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"What should I do?" I cried, hoping she would assume her role as my mother and be in charge of what happened to me. but instead, she looked down in defeat.
"Wear the nameplate and take it off when you're not working," she replied quickly.
"But why should she be able to tell me what to do? You're my mother, aren't you?" I cried.
She looked up, her eyes sadder, darker. "Yes," she said softly. "I am, but I am not as strong as I used to be."
"Why not?" I demanded, frustrated by her weakness. "When did you become sick? After I was kidnapped?" I wanted to know more.
She nodded and fell back against her pillows. "Yes," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "My life changed after that." She sighed deeply.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But I don't understand. That's why I wrote to the man I grew up thinking was my daddy. Where was I kidnapped from? The hospital? Had you brought me home?"
"You were here. It happened late at night when we were all asleep. One of the suites that we keep shut up across the hall was your nursery. We had set it up so nicely." She smiled at the memory. "It was so pretty with new wallpaper and new carpet and all the new furniture. Every day during my pregnancy, Randolph bought another infant's toy or something to hang on the walls.
"He had hired a nurse, of course. Her name was Mrs. Dalton. She had two children of her own, but they were fully grown and off making their own lives, so she was able to live here."
Mother shook her head.
"She lived here only three days. Randolph wanted to keep her on duty after you were stolen. He was always hopeful you would be found and returned, but Grandmother Cutler discharged her, blaming her for being so negligent. Randolph was heartbroken over it all and thought it was wrong to blame her, but there was nothing he could do."
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then opened them and shook her head.
"He stood right there in that doorway," she said, "and cried like a baby himself. He loved you so." She turned to me. "You never saw a grown man act so silly over a baby when you were born. If he could have spent twenty-four hours a day with you, he would have.
"You know, you were born with nearly a full head of hair, all golden. And you were so small, almost too small to take right home. For a long time afterward, Randolph used to say he wished you had been too small. Then maybe we'd still have you.
"Of course, he wouldn't give up searching and hoping. False alarms sent him traveling all over the country. Finally Grandmother Cutler decided to put an end to the hope."
"She made the memorial stone," I said.
"I didn't think you knew about that," Mother said, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I saw it. Why did you and Father let Grandmother Cutler do such a thing? I wasn't dead."
"Grandmother Cutler's always been a strong-willed woman. Randolph's father used to say she was as tenacious as tree roots and as hard as bark.
"Anyway, she insisted we do something to face facts and go on with our lives."
"But wasn't it terrible for you? Why would you do such a thing?" I repeated. I couldn't imagine a mother agreeing to bury her own child symbolically without knowing for sure that the child was dead.
"It was a quick, simple ceremony. No one but the family, and it worked," she said. "After that, Randolph stopped hoping, and we went on to have Clara Sue."
"You let her force you to give up," I said. "To forget me," I added, not without some note of accusation.
"You're too young to understand these things, honey," she replied in her own defense. I glared at her. There were some things that didn't require you to be old to understand and appreciate. One of them was a mother's love for her child, I thought. Momma wouldn't have let someone force her to go to the funeral of her missing child.
It was all so strange.
"If I was so small, wasn't it dangerous for them to kidnap me?" I asked.
"Oh, sure. That's why Grandmother Cutler insisted you were probably dead," she replied quickly.
"If you had a sleep-in nurse, how did they get me anyway?" I still couldn't believe I was talking about something terrible Daddy and Momma had done.
"I don't remember all the details," Mother said and rubbed her forehead. "My headache's coming back. Probably because you forced me to recall so many horrible memories."
"I'm sorry, Mother," I said. "But I have to know." She nodded and sighed.
