was almost within reach, a solid black figure blocked their conjoining path.
Father Cary’s arms came around Simon and dragged him helplessly back toward the awaiting nun with her line.
His arms and feet kicked desperately against the black figure and grasped at the air that separated their reunion.
“Simon!” Mae screamed as she continued to chase Father Cary’s surprisingly swift movement. She slammed into a wall of white, and her heel slipped on the smooth linoleum. She landed hard on her knee and groped forward in a crawling motion toward the doorway through which Simon was being shoved.
“Mama!” came his desperate plea as his brown hair disappeared around the bend in the hall.
“Simon! I will get you out of here! I promise!” The door slammed shut with a resounding boom, its definitive echo now replacing the sweet sound of Simon's voice in her heart.
She struggled to her feet and moved toward the doorway as more nuns rushed to prevent her entry into the hall.
“Grab her!” called one of the white shrouds that enveloped her from all sides.
She felt herself being pulled from the large wooden doorway as the etched black cross stood at an impasse between Simon's world and hers.
Her mind whirled as billowy hands grabbed onto her arms and torso and clawed her back toward the entrance of the vestibule.
As she was forced through the entry, her eyes fell on a little blonde girl of no more that five, clutching a rag doll in her bandaged hand, eyes as large as saucers.
Deposited gruffly on the walkway outside, she felt her purse skid to a stop near her left thigh. When she looked up, Father Cary glowered over her.
“As I said yesterday, Mrs. Turner, there is nothing to be done about your son’s placement here.
You had your chance. He will be placed in a good, God-fearing home as soon as possible.
You may trust in God that he will be well-cared for.
Unfortunately, this attempt at circumvention must be documented in his file.
A mother who disrupts order is not helping her child.
” A second slam resounded in her ears. She picked herself up from the cold concrete landing and arranged her skirt and coat.
Her eyes never left the solid oak and wrought-iron details of the door.
She put her hand over the watch. Simon was behind that door.
His scream echoed in her ears. She did not look away from the door.
She would need to find some way to crack it open before she lost him. It wouldn’t be easy.
This hadn’t been the first time she’d stood on the other side of a door like this. Three days ago. She had handed Henry the case notes on Winona Kerr and thought: forty-eight hours. Easy enough.
* * *
Before The Note
The door opened, and Henry appeared, trailed by Mrs. Mackey.
Mae saw her timidly thank her husband, wincing through a smile due to her bruised cheek.
This had been her third appointment with Henry, seeking a divorce from her domineering and abusive husband.
As Henry opened the door for the battered woman, Mae's heart warmed.
His warm, brown eyes found hers across the room, and though his lips didn’t move, she could feel his smile from her desk.
“Mrs. Bonham is here for her two o’clock with you,” Mae informed him as she gestured toward the harried mother still holding each toddler’s arm.
“Mrs. Bonham, yes, please… After you.” Henry plucked the little boy up and paused to allow Mrs. Lancaster to precede him with the other two children. He followed along and pulled the door closed behind him.
Mae registered the blonde woman’s expression of surprise as her husband scooped up the boy. As the door closed, her eyes swung over to Mae, her strawberry lower lip hanging open. Mae warred between wanting to giggle or roll her eyes at this recurrent reaction of new clients.
“Is that your husband, Miss?” The blonde woman’s obvious appreciation of Henry laced through each astonished word.
“Yes, that is my husband, Henry. He will be reviewing your case. Perhaps I can take down your information so as to give him a clearer picture of your needs?” The woman slid into the chair closest to Mae's desk as Mae drew a fresh sheet of paper from her drawer. “Let’s begin with your name.”
“Winona Kerr.”
“Address?”
“457 West 46th Street.”
Mae nodded, noting the rough area of Hell’s Kitchen. Winona’s tears had dried on her cheeks and created a shiny path down her chapped cheeks. Her green eyes danced around the room as Mae catalogued her answers. “Are you married, Miss Kerr?”
Winona’s eyes wavered before meeting Mae's with a deadened look. “Widowed.” Another tear slid down from the corner of her eye, forming a new path that led to the corner of her jaw.
“I’m so sorry.” Mae paused and forced herself to hold the woman’s sad eyes for a moment. “You said your daughter had been removed. What is her name and age?”
“Lily Kerr. She’ll be comin’ five this spring.”
“Can you tell me again, in detail, what prompted her removal?”
“When me Markus died, I had to find work to pay rent. Mrs. Ross—that’s me neighbor—said she could look after me Lily fer me while I looked fer work.
” Winona’s eyes misted over as they studied the ceiling.
“Mrs. Ross, she’s an older woman and must’ve nodded off while me Lily was with ‘er. The kettle fell off the stove and onto me Lily—me poor wee bairn—and it burned ‘er arm somethin’ fierce. The police were fetched and brought ‘er to the hospital to get it wrapped up by the doctor. By the time I came home, Mrs. Ross was in a state, cryin’ and carryin’ on about how Lily had gotten burned and how she was at the hospital gettin’ looked after.
When I got there, the nurse said she was being treated and kept overnight.
They wouldn’t even let me see ‘er. Told me I had to come back the next day. So I did, and that’s when I found out that she got taken.
They said she’s a ‘ward of the state’ now.
The man at the hospital said I had to go to the Children’s Court and speak to ‘em about getting ‘er back. But, Miss… I don’t know nothin’ about the courts?
That’s why I came to youse. The ladies in my buildin’ said youse were the ones to see about gettin’ ‘er back.
Do ye think yer husband can get ‘er back? She’s just such a wee thing.
It breaks me heart to think of ‘er by ‘erself.”