Looking for Jane (99)

Evelyn sits down beside Angela on the couch, delicately crossing one ankle over the other, like a lady. “I stole them.”

“Ha! What?”

“Technically, I guess. The campus is full of flowering trees. Yesterday I clipped some. They were only out on a few branches, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Do you keep gardening shears in your purse?”

Evelyn raises a forkful of brownie with a look of reverence and pops it in her mouth. “Mmm. These are perfect, Angela.” She swallows. “I have a Swiss Army knife my brother gave me one Christmas. Do you have one? They come in handy from time to time. Especially the corkscrew.”

Angela chuckles, nearly choking on a bite of brownie. The kettle screams its impatience at them, and Evelyn jumps up, displaying the reflexes of a much younger woman. She returns with the coffee a moment later.

“So! What’s this update you have for me?” Darwin eyes the coffee in her hands and mewls with impatience, wanting a brownie.

Angela sets her coffee down on the table to cool. “Well, I definitely found Margaret’s daughter.”

“My goodness…”

“I was looking for the wrong name at first. She’s divorced now, but still using her married name. Ironically, I think it’s to make it easier for people to find her on social media, since she was known by that name for so long. I just told her who I was and that I had a letter that was supposed to be delivered to her old apartment but somehow ended up in a drawer in our shop.”

Angela looks up from her brownie to glance at Evelyn, whose face is so pale it’s blending into the cream fabric of the couch behind her.

“Oh my God, Evelyn, are you okay?” Angela reaches out for Evelyn’s hand, which is as cold as ice. Angela can feel it trembling. “Evelyn?”

Evelyn squeezes her hand, which reassures Angela slightly. All of a sudden she’s acutely aware of Evelyn’s age and the fact that she herself has no first aid training.

“What’s wrong? Should I call someone?”

Evelyn’s face flushes, red blotches patchy among the white. And then she starts to cry. Confused and frightened, Angela wraps her arms around Evelyn, unsure what else to do. She’s thin and feels frail under Angela’s hands, as though any more pressure might shatter her entirely. What the hell is going on? Angela’s mind races but she can’t catch up. After a minute or two, Evelyn’s breathing slows, and her sobs fade to hiccups. She sits up straighter as Darwin slinks his way underneath their elbows, settling himself down in his mistress’s lap, trying his best to keep her grounded with his warm, soft weight.

It works. Evelyn leans back to rest her head on the couch cushion as her hand strokes Darwin’s back. Angela spots a box of tissues on the side table. She snatches three out of the floral cardboard box and taps Evelyn’s shoulder. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, dear,” Evelyn mutters, her voice hardly above a whisper. She mops her face and blows her nose hard. “I was at St. Agnes’s, too, Angela.”

Angela nods. “I know.”

Evelyn turns to face her. The tears pour fast down her heart-shaped face. It’s only now that Angela really notices the wrinkles around Evelyn’s eyes and mouth, the leathery texture of her aging skin, the eyes that are no longer bright and clear. They’re tired and sore and the light is starting to fade from them.

“I gave birth to a baby girl there. She was stolen from me after just a few days in my arms.”

Something cold licks at Angela’s insides before Evelyn speaks again. She watches Evelyn run her hands along each opposite arm now, as though cradling the baby she once held. Her right hand moves from her left forearm down to the wrist. She traces her middle finger across a long, faded scar.

“My name was Maggie then. And my baby’s name was Jane.”





CHAPTER 29 Maggie




MAY 1961




Maggie wakes to the sound of breaking glass.

Or at least, she thinks she does. As she starts to come to, the room sliding into focus in the dim bluish light of dawn, she isn’t sure anymore. Maybe it was just a dream after all. She’s had such strange dreams since coming to the home, and now that she’s in the postpartum wing of the building, she’s woken up twice in a hazy confusion, as if someone had carried her out of her normal bed in the middle of the night and set her down somewhere odd and unusual.

Maggie rubs her eyes and rolls over onto her side. As she does so, she hears and feels a crinkle beneath her arm.

She sits up, blinks at the two white envelopes resting on her pillow. Glancing over, she sees that Evelyn’s bed is empty, and stripped bare of its sheets. She picks up the envelopes as a strange tingling sensation creeps downward from the top of her head.

Maggie, the first envelope says. The second is labelled Mother & Father.

Maggie’s heart is racing as she tears open the envelope with her name on it. There are two letters inside. One for her, and one addressed to the Toronto Police Department. The letter for Maggie is on top. She begins to read, heart hammering in her throat.


Dear Maggie,

It pains me to write these words because it will somehow confirm their truth. But I found out yesterday from Agatha that my baby has died. I went to Agatha to ask for help, thinking she might be willing to find a name or an address. Something. Anything to help me find her. And this is the news she brings me. My baby was sold, and then she died.