Looking for Jane (6)

“Now, then. A few more questions before I show you to your dormitory. Are your parents both living? I believe it was your mother who called to make the arrangement for you to stay with us.”

“Yes, they’re living.”

Another tick. “Siblings?”

“One brother.”

“Is he married? Younger? Older?”

“Older and married.”

“Do you have any friends?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. A couple of girls from my school days.”

“And none of your friends know of your condition?”

“No.”

“Does your brother?”

“Yes, he does. His wife does, too. And I was thinking maybe—”

“All right, then.” Sister Teresa returns her gaze to Evelyn. “Given your situation, we would expect that you prepare to give the child up for adoption. We have a list of several couples who are hoping to adopt in the next few months. Lovely married couples. Devout to the faith, well-off, established. Honourable.” She lingers over the last word. “You will relinquish the baby at the end of your term.” She makes one last tick on her clipboard.

Stunned, Evelyn remains silent, her mind racing as the panic starts to rise in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She can’t breathe properly. Why aren’t any of the windows open?

“Is that, I mean, is it required that I give the baby up? I didn’t discuss it with my parents before I came here. There was no plan of any kind.”

Sister Teresa’s cold eyes peer at her over the top of her glasses. “Plan? The plan, Miss Taylor, is for you to wait out your pregnancy and give birth in a discreet, controlled environment so that you may return to your family with your reputation mostly intact. The benefit to you should be obvious. The benefit to us is that we in turn have the opportunity to place healthy babies with deserving couples wishing to adopt.”

“But this baby, my baby… it was conceived in love. Surely that must mean something. I was going to marry the father. I loved him.” Evelyn’s voice cracks. “I lost him. Must I lose his baby, too?”

“The house rules are thus,” Sister Teresa continues at a gallop, as though Evelyn hasn’t just borne her heart to the woman. She plows through the policies in a well-practiced monologue. “You will use only your first name within these walls. Only your first name. I cannot stress this enough. Our girls and their families value discretion while the girl is housed here. As you are no doubt aware, most families feel a great deal of shame about their daughters’ predicament, and we promise as much privacy as possible. Mind your own business, and do not ask questions. You will not discuss your home life, family, friends, past experiences, or other details with your roommates or any of the other inmates. Each of you is here for a reason. Keep it to yourself.

“You will not leave the house without express permission, nor will you go near the windows or open the curtains. We do not have a telephone on the premises. You may write letters to your loved ones, but not the putative father, though in your case, of course, that rule is moot. We will review all incoming and outgoing correspondence for the sake of your own privacy and safety. You will do as you are told by any of the sisters on our staff, or by Father Leclerc, your new priest. You will attend his mass here in the sitting room every Sunday morning. You will also attend various lessons to provide you with the set of skills you will require to be a good wife and housekeeper once you have reformed yourself. They include cooking, sewing, cleaning, knitting, and of course religious study. After you have given birth, you will move into the postpartum dormitory. Once our physician has agreed you are fit to return to work, you will continue to work off your debt for a three-month period until you are released back into the care of your parents. That is standard practice in every home of this kind.”

Three months?

Evelyn clenches her fists in her lap as Sister Teresa finishes her pronouncement and stands up.

“Come along, then, Miss Taylor. Or Evelyn, I should say. That’s the last time you’ll be using your surname for a while. Supper is nearly ready, and we run a tight schedule. Pick up your case and I will show you to your dormitory. You’ll be sharing with two other girls for now: Louise and Anne. Your third roommate, Margaret, is due to arrive tomorrow.”

Evelyn forces herself up from the chair.

“Yes, Sister Teresa,” the nun prompts her.

Evelyn drops her gaze to the handle of her travelling case. “Yes, Sister Teresa.”





CHAPTER 3 Nancy




TORONTO | SUMMER 1979




Nancy Mitchell pulls on her red rubber boots and navy rain jacket in the front hall of her parents’ house as butterflies flutter in her stomach. She doesn’t like lying to her mother, but she has to extract herself from their argument in time to meet her cousin Clara.

“We’re already late for Susan’s birthday party, Mum,” Nancy says. “I have to go.”

Her mother exhales irritably. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for two young girls to be out at parties in the dead of night unescorted.”

Nancy tries to shake off her mother’s admonitions. Frances Mitchell was born and raised in England until her parents moved her and her sisters to Canada when she was only fourteen. But she’s clung to the cultural values of decorum and propriety her entire life. They ground her. They make life stable and predictable. A set of rules to live by.