Lost Son

The schoolmarm was pregnant. She looked in the mirror and sighed. She was not showing yet. She had already informed her lover, and he had informed his parents. That might sound odd, but both she and her lover were very young. She was eighteen. He was only seventeen. He was the eldest son of the powerful Drum family. The extended family had an agricultural empire, and they were politically influential. This could easily turn into a tragedy, depending on what they and he decided to do. None of the signs looked good. He would be leaving for college this fall. He would be the first of his family to attend college, and it was very unlikely that his family would let her jeopardize their plans for him.

“I know I’m able to buy much of what I want from the politicians,” Calvin’s father had said, “but they’re not dependable. They’re far too likely to compromise away some of the things I want from them. I think it’s time to raise a few politicians rather than buying them. That’s why you’re going to college, Cal.”

Grooming Cal to be a politician seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. He was tall, handsome, and charming. He was also a natural leader who was comfortable in front of an audience. The problem was that he was not very diligent when it came to his studies. Math came easy to him. Reading and writing were subjects he had to work at, and he was too lazy to do it. His parents enrolled him at a private school, where he became barely literate. “His language skills are good enough for most things,” the master of the school said, “but he’ll need a private tutor to raise those skills if he wants to succeed in college.”

Miss Ethel had become the new teacher at the public school during Calvin’s last year at the private school. She was very bright and very pretty. The children adored her. She quickly gained a reputation for being almost a miracle worker when it came to teaching them how to read. So Calvin’s parents approached her about tutoring him during the summer. In doing this they unwittingly set the wheels in motion. He was used to getting what he wanted, and it did not take long for him to realize he wanted Ethel. He would show up at the schoolhouse after the children had left. She taught him there, but it was not long before he said it was embarrassing to be attending a class there again. He also complained about the small desks. She should not have done it, but she finally agreed to tutor him at her house. That was when the seduction began.

In spite of the fact that she was a year older than he was, she was actually more innocent about such things than he was. The odds were stacked against women like her. One of the very few occupations open to educated women was that of schoolmarm. The catch was that the women had to remain single. Very few of them taught for more than a few years before the natural desire to start a family made them accept a marriage proposal. She was lonely, but it was not like she set her cap for Cal. She was not foolish enough to believe this man-child would marry her. She simply gave in to a natural urge and let him charm her into doing it. Now she felt foolish and desperate. Calvin’s parents blamed her for the affair, and they gave her the only option she thought she had.

She resigned from her teaching job before the pregnancy became obvious. She then took a train east. Mr. Drum had made all of the arrangements. She went to a home for fallen women. There she delivered her child and stayed until she recovered from the birth. Her boy was put up for adoption. One of the nuns was kind enough to tell her that a very fine couple adopted her baby. “You know he’ll have good life,” the nun assured her. “They’ll give him lots of love, and California is as close to being paradise as any place in the wicked world can be. Now if you’re truly repentant, you will be forgiven. You can start a new life with a clear conscience.” She was handed her hush money on the way out the door. Mr. Drum, of course, did not call it hush money. He called it a generous grubstake that would let her start a good new life. He could call it anything he liked, but it was hush money. He even made her sign a document that swore her to secrecy in return for the money.
 
So her baby was going to the golden state. It would make the term grubstake particularly appropriate if she moved there. It was unlikely that she would ever find him, but she wanted be as close to him as she could get. California was growing rapidly. The state was scrambling to provide for the new arrivals, and there was a real need for teachers. The teaching job she found was in Riverside. It was a beautiful place. Mountains still dotted with winter snow rose above the warm valley floor. It was spring, and the orange blossoms were just beginning to open. They added a light, pleasant scent that would become almost overwhelming in a few weeks when the pollen filled the air. Unlike the mid-west, teachers in Riverside were also allowed to wed. The nun was right; this was close to paradise. Several men were soon courting Ethel. She accepted the proposal of Mr. Black. It was a good marriage, but it was childless. There were no tests to confirm it, but she strongly suspected that he was shooting blanks.

Perhaps it was her frustration over her childless marriage that made her do it. She did not care to analyze it. All she knew was that Mrs. Drum never replied to the two letters Ethel sent to her. In her letters, Ethel swore that she would never introduce herself to her son or reveal that she was his mother. “I just want to see how he is doing,” she wrote. Mrs. Drum had nothing to fear on that score. “She probably thinks I’m too wicked to be worthy of a reply,” Ethel thought. “Well, I’m not.” If Ethel felt guilty about anything, it was the fact that she had given her baby to someone else; that and the fact that she never told her husband about it. Well, at least I won’t have to lie about any letters sent to me by Mrs. Drum.” There was, however, one more thing, and it did not make any sense to her. For some reason, she was keeping track of Calvin’s career. He was a congressman now, and she even obtained a picture taken of him during his unsuccessful gubernatorial campaign. She had no idea why she did that. “I can’t still be in love with him when I’m so happy with my husband.” She finally decided that it was just a part of the tangled web.

Ethel was only fifty-one years old when her husband died of a heart attack. Teaching kept her busy but not busy enough. She increased her involvement in civic projects in an effort to fill the void caused by her loneliness. She also wrote a book on teaching English. Then she received the letter. It was from Calvin’s younger sister, Jenny. Jenny said that her father had died recently. “I was going through his things when I found the agreement you signed. I am interested in genealogy, and I would like to know about the child. After weeks of pestering mom, she told me his first name is David and that he is a reporter somewhere in California. She was embarrassed by the topic and would not tell me any more. If you are able to find him, please tell me his last name and where I can reach him.” To Ethel the letter seemed like a cruel joke. California was a big place, and David was a common name.

The nameplate on his desk said: “Mr. Atwell, Managing Editor.” The other employees of the major Los Angeles newspaper where he had worked as a reporter told him he was insane to give up his job there for a position with some little rag in the boonies, even if the position was that of managing editor. “I’m getting too old to chase stories out in the field,” he replied. “With my kids now grown, I don’t need as much money or the aggravation.” He had been the managing editor for six months now. He still felt the stress of the publishing deadlines, but he was not out chasing ambulances, politicians, or policemen. He looked up at the wall where the plaques were hanging. One was awarded to him at a ceremony at the Press Club. It was for the reporter who wrote the best story of the year. It was not a Pulitzer, but it was still prestigious. The other plaque was an award for a book he had written about the history of Los Angeles. Although the book was well received by the critics, it did not earn him a lot of money. More money would have been nice, but it is not what drove him.

“I really enjoyed the writing, and the acclaim. There’s no denying that. But I don’t have to stop writing. I could research the history of Riverside or some of its more notable characters. There’s no reason why I can’t write about Riverside if I want to write.”

A light tapping at his door interrupted those thoughts. “Come in!”

One of his young reporters entered. “I thought I could write a brief piece about this,” the reporter said. He handed Mr. Atwell some papers from the high school. At the top was a flyer announcing a ceremony to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the high school. The flyer also stated that Mrs. Ethel Black was the featured speaker. The next thing was a photograph of the original faculty members. Then there was a note identifying each and every person depicted in the photograph. Mrs. Black was one of the names on the list. Local newspapers routinely publish such things. It would have been all too easy to slough it off by telling the reporter to give it to the stripper to include in the layout of the next edition. The young reporter, however, had said he could write a brief article about it. This told Mr. Atwell the reporter thought there was a story there.

“Are you thinking of a historical piece about the school or is there something that interesting about Mrs. Black?”

“It’s Mrs. Black. She wrote two books. One was sort of a primer on how to teach English at certain grade levels. Her students are typically among the best in the state. The other book is about her experiences shifting from a one room school house to a modern school system, and then to the high school. She is also very active in civic organizations that help out during emergencies. She has helped a lot people who suffered some catastrophe. Many people think she’s heroic. This will be her last year as a teacher. She’s seventy-three now, and she announced that she would retire when the school turns forty.”

“She sounds like quite a gal. Okay, but keep it brief.”

There was something about this brief biography that interested Mr. Atwell. He went to the library and checked out her book about her experiences. The writing was nothing less than charming. She included anecdotes about her students that were amusing and instructive. She also said she changed their names to protect “the guilty.” Although the book was written in the first person, there was very little personal information about her. Her focus was on the schools, the curriculum, and, most of all, her students. More intrigued than ever, Mr. Atwell dug through the newspaper’s morgue for stories about Mrs. Black. This little woman worked tirelessly through fires, floods and epidemics. She really was heroic. The article his reporter wrote was good but far too brief to be a full biography. Mr. Atwell wanted to know more. That is why he attended the ceremony.

Mrs. Black was a small woman with perfect posture. She must have been gorgeous when she was young. She was still unusually attractive for her age. She sparkled with an enthusiasm that was captivating. She made him feel like she was talking to him rather than a large audience. She made him feel like he knew her. She must have made everyone feel like that because it was obvious that the people gathered there really loved her. He was so impressed that he called her the next day.

“Mrs. Black, this is David Atwell. I’m the managing editor of the Riverside News, and I would like to interview you.”

“I don’t know that I would be all that interesting, but I’ll be happy to give you an interview. Why don’t you come for tea tomorrow? Would four pm be all right?”

“Thank you! I’ll see you then.” Mr. Atwell thought about all of the changes a person her age had witnessed. She had gone from one room school houses to modern schools, from horses to automobiles, from oil or gas lamps to electricity, and from being earth bound to flying in airplanes. Those changes were impersonal, non-threatening subjects. He would start his interview by asking about her reactions to them. He could move on to her personal story after he developed a rapport with her.

David rang the door bell. Ethel opened the door and looked up at him. The sight of him took her breath away. He was the very image of his father. The left corner of his mouth even rose slightly higher than the right side when he smiled. She took a moment to calm down.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Please, come in.”

He entered the room. There was a platter of freshly baked cookies sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. A dainty tea set sat on a cart specifically made for that purpose. A chair from the kitchen was on the opposite side of the coffee table. She motioned toward the sofa. “Have a seat,” she said.

He sat on the sofa and watched her pour a cup of tea. “How do you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

She set the cup of tea on the table in front of him. She then poured another and put one cube of sugar in it. She smiled as she sat in the chair. He waited until she took a cookie from the platter before he took one.

“This is a delightful custom.”

“Thank you. I know it probably seems quaint, but there are still quite a few of us who enjoy it.”

“Quaint only because it’s leisurely at a time when so many of us seem to be in too much of a hurry to get things done.”

“I suppose that’s true. Your probably also thinking this old girl has witnessed many of the changes that have sped things up.”

“You must have read my mind. Which invention or change do you think has had the greatest impact?”

“My mother would say the elastic in undergarments.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You have know idea how much of a problem it caused when the drawstring of your drawers came untied or broke. If you were lucky, the legs of the garment were tight enough so that top only drooped down to your thighs. It made you walk like a penguin, but it allowed you to get somewhere that offered enough privacy to let you address the problem.”

“And if they fell farther?”

“If you were fortunate enough to avoid tripping over them, you had to step out of them. Many women were too embarrassed to pick them up. They simply walked away with as much dignity as they could muster. Of course that meant that they were now walking around with no drawers.”

David was laughing, and his laughter sounded exactly like Calvin’s. “Well, you’ve told me what your mother would say, but what would you say?”

“My mother’s opinion is illustrative of the fact that the things that have the greatest impact on our lives are the things that are most intimate or that we use on a daily basis. They are things like modern plumbing, electricity, and refrigeration. I think the automobile is fast becoming one of those things.”

“I know I sure depend on mine.”

“Yes, and the other innovations are magnifying its importance. Refrigeration, for instance, allows us to store enough food for a week. Can you imagine trying to carry that much food on a trolley or a bus?”

“No, I can’t. And the fact that we can purchase that much food at once saves time that we use to do other things; it sort of speeds things up.”

“Exactly. David… May I call you David?”

“Please do.”

She had vowed that she would not ask, but she could not resist the temptation. “David, are the Atwells your natural parents?”

He was too stunned to answer immediately. She waited patiently. “They will always be my real parents, but I’m adopted. They told me that when I was a teenager and started asking why I did not resemble any of the other members of the family. But why did you ask me?”

“I’m glad you feel that way about them. Maybe what I’m about to show you will answer your question.”

She walked over to a small desk and dug through a drawer until she found it. It was a small campaign sign. It was designed to be displayed in a window or tacked to a post. It contained a picture of the candidate, and the inscription below the picture said, “Calvin Drum for Governor.” Cal was almost David’s age when the picture was taken. She had sent Calvin’s campaign organization a small contribution and asked for a picture of him. They had mailed the sign to the school as she had requested. When her husband died she moved the sign to her desk at her home. She walked over to David and handed it to him.

He stared at it. “It’s like looking in the mirror. Do you think he’s my father?”

“Yes.”

“If he is my father, who’s my mother?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Me.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

“I will, but you have to understand that this is strictly off the record. You would have to be a real bastard, in the most pejorative sense of the term, to ever publish what I’m about to tell you.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

She then told him the whole story.

“You make a good case, but I’d like to gather a bit more evidence. Where did you say you gave birth?”

She handed him the other thing she had removed from the desk. It was a piece of stationery yellowed with age. The writing on it was in a masculine hand. After reading it, David picked up one of the small napkins and dried several tears that were forming in his eyes. Ethel also wiped the tears from eyes.

“Is this Mr. Drum’s writing?”

“Yes.”

“The son of a bitch!”

“I thought worse than that of him. You have no idea of how many tears I shed over the thought that I would never know you. But he was a parent, and this was a difficult situation.”

David smiled as he rose from the sofa. “You’re being very charitable. I don’t think I could be so kind.”

“Bitterness is an unpleasant taste, and it’s foolish to needlessly suffer it.”

“You’re a wise lady. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“I hope I am your mother.”

“So do I.”

When he reached the door, he turned to face her again. “Would you like to meet my family?”

“Yes, but what if I you find out I’m not your mother?”

“Then you’ll become a very dear friend to all of us.”

He called Mrs. Atwell that night. “Mom, do you remember what organization you went through to adopt me?”

“I believe it was the Gentle Hearts Orphanage in Chicago?”

“Are they affiliated with the Sisters of Mercy Refuge?”

“I’m not sure, but I still have some of the literature. Why do your ask?”

“You and dad will always be my real parents, but I think I just met my natural mother.”

“And you want to confirm it.”

“I realize it might be hard to understand, but she is a part of me. I need to know.”

“All right. Let me get back to you.”

It only took her an hour to call back, but it seemed like an eternity. “The answer is yes. That is where they got most of the new infants.”

Ethel had finally found her son and her grand children. She loved her new family and they all loved her. She and David’s adopted parents also became good friends. Scandal be damned! They did not exactly announce it to the world, but it was not long before they stopped trying to hide the relationship from the people they knew.

First published in macsbackporch.foxtail-farms.com Apr. 22, 2010