Chapter 14
Birdie
“Can somebody please answer that?” I was carrying an eight-foot ladder and brushes and a bucket of paint down the hall of the Orphan.
I’d been bored out at the Tartts’ house ever since I’d finished the books, and decided my parting gift to the big girls would be to paint that ceiling upstairs with the leftover blue paint.
I would not be asking permission. What could anybody do, assign me to unpaint it?
I’d be home in a week anyway; at least that was my best estimate for when Frances would ask Rory for the money, sometime after her birthday celebration tonight.
Somebody knocked on the door again, harder.
“Alright, alright, don’t anybody get up,” I called, “I’ll answer it.
” I leaned the ladder next to the front office, where I still half expected to see Meg.
Though Mildred was here somewhere, most of the volunteers were still at home at seven in the morning, including Frances, who was spending the day in her room, primping for her birthday.
Garnett was down in Jackson trying to win some big charity award.
If it’d been for Coldest Woman of the Year, she’d be a shoo-in.
I opened the front door to a woman in a dirty yellow wool dress with a red wool beret pulled down low above her eyes. In the dead of August.
“Hello, may I help you?” I said.
Her eyes skittered past me into the little entryway. “I’m here to see a little girl. Her name’s Margot Louise.”
“I’m sorry, who?” Something was splattered on the front of her dress, rust colored but smeared like she’d tried to scrub it out.
“Margot Lefleur, she goes by Meg. She’s eleven years old, and I need to see her right now.”
My heart thumped hard and then felt like it stopped. “May I ask … who’s asking?”
Her dark eyes twitched behind me again to the vestibule and then to the hall. “I’m an old friend.”
I stared at her. “Meg’s only got one friend, ma’am. And I’m pretty sure you’re not it.”
She lifted her chin up just the way Meg did when she did not like something. “I need to see her, please—just go and get her.”
I stood there stupidly, not knowing what to do here. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Meg’s been adopted.”
It took a second for this to register. “No,” she said and came at me, chest out, chin out. “Where is my daughter?”
I put my hands up. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know—”
“Then who does know?”
“The chairlady, Mrs. Pittman. You’ll have to talk to her.” I kept my hands up. “But she’s out of town. She’ll be back—tomorrow, I think.”
“But … somebody besides Mrs. Pittman must know—there must be some kind of paperwork on her.”
“There probably is, but—”
“Then go get it!” She was red-faced, hysterical.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of authority.
I’m not even supposed to answer the door here.
” She was breathing hard through her nose, staring me down, so I said it as clear as I could: “The files are locked up, so you’ll have to come back when Mrs. Pittman is here.
She has the key.” Which was true. As far as I knew, Garnett hadn’t given the file keys to Mildred before she left for Jackson.
The woman, thank God, took a step back and shut her eyes like she was trying to get control of herself.
Now that she wasn’t charging at me, I could think—why was she here, now?
Almost two years after she’d left Meg behind?
“Mother Mary … how can this be happening? Please, I am begging you, I need to know where she is.”
I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Miss Lefleur,” I said, assuming that was her name. “As I understand it …” It was hard to say out loud; it was hard to even think it. “You abandoned her.”
Her eyes went rounder, darker. “You think I left Meg on purpose?” she said. “Oh my God—did Dr. Pittman—did nobody tell her? Does Meg think I left her on purpose?”
“Dr. Pittman? What was Dr. Pittman supposed to tell her?”
She winced at his name and her black pocketbook slipped from under her arm and fell on the porch.
When she leaned down to get it, I saw blood seeping through the side of her tan shoe.
Dusty, ankle-strap heels, nothing to be walking far in.
“I—there was nothing I could do, but believe me, I would never, ever abandon Meg.”
I needed a minute. I needed to think what this meant.
For Meg. The woman’s yellow dress had probably been nice some winters ago, but it was stained and ratty now.
She didn’t look like she had much, if anything.
“Look,” I said. “All I can tell you, and I hope it’s some consolation, is it sounds like Meg’s new family is pretty well-off.
They have the means to take good care of her.
” Lower, I couldn’t help but add, “Surely better than here.”
“What does that mean?” Her dark brows clenched together. “Was she not alright here?” And here she came barging at me again. I felt like a matador.
“She’s fine, or she was fine when she left. That was Monday.”
She stared at me, stunned. Her lips parted; they were chapped and peeling under the red lipstick.
“You’re saying I only missed her by three days?
” When I nodded, the dam broke, tears running hot stripes down her cheeks.
She shuddered, sobbing, trying to catch her breath.
She opened her pocketbook and ripped out a handkerchief and held it to her face.
Gasping behind the cloth, she said, “Isn’t there anything … you can tell me about who they are or … a name, a town? Do they live close to here? Did they take her to another state?”
It was truly awful to watch this woman’s heart breaking. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. But like I said, it sounds like they can take good care of her.”
“Better than her mother?” She sobbed these words. “Don’t you think Meg deserves to be with her mother?”
It felt too cruel to say it to her again, but even if I didn’t, I guess my face did. She’d abandoned her daughter. Said she was going to the store and never came back. What did she think would happen? Did she think she could just show up here and say she changed her mind?
It took her a while to collect herself. Crumpling the handkerchief in her hand, she sobbed hard, one more time and slid, what must’ve been the very warm red wool hat off her head.
Her dark hair was matted in curls. She probably wasn’t even thirty yet, but she had circles under her eyes so deep they looked blue.
“Alright,” she said. “The truth is they sent me away. To the colony in Ellisville to serve out my sentence.”
“Sentence?” I asked. “You mean, you were arrested?”
She gritted her teeth, like she wanted to grind up the answer. “Yes.” She turned around quickly to see a car driving past the orphanage.
“Arrested for what?” I asked. I’d never known anyone who’d gotten arrested.
“I was charged with—” More grinding. “Consorting with a Negro and hitting a police officer—because he was hitting me—and some other charges that don’t matter. I was sentenced to two years.”
Had she escaped? “But Meg was only here for a year and a half …”
“Early release. They let me out two weeks ago to cut costs. They said I’d been reformed.” When she pushed her hair off her forehead again, I saw a rough red scar that wrapped around her wrist.
“Why the heck didn’t you get here sooner?” It was a cruel thing to ask, but it didn’t bode well for her that she’d waited two weeks, on top of everything else.
“Believe me, I came straight here the day I got out and stood right over there—” And she pointed behind her, across the street. “But I’m not stupid. Garnett Pittman made it very clear—” She pressed her lips tight and tamped down her tone. “How well do you know Mrs. Pittman?”
It sounded like she was asking me whose side was I on here. Even if I didn’t trust this woman, there was no point in being polite. “Well enough to be glad we don’t know each other better.”
She nodded at this, and I thought she looked relieved. “I read in the paper that Mrs. Pittman would be down in Jackson today for some kind of ceremony. I was praying I’d get to talk to somebody reasonable here.” She spoke carefully, searching my face. “May I ask you your name, ma’am?”
Something told me that if I told her, it would keep this conversation going, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad.
“I’m Birdie Calhoun,” I said.
“Charlie Lefleur,” she said, and we shook hands. Gravely, she asked, “Would you please not mention to Garnett that I came by?”
My fisted disdain of this woman, who I’d thought had abandoned her child, had started to unfurl a little.
I felt sorry for her. But really what it came down to was, it wouldn’t do Meg any good to tell Garnett this woman was here, and that was what mattered.
“I won’t tell her.” I suspected there was a lot more to her story than she’d told me, and I could see where Meg got her smarts and her determination and that sharp little chin.
“I was very lucky I got to spend the time with Meg that I did,” I said.
At this, her eyes filled up with tears again. “You spent time with her?” she asked, and I nodded. “What is she like now? Does she still love school as much as she used to?”
I couldn’t break this woman’s heart any more than I already had so I just said, “Meg was the smartest girl here. She was truly a pleasure to be around.”
“What else can you tell me about her?” she asked. She seemed hungry to know.
I thought about it. “She likes to read the newspaper and she likes biscuits. I used to sneak them in to her. And she’s tidy. She says she got that from you.”
She looked like I’d just hugged her, tears streaming down her face. I could tell she had a thousand more questions, but another car passed on the road and spooked her.