Chapter 26
“ W hat do you mean it isn’t real? It’s right there.
Look. It says I was born in this town, so an original must be here someplace.
” Dalia found herself becoming rude to the clerk at the Amberton courthouse.
The birth certificate Agnes had given her dad years ago, frail from age, was laid out on the counter.
Their heads came together as Dalia and Kenyon inspected the two pieces of paper.
The real one was plain and straight forward.
Her bogus one was fancy with decorated edges and cursive print.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to run a scam.
She couldn’t imagine Agnes being inventive enough to do it.
“Well,” Kenyon said, “have you ever heard of this Dr. Clive Upton?” She pointed to his name on the paper.
“I have only heard of him in passing, and I’ve been here forever.”
Neither young woman doubted that, seeing that the clerk looked like she could have witnessed the original settling of Amberton in person in the 1800s.
Deflated, Dalia scooped up her fake birth certification. “Thanks.” Her tone made it clear she meant, “Thanks for nothing.”
They left and crossed the street to a pretty square that sat in the middle of the small town. Tall maple trees and blooming lilac bushes made it a welcome reprieve. A bench in the white gazebo gave them a place to sit and plan their next move.
“The smell of lilac is heaven, isn’t it.” Kenyon took in a deep breath.
Dalia sighed. “Yes, I have to admit this town is lovely. But instead of answering any questions, this place has only given me more questions.”
An old gentleman, stately in a button-down shirt with a bow tie and walking with a cane, came toward them on the flagstone path. They watched as he made his way to the gazebo, stopped, and placed his cane in front of him with both hands on the brass knob.
“Hello, ladies. Let me introduce myself. I am Saul Stanislaus Steinburg and I have lived in Amberton my entire life. And I do believe you were just lied to in the courthouse.”
Dalia popped up. “Come, sit with us, please.”
Kenyon skootched over and the man made his way up the steps and sat down in the middle of the bench. Dalia sat back down at his side. He settled his cane in front of him and again kept both hands on its topknot.
“You see, although your birth certificate is indeed fake, many of us old-timers remember Dr. Clive Upton all too well. That old bag in there…” he tipped his head toward the courthouse “…remembers him, too. But she won’t admit it because she and others want to squelch the rumors that give this town such a bad name.
Upton was quite infamous in his day and many suspected illicit dealings.
But no one could ever prove that, and he was never charged with a crime. ”
“What was his suspected crime?” Dalia asked.
Mr. Steinburg inhaled, looked Dalia in the eyes, and said, “Selling babies.”
“Wait. Selling babies women didn’t want?” Kenyon was aghast.
“Selling babies women didn’t want and babies whose mothers were told they’d died.
I’m sorry to have to share this piece of what many consider to be gossip with you, but I think you have a right to know.
There were far too many ‘stillbirths’ at his private little hospital to make sense.
The hospital is torn down now, so there’s nothing to try to find there.
No records or anything. But too many young women went away heartbroken because they thought their child had been born dead.
Somehow in the midst of all that Clive became a very wealthy man. ”
“Is he still alive?” Dalia asked breathlessly, hope welling up within her.
“No. Good riddance, I say. He died fifteen years ago. But his nurse is still here. Nellie Franklin. She lives down on Borden Road.” He pointed with his cane.
“You can’t miss it. It’s the only one that still has a fieldstone foundation and carriage house like in early times.
But I warn you, she’s a cantankerous old crone.
We seldom see her in town. She might even be dangerous. ”
“I’m going out there anyway.” Dalia offered a hand and he shook it. “Thank you so much.”
He turned to Kenyon and shook her hand, too.
“If I may ask,” Kenyon said, “why are you telling us all this?”
The stoic man sighed. “Because my niece used him for her delivery in 1975.”
“Oh how sad,” Dalia said.
“They knocked her out right as the baby was crowning. When she came to, she was told her daughter had been stillborn. She never believed it. She’d felt that baby inside her, healthy and kicking and feisty, ready to come into the world.
She begged to see it. The nurse, that damned Nellie Franklin, refused to show her the body, saying it had to be ‘disposed of’ right away for the sake of sanitation.
Hell, I bet a dime to a dollar there was no body.
That baby was alive and well and garnered top dollar for those thieving kidnappers.
“That whole debacle almost killed my niece. She mourned that child for the rest of her life, even though she had a son, too. I feel certain I have a grandniece out there somewhere. Somebody needs to dig into that horrendous maleficence and provide justice for all those tormented mothers and innocent babies who were stolen away.”
Dalia felt a stab to her heart. Was he talking about her? Yes. She knew it. She was one of those babies. She could feel it as surely as she could see the sorrow in the old man’s wrinkled face.
He continued. “God knows we tried in our day. We talked to law enforcement, lawyers, judges, preachers, other doctors, the mayor and town council, all to no avail. Upton had bought off too many people is what I think. Finally, perhaps somebody will pay.”
Both women had turned in their seats to face him, mesmerized by this unbelievable tale of horror. Dalia said, “Mr. Steinburg, I feel certain I’m one of those babies.”
“It seems you might be. That’s why further investigation is necessary. We’ve been waiting for you or someone like you for years. Someone who is living proof of our age-old suspicion. But you must prove it.”
“I promise we’ll do all we can.”
“Excellent. Now, ladies, you may feel free to take your leave. I’ve told you all that I know. You don’t have to stay here to keep an old man company. Besides, everyone in town knows that at this time each day, this is my bench.”
After effusive professions of gratitude, the women started to walk away. It was Dalia who turned back. “Mr. Steinburg, how did you know they lied to us at the courthouse?”
He tittered. “You most likely didn’t even notice the quiet, little man sitting at a desk doing the books. That’s my brother. He couldn’t call me fast enough to let me know two beautiful, inquisitive young ladies were in town looking for that dastardly baby doctor. Good luck.”
Back in the car, they talked about what to do next.
Should they surprise the old nurse by unexpectedly dropping in and peppering her with questions?
Or should they try to figure out more before contacting her.
Deciding they had no way of learning more, at least not now, they decided to start by driving by her place.
Borden Road was easy enough to find, being one of the main county roads out of town.
Only two miles away they saw the unmistakable carriage house, the kind built in the 1800s with large fieldstones people cleared from their land so they could build and farm.
There was no traffic, so Kenyon pulled over so they could take it in.
Unkempt, it’s glory days as a prosperous spread were over. The typical white country house, with its fieldstone foundation and front porch, needed paint. The bushes and trees needed trimming. And one side of the carriage house door begged for a new hinge.
A woman appeared around the corner of the house.
Badly stooped and laboriously shuffling, she didn’t notice them at first. But when she raised her head and spied them spying on her, her mouth opened in a shriek.
The “cantankerous old crone,” as Mr. Steinburg had called her, spun around and disappeared behind the house.
Dalia jumped out of the car. Kenyon hollered, “No! Dalia! We said we’d wait.
” When she got no response, she turned off the engine and hopped out to follow her friend, who’d already trudged halfway up the dirt driveway.
Dalia also disappeared as she turned a corner around the house.
By the time Kenyon caught up, Dalia stood at the back door, pounding to be let in.
“No, Dalia. Come on. We can’t do it like this.”
But Dalia was on a holy tear, as if an insatiable dragon inside her had been released. “Let me in!” Dalia screamed.
Kenyon tried to take her arm to pull her away but was sloughed off. Obviously, the old woman had made it inside before Dalia got to her. Kenyon had no doubt that meant trouble.
“Dalia, she might be calling the police.”
“Let her call them. You hear me?” Dalia yelled at the door. “We don’t want to hurt you. I just have some questions. Why are you so afraid of a few questions?”
“Dalia, she’s an old lady. You’re scaring her to death.”
Dalia calmed down, her voice low. “She’s not afraid of us. She’s afraid of my questions.”
“You don’t know that.”
The shrill of a siren pierced the air. A sheriff’s cruiser sped into the driveway and jerked to a stop. Two deputies got out, a man and a woman.
“Ladies, you’re trespassing,” the woman said.
“We just…” Dalia tried to explain.
“It doesn’t matter,” the man insisted. “You’re breaking the law. You’ll be coming with us.”
“What? Wait. No.” Kenyon twisted around, looking for someone else, someone with better sense, to show up and save them.
“Come on. Get in.” The woman pointed at their cruiser.
“No. We can’t,” Kenyon objected again. “I mean, my car. What about my car?”
“We’ll have it towed.” The man had no mercy.
Within minutes Dalia and Kenyon found themselves behind bars in a cell at the one-room county jail.
The deputies had vanished, having gone right back out to hit their beat.
A young woman at the desk cracked her gum and stole glances at them.
Her shimmery blue eye shadow and spidery false eyelashes detracted from what might be a pretty face.
“I’m so sorry.” Dalia sat on the saggy cot with her head in her hands. “This is all my fault. I lost my temper. Now you’ve seen me twice at my very worst. Crying like a baby at the trailer and invading an old lady’s property. You must hate me.”
Kenyon had been pacing the cell and plopped down on the cot. “Nah. It isn’t like you haven’t seen me at my worst. Drunk, devastated, and out for revenge at my wedding-funeral.”
They couldn’t help but snicker.
“Hey.” The desk girl came up to the cell and wove her forearms through the bars to rest them on a crossbar. Her fingers sported bright purple talons. Her hair with a pink streak down each side was pulled into curly pigtails. She popped her gum. “I’m Prissy. What’s a wedding-funeral?”
“Oh,” Kenyon said, “that’s just a joke. My fiancé cheated on me and I left him at the altar during our wedding.”
“Geez. That’s awful. Some men sure can be dickwads, can’t they?”
“Yes. Some sure can be.”
“That reminds me,” Dalia said, “I have a date tonight with a man I think is a nice guy. Any idea how long we’ll be in here?”
“Nah uh. I don’t even know why you’re here. All you did was try to talk to that crotchety old witch, right?”
“Right!” Dalia felt vindicated, even if only by a rather vapid girl.
“Hey, you guys want some pop? I can get you something at the diner down the street if you’re hungry.”
“I’m fine,” Dalia said. “Thank you though.”
“Me, too,” Kenyon added. “Thanks.”
“Listen,” Prissy confided, “I called my grandpa as soon as you were brought in. He’ll be here soon.”
“Who’s your grandpa?” Dalia asked.
“Oh, he’s the sheriff. He won’t think nothing of you being out there talking to that old lady.
I mean, she’s been the gossip of this town for as long as I can remember.
I heard Grandpa talking about her once. Sometimes he forgets to turn off the intercom and I can hear him in his office.
He and this other guy were saying she ‘probably did it.’ They just couldn’t prove it.
People say all kinds of things about how she and some old dead doctor used to be having an affair. ”
Kenyon became excited at this piece of information. “What else do they say?”
Prissy put a purple-tipped finger on her lips while twirling a pigtail with her other hand and looked up to her left, thinking. “Um, that’s about it, I think. I can ask my friend Karla. Her grandma knew them.”
The door slammed open and a man who walked like he considered himself to be the king of the hill marched into the room. He wasn’t in uniform but there was no doubt he was the one in charge.
“’lo, Grandpa,” Prissy said sweetly. “These ladies need to be let out.” She jabbed a finger at Dalia. “She’s got a big date tonight.”
The man’s entire demeanor shifted. He guffawed, shook his head, and took a fat key out of his jeans’ pocket.
He unlocked the cell door and swung it open.
“Sorry ladies. I’m Sheriff Wi?niewski. My deputies got carried away.
I confess they’re a little scared of Nellie Franklin.
Everybody in town is a little scared of Nellie Franklin.
Even me. Your car is still out there. I’ll drive you back to get it. ”
On the way back to Nellie’s, the sheriff asked them what they’d been doing out there.
Dalia explained the entire situation. He listened with keen interest but didn’t say anything except to warn them not to trespass again.
He let them out at their car and waved at Nellie, who stood on her front porch with her arms crossed, and he waited for them to drive safely away.
It’d been a fateful adventure. Dalia and Kenyon didn’t quite know what to make of it. One thing for certain was that the sheriff had been too quiet as Dalia explained the situation.
“He knows more than he’s telling us,” Kenyon asserted.
“Yeah. I think everybody in that town knows more than they’re telling us.”
“Well, except Prissy. I’m not sure she knows much of anything.”
“True. But she sure was nice to us.”
“Sometimes nice trumps everything else, doesn’t it.”
Kenyon dropped Dalia off at her truck, which she’d left in Farmdale, and they went their separate ways. Dalia had to get ready for her big date. Kenyon, on the other hand, had absolutely nothing to do.