Marta's Legacy Collection (64 page)

Carolyn’s heart pounded during AA meetings. She could feel the tension grow inside her. Sitting on her hands, she kept her head down, listening, soaking in the words.

One evening the silence lasted so long, she broke out in a sweat. She knew it was her turn to open up, but didn’t know if she could speak a coherent sentence.

She took a breath and confessed she started drinking to deal with the stress of attending UCB. She drank more when her brother was sent to Vietnam, then started smoking pot with friends while protesting the war.

Everyone listened. No one judged her. Several came over to talk with her after the meeting, sharing similar stories.

“First time is usually hardest,” Boots told her on the way home.

It took another month before she could talk about Charlie. She’d stayed drunk or stoned the year after he died. “I can only remember bits and pieces; most I’d rather forget. . . .” She cried when she told them about Chel.

Mom called again. Carolyn might not be able to talk with her mother, but Boots never had a problem. “She’s filling out, has a nice basketball growing.” Boots took pictures of Carolyn. When December rolled around, Mom and Dad sent money. So did Oma. Carolyn wrote and thanked them. Boots took her to the mall. As they wandered through the stores, Boots picked up a sweater. “Good godfrey! What a price!” She folded the sweater back onto the table. When she wasn’t looking, Carolyn bought it for her.

Boots cried when she opened the box Christmas morning and found the red cashmere sweater. “You must have spent all your Christmas money on this.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

Boots put the sweater back in the box. “I love it, of course. But now you listen. Your mom and dad have been sending me money every month. I never asked for a penny, but they insisted. And then you go and buy this. I should take it back to the store.”

“Please don’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.” She grinned, eyes brimming. “I’ll throw you a shower instead.”

Oma and Mom sent their regrets, inclement weather keeping them from making the long drive south. Oma had a bad cold, and Mom was keeping an eye on her.

A half-dozen friends of Boots showed up bearing gifts, most of which turned out to be for Carolyn and not the baby. A peach suit, white shell blouse, a pair of taupe heels and purse. “For job interviews.” A jogging suit “to get back in shape after the baby.” A classic camel-hair coat.

They couldn’t have been kinder, though their expectation was clear: adoption was the best option. Only Boots gave her money to spend as she wanted.

Braxton Hicks contractions came often. Carolyn knew she didn’t have much time left. She cried more now than she had during the earlier months, and she dreamed of sleeping in Golden Gate Park, lying on a sleeping bag beneath a black plastic lean-to. When she awakened, she reminded herself of Jesus speaking in that loving voice, His hand upon her, the tiny starlike flowers blooming in the grass, and dawn coming.

Mom finally asked the dreaded question. “Have you decided what to do?”

Carolyn noted her mother didn’t ask what she
wanted
to do. Her eyes burned. She swallowed hard and wiped tears from her cheeks. “I guess.” Give up her baby to someone else to rear. Everyone seemed to think that best, except Boots, who said things had a way of working out. Carolyn didn’t see how. Had they worked out for Chel?

“You can stay with me as long as you want, Carolyn. You want to keep the baby, we’ll work things out so you can.”

Carolyn felt ashamed. Chel had paid for everything after they’d left Berkeley. She didn’t want someone else paying her way now. It was just another way to run and hide from the real world. She had to grow up sometime, had to bear the consequences of her actions, no matter how painful. And wouldn’t her baby be better off with someone else, someone less screwed up? someone who could offer a home and love? In three weeks, more or less, she’d give birth. She had to stop dreaming.

She called the adoption agency. They said they’d draw up papers. She cried all the way back to Boots’s house.

Carolyn went out for a long walk alone the next morning. She had memorized the Serenity Prayer and said it over and over.

“A package came for you last night,” Boots told her over breakfast. “I forgot all about it when you came home so upset. I put it on your bed.”

Boots had sliced open the cardboard box. Carolyn lifted out the big pink- and blue-papered box. When she opened the card, she recognized her mother’s neat handwriting.

Dad and I hope this helps you make your decision. We love you.

They’d sent a baby car seat.

My dearest Carolyn,

I had a quiet Christmas with Bernhard, Elizabeth, and Eddie. I’m in Truckee now, enjoying snow-covered mountains, remembering the days I took long walks in the Alps with my friend, Rosie. She has been my faithful friend through all these years. She knows all my faults and failures and still loves me. May Boots prove such a friend to you.

I’m in no hurry to go home. All I do is sit alone in the cottage. Your mother is working long hours at the hospital. Your dad comes home and goes right to work building the retaining walls for the terraces he has planned. Rikka wants me to come to New York City in the spring. A gallery will be showing her work.

You and my first great-grandchild are in my constant prayers. God grant you peace in whatever decision you make. I love you. That will never change. And I will love your child, too, no matter what happens.

Life has its twists and turns, Carolyn. As for me, I am surrendering all to Jesus and trust Him to make it all straight in the end. Whatever you may think now, God promises to use everything that happens for His good purpose in making you into the woman He designed you to be. Just love Him. Lean on Him. Remember He loved you first and always. As do I.

Love,

Oma

1971

Labor started in the middle of the night on February 6. Boots acted as Carolyn’s coach. Boots washed the baby and wrapped her. The moment Carolyn held her newborn, she roused from exhaustion and wept with joy. She fell in love for the first time. Her daughter fit perfectly in her arms. Carolyn felt a tug at her breast as tiny fingers closed around her thumb. God had given her this child the night she had almost thrown her life into the sea. Tangible evidence of His grace.

Boots’s eyes shone with tears over her surgical mask. “Well, you can’t name her Charlie now, can you?”

“Her name is May Flower Dawn.” She knew it sounded like a hippy name, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t call her the only other name that fit—Epiphany.

She’d conceived the baby the night before she saw Jesus, and she would always consider this child an undeserved gift from God.

Mom called every few days to check on things. “Everything is ready.” After a month, she lost patience. “It’s time to come home, Carolyn. Boots has done enough.”

May Flower Dawn slept most of the way. Carolyn stopped every couple of hours to nurse and change diapers. When she arrived home, Mom and Dad came outside. Oma came out of the cottage. Before Carolyn could get out of the car, her mother opened the passenger door and lifted May Flower Dawn from the car seat.

Her parents had turned Charlie’s room into a nursery. They’d painted the walls pale green. Mom had hung airy white curtains. Dad had put up new pull-down shades and set up the white crib. Oma had bought the mobile with Disney characters. Dad had painted the bookcase white. Charlie’s sci-fi books were gone and in their place, two stacks of diapers, Vaseline, baby powder, baby shampoo, bath soap, and some children’s books.

May Flower Dawn still in her arms, Mom opened the closet. “Your grandmother has been sewing since she found out she has a great-granddaughter.”

“So have you,” Oma said from the doorway.

They had even bought a rocking chair. Mom sat in it. She laid May Flower Dawn on her lap. “She’s beautiful.” When May Flower Dawn started to whimper, Mom lifted her to her shoulder.

Carolyn stepped forward and reached out. “She’s hungry.”

Reluctantly, it seemed, Mom relinquished May Flower Dawn. Carolyn waited until her mother, father, and grandmother filed out of the bedroom before sitting on Charlie’s bed to nurse her baby. She looked around the room again, taking in all the work her parents and Oma had done.

They might not love or want
her
, but Carolyn had no doubt they wanted May Flower Dawn.

18

Carolyn sat at the dining room table, Dad at the head, Mom sitting opposite with May Flower Dawn in her arms again. While she cooed softly to Carolyn’s baby, Dad did the talking. “It’s not going to be a free ride. You’ll have conditions to meet if you’re going to live here.” He folded his hands on the table. “We expect you to finish college and get your degree. And we expect you to work and pay rent.”

Panic bubbled. “How?”

“You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to work your way out. Here’s how things are going to be.”

“You’ll have two more months to rest and take care of the baby.” Mom spoke without lifting her head. “By then, our little lady here will have had the most important benefits of nursing.” When May Flower Dawn grasped Mom’s thumb, Carolyn felt a twinge of jealousy. “I’ll step in then.”

“Step in?”

“Your mother is giving up her career in order to stay home and take care of your daughter.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“No, you didn’t ask, but what did you think, Carolyn?” His eyes darkened in anger. “You could live off other people because you have a child?” His voice became tighter, harsher. “We can’t take care of you for the rest of your life. You have to learn how to pay your way.”

Mom raised her head. “Trip . . .”

Dad glanced at her and at the baby in her arms. His shoulders sagged. He looked back at Carolyn, his expression bleak. “We’re not trying to punish you, Carolyn. We want to help you put your life back together. You need to finish school. Berkeley is out of the question, so we filled out the application for State College in Hayward. All you have to do is sign it. The college has an employment office. They’ll help you find a job that will work into your school schedule.”

Mom looked at her sadly. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

“Life isn’t easy.” Dad’s mouth flattened. “We won’t be around forever, picking up the pieces. You need a way to support yourself. Without an education, you’re not going to get much of anything. We tried to tell you—”

Mom cleared her throat.

May Flower Dawn began to cry, a whimper at first, then louder, her little mouth opening and quivering as she wailed. Carolyn wanted to do the same thing. She started to stand. “Let me take her, Mom.”

Mom stood, too, and shook her head. “She’ll be fine. You and Dad need to talk.” She took the baby into the back bedroom and closed the door, leaving Carolyn alone in the dining room with her father. He hadn’t finished laying down the rules.

“You’ll pay us rent. Not much, and not until you start working, but after that, we want eighty percent of whatever you make. It’ll go for room and board and to repay the money we sent to Boots. And the hospital bill.”

The full weight of what he expected fell on her like a load of bricks. How many years would it take to pay off her debts—ten? twenty? May Flower Dawn would be grown and gone by then. She could hear her baby crying and wanted to go after her, wanted to grab hold of May Flower Dawn and run.

“Excuse me.” Carolyn stood.

“Where are you going?”

“She’s hungry.”

She didn’t tap at the bedroom door. She walked in. “She needs to nurse, Mom.”

Mom smiled. “Sit here beside me and I’ll give her to you.”

Were there going to be conditions on everything now? Maybe there always had been. She hadn’t understood the rules she had to follow to earn love. When Mom didn’t rise from where she sat on the edge of the big double bed, Carolyn obeyed. Mom handed over May Flower Dawn, but didn’t leave her alone.

Mom put her hand on Carolyn’s knee. “I know you probably won’t believe this right now, but Dad and I aren’t doing this to ruin your life. We’re not trying to make things even harder for you; we’re trying to help you learn how to stand on your own two feet.”

Carolyn looked into her mother’s eyes and saw compassion. She also saw pain, and she knew she had caused it. “I know, Mom.”

She also knew the price they asked: May Flower Dawn.

What her parents demanded wasn’t in writing. They didn’t ask for her signature on any document. But it was a binding contract nonetheless, and Carolyn agonized over it. She could see no way out, nor did she feel she had the right to seek one. For the next six weeks, she pondered what she would have to do to make a way for herself and her daughter. If she went back to Boots, she would destroy a friendship that had weathered more than thirty years. She couldn’t do that to her mother or to Boots.

So Carolyn signed the college application, put May Flower Dawn into the car seat, and drove into Hayward to hand-deliver it. Every course she had completed at UCB would count at State. At least that was something, though she would still have two and a half years of coursework to complete while working part-time. If she went to school half-time, it would take her five years.

Could she do it? She spoke with the employment office. They assured her they would be able to find something for her when the semester began.

Time passed too quickly. She grasped every moment with May Flower Dawn, holding her, playing with her, watching her sleep. When Mom gave two weeks’ notice at the hospital, Carolyn wept.

The first week of separation from May Flower Dawn proved agonizing. Her milk came in when she would have been feeding her, and the pain was excruciating. By the time she returned home, her mother had given May Flower Dawn formula, bathed her, changed her, and rocked her to sleep. Carolyn was left to take a warm shower and watch her milk flow down the drain.

She got a job in the library. She worked twenty-five hours a week, minimum wage. At the end of the month, she signed over her paycheck to her father. Dad had given her an accounting. Most of her check would go toward the hospital bill and Boots repayment, then toward room and board. Once the hospital bill and Boots had been taken care of, Carolyn could chip away at what she owed for tuition and books. He gave her twenty-five dollars to call her own. What she didn’t spend on gas for Charlie’s Impala went into a savings account.

Depressed, driven, Carolyn thought about drinking again. At least drunk she wouldn’t feel the pain, the loneliness. Frightened by the craving, she found an AA meeting in Hayward. It helped to have friends who understood, a place where she could draw hope from others’ experiences. But it took another hour out of her day, an hour she might have spent with May Flower Dawn.

Between classes, work, and AA meetings, Carolyn missed every milestone in May Flower Dawn’s first year. Carolyn wasn’t there when her baby daughter rolled over, learned to grasp a toy, sat up, or began to crawl. She didn’t hear her say
Mama
. Mom and Dad began calling her daughter Dawn, and when she needed comfort or wanted something, she didn’t reach out to Carolyn. She wanted Granny.

1974

Finally growing weary of her library job, Carolyn used a portion of her savings to buy business attire and applied for part-time work as a receptionist in a real estate office owned by Myrna Wegeman, an attractive, ambitious overachiever, who hired her and started Carolyn at fifty cents more an hour than she’d been earning. Carolyn still had nights and Sundays free to study and attend AA meetings, but hardly any time at all with three-year-old Dawn. Mom and Dad didn’t complain, and Dawn didn’t miss her.

With a constant stream of new listings, Myrna handed Carolyn an expensive camera and sent her out to take pictures of properties. Carolyn studied the houses from every angle before shooting the pictures. Myrna couldn’t have been more pleased with the results.

“I’m getting more calls on the properties you’ve shot than the ones I’ve done. You have a talent for this. Ever think about becoming a real estate agent?”

The more Carolyn did for Myrna, the more Myrna expected of her. When Myrna began asking her to oversee open houses on Sunday afternoons, Carolyn asked for double pay. Myrna reluctantly agreed.

This time, Carolyn ran into resistance at home. Mom balked at the idea of longer hours. “You’re hardly ever home as it is.”

Dad didn’t like the idea either. “Your mother could use a break once in a while.”

So could I!
Carolyn wanted to say. She never had a day off, not that she dared ask for one. “I can take May Flower Dawn with me.” The idea of having her daughter to herself for an entire afternoon excited her, but Mom nixed that idea.

“Maybe she should take Dawn with her, Hildie. Give Carolyn a chance to find out how hard it is to take care of a child.”

Mom gave Dad a quelling look. “You make it sound like labor. I love taking care of Dawn. She’s no bother at all!”

Dad gave up on Mom and directed his logic at Carolyn. “You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to be in such a hurry. You’re making good enough headway on your debts.”

Carolyn realized they had no concerns over how much time she’d already lost with May Flower Dawn.

Oma came over early one Sunday before heading to church. She no longer attended church in Paxtown, but drove to a neighboring town. Mom had commented on it once. “Oma can’t stand to be in the same building with Thelma Martin. Not that I blame her. But I’m not letting that gossip drive me away.”

No one ever suggested Carolyn return. Certainly Rev. Elias never did.

Oma set her purse on the breakfast counter. “When was the last time you spent more than an hour with your daughter?”

“I don’t have an hour, Oma. I have classes. I have to study. I have to work.”

Oma watched Carolyn write notes. “Your mom and dad are doing what they think is right. They’re doing the best they can for both you and May Flower Dawn.”

Carolyn looked up from her textbook. “I know. I’m not complaining. It’s just the way things are.” Flipping the page in her text, she tried to refocus on her studies. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you, but I only have a couple of hours to study before I have to leave for an open house.” She could feel Oma looking at her. How long since they had sat on the patio and had tea together?

“Maybe you should speak up about what you’re feeling, Carolyn.”

“Feeling?” Carolyn gave a bleak laugh. Speaking up wouldn’t change anything. It would make things a hundred times worse! Oma didn’t move. Frustrated, Carolyn stopped writing and looked at her. “And you don’t have to say it. I already know. By the time I have a place of my own, Dawn won’t be mine anymore.”

“It’s never been about possession.”

“Maybe not, but that’s the way it’s turned out. And I’m losing ground with every day that passes.” No matter how little time she spent with her child, she loved her. She longed to have her back in her arms. Why else did they think she worked so hard? She wanted her life back, a life that centered on May Flower Dawn.

Oma reached over and gripped her wrist, eyes flashing. “I took care of you when you were little more than a toddler. You
needed
me. Do you remember? But that didn’t change the fact that your mother is still your mother!”

“Yes. I remember.” Carolyn put her hand over Oma’s. “But I learned to love you more, didn’t I?”

Oma’s eyes flickered. She had an odd expression on her face. Picking up her purse, she stood. “It never stopped you from loving her.” She went quietly out the door.