My Dearest. A Reminiscence
Mary discovered, much later in life, that shed been raised by adoptive parents.
She could hardly believe it, even as an adult looking back. But by then, there was no one left to discuss it with. Both her adoptive father and mother had passed away, one after the other. First, her fathers strength gave way; he took to bed and never recovered. Soon after, her mother followed.
Mary remembered sitting at her mothers bedside, gently holding her mothers frail, unresponsive hand. Her mother was terribly weak. Suddenly, Mary noticed her mothers eyes fluttering open:
Mary, my dear, we never had the courage to tell you, your father and I… Couldnt find the words. The truth is… we found you. Yes, found you, in the woods. Youd lost your way and were crying. We fully expected that someone would come looking for youwe even notified the police. But no one ever came forward. Who knows what happened… I really dont know. Eventually, we were allowed to adopt you.
In the old dresser, where my papers are, her mother went on faintly, there are letters and things… Correspondence. Have a read through them, if you like. Forgive us, my love. Exhausted, her mother closed her eyes again.
Oh, Mum, hush now, Mary murmured, pressing her mothers hand to her cheek, my darling Mum, I love you. I just want you to get well.
But there was no miracle. Within days, her mother, too, was gone.
Mary sometimes wished her mother had never said a word.
She never breathed a word of her mothers confession to her husband or children. She pushed it aside in her mind, as if shed forgotten it herself.
Her children had adored their grandmother and granddad. Mary saw no sense in disturbing anyone with a truth no one needed.
But one day, compelled by some vague impulse, she finally opened the folder her mother had mentioned.
There were old newspaper clippings, inquiries, and letters inside. Mary began to read and found it impossible to stop. Dearest, most precious Mum and Dad!
They had found her, just a toddler of about eighteen months, alone and sobbing in the woods. Her parents then, both in their forties, childless. And suddenlya troubled little girl reaching out to them.
The village constable at the time shrugged his shouldersno one had reported a missing child.
They adopted Mary. Yet her mother continued to search for her birth family.
It seemed now that it wasnt to find anyone anymore, but rather for certaintyfor reassurance that no one would turn up to lay claim to their beloved daughter.
Mary snapped the folder shut and shoved it to the back of a drawer. Who needs such a truth?
A week later, Mary was summoned to the personnel office:
Mary Parker, youve got an inquiry from your previous place of work.
Beside the office clerk sat a woman about Marys own age.
Good afternoon, Im Hope. I really must speak with you, she said, glancing awkwardly at the clerk. Its about some correspondence from Mrs. Margaret Ives. Shes… your mother, isnt she?
I was told this was a work matter, sniffed the clerk. Personal affairs should be sorted on your own time!
Hope, shall we step outside? Mary offered. Together they left under the clerks pointed stare.
I apologise for the odd situation, Hope began, clearly nervous. Three years ago, I ran into my first schoolteacher from St. Edmunds Primary in the village. Miss Vera Evansshed been alone for years, very elderly. She invited me for tea and asked for help… Her daughter went missing when she was little. Shed been in correspondence with your mum.
Im sorry, Hope, Mary replied flatly, turning away. My mums passed away, and Im not involved in any of that.
I understand, Mary, Hope said gently. But the thing is… Miss Evans, shes very ill, the doctors say theres not much time left. Shes desperate to find her daughtershes searched all her life. She even gave me a lock of hair, in hopes of arranging a test. Can you imagine?
Mary had intended to end the conversation, but something gave her pause.
You say shes gravely ill?
Hope nodded.
Mary accepted an envelope from Hope containing the lock of hair and promised to be in touch.
Within a week, they traveled together to the hospital where Miss Vera Evans was staying.
When they entered the room, Miss Evans struggled to focus her fading eyes on the visitors.
Oh, Hope, is that you? Thank you, dear, she smiled, shyly, then looked at Mary with hopeful curiosity.
Miss Evans, Hope said softly, Ive found her. This is Mary, and she wanted to come of her own accord. Hope handed Miss Evans the envelope.
Whats this? My eyes are hopeless, even with my spectacles, Miss Evans said helplessly, searching the faces before her.
Its the result from the laboratory, Hope replied, extracting a sheet of paper. It says your relationship is confirmed. Mary is your daughter.
Miss Evanss face lit up; a grace transformed her as tears of joy escaped her eyes.
My dears, thank you. Thank you so very much, she breathed, reaching out her hands to Mary. My darling, my own daughter, what happiness. Ive found you, alivebeautiful, so much like I was in my youth. My dearest, my child. So many nights Id wake, certain I heard your cries, longing for me.
Forgive me.
Alive, youre alive… Now Im at peace.
In a while, Hope and Mary left Miss Evans to rest, completely spent and at last nodding off.
Thank you, Mary. Youve no ideashes very near the end, but youve filled her heart with happiness.
Within a few days, Miss Evans had passed away.
Mary quietly destroyed all the papers from her mothers folder. She had no wish for anyone to stumble upon that unnecessary truth.
After all, what was there worth knowing? For Mary, there had only ever been one real mother.
And Miss Evans? Perhaps it was simply a sacred, kindly lie. Had Mary done right? She believed it was best.
Ultimately, every soul must answer to God for all theyve ever done.
