“I wish there was something we could do for the older children,” says Puri.
“Whatever do you mean?” demands Sister Hortensia. “We are housing them, feeding them, bathing them, clothing them, and seeing to their education. Most are children of degenerates! But here, they feel a sense of community and will grow into very fine adults.”
“Yes, most are very happy. But they have no parents.”
Sister exhales her annoyance. “It is better to have no parents than the wrong parents.”
Puri thinks on Sister’s statement. She had a hard time sleeping, thinking of the crying boy, abandoned on the sidewalk. Many families have eight or ten children but no way to support them. She thinks of José, the little boy who lost his tooth, and the letter from Sister Hortensia to his family, explaining how gifted and smart he is. But they did not want him back. They are the wrong parents. José is fortunate to live at the Inclusa. He will grow into a fine man. Puri thinks of little Clover, her favorite. What if no one wants her?
Puri knows she is lucky to be an only child and receive her parents’ full attention, but one child does not satisfy the Francoist mandates for large families. She once tried to discuss it with her mother. When Puri commented that being an only child like herself was a rarity in Spain, her mother became deeply offended and stomped off to her room.
Sister Hortensia’s mouth softens. “You care very deeply for the children, Purificación. The doctors and I see that. We are grateful for your tender heart. It is a virtue. Like you, we want each child to have the best chance to succeed in life.”
Puri nods emphatically. “Yes, Sister. That’s it. I just want these children to have an opportunity.” Puri thinks of the letters she smuggled out in her uniform. Two were from Spanish Republican families, desperate to locate a child they suspected had been taken from them at birth.
“Of course,” says Sister Hortensia, nodding. “And that’s exactly what we want too. The opportunity for a fine life, a devout life, a life rehabilitated and liberated from sins of the past. I’m very pleased with your dedication. We have plans for you, Purificación.”
Plans for her? Pride swells within Puri’s chest.
“For now, take this folder downstairs and file it accordingly.” She hands Puri a file and also a small slip of paper with two numbers. “Locate the files listed on the paper and bring them to my office.”
Elated for the opportunity to return to the file room, Puri rushes to the basement.
She retrieves the papers from beneath her apron, the papers she smuggled out the day prior, and returns them to their files. Thankfully, her fit of fake coughing diverted notice of their crunching sound. She looks at the folder Sister Hortensia asked her to file.
Questions. Why does she cling so tightly to questions? Why can’t she open her fist and let them fly away? Together with doctors, bishops, and priests, Sister Hortensia devotes her entire existence to the orphans. It is disrespectful to question their authority.
Yet something nags at her. Hesitation. Doubt. She is ashamed by it, yet compelled to probe further. Puri returns to the RESOLVED files and continues to read through the letters. There are hundreds of them, dating back nearly twenty years.
Most of the correspondence is polite and cautious. But why is the file marked RESOLVED when they are not resolved at all?
A woman gave birth to a healthy baby but was later told that the child was choked by the umbilical cord and died. Could there have been a mistake?
A doctor told a couple they were having twins but upon delivery the nuns claimed there was only one baby. Could there have been a mistake?
Many letters are from families asking where their deceased infants are buried. The letters reference the “generous insistence of the clinic to handle burial of the deceased child” but the parents would now like to visit the grave.
Puri moves quickly. The two files Sister has requested are for recently adopted newborns sin datos. As she scans each file she sees that the infants did not enter via the torno, the box in the wall. One came directly from the hospital and the other came from a medical clinic nearby. One of the infants was sent to a requesting priest in Bilbao. The file on the other child is more cryptic.
Puri retrieves the unmarked file from the desk to cross-reference the adoption fees for each child. As she does, she notices that Clover’s listing has been amended.
200,000 pesetas is crossed out. It now says 150,000 pesetas, pending.
66
“Welcome back, Señora Matheson. I hope you enjoyed Toledo,” greets Ana at the entry to the suite.
“We did, thank you. It was lovely and very warm. My father used to say, ‘When God made the sun, he hung it over Toledo.’”
“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” says Ana. “You telephoned that you’d like assistance unpacking your bag?”
“Please. My husband’s as well. We’ve just returned and Martin is still downstairs.” She steps aside to allow Ana into the room.
As she points out the luggage to be unpacked, Mrs. Matheson notices the telegram, placed squarely on the desk. Her voice falls tense. “Oh, when did this arrive?”
“I am not certain, señora, I did not deliver it.”
Daniel’s mother opens the telegram and quickly scans its contents. She turns her back to Ana. She stands motionless for several minutes.
Ana thinks of Daniel and how upset he was about the telegram. She recalls the touch of their fingers as his hand turned to grasp hers. What if she hadn’t let go? When he confided in her she wanted to do the same. She wanted to explain things, the threatening notes, to tell him everything.
Ana moves Señora Matheson’s expensive shoes to the suite’s closet. The jeweled satin pumps are marked PERUGIA in gold scroll along the instep. Her black hat has a label that reads SCHIAPARELLI. Ana turns from the closet and María Matheson stands, hands nervously clasped as if she’s on the brink of tears.
“Señora Matheson?”
It takes a moment for her to begin. “Ana, I owe you an apology. I didn’t recognize you at the fashion show. Martin, my husband, advised me of my error after we left. It must have been horribly uncomfortable with me showering praise and introductions when in fact we had already met and interacted on several occasions.”
Ana does not want an apology. She does not want the lump swelling in her throat.
Daniel’s mother continues. “It’s bothered me for days.” She extends a hand and steadies herself on a chair. “Ana, I’ve been consumed with personal difficulties of late, and my preoccupation has obviously left me insensitive to others. I’m so sorry. My dear, please believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful, no matter what you are wearing.”