Elizabeth's Daughter (8 page)

Chapter IX

Elizabeth felt nervous. Mrs. Vargas, the social worker assigned to her after an extensive telephone interview, was coming over to conduct the in-home interview. Elizabeth was sure there was something she should have bothered to study or learn, that there were probably
lists
of things she should know but didn’t. She hated the thought of being quizzed and even worse, of appearing stupid. And even
much
worse, of losing her chance at getting a foster child.

  But when Mrs. Vargas came to the door, Elizabeth was immediately calmed. The woman had such a kind face, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine that she had anything but kindness in her whole being.

  “Come in, please,” Elizabeth said, opening the door wider.

  “Thank you.” Mrs Vargas followed Elizabeth into the living room. After they were seated Mrs. Vargas took in her surroundings. “Very nice home, Miss Morris.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth answered. “May I get you some tea or coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely.”

  It didn’t look as though Mrs. Vargas had moved a muscle when Elizabeth brought the tea tray back into the living room, and yet Elizabeth sensed there was nothing in eyesight that she hadn’t evaluated.

  “Suppose you tell me why you want to be a foster parent,” Mrs. Vargas said as Elizabeth poured the tea.

  Elizabeth sat in the over-stuffed chair across from Mrs. Vargas, studying her for a moment, wanting to organize in her mind what to say, but she was so taken with the appearance of the woman that she was speechless for a moment. Her pale brown skin caught the slanting rays of the sun and it appeared to Elizabeth that she radiated a warm yellow light. Elizabeth told herself it was the sun, but the impression of Mrs. Vargas pouring forth her own unique light was vivid.

  Her expressive-yet-calm dark brown eyes were surely a refuge for the lost and the lonely, and her long-fingered hands gently cradling the china cup had without a doubt cradled many a homeless child, more fragile than china.

  “I... I don’t know where to begin, exactly,” Elizabeth said. “Although I have everything in my life that one could want... money, a job I like, a beautiful home, my health, and people who care about me, there’s something missing.

  “And yet I’m always brought up short by this hollow feeling. What’s wrong? I ask myself. Oh, yes, the answer comes back, you want a child, you want to be giving love.” Elizabeth fell silent.

  Mrs. Vargas nodded, calmly. “Is it possible that you have a need to continue caring for someone, to carry on where you left off after your grandfather died?”

  Elizabeth was surprised that Mrs. Vargas would candidly bring up such a sensitive subject. She was also surprised that she didn’t feel uncomfortable that she did. “Well... I suppose there’s some of that, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I spent years learning how to take care of someone who needs care. I
think
, if I was only missing a habit, I’d volunteer to work in a retirement home. But I have this desire to nurture an infant.

  “You might be wondering,” Elizabeth continued, “like a friend of mine does, why I don’t get married and have a child of my own. But, quite frankly, I’d rather be nurturing a child than pursuing a marriage relationship. I don’t know why my priorities are sort of backwards, but they are.”

  “Don’t be too quick to judge yourself,” Mrs. Vargas said. “You’re not alone in your priorities. A lot of women and a few men are strongly nurturing, which is why the foster care program opened up to singles. Some of our singles environments are the best foster homes we have. Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Please do.”

  Elizabeth took Mrs. Vargas on a tour of the house. When they returned to the living room, Mrs. Vargas sat and made notes for a few moments while Elizabeth tried not to fidget. Finally she closed her notebook and looked at Elizabeth. “You know, your house is not very child-proofed.”

  “Oh?” Elizabeth asked, dismayed. Of all the things she had prepared herself to hear, this was not one of them. She had worked hard to make her home attractive, and meticulously clean.

  “No,” Mrs. Vargas answered. “That is to say, it’s a beautiful, but adult, home. All the crystal knickknacks and the easily knocked over little tables and the open stairway and the open space from the patio to the lake are not a baby environment. I think, although I can tell you’re very sincere, and you have a good and generous heart, I think you don’t realize what the day to day business of caring for a child entails.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. She had thought until this moment that the interview was going very well. Even so, she knew she had nothing to gain if she became emotional.

  “Of course I intend to hire a nanny. I guess that goes without saying, since I’m working. And I wouldn’t hire anyone without your approval. But I’d like to say too that I wonder if any first time mother happens to know everything she needs to know about caring for a baby. Most women have a mother to help give her direction. But I don’t. I suppose some basic instincts evolve during pregnancy, and I don’t have that either.

  “But I assure you,” Elizabeth went on, putting her tea cup on the coffee table,  “I don’t consider the idea of moving a few glass items and getting baby gates on the stairway and putting a wall around the patio too much to expect. On the contrary, I’d enjoy it immensely. Anything that has to do with being a good parent, I can’t wait to do.”

  Mrs. Vargas nodded in her soothing manner. “Well, that’s good.” She gathered her things together and put them back in her briefcase. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Morris, and for letting me see your lovely home.” She stood and extended her hand. “I’ll take a few days to evaluate the interview... and I hope you do the same.”

  Elizabeth followed Mrs. Vargas to the door, thanked her for coming and closed the door behind her. But her movements were automatic. She felt sure she’d been given an extremely polite “no,” and she was failing at convincing herself that it was not something to cry over.

Chapter X

Three weeks later, after Elizabeth had tried hard to give up the idea of becoming a foster parent
–
three weeks of not entering her carpet room because she didn’t want to have to look at the pastel baby carpet she’d begun on the loom
–
she came home from work to find a message on her answering machine from Mrs. Vargas asking Elizabeth to return her  call.

  She dialed the number Mrs. Vargas had left as her home telephone number before she even took her purse off her shoulder.

  “Hello?” Mrs. Vargas’ calm voice answered.

  “Hello, Mrs. Vargas, this is Elizabeth Morris. I just got your message.”

  “Oh, Miss Morris, I’m glad to hear from you. I have some news. We have a baby girl who needs a foster home.”

  Elizabeth caught her breath.

  “Before you say anything,” Mrs. Vargas went on, “there are details you must know... that you have to consider. The baby is nine months old, she is very sweet-natured, but she is handicapped. She was born with talipes.”

  Talipes?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes. Club-footed, in lay language. She will have to have surgery in the near future.”

  “Oh, goodness,” Elizabeth said, taken aback.

  “The poor baby has become orphaned since you and I last spoke,” Mrs. Vargas went on. “Would you like to see her?”

   Elizabeth hesitated, and the silence seemed to roar. “Do you think I’m capable of coping with such special circumstances?”

 
“Miss Morris, you were the one who implied you’d do anything to be a foster parent.”

  “And I
would,”
Elizabeth said emphatically. “But I’m thinking of the baby. I might not be able to... “

  “I appreciate your caution Miss Morris,” Mrs.Vargas said agreeably, “but the reason the board and I decided to give you a try with this particular case is because of your background in dealing with your grandfather frequently in and out of the hospital.”

  “I see,” Elizabeth said. They were “giving her a try.” It was an audition, except with a child’s life as a stage prop. This would not be the moment to tell Mrs. Vargas about her loathing of hospitals... that just to drive by UCI Medical Center on the freeway gave her a rush of nausea.

  “Additionally,” Mrs. Vargas went on, “there happens to be a nanny available who couldn’t come more highly recommended. I know her personally and her record is excellent. She’s worked with handicapped children before. She’s a resourceful,hard-working, reliable person.” Mrs. Vargas paused for a moment. “Of course the foster care check is unlikely to cover the expenses of the child and the nanny....”

  “I don’t care about that!” Elizabeth burst out, incensed. “Goodness!”

  “Well, that’s what I thought,” Mrs. Vargas said. “Anyway, I know this is a lot to throw at you all at once, but it came up so suddenly. Gail, the nanny, just called today to let me know she was available.”

  “I see,” Elizabeth said, at a loss for words. At a loss for
thoughts.

  “Do you want to see the baby? ...or not?”

  Elizabeth looked around the living room from which she’d removed her occasional tables and all the fragile knickknacks within baby reach, even as she had been certain that she’d never hear from Mrs. Vargas again. “Yes,” she answered. “Of course.”

  Mrs. Vargas suggested coming over with the baby in two hours and Elizabeth agreed.

  After she hung up, she looked around in stunned silence. Her shoulder bag slipped from her shoulder, bringing her back to reality.

  She checked herself in a mirror. She looked harried and nervous after a particularly stressful day at work. Not an appropriate picture, she told herself.

  She went upstairs and indulged in an Epsom salt bath. Then she put on a pale green lounge suit.

  While she wolfed down some salad the doorbell rang.

  Elizabeth opened the door. There stood a smiling Mrs. Vargas, her mother-earth eyes soft and compassionate, her arms full of pink blanket.

  “Come in,” Elizabeth said, feeling breathless.

  Mrs. Vargas stepped through the doorway. Elizabeth lead her into the living room and Mrs. Vargas sat on the sofa. Elizabeth hovered around her unable to decide if she should sit near or far.

  “Amethyst, this is Miss Morris’ home,” Mrs. Vargas said in a mellifluous and soft voice. “She wants to meet you, pretty baby.” Mrs. Vargas shifted the pink blanket and two round-as-quarters dark blue eyes looked up at Elizabeth, a look that plunged straight into her heart.

  “Oh!” Elizabeth breathed. “Oh, how...
precious!”
Elizabeth reached for the baby without knowing it, and when the realization of her incredible attraction to the baby hit her, her hands stopped in mid-air, unable to move forward or to drop.

  “You can hold her,” Mrs. Vargas said, handing the bundle to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth took the baby and looked down at her remarkable face, the huge unflinching eyes, the black ringlets of hair, the delicate cameo skin.

  “Oh my! Oh my goodness, Mrs. Vargas, you didn’t tell me she was so beautiful.”

  The fresh scent of baby powder wafted up around Elizabeth and she felt herself relax. “Pretty baby,” Elizabeth cooed, hugging her. Something jabbed her through the blanket. Elizabeth frowned.

  “The brace,” Mrs. Vargas said.

  “Oh! Poor baby,” Why would such an innocent and fragile being had to endure any sort of hardship? Elizabeth wondered. “Poor baby,” Elizabeth repeated, rocking her gently.

  Mrs. Vargas stood and walked around the room, looking at the art and knickknacks, saying nothing. Elizabeth had the impression Mrs. Vargas was allowing Elizabeth and the baby a moment to bond. And even though it was obvious, Elizabeth was grateful. She wanted to return the unabashed stare of the baby.

  She felt that haunting hollow emotion abate.

  Mrs. Vargas turned to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked up at her. “You called her....”

  “Amethyst. It was her mother’s favorite gem.”

  “Amethyst.” Elizabeth looked back at the quiet, serious baby, who still had not taken her eyes off her. “What a pretty name you have, baby.” Elizabeth smiled at Mrs. Vargas. “You have excellent instincts, I’m completely head-over-heels from now and forever in love with little Amy.”

  “And she seems to like you. Since her mother died, I’m the only person she doesn’t cry around... until now. Here, I’ll write Gail’s number down for you, and then, I’m afraid Amethyst and I must be going. She has a doctor’s appointment yet this afternoon.” 

  After Mrs. Vargas wrote down the nanny’s telephone number, Elizabeth reluctantly handed the baby back to her.

  “By-bye, Amy-baby. See you soon, I hope!”

  “I hope so too,” Mrs. Vargas agreed, smiling.

  After Mrs. Vargas left, Elizabeth wandered about the house with a pencil and note pad, making notes of all the things she had to get and all the things she had to change. The downstairs study she’d turn into the nanny’s room. She’d hire someone to build a lattice-work wall around the patio, it would be prettier anyway, and that same someone could perhaps put baby gates at the top and the bottom of the stairs.

  Then she had to get a crib, a play pen and some toys. And she’d have to discuss with Mrs. Vargas or Gail, if she agreed to be Amy’s nanny, about essentials for the baby. What did she know about diapers and baby food? All she knew about baby clothes was that they were very small. She went to the telephone to call Martha. But she stopped with the number half dialed. No, she decided. She wanted to keep this moment to herself. There would be plenty of times to share her new happiness with her friends later, after Amy had moved in. She retrieved the phone number of the nanny and called Gail, instead.