Standing at the Scratch Line (92 page)

It wasn’t until Tuesday morning that Amos learned that they weren’t leaving by train after all, but were booked on a French steamer going to Port Arthur, Texas. Amos had never been on a ship before, so he looked forward to the trip with anticipation. Unfortunately for all concerned, it was a terrible voyage. The rains that had threatened on Sunday came on Tuesday with a vengeance, accompanied by high winds and rough seas. Serena, LaValle, and Amos all suffered through some terrible bouts of seasickness.

Everyone was grateful when the ship pulled into Port Arthur’s harbor late Wednesday afternoon. The wind and the rain were still raging, but the feel of firm earth beneath his feet made Amos almost drop to his knees and thank God. Serena had them whisked off to a nice colored hotel as soon as they had disembarked and collected their luggage. After a soak and a wash in a hot bath, the family reconvened in the dining room of the hotel for dinner.

Amos knew that they were in Port Arthur because of what Sister Bornais had told Serena at the Hotel Toussant. He figured that Serena was on a mission of trying to do right by the oldest child, who he deduced was in the orphanage of the Oblate Nuns. All during dinner Amos tried to drop hints that she could call upon him for help, but his offers were too oblique and general for her to comprehend. His problem was that he did not want to divulge that he had overheard her conversation with Sister Bornais. Finally, toward the end of the dinner meal he asked, “Why did we come to Port Arthur?”

“I have a bit of business to take care of here,” Serena answered. “It shouldn’t take too long. I expect that we’ll be able to leave by Saturday.”

“Is it anythin’ that I can help you with?” he offered.

“No, I just need to meet with a few people and make some arrangements.”

It looked as if she chose to complete her mission without including him. Concerned that he would be left out, Amos burst out with, “If it means you gon’ take a drive somewheres out’n the city, I’d like to come along!” He spoke with such charged enthusiasm that his announcement caused LaValle to jerk around and stare at him. Then, like dried beans sliding off a scoop, the rest of his words tumbled rapidly out without a break for breath. “This-is-my-first-time-in-Texas-and-I-done-heard-about-how-Port-Arthur-sit-in-some-of-the-prettiest-country-folk-ever-did-see! I’d-sho’-want-to-see-some-of-it-for-myself-if’en-we’s-here-anyways!I-don’t-mind-it’s-rainin’, might-even-make-it-mo’-pretty-what-with-rainbows-and-all!”

Serena stared at him. “Port Arthur? It means that much to you? I’ve never heard anything about the land around here.”

“Well, maybe, after bein’ sick and cooped up on the ship, I just don’t want be stuck in no hotel with nothin’ to do, ’specially if I can help you.”

“Well, I was going to ask you to help me,” Serena began.

Amos was excited. She was finally going to confide in him. “Yes! Yes!” he said expectantly.

“But I was going to ask you to watch over the woman I hired to care for LaValle while I’m occupied with business.”

“Why can’t LaValle and me come along? I know where you’s goin’ anyway!” Amos hadn’t meant to let the last part slip out.

Suddenly the smiles were gone and there was a hard look on Serena’s face and a stern tone in her voice when she asked, “Where am I going?”

Amos discovered too late that he had stumbled onto a minefield. He sensed a cold and implacable presence in Serena that startled him and caused him to stutter. “Uh-uh-uh-th-the-O-bl-blate orphanage.”

With the same tone and seeming greater intensity, she leaned forward and asked, “Oh, and just how did you know I was going to the Oblate orphanage?” She was like a big cat moving forward in the presence of prey.

Amos sensed that this was such an important subject to Serena that it made the fact that he was her brother meaningless. He had the distinct impression that he would be sent immediately back to Louisiana if he divulged any of what he had heard Sister Bornais say. “I, er, heard you ask the man who drove us home after the picnic about colored orphanages in southeast Texas,” he explained. “And I heard him answer, ‘the Oblate Nuns.’ ”

Her eyes seem to cut into Amos as she asked, “Is that all? Or did you hear something else? Were you up Saturday night!?!”

“I don’t know what you’s talkin’ about,” he said, looking into his lap, insolently refusing to meet her eyes. Without looking up he said, “Next day, you go visit that girl’s orphanage; that’s all I know. Didn’t take nothin’ to figger if’en we’s here, where you most likely be goin’.”

Serena sat back in her chair and said, “I see.” She was quiet for a few moments, then said, “I’m going to take you into my confidence. I don’t want you to mention this to anyone and I mean anyone! Not even King! Do you understand me?”

Amos nodded. There was still a very sharp edge in her voice and he saw that she had the same look on her face as the time she fired the Winchester in their father’s face. Yes, he would know better than to ever mention this subject again.

“Good! Good!” She allowed some of the tension to ease up before she spoke again. “I’m thinking of adopting. I haven’t made my final decision yet. I’m not sure I’m going to go through with it, but I’m considering it. If I decide not to do it, I don’t want anyone to know. It’s no one else’s business!”

“Sho’! Sho’ I got that! Mum’s the word!” Amos answered with a big smile. “So, I’m gon’ have a new little, er, nephew, niece, what?”

Serena looked him directly in the eye. “I’m looking for a little girl. I already have two boys. I thought a little girl would be nice.”

It was nearly noon when Serena walked up the front stairs of the Oblate orphanage. She saw there were rows of children watching her from a number of upper-story windows. Their eyes followed her until she stepped under the chipped and peeling portico above the front door.

A nun in a brown habit and white cowl directed her to the mother superior’s office. The office was nearly at the back of the building. As she walked down the central hallway of the first floor, Serena saw boys and girls of various ages assigned to dusting, sweeping, and mopping activities throughout the floor. All the children were dressed in brown uniforms made out of a coarse brown material. She knocked on the office door and a low melodic voice said, “Come in.”

Serena entered an ascetic, sparsely furnished office with shiny but rippling wainscoting along the lower wall. The furniture consisted of a wooden desk with a large wooden chair behind it, along with two smaller wooden chairs in front of the desk and a large wooden file cabinet. The only picture that adorned the wall was a framed image of what appeared to be a colored nun in a brown habit and white cowl with a halo around her head.

A small, narrow-faced, brown-skinned woman dressed in the similar brown habit and white cowl sat in the wooden chair behind the desk. She rose when Serena entered. “I’m Sister Mary Katherine, the mother superior of this convent and orphanage. And you are, I take it, Mrs. Tremain?”

“Yes,” Serena answered. “I’ve just come from Port Arthur. Since you’re aware of my name, you must’ve received word of my call and why I wished to come.”

The mother superior answered, “The telephone is looked upon as a newfangled contraption in this area, Mrs. Tremain. I received a somewhat garbled message from our local postmaster. Since we’re not in the practice of receiving messages and he is not in the practice of taking them, perhaps we can clarify your interests over a cup of hot tea.”

“Why, that would be appreciated,” Serena replied. “May I take off my coat?”

“Of course. Pardon my lack of manners. You’ll find a coat tree outside my door in the hall.”

When the tea had been brought, the mother superior asked, “Please tell me how I can help you, Mrs. Tremain.”

“I am seeking a boy child who was brought here about six years ago. He would’ve been between one and two years old at the time. He might have been brought here by a member of the Louisiana sheriff’s department.”

“Why are you seeking him? Are you his mother, or do you know his mother?”

“No, I’m merely trying to track down a rumor that my husband has an illegitimate son here.”

The mother superior’s tone never varied from its mellow modulation, but her eyes were raking Serena up and down. “I’ve worked here nearly twenty-five years, Mrs. Tremain, and in that time I’ve discovered that all children are legitimate in the eyes of God, no matter how they came into being. What good would it do you to possess this knowledge? And of greater importance, how will it benefit the child?”

“Well, uh, I was considering adoption, if indeed it is his son.” Serena was flustered. She hadn’t anticipated such penetrating questions.

“What factors would weigh heavily in your consideration?”

Serena put her hand to her forehead. The questions were too probing. “I don’t know,” she faltered.

“I have no desire to expose a child’s hopes and aspirations to idle curiosity, Mrs. Tremain. Perhaps it’s best that this is a question most appropriately left unanswered for you. Unless, of course, you’re committed to adopting the child.”

“If you could at least check your records, to determine if the child is here, I’d be happy to donate a hundred dollars to your food fund.”

“A hundred dollars? That’s a lot of money,” mused the mother superior. “And we certainly could use it—” Her voice drifted into silence as her dark eyes appraised Serena.

“Two hundred dollars! I’ll donate two hundred dollars!” Serena declared, a tone of desperation entering her voice.

The mother superior leaned forward. “Two hundred dollars is a majestic amount of money! That would almost cover our operational costs for a month.” She took a deep breath. “We feed, clothe, and educate one hundred and thirty-two children here, and every week we turn more away. Our facilities can only reasonably handle around a hundred and twenty children. We try to stay near that range because we don’t want our services to the children to diminish to the point that we can no longer serve them effectively. A gift of two hundred dollars would mean more meat and fresh vegetables, and maybe better schoolbooks. A gift that benefits so many must be weighed against the price that one child has to pay. I would like to ask you a few more questions, Mrs. Tremain.”

“Three hundred dollars and no more questions!”

A questioning look crossed the nun’s face as she asked, “You have that kind of money?”

“Right here, in cash,” Serena tapped her purse. She stood up and said, “If you want the money, let’s get on with it!”

For the first time, the mother superior frowned and there was a bit of an edge in her voice. “I would not accept a gift of a thousand dollars without asking questions.”

“If I don’t get what I want, I’ll walk out of here with my money!”

“That’s up to you, but it will also show that your visit here was a mere dalliance, that your heart was not firm in doing right!”

Her words deflated Serena and took the bluster out of her bearing. Serena sat back down.

The mother superior waited a few minutes before she asked, “What is your husband’s name, Mrs. Tremain?”

“King Tremain.”

“Are you sure that he is the father of this child that you’re seeking?” The mother superior’s eyes squinted as she watched for Serena’s reaction.

“Well, I’m not sure,” Serena answered. “I’m just trying to check out a rumor.”

“Do you know how the child ended up here, at this orphanage?”

Serena paused before she answered. She did not want to reveal everything, but she decided that she had no choice. The mother superior was too clever to be taken in by half-truths. “His mother, a woman King knew before he met me, brought him to New Orleans to give him to his father, but she was abducted by a family that was feuding with King’s family. The child was taken and given to a corrupt sheriff’s captain named LeGrande. Rumor has it that the child was brought here or another colored orphanage in this area.”

“This is the only colored orphanage in southeast Texas,” the mother superior answered as she pulled a file out of her drawer. “The child you’re seeking is here. The deputy didn’t know his name and the child was in shock and barely speaking. He is now a healthy seven and a half years old and we have named him Elroy Fontenot. Coincidentally, Elroy means ‘the king’ in Spanish.”

A cold, clammy feeling began crawling up Serena’s back. “How did he get that name?” she asked.

“Most children we get already have names. For those that don’t, we cycle through a list of about two hundred last names and about a thousand first names. It was mere happenstance that we arrived at Elroy.”

Serena had to control herself to speak without stammering. “May I see him?”

“That depends on whether you’re serious about adopting, Mrs. Tremain. You see, every child in this institution dreams about the day that some loving family will come and take him or her away from this motherless, fatherless place. When a child knows that he or she is being considered for adoption and for some reason it doesn’t happen, the child not only feels the pain of rejection, but feels that the rejection is due to some defect in his or her person. It is for this reason that we do not parade children out for potential adoptive parents. We only allow the child to be viewed in a group, while at play or during classroom work.”

“That would be fine,” Serena conceded. The clammy feeling was turning to dread. It was an amorphous, undefined fear and it seemed to be taking up residence in the pit of her stomach.

“Good, the under-ten boys have a recess break now.” The mother superior stood up. She gave Serena a warm smile. “They’ll be playing baseball in the yard. We can see them best from the floor proctor’s office on the second floor. Shall we?”

Serena followed the nun up the stairs and down the hall to another office. When they entered, there was a nun standing at an open window looking out into the yard. She was shouting several boys’ names and pointing. She turned and bowed when she saw the mother superior.

“Continue on, Sister Theresa,” the mother superior said with a smile. “We have a guest who is interested in seeing the boys at play.”

Serena walked to another window and stared down at the makeshift baseball diamond below. Her eyes were searching, but she could tell nothing from the distance she was viewing from. Then suddenly an argument broke out among the boys and a bigger boy pushed one of the smaller ones. Another boy, midway in size between the two adversaries, stepped between them. It was clear even from the second floor that the third boy was defending the smaller one. The bigger boy had been all bluster before, but with the entrance of his adversary’s protector he became hesitant; even though he was bigger, he was reluctant to take things further with the third boy.