Shadows at the Spring Show (2 page)

“I’ll add my thanks to Carole’s for all the work Holly and Rob have done. After I finish going over the names of the committee chairpersons and their responsibilities, the committees can meet and check to make sure all hours are covered. Later this week I’ll be meeting with students and administrators from Somerset College who’ve volunteered to help during the show, so if any group needs more bodies, let me know so we can fill any gaps in coverage.” Maggie pushed a strand of wavy brown hair off her face and opened the black binder she’d been carrying for months.

“Publicity is chaired by Skip Hendricks. They’ve already sent out press releases and arranged for ads, and will be calling local media this week. They’ll be the ones putting up signs reminding people of the show and heading dealers and customers to the gym.
They’ll also be hosting any visits from members of the press.” Skip and his wife, Jennifer, were the brand-new parents of Christina, a beautiful six-month-old from Guatemala. Christina would no doubt be at the show to accept the admiration of her adoring public. And parents.

“Ann Shepard is heading up the café, where customers and dealers can buy light lunches and baked goods. She has a long list of people who’ve volunteered to make food, but she also needs people to sell and keep the café set up and the tables clean throughout the show. Ann, could you have a couple of people here late Friday afternoon to help while the dealers are setting up? We’ll have coffee and soft drinks for them, and Pizza On The Go has donated food.”

Ann nodded and wrote herself a note. She was an attractive blonde, forty-two-year-old prospective single parent who was a manager at the Somerset Savings Bank. She’d been baking and freezing desserts for the café since February. Maggie knew that aside from making sure there was enough sugar and cholesterol for everyone at the show, Ann desperately wanted to adopt a healthy white girl under the age of four. For a single parent that was even more of a challenge than for a couple. Ann was making sure everyone at OWOC knew what a wonderful mother she would be. Maybe she hoped the more she did for the agency, the higher she’d be on their waiting list.

“We’re looking for a few more porters to help dealers bring their antiques into the gym on Friday, and be here again Sunday afternoon after the show to move furniture and boxes to their vans. If any of your teenagers would like to help, that would be a great way they could contribute. And the dealers will pay them, so they can make a few extra dollars, too. Most dealers will tip ten to twenty dollars for loading or unloading a van.

“Sam and Josie Thomas are in charge of admissions.” Maggie gestured toward a middle-aged black couple. Josie was obviously expecting—a classic example of a mother who’d adopted and then been surprised by a pregnancy. Ethan and Michael, the
eight-year-old twins the Thomases had adopted last year, were seated between their parents, exchanging light punches. “Sam and Josie will also have someone at the raffle table to encourage people to buy tickets.

“In addition to helping as porters, some of your children have volunteered to help out at the café, and to take messages from the show management booth to the dealers. Be sure to thank them all. We appreciate their help.” Maggie had just about finished. “And, of course, Carole and her staff will be at the OWOC booth throughout the show to answer questions, display pictures of children who need homes, and possibly recruit some new prospective parents. Or encourage extra donations!” Maggie smiled at Carole, who raised her hand in acknowledgment.

They’d been able to get enough items donated so the biggest show expenses were padding the floor and providing tables for the dealers—which their booth rent covered—and advertising. If all worked as hoped, the admission fee of $7 per person would go directly to OWOC, as would the money taken in at the café, and a portion of the booth rents.

“If there are any questions during the week, I’ll be available, and so will Carole. We’re looking forward to a great show—and you’re the ones who’re going to make it happen!” Along with the thirty-six dealers Maggie had managed to talk into exhibiting in this small, first-time show. And all the customers they hoped would walk through the doors of Whitcomb Gymnasium May 14 and 15.

Carole stood up and announced, “Hal has refreshments in the back of the room. Please enjoy a snack while you’re meeting with your committee.”

As the volunteers scattered, Carole turned to Maggie. “Is there anything that still needs to be done?”

Maggie glanced at her notebook. “I’m meeting with the school building staff on Monday, and Tuesday I have a meeting with Al Stivali, head of the Somerset College security staff, to confirm he can provide extra coverage for the gym Friday and
Saturday nights, when the antiques will be there. We should have at least one person there all night.”

Holly Sloane joined them. “Everything sounds wonderful, Maggie. You’ve done a great job pulling this together.”

“Thanks. And I appreciate everything you and Rob have done to help. I don’t know how you find the time, with all those kids to keep track of.”

“When you have as many as we do, you have to either be very organized or very lax. We’re organized,” said Holly. “Teenagers and young adults have constant issues, but at least parenting them is less physically demanding than if we had fourteen kids under the age of ten!”

“Holly, if anyone could manage a family like that, it would be you and Rob.”

Holly smiled and shook her head, her brown, slightly askew curls bouncing. “Lots of families manage beautifully with a lot of younger children. Rob and I didn’t start out being experts on teenagers. But at this point we can certainly say we’ve had experience. Although none of that matters when a kid isn’t responding.”

Maggie had met most of Holly’s children at adoptive-parent meetings and parties, but not enough times to keep them straight. Certainly not often enough to know who might be having problems, or why. Carole knew them better.

Carole lowered her voice. “Jackson again?”

Holly nodded. “Do you know another counselor we could call? We’ve tried everyone we thought might be able to reach him.”

“Is he acting out? Violent?”

“Nothing like that, thank goodness. It’s just that even after five years—he’s twenty-two now—he still hasn’t totally bonded with the family, or accepted who he is.”

“He’s twenty-two?” Maggie blurted. “Then why isn’t he out on his own?”

Holly turned to Maggie. “You’re still a prospective parent, so don’t let this discourage you. But children adopted at older ages
have a lot of issues. When they’re in their teens, or even older, before they find people to trust, it takes a long time for that trust to become a part of them. Adopted kids will be children longer than other children. Most of them can’t take responsibility for themselves before they’ve had positive role models to show them how to do that. Jackson came to us when legally he could have been out on his own, or in supervised housing. But emotionally he was a lot younger than seventeen, and he wanted a family. We agreed he could stay with us, and we adopted him. He graduated from high school and now he’s taking some courses at Somerset College. But he hasn’t really figured out where his place is in the world.”

“It’s wonderful that you and Rob don’t pressure him, Holly,” said Carole, frowning with concern. “But he does need to pull his life together pretty soon or you’ll have him at home for the rest of his life.”

“He knows that’s not an option,” said Holly. “And he is trying. I think a counselor who’s an expert in cultural differences might help.”

Maggie looked blank. “Is Jackson from another country?”

“No; he’s all-American. But his mother was white and his father was black. He’s still not comfortable with that, or now, with having white adoptive parents.”

“In your family I’d think he’d find plenty of role models!”

“Some of our other kids have had those problems, too, of course. But most of them have accepted who they are. Some issues will last their lifetimes. Being biracial can influence who they marry and where they live and how they bring up their own children. But Jackson is far from ready to do those things. He needs to accept who he is, and what happened to him in the past, before he can make a future for himself.”

Carole nodded in agreement. “I’ll check with a few of my contacts to see if we can find a counselor.”

“Thank you.” Holly turned toward where her husband was talking with their committee and then looked back and touched
Maggie’s arm. “Maggie, you’ve chosen a great agency to work with, and Carole is one of the reasons. Postadoption support services are limited at lots of agencies.” Holly walked back into the room.

“Don’t let it scare you, Maggie. But some of our families need help for years,” Carole said with a smile. “And we try to provide it. Adoption is a lifelong journey. Parents and children need to know they’re not alone, even years after an adoption is finalized.”

“That’s one of the reasons I contacted OWOC,” said Maggie. “I’ve read a lot about adoption of older children. I know if I decide to adopt, I’ll need all the help I can get.” And the more she learned, the more she wondered if she was ready to adopt.

“I think you’d make a great parent, Maggie. Just let me know when you’re ready to start your home study and we’ll do everything we can to help you.” Carole headed Maggie into the hall, out of hearing distance of anyone else. “In the meantime we have an immediate issue. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Holly, but that meeting with security you’re having Tuesday might be more important than we’d thought. We got an anonymous hate letter yesterday. Someone is threatening to sabotage the show.”

Chapter 2

Own Is Best.
1894 chromolithograph by Elizabeth S. Tucker of two elegantly dressed little girls comparing their equally elegantly dressed dolls. Only one doll can be the best. 7.75 x 9.5 inches. Price: $60.

“Sabotage the show?” said Maggie. “Why?”

Carole shook her head. “Whoever wrote the note didn’t say. It could be someone whose application to adopt was turned down.” Carole hesitated. “Some people are still opposed to agencies placing children with parents of different races or religions or cultures. It might even be that. At this point I have no idea what the problem is.”

Many of the families Maggie had met at OWOC included children who did not “match” their parents. Some families, like Holly and Rob Sloane’s, included children of several different races. Some children’s biological parents had been of two different races, neither of which was the race of their adoptive parents.

Those children probably wouldn’t have parents if they hadn’t been adopted transracially. And OWOC had an extensive education program to prepare families who were considering adopting a child of another background, to discuss possible
extended-family and community issues, and to emphasize the need for interracial families to live in interracial communities and provide their children with adult role models of various cultures. To raise their children to be proud of both their racial and adoptive heritages.

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” said Maggie.

“Some people believe that only parents of the same heritage as a child can give that child a sense of history and community. That, for instance, we’re destroying the heritage of a Korean child when we place him or her with a Caucasian family.”

Maggie remembered the pictures in Carole’s office. Carole’s parents—her adoptive parents—were white. She had been born in Seoul, Korea.

“How serious is the letter?”

“It’s clearly a threat.” Carole hesitated. “Not the first contact from this person, either.”

“Not the first? How many have there been? Why didn’t you tell me?” Maggie felt betrayed. If there was a problem with the show, she should have been told.

“The notes we got in March and April just ranted about the agency. All organizations get strange mail sometimes. This is the first letter that specifically mentions the antiques show.”

“What do the police say?”

“To make sure our offices are secure and call again if anyone actually does something. I’ve contacted them before when we’ve gotten crank letters. But until someone is actually hurt, our offices are broken into, or our property is defaced, there’s not a lot the police can do.”

“No one has ever followed up one of these letters with actions?”

“Not so far, thank goodness.”

“So it’s likely that the author of today’s letter will just fade away. There’s no reason to think it’s a real threat.” Maggie breathed more easily. If this wasn’t a unique situation, then it was a concern, of course, but not a major concern.

“That’s possible. But this note specifically mentions the dates May fourteenth and fifteenth. To be safe, we have to make sure security for the antiques show is more than cursory.”

Maggie thought of the thirty-six dealers who’d be bringing their inventories to the show. Of the customers and the college and agency personnel and volunteers who would be at the college that weekend. Not to mention all the adoptive parents and their children. “Have you talked to the police specifically about this letter?”