Unspeakable (26 page)

No more
.

“All right,” I said, taking the wheel, heart still pounding from the rush of it all. “But I'm only driving to the edge of the town.”

“No kidding,” he laughed. “I may be adventurous, but I'm not suicidal.”

DRIVING WAS MUCH EASIER
than I'd ever thought once I got the hang of it. As planned, Steele took over when we reached
the next town. A few streets in, we came to a large, three-storey brick house. The gardens and grounds seemed lovely as we drove through the gates and I wondered if those who lived inside them saw them the same way. As we entered, we passed a front office of sorts, where a receptionist sat at a desk.

“Wyatt Steele,” he said to the receptionist. “Miss Hardy and I have an appointment with Mrs. Winters.”

The receptionist led us to another room, where we sat in awkward silence like a pair of guilty schoolchildren in the headmaster's office.

Mrs. Winters entered the room and shook Steele's hand and mine before sitting at her desk. I could tell by her tight hair, her impeccable skirts, and her firm nod to us that she was a no-nonsense woman, much like Matron Jones. Neither paper nor pen sat askew on the blotter before her.

“So I take it you're the mother?” she said, as though continuing our conversation. Her stern look appraised me, but it was without judgment at least.

I nodded.

“This is highly unusual, Mr. Steele,” she added. “But our board members feel that, given the reach of your newspaper, this kind of coverage might boost financial support. Assuming, of course, that you portray us favourably.”

Steele smiled. “Absolutely. I've already done some preliminary research on Dr. Barnardo himself for a possible sidebar. Amazing man. Quite a legacy.”

Mrs. Winters checked a paper. “I have the numbers you requested.” She handed it to him. “By the time he died, the charity had founded ninety-six homes. That's over eight thousand five hundred children. And we're sending
over a thousand a year to Canada as domestic servants and labourers.” She handed Steele the page. “For the record, we check up on the children every three months to ensure they are being educated and disciplined as one of the family.”

I didn't like the sound of that. What about being loved?

“We believe every child deserves a chance, the best possible start in life,” Mrs. Winters added. Her eyes held mine. “Whatever the background.”

For all that she knew, I'd given up my baby. Tossed it aside. “For the record,” I replied, “I thought the child had died at birth.”

“Yes, well.” She clasped her hands on the desk. “All that matters now is that Faith is well. In fact, I'd say she's thriving.”

“Her name—it's Faith?” I said, my voice a whisper.

“It was the name registered when she was dropped off.”

I swallowed. “It's just … Faith was my mother's name.” It warmed me to think that for all she'd taken, Aunt Geraldine had given her that.

Mrs. Winters took up her pen and jotted on the file. “Named … after … maternal grandmother.” She looked up as she returned the pen to its proper place. “It's always nice to know a little something like this. It means a lot to them when they are older. Now,” she said, standing to escort us out, “I thought the gardens would be the nicest backdrop for your photo.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

I SUPPOSE THE GARDENS WERE BEAUTIFUL
—the tulips, daffodils, roses probably all in bloom. I suppose the lawn was tightly mowed beneath and the clouds probably loose and lazy up above. I suppose Winters and Steele were there as well—but all I saw was her. My daughter.

Faith
.

She had dark hair, like mine, but cut short in a bob pinned aside her brow with a white ribbon. Sunlight played on her hair, giving her a shine around her crown like a halo. She wore a simple frock, a cardigan overtop held closed by one button. On her feet were white socks and boots. Walking shoes they were, stiff as boards. She toddled about on her chubby legs, one fist clasped around the fingers of another woman who walked along beside. With her free hand, Faith reached for a low-hanging rose blossom, determined to get it. Even as the woman pulled back, Faith simply let go and took a few staggering steps before plopping down on her bottom and crawling toward it. Everything about
her amazed me. I could hardly breathe knowing this was her.

Faith
.

“Oh, don't let her get grass stains on her dress, Anna,” Mrs. Winters scolded the woman, who picked up the toddler and brushed her clean. “A dirty waif. Good heavens, how would that look? Not good. Not good at all.”

She pointed to a wooden chair someone had set in among the flower beds. “Please have a seat, Miss Hardy.”

Anna set Faith back on her feet and, taking one hand, turned her toward me. Faith's eyes were hazel, like Mam's, and I smiled as we met for the first time. Though, in truth, it felt more like a remembering. Faith squealed in joy at being back on her feet, waving her free arm about. I slowly held out my hands to her, terrified she'd shy away, or worse, cry. I couldn't handle that. As I'd pictured this moment over the past few days, her rejection was what I feared most. But Faith's face lit up as she reached for me, as we mirrored each other's delight. She let go of Anna's hand and took three or four steps to grasp mine.

“Hello, Faith—” My words caught in my throat, but neither of us needed them. I simply lifted her into my arms and her hands went round my neck. She rested her head on my shoulder, her hair soft and sweet against my face. I rubbed her back. Breathed her in. Felt her heart beating against mine. My daughter.

Steele took more photos than he'd ever need. A part of me wondered if he was purposefully dragging it out. He even asked if Mrs. Winters and Anna had some time for more follow-up questions.

“Do you mind if we take a bit longer, Ellen?” he'd asked, knowing I wouldn't. Then he led the women back to the office, giving me precious time with my girl.

Faith and I walked around the flower beds and played in the grass. I watched her explore, happy to share in her awe, seeing everything through her eyes for the first time. We knelt down as she pointed her chubby finger at a black-and-orange caterpillar. I picked it up and let it crawl on her arm. Both of us mesmerized by its rippling body, its shuffling legs. She looked at me in amazement, eyes asparkle, and I laughed, wondering—no, knowing—this was how my mother had felt about me.

“Look at the state of her,” Mrs. Winters scolded when they returned an hour later, and I saw us as we were. Me and Faith, hand in hand, both of us green-kneed and dirty-elbowed. Smudges on our face. Our fingers filthy from where we'd run them through the earth.

Steele laughed and took another picture of us smeared and rumpled.

Mrs. Winters pointed her finger at him. “
That
one does
not
go in the paper.”

“No.” He smiled at me. “That one is for Ellen.”

“It can't be time to go already,” I said, sounding like a child myself. “We only just got here.”

“It's twelve o'clock,” Mrs. Winters said, not even needing to check the watch that hung from a brooch on her lapel.

“Can't we just have a little longer?” I pleaded.

“It's time for Faith's lunch,” she said.

“Yes,” said Anna, stepping forward and slipping her hands under Faith's armpits. As she lifted Faith up and settled
her on her hip, I reluctantly let go of the small hand. “We should be getting home. You'll be wanting your nap soon.”

I realized then who Anna was—not a nursemaid here at the house, but the woman who was raising my daughter.

“Did—” I could hardly get the words out. “Did you … adopt Faith?”

Anna smiled. “No, love, I'm her foster mother.”

The only mother my daughter had known, really. Faith rubbed her eye with her grubby fist and rested her head on that woman's shoulder. The sight of it stirred all manner of feelings—tenderness, jealousy, and mainly anger. Anger that someone had taken what should have been mine. Robbed me of motherhood. Whatever her intentions, the truth was that my aunt had stolen this from me. I wanted to rip Faith from Anna's arms and run with her, run as far as I could.

Steele moved to my side and took my elbow, reading me as easily as one of his damn columns.

“Thank you for your time, ladies,” he said, with his usual charm. They clucked some reply, but I didn't hear.

He pulled me forcibly away, for I would not move myself. How could I? How could I walk away from her—now that I knew she existed? Now that I'd held her. They'd taken her from me once, and it almost killed me. I couldn't let them do that again.

But what else could I do?

Steele navigated me down the path and into the car, where I sat, numb.

This can't be happening
.

Circling to the other side, he slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

“It's what you wanted, isn't it?” he said to me as we started to pull away. “To meet her. To hold her.”

“Yes,” I said, sadly.

“She's in a good home, Ellen, with foster parents and three older children. I asked about all that. I thought you'd want to know.”

I didn't reply.

“Not all foster parents are kind,” he continued, “but Anna is. You know now that Faith is well cared for. Isn't that enough?”

“No,” I said, as I watched my daughter being carried away in the arms of another woman. For no matter what Anna might give Faith, she'd never offer a mother's love. Steele wouldn't understand. I barely understood it myself. But I'd felt it in that moment in the garden. A fierce swelling of pride and awe, of protection, a love that would do anything for her. “She's
my
daughter, Steele.”

We drove on in silence as the house disappeared from view.

“Maybe your aunt was right,” he finally said. “Maybe the best thing you can do for Faith—is let her go.”

I didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to consider that he might be right. Didn't want to remember that I had no way to support my daughter, or even a home to give her, for that matter. I had an appointment with my aunt's lawyer tomorrow. And then what? What then?

“Give her a chance at a better life with Anna or whoever might adopt her.” He paused. “She won't miss you. She won't even remember you.”

“I know that,” I snapped, stung by the truth of his words. “But she's my daughter, Steele. How can I ever forget about her?”

I'd only just found her. And now I was losing her all over again.

Chapter Thirty-Seven