Читать книгу Wife With Amnesia - Metsy Hingle - Страница 8

“Judging by the look on your face, Officer, I take it no one’s claimed the child.”

Seated in the office of Saint Ann’s Orphanage, the child in question remained quiet as a mouse, but she slid a glance to the doorway where Sister Mary Patrick stood speaking to someone in a hushed voice.

“I don’t understand it, Sister.”

It was him—the policeman who had found her hiding inside the confession box at the big church. Suddenly her tummy felt funny. Maybe he had come to tell Sister that she didn’t have to stay here anymore. That her mommy had come back for her just like she’d promised.

“It’s been over a week since the hurricane,” the policeman said. “We’ve run the kid’s picture in the local papers and on every news show in the New Orleans area, but so far nothing. No one’s come forward to claim her or even filed a missing person’s report on anyone matching her description. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“It seldom does,” Sister told him.

“She’s what…maybe three, tops? Just a baby. She has to belong to somebody. So why isn’t somebody looking for her?”

She did belong to somebody. She belonged to her mommy. And her mommy would come for her. She always came back for her.

Sister Mary Patrick glanced back in her direction, and she held her breath, tried to remain still as a statue the way Mommy had told her to do. Finally Sister turned back to the policeman. “I’m afraid we may never know the answer to that. She still isn’t talking. She won’t tell us her name or who her mother is, assuming that she even knows.”

“Do you…you know, think there might be something wrong with her?”

“The doctors say no. She obviously understands what’s being said to her because she does whatever she’s told to do. But for whatever reason, she refuses to speak. The doctors believe she’s suffered some kind of trauma. And it’s obvious from the bruising and marks on her that the child’s been physically abused.”

The policeman made an angry face that reminded her of Carl. Suddenly afraid, she wanted to run, to hide again. Instead she clutched the teddy bear tight. She had to stay here for now, she told herself. She had to be a good girl and wait. Just like she’d promised.

“Promise you’ll be a good girl, kitten, and don’t make any noise. Mommy’s got to take care of something, make sure that Carl can’t find us. Then I’ll be back for you.”

Thunder grumbled outside, and she grabbed at her mommy’s skirt. “No leave me, Mommy! I ’fraid. The sky’s mad at me.”

“The sky’s not mad at my baby girl. It’s just a storm, sweetie. That’s all. Okay?”

“’Kay.” She brushed tears from the sore cheek where Carl had hit her that morning.

“You’ll be safe here until I come back. But remember if anyone finds you, don’t say a word to them. Don’t even tell them your name. Just be a good girl and do what you’re told. And don’t worry, Mommy will come back for you.”

“So what’s going to happen to her?” the policeman asked.

“We’ve made arrangements with the State for her to remain here at Saint Ann’s.”

“You mean until someone adopts her, right?”

A sad expression crossed Sister’s face. “Of course adoption is what we hope for for all of our children. But most couples looking to adopt want an infant. I’m afraid her age will be a strike against her. Her refusal to speak, and the fact that she’s been abused, makes adoption less likely for her. But if we’re lucky and the Lord is willing, we’ll eventually be able to find a good foster home to take her.”

Sister was wrong. She didn’t need any foster home. Her mommy was going to come back for her just like she promised.

“She’s so little,” the policeman said. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“It isn’t. But then it isn’t fair for a child so young to have eyes that look so old. Unfortunately, that’s how it is with most of the children who come to us. That’s why we need your prayers.” Sister touched his arm. “Would you like to say hello to her?”

“I…uh, sure. Why not?”

Sister led him into the room and over to the chair where she sat. “Claire, you remember Officer Jamison, don’t you? He’s the nice policeman who brought you to us. He came by to see how you were doing.”

“Claire?” the policeman repeated from his crouched position in front of her.

Sister wrinkled her nose. “Somehow Jane Doe didn’t strike the other sisters and me as right for a little girl. Since you found her during Hurricane Claire, it seemed an appropriate choice. So until she tells us differently, we’ve decided to call her Claire.”