Consider the Crows (24 page)

“You hear anything earlier?”

“Uh—no, sir. A time or two I thought I did. But just the wind, you know.”

“You didn't see anybody?”

“No, sir. Just you.”

“Where were you a couple minutes ago?”

“Right there stuck to the well.”

Parkhurst nodded. “Get back to it. We're going to take a look around.”

“Yes, sir.”

Susan and Parkhurst tromped through the woods, shining flashlights around and found nothing.

“Apparently didn't leave any footprints either,” she said dryly as they mushed back to the house.

“It's snowing,” he said.

“You imagined it,” she said.

“Yeah, maybe. I saw a shadow and then it was gone.” He unlocked the door, reached in for the light, then waited for her to go in ahead of him. Leaping around after shadows seemed to improve his mood.

It was colder inside the house than outside. The cabinet, built into the wall beside the ancient gas stove, was five feet high, two feet wide and two feet deep. It had three shelves with a few cans, mostly dog food and a twenty-five-pound bag of dry dog food on the floor.

They scooped up the cans, removed the shelves and knelt to peer at the floorboards. She held the light while Parkhurst tapped the boards and, leaning on a palm, put pressure on various spots. The boards seemed solid.

“You suppose McKinnon looked in here before he told us about it?”

“Just figure out how to get in.”

“If we don't find anything, McKinnon got here first.”

“What's this prejudice you have against David?”

Parkhurst took the light from her, squeezed his shoulders inside and stuck his nose inches from the baseboards. He grunted, backed out and straightened up on his knees to get a pocket knife. Carefully, he inserted the blade behind the baseboard and wiggled it gently, then applied more force. The baseboard popped out.

“Not nailed in,” he said and pulled out the other three.

The floorboards, fitted tightly together, lifted easily. They looked at each other with smug looks of congratulation and then practically slugged each other aside to see what they had.

Notebook. Ordinary blue-gray three-ring binder. Lordy, Lordy, what have we here? She got her hands on it. The space, only about two feet square, also had bills, checkbook, letters from Shelley, canceled checks and a scattering of receipts for paid bills and purchases.

“Why didn't we find this before?” she said.

“You want to kick me a few times? Then I'll go kick Osey a few times.” He made neat little stacks, as he separated bills, letters, receipts. “Why'd she hide all this stuff away?”

“I think she was secretive by nature. It probably appealed to her to have a secret hiding place. And maybe she didn't want stepfather Herbert going through this.” Susan picked up the binder. “Let's get out of here before we freeze to death.”

They gathered everything up, placed it in a paper bag and left.

*   *   *

With Parkhurst right behind her, she trudged through snow toward her house.

“You ought to leave a light on,” he said.

“I didn't plan on coming in this late.” She unlocked the door and flicked on the kitchen light. Mess, big mess. Dirty dishes, full ashtrays, table littered with books and papers. No telling what kind of chaos the kitten had added.

Parkhurst's eyes held a glint of amusement as though he was aware of her discomfort. With a glance at the table, he said mildly, “Maybe the other room?”

She led him through the dining room, turning on the light as she went, and was relieved to see the kitten hadn't destroyed the living room in her absence. Lynnelle's binder clutched to her bosom, she stood looking around, feeling like a hostess caught unaware and wanting to make apologetic noises. Shit, this isn't a social call. So what, if he thinks I'm a slob.

She dropped the notebook on the coffee table and switched on lamps at either end of the couch. “Drink?” she asked, slightly less than gracious.

“Sure.” Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it over the back of the easy chair and pushed up the sleeves of his white cable-knit sweater.

In the kitchen, she shed her trenchcoat, clinked ice into two glasses and tipped scotch over it. She sipped from one and grimaced, dumped it in the sink and put water on for coffee. When the tea kettle shrieked, she spooned coffee crystals in a dirty mug and added hot water.

Resting on his heels, Parkhurst crumpled newspaper under logs in the fireplace and struck a match. Great. Those were the papers she was saving to read when she got the chance. She handed him the scotch. He smiled tightly, lifted the glass in her direction and took a sip, then picked up the binder and settled cross-legged with his back to the fire.

She joined him, legs also crossed Indian-style, fire warming her back and read over his shoulder.

The first page, ordinary lined notebook paper, was dated June 13.

TODAY I AM NOBODY

Parkhurst looked at her, raised his eyebrows and turned the page. “My past is a shoebox,” he read aloud.

An old shoebox covered with dust way at the back of my mother's closet. Rose's closet. From now on I'll call her Rose. She lied to me. Everything was a lie. All those times she told me she loved me and I was so special. Lies! How could she do that to me! I'll never trust anybody again!

Looking over his shoulder, Susan could see that the handwriting had deteriorated as numbed bewilderment boiled over into rage. Adoption papers were clipped to the next page, followed by an old letter addressed to Rose. Lynnelle had underlined several sentences. Susan leaned closer to decipher the scrawl.

Rose, I know how much you want a baby, but there's an awful lot of risk in adopting. I wish you'd think about it more. You never know what you'll get. What kind of people does this baby come from?

“Aren't people wonderful,” Parkhurst said sourly.

They were sitting so close their knees were almost touching and she was acutely aware of the smell of him, a clean smell of soap. She stretched her legs out straight and thought he knew exactly what she was doing. She reached over and flipped the page.

The altered birth certificate had the name of the hospital where Lynnelle was born and the name of the attending physician. Mother—Rose Vivien Hames. Father—Richard Alan Hames. The date, time of birth, sex of baby and weight. Below was a copy of the original birth certificate. Mother—Karen Hart. Father—unknown.

“Ah.” She squinted, leaning even closer. “Karen Hart. That sound like anyone we know?” She turned her head to glance up at him.

He was looking down at her. Firelight threw shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, leaving his eyes in darkness. A pulse fluttered in his throat. The fire snapped with a shower of sparks. She jumped, smiled—it felt like stretching a mask—took the notebook and plopped it on her thighs. Parkhurst sipped scotch.

She read aloud.

Had a big fight with Herbert. He tried to tell me Rose loved me. She only did what she thought was best. He's so sorry I had to find out this way. He's so sorry I'm so upset.

June 14

It's almost midnight and I'm writing this in bed. I've been thinking all day. I have to find my mother. Karen Hart. I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll tell Shelley so she won't worry, but no one else and make her promise never to tell Herbert where I am. Not even her mother.

June 17

I did it! I did it! Here I am in Oklahoma City. City of my birth! I waited until Herbert went to work and then I left. I'm staying in a motel. Not a very nice one, but it's okay. I can't wait for morning. First thing I'm going to buy a car with the money Rose left me. Then talk to Dr. Gorman who delivered me. Maybe he even knew my mother personally. Like a friend of the family or something. Maybe he knows where she is!

June 18

Got a car! My very first car! It's yellow. Only good thing today.

Dr. Gorman isn't even here any more. He died two years ago. Nobody at the hospital knows anything or they won't tell me anything.

June 19

I went to see Mr. Lavery, the attorney. I made an appointment so he'd have to see me. But he couldn't tell me anything. I guess I believe him. He seems okay and acted like he'd like to help me and everything but he said he didn't know anything at all about my mother. Only her name. I already know that. I won't give up.

June 22

I didn't know I could be so lonely. I've been thinking a lot about Rose. I thought I hated her, but I don't anymore. I wish she were here so I could talk to her.

July 4

Fire crackers. Seems like I don't have much to celebrate.

July 12

I have a job! Receptionist at Belker's Electronics. And I found a place to live. Only one room but it's all mine. I even bought furniture—a sleeping bag and a lamp. That's all I need anyway, plus some dishes and stuff. And best of all I have a telephone. I called Shelley. Was she ever surprised. She promised to write to me.

July 24

Drove to Clayton today. Hardly anybody still there that I used to know. The Johnsons and the Meyersons. They were real surprised to see me and said how sorry they were about Rose.

I've written to everybody I could think of. All Rose's friends and her cousins and everybody. Nobody seems like they want to talk about my adoption. They didn't know anything about the girl. That's what everybody calls my mother. The girl. Maybe that means she was very young. Everybody asks why I want to know all this. Forget about it. It doesn't matter. Rose was your mother. Get on with your life.

Aug. 5

Herbert found me! Shelley told. Everybody always believes him when he looks so sincere and says how much he loves me. He loved me all right! I hate him! I hate him! I told him to leave me alone. I never want to see him again.

It's two in the morning. I keep thinking about all those times when he loved me. And told me never to tell. Our special secret. He did those things because he loved me so much. Why didn't she protect me? She should have protected me. I hate him!

“Not real fond of stepdaddy.” Parkhurst tipped an ice cube in his mouth and crunched down hard. “Bastard.” He set down the glass and took the notebook. Bending over it, he read:

Sept 1

My birthday. I'm 21 years old. I wonder if my mother is thinking about me. Shelley called. All I did was cry. She said I should get myself a birthday present. Something very special.

Special! Special! Special! I got a dog. Alexa is the most beautiful, sweetest dog in the whole world. Went to the animal shelter. Terrible sad place. I wanted to take them all. Alexa knew I came for her. As soon as she saw me she made this big commotion. Both of us just thrown away. Now we have each other!

Silently, he glanced through several pages, muttering, “Nothing but passages of discouragement and despair. Ah, things are looking up.”

Oct 14

I got an idea. I saw a movie this evening and I got so excited I wasn't even paying attention. It was about putting ads in the personal columns of newspapers.

Oct 15

I did it! I did it! Would anybody with information about Karen Hart, who had a baby on September 1, twenty-one years ago please contact me. Can't wait to get a paper with my ad.

“Got five responses.” he said, running a finger down the page. “None of them what she was looking for. Here.”

Nov. 22

Gladys Shumacher rented an apartment to my mother! She's pretty old and kind of nosey. She has a canary she calls Billy and she was putting newspapers in the cage. She said something just drew her eye to my ad. So she saved it and then thought about it for a long time and finally something just told her to answer. Lucky for me!

Two girls, she said rented the apartment. Real polite and quiet. One of them was pregnant and Mrs. Shumacher thought she was about fifteen. She called herself Karen Hart. Mrs. Shumacher gave me this sideways look, like she knew what that meant. But she couldn't really tell me much except no mail ever came addressed to Karen Hart. Hardly any mail ever did come, but if any did it was addressed to

“Well, well, well,” Parkhurst said.

“What?”

“Addressed to Carena Gebhardt.”

“Let me see that.” Susan grabbed back the notebook, thinking this Three Stooges routine was ridiculous. She continued from where he left off.

The letters came from some place in Kansas. Mrs. Shumacher couldn't remember where. And she thought there was something from the University of Oklahoma.

Carena Gebhardt is my mother!

The sentence, written over and over, covered an entire page.

Susan quickly skimmed through the following pages. Lynnelle obtained a copy of Carena's birth certificate giving her the names of Carena's parents and an address. Attempts to reach the parents by phone and letter were unsuccessful. They had moved away and she didn't know where. For a time she seemed stymied again and then she made repeated visits to the University of Oklahoma. Carena Gebhardt had attended. From old yearbooks in the school library, she discovered that when Carena graduated her last name had changed to Egersund. Lynnelle fired off letters seeking a copy of a marriage license and finally got one. Carena Gebhardt had married Gerald Egersund.

Now she had another name to search and again a long period of no progress. Finally, simply for the sake of activity, she began looking up Egersund in phone books at the public library. Since it was an uncommon name, fortunately for her and her phone bill, she didn't find many. One listed in Tulsa turned out to be Gerald Egersund's mother. She told Lynnelle Jerry was teaching at the University of Colorado.