TRIADOPTION ® Library, Inc. - CA ~ Pg 369-480

The late November leaves swirled around
her feet ... no 1 onger were they bri 11 i antly
colored but muted as if brushed into a Renair
canvas. A brisk touch of wind blew them
he1 ter-skelter across her mind. She was cold
--physical ly and emoti onal ly--and searched
in her pocket for gloves to warm her hands.
Her hands--the ones that just a few hours
ago had grasped in desperation by the ebony
ones of a young girl . She was getting inforination
for birth certificates. It was 1955,
and this three-month job would fill her days
while her husband was in the Air Force
training session at a base near St. Loui s.
She had opened the door to this new adventure
with eagerness. What joy it would be to
share the happiness of birth.
She was greeted that first day by Sister
idary, supervisor of the maternity ward. The
sparkling brown eyes of the Italian woman
searched through her. They were warm and
confident, as was the strong voice that
gave directions to her. A bell called Sister
Mary to other duties, and she was left to
explore the routine and the people of the
ward. Many teased her, "hope you know that
just working here makes you pregnant!"
Little did they know that as she smiled
back pangs of nausea were sending a message
to her. It was a good beginning.
The next Monday brought Sister Mary,
bustling with a brisk, important step, into
her office. The warmth in the eyes had
1 frozen into ice. "Well, we had three of
them thi s weekend". Three of them ... her
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She opened the first door. A big-boned
woman with straw hair drooping on her
shoulders stared coldly at her. "Well,
what do you rant to know? Let's get on. I I
The frigid eyes looked down at the paper.
There was no change ofi expression, but the
hand si gni ng the certificate quivered--
almost sadly, 1i ke tears.
The next door opened onto a crying face,
a young face with eyes of murky blue. "I'm
not bad, ydu know", the shaking voice said.
The hands hesitantly reached out for the
pen. "I just wonder if it's a boy or a
girl ." As she closed the door, she turned
mi'nd couldn't grasp the tone in the selfrighteous
voice. "Three of them?" she
asked. "Yes, three illegitimate babies,
and I baptized theni immediately to save
their souls. It's too late to save those
girls, you know." The voice and eyes were
unforgiving.
She was sent on her way to gather
informat'ion on "those gi rls". "Remember,
"A Touch of Life" is a true story.
they are not to know the sex of their
babies. A state law, you know, and besides By Bev Robertson
they don't deserve to know. I I
slowly away from the pleading eyes.
The third door creaked as she opened it
and awakened a sleeping girl. The soft
brown eyes gazed inquiringly at her. There
was a tenderness--a hurt--in the stare that
confronted her. The girl grasped her .hand
... begging with the touch. "Please tell
me. Please. 1'11 be searching all my life. I!
She turned quickly away. "You hate me".
She swallowed a moment of tears saying,
"No, I love you." And she left.. She went to
the typewri ter and pounded out her emotions
on official business.
A wet slap of rain knocked the replay of
the day out of her mind. She looked up. He
was waiting for her at the door of their
apartment, and he peered intimately into
her feelings. "Oh, George", she cried out,
"some day it will change. It has to!" And
as she sank her head into his protective
arms, the stir of life--the same feelings
that "those girls" had once had, touched
her tenderly .
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