“They’ll love it.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Actually, I’m starving,” Hattie admitted, as she followed her up the steps to the kitchen. She’d left the convent before breakfast. And as soon as they walked in, she could smell cinnamon buns in the oven. Melissa had bought them for her again. She put two on a plate, set them on the kitchen table, poured the coffee, and a minute later they sat down.
“You look happy,” Melissa commented, as Hattie took a single bite of the bun and set it down.
“I am. Mellie, I have something to tell you,” she said, as her older sister raised an eyebrow in interest. “I didn’t go on a retreat. I went to Ireland, to Saint Blaise’s.”
A cloud crossed Melissa’s face instantly at the words. “Why? We already know they destroyed the records. Why did you do that?”
“Because I hated the look in your eyes when you talked about it the last time I saw you. I thought that maybe, as an insider, I could talk to some of the nuns, and find someone who’d been there when you were, and might remember something useful.”
“And did you?”
“Not at Saint Blaise’s. They have a new mother superior, who gave me the party line. God, what an awful place that is. It made me cry, thinking of you there. It’s a home for old nuns now. I walked around, but no one told me anything, or had been there then. They’ve all died or been dispersed. But I discovered that there’s a book about the convent, about the adoptions they did there, and what it was like then. It’s called Babies for Sale and it was written by an ex-nun. I’ll give it to you,” she promised. “Her name is Fiona Eckles. She’s a professor of literature at Dublin University now. She was a midwife at Saint Blaise’s then, when you were there. She’s been released from her vows. Her name was Sister Agnes. She didn’t remember you. I showed her a picture of you at sixteen.”
“I don’t think I remember her either,” Melissa said, frowning. “There were two or three midwives. It was a pretty grim experience. To lower their liability, and reduce the risk for mothers and infants, they gave no drugs, no spinals or epidurals, nothing for the pain. All deliveries were natural. I guess it covered them nicely, no matter how bad it was for the girls. As far as I know, they only had one bad incident, a girl who bled to death in minutes. They didn’t even have time to call the doctor. When they finally did, she was dead when he arrived. She was fourteen. It was terrible. I think the placenta separated or something.
“Maybe I knew Sister Agnes by sight, but I don’t remember her. We only saw the midwives when we delivered. I was in so much pain, I don’t remember anything except wanting to die on the delivery table. I couldn’t believe how civilized it was when I had Robbie. It was night and day. I had an epidural with him. At Saint Blaise’s, it was all very primitive and basic. You went through as many hours of labor as it took, you pushed the baby out, and they took it away and didn’t even show it to you. They sewed you up, and as soon as you could stand up, they put you on a plane and sent you home. So what did this Sister Agnes say?” She spoke in a monotone, remembering clearly the horror of it all.
“She said all the same things you did about the place. She asked to be released from her vows when she left. She gave up being a midwife too. She didn’t remember much about the girls. She said it was a factory, a baby mill for profit, for the Church, just as you said. I think it turned her against the Church forever. Her book about it is very harsh, deservedly so. What she remembered were the names of some of the adoptive mothers, the famous ones. Apparently a lot of Hollywood stars adopted babies there. She remembered three major movie stars who adopted babies the year you were there and she told me their names. It was a long shot, but the only one I had. I figured that our only hope of finding your baby was if one of them had adopted her. So I went to L.A. after I spoke to Fiona Eckles. One of the movie stars had died years ago. Her daughter is an actress and doesn’t know she’s adopted, and I’m happy to say you’re not related to her. She’s a first-class narcissist living with the lead singer of a punk rock band. I pretended to interview her for an online magazine.”
Melissa laughed when Hattie said it. “Oh my God, you’re crazy! When did you do all this?”
“When I told you I was on the retreat. I was playing Sherlock Holmes. I got a three-week leave to do it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.” Hattie wasn’t sure that was true, but she didn’t argue with her.
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed if nothing turned up. The second famous actress adopted a baby boy, so that was a dead end. Marla Moore was the third actress. She was forty years old when she adopted a baby at Saint Blaise’s, and her husband was sixty-two. He died three years later. They were too old to adopt through normal channels in the States, so they went to Saint Blaise’s. They adopted a baby girl, who is a social worker now, married to an entertainment lawyer. They have two very sweet children, Alexandra, who is four, and Andrew, who’s six. Her name is Michaela Ashley. Ashley is her middle name. Marla’s husband didn’t like the name, so they gave her the first name of Michaela.” Hattie was crying by then, and so was Melissa. “She looks so much like Mom that it’s scary. She’s a beautiful girl. We had a DNA test, and we just got the results a few days ago. I’m related to her genetically, so she’s your baby, Mellie. She tried to find you when she turned eighteen, and they told her the same thing they told you, that the records were destroyed in a fire. She gave up after that, but she always wanted to find you. She wants to meet you now.” Melissa had leapt to her feet by then, with tears running down her face, which had gone pale, as she stared at her sister.
“You found Ashley?” she said in barely more than a whisper, shaking from head to foot until she had to sit down. Hattie put her arms around her and hugged her.
“Michaela Ashley,” she said, choking on a sob too. “She’s so beautiful and so nice, wait till you meet her. And she looks like you and Mom. She moves like you, and has your eyes and hair.”
“Were they good to her?” Melissa wanted to know.
“Marla Moore doesn’t sound like the mother of the year, but Michaela said she had everything she could have wanted, and kind people around her. Marla was on location making movies a lot of the time. She was all in favor of Michaela finding you, if she wanted to, but the records being destroyed made it impossible. I hate to think how many people have tried and given up.” Melissa nodded, since she had too.
“When can I see her?”
“She said she’d come to New York to see you and bring the kids. You could invite them here if you want.”
“Does she hate me for leaving her?” Melissa’s eyes looked huge as she questioned her sister.