Adopted Son (18 page)

T
HEY DIDN
’
T SPEAK
as Tuck drove steadily toward the orphanage. He seemed to know where he was going and Grace didn’t bother him with questions. He was lost somewhere in the past, somewhere within himself.

He turned off the highway and pulled up to an ancient gray stone building with a traditional bell tower. Huge live oaks shaded the courtyard and a religious statue surrounded by blooming flowers adorned the center. The orphanage was in the shape of a horseshoe, with a main building and a wing on each side. The yard was neatly maintained, but there was an austere feeling about the place.

Tuck killed the engine and stared straight ahead. “I was born here.”

“So it seems.” She couldn’t stand the torment on his face. “Tuck, it was so long ago. Maybe it’s best to just…”

“No.” He cut her off. “I have to know.”

He got out and she quickly followed. They took the walk to the main building. A nun came out a door and walked briskly toward a wing.

“Sister,” Tuck called.

The nun stopped and glanced at them. She wore a habit so it was difficult to determine her age. Grace didn’t think nuns wore the traditional robes anymore, but evidently some orders still did.

“Yes, my son,” she asked, in a soft almost whisper.

“Could you tell me where the main office is, please?”

She pointed. “It’s right through that arch, first door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“Bless you,” she replied and moved on.

They walked through the arch and approached the door.

Tuck paused for a second, and then he opened it. A musty, old smell mixed with the fragrance of incense greeted them. He removed his hat and spoke to a nun sitting at a desk. The room was very stark, equipped with just the bare essentials and a few candles and religious statues.

“May I please see the nun in charge?”

“That would be Sister Theresa.” The nun rose to her feet. “I’ll let her know someone wishes to speak with her.”

“Thank you.”

In a minute, she was back. “This way, please.”

They walked into a small room with a desk, typewriter, filing cabinets and more candles and statues. Large windows looked out onto the playground where children of all ages ran and played. A nun sat at the desk and rose to her feet. She was tall and thin, and Grace guessed she was somewhere in her sixties.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for Sister Frances O’Rourke,” Tuck said.

“I’m sorry. Sister Frances is in declining health and is no longer in charge of the orphanage.”

“I still would like to speak with her.”

“May I ask why?”

Tuck held out his hand. “I’m Jeremiah Tucker, Texas Ranger, and this is Grace Whitten.”

“It’s very nice to meet both of you.”

The nuns took politeness to a new level.

“I was born here,” Tuck said bluntly. “And I’d like to know who my mother is. Sister Frances knows.”

“Oh, my son, Sister Frances is very elderly and feeble. She can’t help you. Her memory is faulty.”

Tuck’s eyes didn’t waver from the nun’s. “I’m trying to be nice, Sister, but I can have a court order within an hour to search every file in this place. So what’s it going to be?”

Sister Theresa waved a hand. “Sit down. Maybe I can help you.”

They took seats in straight-back chairs across from the desk.

“Why are you so sure you were born here?”

Grace still had the letter in her hand and Tuck reached for it. He laid it in front of Sister Theresa. “I found this in my father’s things.”

The nun glanced over the letter. “Jess Tucker was your adoptive father?”

“Yes and…” Tuck paused as the door opened and Eli stepped in. “This is my foster brother, Elijah Coltrane.” He introduced Eli as if it was quite normal for him to show up. But Grace knew Eli was worried about Tuck. She was, too.

“I see. Both of you were raised by the Tuckers.”

“Yes. Did you know my father?”

“I knew Mr. Tucker well. He helped us out on many occasions. He and your mother are sorely missed.”

“He told me he didn’t know who my mother was, but he knew. He kept a secret for Sister Frances, but now I want to know.”

“Sister Frances is eighty-nine and very crippled with arthritis. We try to keep her comfortable and I’m afraid I can’t disturb her.”

“I don’t plan on disturbing her. I just want to talk to her.”

“She’s in her room in her bedclothes and it’s just not allowed.”

Tuck studied the nun. “Sister, I’m forty-two years old and I’ve waited a long time to find out about my mother. I don’t plan to do anything with the information. I just have a need to know. I’m sure you can understand that. All I’m asking for is a few minutes with Sister Frances. And I know God wouldn’t mind if I spoke with her in her room. You might have heard, He’s very forgiving.”

Sister Theresa’s lips twitched. “Yes. I’ve heard that.” She tapped her fingers on the desk in thought. “Please give me a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Tuck rose, his hat in his hand as the nun left the room. He stared at the children in the yard, the unwanted ones, and Grace’s heart broke at the anguish in his eyes.

“Tuck…”

He didn’t respond to her and fear edged its way into her chest.

Eli placed a hand on Tuck’s shoulder. “Tuck, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Tuck clenched his jaw. “It does to me.”

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I know.”

The nun returned. “Sister Frances will receive visitors.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

They followed the nun down a long corridor. The hall seemed to be made of stone and their footsteps echoed eerily, sadly and with a morbid reckoning. It was a morose feeling and Grace couldn’t shake it.

As the nun unlocked a door, Grace realized they were going into the nuns’ quarters, a place where secular people weren’t allowed.

They were ushered into a sitting room with dark walls, threadbare sofas and shelves of religious books. Grace stared at the huge cross that hung on one wall, a table of candles around its base. She rubbed her arms, feeling something she couldn’t describe.

“Have a seat.” Sister Theresa motioned toward a sofa. “Sister Frances will be here shortly. Please don’t expect too much. Some days Frances is forgetful and uncooperative. I hope you get the answers you desire.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

Another nun wheeled a woman in a wheelchair into the room. She was dressed in a white robe; her long gray hair hung over one shoulder. Thin and feeble, Sister Frances’s gnarled hands shook slightly in her lap.

“Frances, this young man is here to see you,” Sister Theresa said.

“But I’m not dressed.” Her voice was raspy, weak.

Tuck pulled a wooden chair close to her and sat down, facing her. “That’s okay. I just want to ask some questions about the baby you left at the Tuckers’ mailbox many years ago.”

Sister Frances blinked at him and her gray eyes looked enormous behind the wire-rimmed glasses. Tuck wasn’t sure she’d understood what he’d said.

A gnarled hand suddenly reached for his face, shaking against his cheekbone.
“Bernadette.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’d know those eyes anywhere. You’re Bernadette’s son.”

Tuck swallowed. “Bernadette who?”

Sister Frances glanced at Sister Theresa. “What was Bernie’s last name?”

“Martel, I believe,” Sister Theresa replied.

“Yes, yes, that’s it.”

“Tell me about Bernadette,” Tuck asked, his stomach feeling queasy. “Tell me why she gave me away.”

“Oh, my son, is it wise to stir the ashes of the past?”

“I’ve waited forty-two years to find out the truth. I’m old enough to take it.”

Sister Frances nodded several times. “Then you shall know.”

“Thank you.”

“Theresa, it’s cold in here.” Sister Frances wrapped her arms around her waist. The other nun placed a gray blanket over Sister Frances’s knees. “That’s better,” she mumbled, and looked at Tuck. “Who are you?”

Tuck took a hard breath. “Jeremiah. Bernadette’s…son.” The words felt strange, unreal.

“Oh.” The nun blinked as if she didn’t know where she was.

“Sister Frances, please stay focused. I want to talk about Bernadette. Tell me about Bernadette.”

“Okay.” Her head bobbed up and down, but she didn’t say anything.

“Sister Frances…”

“Yes, my son?”

“Please tell me about Bernadette.”

“I’ll do my best. Let’s see—” her dull eyes grew distant “—Bernadette lived with an aunt and uncle and their children. Her parents were killed when she was very small, I believe. The uncle was a mean drunk and beat them often.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “One day he was beating one of his daughters. Bernadette intervened and tried to protect her. The man broke her jaw, her arm and her leg, and then began the round of despicable foster homes for her. She was about fourteen, I think, when she was finally placed with the Tuckers. God was watching out for her. He always does.” She bobbed her head again. “Yes, He was. At the Tuckers’ Bernadette found out about family, love and faith.”

She stopped talking and Tuck drew a breath as painful as any he’d ever taken. It burned his throat, his insides, and all the way to his soul.

His mother had been one of the Tucker kids. Grace was right.

Sister Theresa handed Sister Frances a glass of water with a straw in it. She took a sip.

“What happened to her after that?” He pushed the words past his scorched throat.

“She was very happy with the Tuckers, but at sixteen she made a life-affirming decision. Jess and Amalie tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant.”

“What was it?

“She joined the convent.”

“What!” Shock ran through his system.

“She was Sister Bernadette, but we called her Bernie.”

“My mother was a nun?” He had a hard time processing that.

“Yes. She enjoyed teaching the children. The outside world had been so cruel to her, but she found peace in our structured, secure environment.”

“But something changed?”

“Yes.”

Tuck waited, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Sister,” he prompted.

Sister Frances looked around. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the sitting room,” Sister Theresa replied. “Are you getting tired?”

“Yes.”

Sister Theresa glanced at Tuck. “We’d better take her back to her room.”

“Sister, please, just a few more minutes,” Tuck pleaded. This was his only chance to hear about his mother.

Sister Theresa nodded. Tuck scooted close to Sister Frances. “Sister, please tell me how Bernadette became pregnant.”

“My son, some things are best unknown.” She leaned forward and whispered, “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Please, Sister, whatever you tell me stays here in this room. I just have to know.”

“Well.” She kept her voice low. “We had a man who helped out with the maintenance of the orphanage. He was a nice fellow and did things for free. Sometimes Bernie would help him when he needed someone to hold a ladder or hand him something. She was very friendly and he mistook her friendship for something more.”

“He fell in love with her?”

“Yes.”

“But she didn’t love him?”

“No. She had given her heart to God.”

That queasy feeling became intense and he shoved it down, taking several deep breaths. He’d wanted the truth so now he had to face it. “What happened?” he asked in a voice that came from deep within him.

Sister Frances took another sip of water. “My son, I can’t tell you these things.”

Tuck swallowed hard and forced out the words. “He raped her?”

“Don’t use that word,” she ordered in a loud voice, her body shaking.

“Please don’t get upset.” Tuck tried to calm her, but inside he was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. He couldn’t allow himself to think. Not now. He rubbed his hands together, preparing himself for the next question. “Was this man arrested?”

“No. The next day he came and asked for her forgiveness and Bernadette forgave him.”

“Why?”

“In some way she felt she had tempted him and it wasn’t in her nature to be vindictive or to judge him. The man was truly sorry for his sin and we are taught to forgive, my son.”

“But…” Tuck stopped, swallowing the bile in his throat. “What happened to him?”

“He was very distraught afterward and at work he wasn’t paying attention and slipped and fell from a scaffold on a construction job. They say he died instantly.”

Tuck linked his fingers together, feeling his sweaty palms. But he had to keep going. “Where is my mother now?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No, Sister. I don’t.”

“She died a month or so after you were born. I can’t remember exactly. The guilt, the shame and the dishonor got to her spirit. She died quietly in her sleep.”

His mother was dead. Tuck was trying to assimilate everything, but he just had a huge burning knot in his gut. He had to keep going, though.

“Why did she want me named Jeremiah?”

“It was her father’s name.”

He’d had a grandfather. The word sounded surreal in the extreme in connection to him. He’d never had grandparents. He was just Jess Tucker’s son and in that instant he knew that’s the way he wanted it to stay.
Forever.
Exposed secrets were tearing him apart and accepting them would take time.

“What is that?” Sister Frances spoke sharply to Grace, who held the yellowing letter.

“It’s the letter you wrote to Jess Tucker,” Tuck explained.

“Jess was supposed to destroy that. He promised before God—no evidence.” She grew agitated.

“It’s all right, Sister. No one ever knew. Jess Tucker kept his word.”

“Good.” Sister Frances seemed to relax. “Jess Tucker was an honorable man.”

“Yes, he was,” Tuck agreed. His father had kept the secret he’d sworn to keep. Even though he’d probably wanted to tell Tuck, he would never break his word. So he hid the letter away in a place Tuck would only look after his death. That’s why he was adamant that Tuck and Eli never touch the box. Tuck could only know after his death. Suddenly things were beginning to become clearer, but something still bothered him.