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“Yes, sister. I’m Steve VanBuren’s younger sister.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I remember your family from years ago. You no longer attend, nor do your parents, though I see your brother each week with his family.”
I sighed. Explaining my lapsed faith was going to get me in trouble, so I glossed it over. “I’ve been away, serving with the Air Force since I was nineteen,” I said, hoping that was enough.
“I trust you’ll return,” she said with a gentle smile and I realized she wasn’t much older than me.
“Yes.” I hesitated. If it would get me to Daniela, I’d promise her anything. “I’ve been here several times to ask after Daniela, the Venezuelan baby you took in recently. I was responsible for processing her paperwork and routing her here.”
The woman’s smile softened with understanding. “You have a personal connection to the child.”
Nodding, I bit my lip. “I can’t explain it. I’m just…I feel responsible for her.”
“Come.” She gestured I should follow her, leading me through a series of locked doors, deeper into the facility. “All of our children need all the love they can get.”
Was it that easy? I just had to find the right sister and tug at her heartstrings? Something that felt hopeful soared inside my chest.
The sounds of children laughing and playing filled my ears as she led me through a large, bright room filled with toys. I scanned the children, realizing several of them were new to the facility and had undoubtedly arrived on the same transport as Daniela.
She led me down a quieter wing. “It’s not quite as common to have infants as it is toddlers and, more often, older children.” She sighed. “It is a difficult transition for the older children and we try desperately to place them with loving families and keep them out of the system.”
Was that some kind of a guilt trip?
The small room at the end of the hallway smelled like antiseptic and formula, and my heart lurched when I saw the tiny bundle in the arms of another nun. She too smiled at me patiently, holding the baby to her shoulder and patting her back gently. “Ah, sweet girl,” she said gently. “It would seem you have a visitor.”
“May I?” I asked, my voice shaky.
I had no idea what to do with a baby. Teagan was the closest thing to a baby I’d ever known, and by the time I’d gotten home she’d been well past the infant stage.
“This is Mary Ignacia,” she announced as she settled the sweet little bundle in my arms and without meaning to I felt my expression pull into one of horror.
“Her name is Daniela,” I insisted. “It’s the only link she has to her parents and her heritage.”
“She has been given a new name, one that has been recorded,” the sister insisted gently, but her expression was firm. She was ready to fight me on this one. “She has been given an auspicious name to guide her through life.”
Auspicious, my ass. They were stealing the only thing she had left of her heritage.
I was going to get myself branded as a troublemaker. “Sister Mary Ignacia was Colombian,” I protested. No idea where that came from. I must have had it drilled into me as a child, because that level of recall was uncanny.
“It’s not important.” The sister smiled again and I ground my teeth together. Itwastooimportant. It was very important, and apparently I needed to make it a fight.
The baby’s weight settled against my chest as I bounced her gently, something new and scary aching inside my chest.This is what Grams is always going on about.I was a little too late to the party, too late to do anything about the urges and pulls happening somewhere in my heart.
“Sweet girl.” I settled into the rocking chair the sister had vacated and both of them smiled benevolently at me.
“If you’re willing to sit with her for a moment, there are other tasks I must tend to,” said the second nun and I nodded mutely. I’d sit here all day if they’d let me.
The door closed almost silently behind them and I sank back as the baby made tiny gurgles and coos of contentment, her belly full.
“Your mama’s name was Mariella,” I whispered to her as we rocked. “She was beautiful, only seventeen years old and with long, dark hair.”
I couldn’t give her much, but I could give her a link and when I realized that, I began to understand just how much trouble I’d gotten myself into, because I cared.
It was early June before I drove back to Ithaca to meet up with the rest of the team on Scott’s payroll.
I’d conducted careful research and employed Steve’s opinion and experience when purchasing a car. Since the man had family on the brain–he and Kennedy were trying again–I had to threaten to gag him if he tried to extoll the virtues of one more minivan or mid-size SUV. I wanted a workhorse, I told him. Something that would keep Teagan safe if I drove her somewhere, but something I could load up with groceries or lumber or stuff to take to the dump.
“You want a truck.” My brother rolled his eyes. This was the man who’d driven a low-profile Audi since the day he’d gotten his license and though the baby seat was a weird fit in the back, he couldn’t be convinced to give it up, despite his freaky love affair with minivans.
