PART 2 \u2014 THE WOMEN WITH THE BLUE FLOWER
\nThe security officer closed the door.
\nThe click sounded louder than it should have.
\nMom immediately pulled her sleeve down.
\n\u201cPlease,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI came here for surgery. I don\u2019t want any trouble.\u201d
\nThe doctor pulled a chair closer to her bed.
\n\u201cNo one is accusing you of anything.\u201d
\n\u201cThen why are security officers standing outside my room?\u201d I demanded.
\nThe doctor looked at Mom instead of answering.
\n\u201cMa\u2019am, I need to ask you one question.\u201d
\nMom stared at him.
\n\u201cWere you ever a resident of St. Catherine\u2019s House?\u201d
\nThe color disappeared from her face.
\nI had never heard that name before.
\nBut Mom clearly had.
\nHer breathing changed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She gripped the blanket with both hands.
\n\u201cMom?\u201d
\nShe closed her eyes.
\nThe doctor leaned forward.
\n\u201cWere you?\u201d
\nMom finally whispered, \u201cYes.\u201d
\nOne word.
\nThat was all it took to make my entire childhood feel suddenly unfamiliar.
\n\u201cWhat is St. Catherine\u2019s House?\u201d I asked.
\nNobody answered.
\nI turned toward the doctor.
\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d
\nHe hesitated.
\n\u201cIt was a private maternity home.\u201d
\nMy confusion deepened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cA maternity home?\u201d
\n\u201cFor young women and girls.\u201d
\nI looked at Mom.
\nShe wouldn’t meet my eyes.
\nThe doctor continued carefully.
\n\u201cSt. Catherine\u2019s operated outside the city from the late 1960s until the early 1980s. Many of the women sent there were unmarried and pregnant.\u201d
\nMy stomach tightened.
\nI was forty-three years old.
\nMom was sixty-seven.
\nThe arithmetic happened before I wanted it to.
\n\u201cMom\u2026\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cPlease don’t.\u201d
\nBut suddenly I needed to know.
\n\u201cHow old were you?\u201d
\nMom stared at the floor.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cSeventeen.\u201d
\nThe room seemed to tilt.
\n\u201cYou were pregnant at seventeen?\u201d
\nTears filled her eyes.
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nI stepped backward.
\n\u201cBut you always told me Dad was your first serious relationship.\u201d
\n\u201cHe was.\u201d
\n\u201cThen who\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cThat isn’t what matters.\u201d
\n\u201cIt matters to me!\u201d
\nMy voice came out louder than I intended.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One of the security officers moved slightly, but the doctor raised a hand.
\nMom wiped her cheek.
\n\u201cYou have to understand what things were like then. My parents were ashamed. They told relatives I was staying with an aunt for the summer.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd they sent you there?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nI looked at the little blue flower hidden beneath her sleeve.
\n\u201cWhat does the tattoo have to do with it?\u201d
\nMom became silent again.
\nThe doctor answered.
\n\u201cThe women at St. Catherine\u2019s weren’t supposed to have tattoos.\u201d
\nI stared at him.
\n\u201cThen why did they?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause some of them began marking themselves.\u201d
\n\u201cWith flowers?\u201d
\nHe nodded.
\n\u201cA tiny blue forget-me-not.\u201d
\nSomething about those words made Mom break.
\nShe covered her mouth and began crying.
\nNot quietly.
\nNot politely.
\nShe cried like someone who had been holding the same grief inside for fifty years.
\nI sat beside her.
\n\u201cMom.\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cThere were twelve of us.\u201d
\n\u201cTwelve?\u201d
\n\u201cAt first.\u201d
\nHer voice trembled.
\n\u201cWe slept in the same dormitory. We weren’t allowed to use our real last names. We weren’t allowed to make telephone calls unless someone listened. And when our babies were born\u2026\u201d
\nShe stopped.
\nI suddenly didn’t want to hear the rest.
\nBut she continued.
\n\u201cThey took them away.\u201d
\nMy chest tightened.
\n\u201cYou mean adoption?\u201d
\n\u201cThey called it adoption.\u201d
\nThe doctor lowered his eyes.
\nMom looked directly at me.
\n\u201cMost of us never signed anything willingly.\u201d
\nI felt cold.
\n\u201cThey took your baby?\u201d
\nMom nodded.
\n\u201cA little girl.\u201d
\nThe words hit me strangely.
\nI had grown up an only child.
\nI had begged Mom for a sister when I was little.
\nShe always smiled sadly and told me one child was enough.
\nNow I understood that smile.
\n\u201cYou had a daughter before me.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere is she?\u201d
\n\u201cI don’t know.\u201d
\nI could barely speak.
\n\u201cYou never looked for her?\u201d
\n\u201cFor years.\u201d
\nMom’s voice cracked.
\n\u201cI didn’t even know the name they gave her.\u201d
\nI reached for her hand.
\nThat was when the nurse who had first noticed the tattoo returned.
\nShe carried an old manila folder.
\nThe doctor stood immediately.
\n\u201cDid you find it?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nMom stared at the folder.
\nHer expression changed again.
\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d
\nThe nurse placed it on the counter.
\n\u201cThree months ago, the hospital administration received a request connected to St. Catherine\u2019s House.\u201d
\nMom’s hand tightened around mine.
\n\u201cWhat kind of request?\u201d
\nThe nurse hesitated.
\n\u201cSomeone has been searching for former residents.\u201d
\nI felt Mom freeze.
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\n\u201cWe don’t know.\u201d
\n\u201cThat doesn’t make sense,\u201d I said. \u201cHow could you not know?\u201d
\n\u201cThe request came through an attorney. They provided several identifying details.\u201d
\nThe nurse looked at Mom’s wrist.
\n\u201cIncluding the blue flower.\u201d
\nMom suddenly tried to get out of bed.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nI caught her arm.
\n\u201cMom!\u201d
\n\u201cWe’re leaving.\u201d
\n\u201cYou need surgery.\u201d
\n\u201cI don’t care.\u201d
\nThe doctor stepped forward.
\n\u201cMrs. Bennett, please listen.\u201d
\nMom stopped.
\nThat was the first time anyone had said our surname since the door closed.
\nThe doctor opened the folder.
\n\u201cThere is another reason we’re concerned.\u201d
\nHe removed a photocopied photograph.
\nIt showed a group of young women standing in front of a large brick building.
\nThe photograph was faded and grainy.
\nMaybe fifteen girls.
\nMaybe twenty.
\nMost looked barely older than children.
\nThe doctor handed it to Mom.
\nHer hands began shaking violently.
\nI leaned closer.
\nMom was there.
\nSeventeen years old.
\nLong dark hair.
\nThin face.
\nStanding near the back.
\nAnd beside her was another girl whose wrist was turned toward the camera.
\nEven through the faded photograph, I could see it.
\nA tiny flower.
\n\u201cWhat happened to these women?\u201d I asked.
\nMom didn’t answer.
\nThe nurse did.
\n\u201cThat’s what someone is trying to determine.\u201d
\nI looked at her.
\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d
\nShe took another sheet from the folder.
\n\u201cOver the last two years, six former residents have been located.\u201d
\n\u201cThat sounds like good news.\u201d
\nNobody responded.
\nMy stomach dropped.
\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d
\nThe doctor spoke quietly.
\n\u201cFive are dead.\u201d
\nMom made a small sound.
\n\u201cAnd the sixth?\u201d
\nThe doctor looked toward the security officers.
\n\u201cMissing.\u201d
\nFor several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
\n\u201cAre you saying someone is hurting these women?\u201d
\n\u201cWe don’t know that.\u201d
\n\u201cThen why is security here?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause two weeks ago, someone entered this hospital pretending to be a medical-records investigator.\u201d
\nThe nurse continued.
\n\u201cHe asked specifically whether any patients had a blue flower tattooed on their wrist.\u201d
\nMom stood so quickly the IV tray rattled.
\n\u201cWe need to go.\u201d
\n\u201cMom\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cNOW.\u201d
\nThe doctor blocked the doorway.
\n\u201cLeaving may actually put you at greater risk.\u201d
\nMom stared at him.
\n\u201cYou don’t understand.\u201d
\n\u201cThen help us understand.\u201d
\nShe looked at me.
\nThere was something in her eyes I had never seen before.
\nNot simply fear.
\nGuilt.
\n\u201cMom,\u201d I whispered. \u201cWhat happened at that place?\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cThe babies weren’t the only secret.\u201d
\nThe room became completely silent.
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\nMom looked at the photograph again.
\nThen she pointed to a young woman standing in the front row.
\n\u201cThis girl was named Evelyn.\u201d
\nThe nurse leaned closer.
\n\u201cWhat happened to her?\u201d
\n\u201cShe tried to escape.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cThree weeks before my daughter was born.\u201d
\nMom swallowed.
\n\u201cShe discovered something in the administrator’s office.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cBirth records.\u201d
\nI frowned.
\n\u201cWouldn’t a maternity home have birth records?\u201d
\n\u201cNot like these.\u201d
\nMom looked at me.
\n\u201cThere were two sets.\u201d
\nThe doctor slowly lowered the folder.
\n\u201cOne official.\u201d
\nMom nodded.
\n\u201cAnd one real.\u201d
\nA chill traveled down my arms.
\n\u201cWhat was different?\u201d
\n\u201cThe names.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat names?\u201d
\n\u201cThe parents who received the babies.\u201d
\nThe doctor stared at her.
\nMom continued.
\n\u201cSome babies weren’t going to the families listed on the adoption papers.\u201d
\nI felt sick.
\n\u201cWhere were they going?\u201d
\n\u201cI don’t know.\u201d
\n\u201cBut Evelyn did?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat happened to her?\u201d
\nMom’s eyes filled with tears.
\n\u201cThey told us she ran away.\u201d
\n\u201cBut you don’t believe that.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause the night before she disappeared, Evelyn gave me something.\u201d
\nMom reached toward the chain around her neck.
\nI had seen that necklace thousands of times.
\nA simple silver locket.
\nShe never removed it.
\nNot even when she slept.
\nHer trembling fingers opened it.
\nInside was an old photograph of my father.
\nI had seen it before.
\nBut Mom pressed her thumbnail beneath the photograph.
\nA tiny piece of paper slipped out.
\nMy mouth went dry.
\n\u201cYou’ve carried that all these years?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nShe unfolded it.
\nThe paper was yellow and fragile.
\nThere were only three things written on it.
\nA date.
\nA six-digit number.
\nAnd two initials.
\nThe doctor stared.
\n\u201cWhat is that number?\u201d
\nMom shook her head.
\n\u201cI never knew.\u201d
\nThe nurse suddenly leaned closer.
\n\u201cMay I?\u201d
\nMom hesitated before handing it over.
\nThe nurse studied the paper.
\nThen her expression changed.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nThe nurse didn’t answer.
\nShe walked to the computer.
\nHer fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
\nThe doctor came beside her.
\n\u201cWhat are you checking?\u201d
\n\u201cOld patient indexing.\u201d
\nShe entered the six digits.
\nNothing happened.
\nThen she added the date.
\nA record appeared.
\nI couldn’t see the screen.
\nBut the nurse immediately stopped typing.
\nThe doctor leaned closer.
\nHis face changed.
\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I demanded.
\nNeither answered.
\nI walked toward them.
\n\u201cWhat did you find?\u201d
\nThe doctor slowly turned around.
\n\u201cMrs. Bennett\u2026 that number isn’t an adoption record.\u201d
\nMom stared at him.
\n\u201cThen what is it?\u201d
\nHe looked at me.
\nAnd suddenly I knew whatever he was about to say concerned me.
\n\u201cIt belongs to a birth record.\u201d
\nMom’s lips trembled.
\n\u201cWhose?\u201d
\nThe doctor looked back at the screen.
\nThen at my mother.
\n\u201cThe child was born at St. Catherine\u2019s.\u201d
\nMom grabbed the edge of the bed.
\n\u201cWhat’s the mother’s name?\u201d
\nThe doctor hesitated.
\n\u201cEvelyn Carter.\u201d
\nMom went completely still.
\nI stared between them.
\n\u201cAnd the baby?\u201d
\nThe nurse whispered something to the doctor.
\nHis eyes moved toward me again.
\nThat look made my heart pound.
\n\u201cWhy do you keep looking at me?\u201d
\nNobody answered.
\nI stepped closer.
\n\u201cWhat was the baby’s name?\u201d
\nThe doctor turned the monitor slightly.
\nThere was a scanned document on the screen.
\nMost of it meant nothing to me.
\nThen I saw the date of birth.
\nMy date of birth.
\nMy exact date.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nMom began crying behind me.
\nI stared at the screen.
\n\u201cThat has to be a coincidence.\u201d
\nThen I saw another line.
\nA handwritten note beside the identification number.
\nFEMALE INFANT \u2014 TRANSFERRED.
\nAnd underneath it was a surname.
\nBENNETT.
\nMy surname.
\nI slowly turned toward my mother.
\nShe was sobbing now.
\n\u201cMom\u2026\u201d
\nShe couldn’t look at me.
\n\u201cTell me that’s not me.\u201d
\nSilence.
\n\u201cMom.\u201d
\nShe pressed both hands over her face.
\n\u201cTell me.\u201d
\nFinally, she lowered them.
\nAnd the woman I had called my mother for forty-three years whispered five words that shattered everything I knew about my life.
\n\u201cI didn’t give birth to you.\u201d
\nI couldn’t move.
\nI couldn’t speak.
\nThen she looked toward the photograph of the missing girls and added:
\n\u201cBut I know who did.\u201d
\nAnd before I could ask another question, someone knocked three times on the locked hospital door.
\nThe security officer frowned.
\n\u201cWho is it?\u201d
\nA man’s voice answered from the hallway.
\n\u201cHospital administration.\u201d
\nMom’s eyes widened.
\nShe grabbed my wrist so hard it hurt.
\n\u201cNo,\u201d she whispered.
\nThe officer looked at her.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nMom stared at the door.
\nThen she said the words that made both security officers reach instinctively toward their radios.
\n\u201cI know that voice.\u201d………………<\/p>\n
PART 2 \u2014 THE WOMEN WITH THE BLUE FLOWER The security officer closed the door. The click sounded louder than it should have. Mom immediately pulled her sleeve down. \u201cPlease,\u201d … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5199,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6963","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6963","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6963"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6963\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6970,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6963\/revisions\/6970"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6963"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6963"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6963"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}