Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [116]
There is a letter lying between two pages.
24 May 1897
To the Sisters of the Orphanage,
I scarcely know what to write but that I am the mother of the darling baby girl who was left on your doorstep with the three dollars in the basket on the night before last. I cannot speak of the terrible pain of separating from my dear one, but not being able to keep her for the reason that no one will employ me with an infant (and I have neither husband nor father to help me) I must give her up to you. Please comfort her and be kind to her and tell her that her mother is named Francine. I cannot now tell you my other name, but I will one day when I come to fetch her, which I pray I will be able to do soon, if I am earnest and hard-working and can save up some money. She is but four weeks old, and I have not been able to pay for her baptism, so please, if you would be so kind, perform this for her. Her name is Marie Christine, and I hope you will keep this name so that I will one day be able to find her again. And if God does not permit this, I hope that we will be reunited in Heaven.
A mother
Olympia shuts her eyes. 1897. How old would Marie Christine be now? Seven years, eight years? Did the mother come back for her as hoped?
Olympia turns to another page.
15 December 1899
Sister M. Marguerite, Mother Superior,
This child is the product of an assault upon the person of a young woman who has had occasion to come under my care. She is a decent girl but is too poor to support this child, having one other by an unknown person. I was present at the delivery of this infant, whom I pronounced to be in good health, although the girl tells me now that the boy has been weak in his breathing for several days. This child is not yet baptized. You will be well advised to place this child out if you have opportunity, since I doubt sincerely the young girl in question will ever return for him. The event that produced the child is a source of great mental suffering for the girl, and as a result of this, she has had to move away from her mother and stepfather, and I hope you will take my meaning in this.
Respectfully yours,
Dr. R. Martin
Olympia’s face grows hot, and there is perspiration at her hairline. She turns another page and comes upon a piece of stationery that is blank but for its letterhead. She notices the name of Mère Marguerite and decides this must be the tiny woman with the black eyes she is still waiting for. And then Olympia notices, on the letterhead, along with a dozen other names printed in the left-hand margin under the heading Board of Directors, the name of Rufus Philbrick. Of course. Olympia turns another page and draws a note, which appears to have been written on a scrap of brown parcel paper, toward her.
4 February 1901
Dear Sisters,
You are so kind and I know that you will love my little Charles. In your kindness, please forgive an unwed mother whose heart is broken. Please also, if I may request this, place him out to a Catholic family, as I do not like to think of him denied Heaven for want of knowing about the Church. You will forgive me if I do not leave my name.
Olympia returns to her chair and stares at the journal. Do all of the other pieces of paper in the book contain similarly wretched letters? She puts her head in her hands. She gave up her child without so much as a note or a dollar, and what excuse did she have? None. She was not poor. She was not the victim of brutality. And the child, whatever else his circumstances, had been conceived in love. That much was true. How could she have so easily given the child away?
Olympia starts when she hears the door behind her open. The sister walks by her and sits at her desk and appears