Mary Simpson is shocked to see a message posted on an Internet adoption site from Joan Foster-the baby she gave up thirty-five years ago. While she is thrilled to hear from her daughter, the message jolts Mary back in me to the confusing days that began sweetly with innocent naïveté and sadly ended with harsh reality. As a teenager growing up in the late sixties, Mary is a gentle girl with eyes the shade of a clear summer sky. But when Mary's hippie neighbour introduces her to members of a religious cult, her life suddenly changes forever. Lured into the sect by Christopher, the handsome and sly leader of a God's Children tribe, Mary experiences a horrendous year that culminates in the creation of a new life and subsequently an unbearable decision. Now many years later, her daughter, Joan, is desperate to find her-for now it is a matter of life and death. Both mother and daughter go through a tremendous transformation as their lives intertwine during a time of shared crisis. As they frantically search for hope, they discover their souls and now understand the true meaning of love.
A Child of God
By Karen HigginsiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 Karen Higgins
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4620-2544-2Chapter One
November 2005
Throughout this brisk but bright November afternoon, Mary Simpson does not budge from her den. She's working on an extremely important private matter in the comfort of her home office. While balancing her computer on her lap, she rests on her beautiful, cream-coloured, upholstered couch, her back supported by its large, rounded arm, and her legs stretched out comfortably. A multicoloured, granny-squared afghan gently blankets over her. She appreciates the lovely warmth coming from the gas fireplace as she sips away on her lemon tea, taking in its heavenly aroma. However, something keeps worrying her, not allowing her to continue enjoying these wonderful comforts.
Mary stares at a new site of listings on her laptop. "If only her name would appear," she says to herself while slowly shaking her head. She looks up for a moment and glances at the old mahogany rolltop desk that sits under the wide bay window across from her. That desk is one of her most treasured possessions. Her beloved Grandmother Kate bequeathed it to her when she passed away many years ago. Sitting on top of the desk is an ornately framed photograph of her Grandmother Kate smiling while holding Mary as a baby. Next to that picture is a silver framed photo of her wonderful parents, Norm and Norma, who tragically died in a small plane crash in Bermuda back in 1972. Staring at her parents' picture, a tear rolls down her cheek. Why could I not tell them that they had a granddaughter? Wiping the tear off her face, she quickly gets back to task and clicks away until she finds another website of listings.
Suddenly, Mary's heart races as shivers run through her body. The message on the adoption website jumps out at her. She cannot believe her eyes!
Joan, born November 17th, 1970, St. Jude's Hospital, Toronto. I need to contact my birth parent(s). If anyone has information, please e-mail me at joan431@loris.com.
Oh my God, it's Joni! I never really thought ... Oh God, we could be connected at any time.
There's no doubt in Mary's mind that Joan is her daughter. Her baby was the only baby girl born that November 17 at St. Jude's.
A few minutes later, she forces her fingers to the keyboard and slowly types Joan's e-mail address. However, after that, she doesn't know what to write. What will I say? God, I can't tell her too much.
After contemplating, Mary finally forces her fingers to type. When she finishes, she immediately presses 'send' to prevent herself from changing her mind.
It's gone ... There's no going back now ... But ... Maybe I should have written more. What's wrong with me? It sounds more like correspondence to a legal firm than a letter to a daughter ... A daughter, I can't believe it! But ... I just don't know ... And, what will I tell Robert? ... Maybe he doesn't need to know.
Mary and Robert Simpson have been blissfully married for thirty-four years. They have always relied on each other, as there has always been just the two of them.
Mary, an attractive, tall size eight, always looks great in the classic apparel she often sports. Her bright, platinum blonde hair, worn in a short bob with bangs, adds a charming softness to her face. Her blue eyes often twinkle when she smiles, as she so often does. Her cute little nose, high cheekbones, and silky smooth, fair skin all complement her perfect, oval face. At fifty-four, she is still a real beauty.
Sixty-four year old Robert is a tall, slim, distinguished, well-dressed lawyer with slightly receding silver grey hair.
This couple's appearance, manner, and style all quietly say upper middle-class conservative. They reside in a posh townhouse in an upscale area of Toronto's downtown. Some would guess them pretentious, but pretentious they are not. Robert and Mary live a quiet life together. They enjoy their successes but never think themselves above anyone. Robert is a brilliant tax attorney at a very highly regarded Toronto law firm, Carlson, Simpson & Payne. Mary works extremely hard as his firm's chief administrative assistant. The lawyers all agree that Mary's organizational abilities, along with her perfectionism, have kept their office running smoothly for almost thirty-five years.
Although Mary knows that she may not hear anything for a long time, if at all, she constantly checks her in-box that afternoon. While reading some reports for work, she suddenly hears a bleep. She jumps up and immediately checks the computer that is now sitting on the antique coffee table in front of her. She sighs, seeing that it's only a forward that one of her girlfriends has sent. She'll read that later. Suddenly however, she starts to worry about what she may have to tell Joan if she does e-mail her. Will she have any understanding, or will she think I was some kind of freak?
While resting on her comfy couch, thinking about what she may have to tell her grownup baby that she gave away thirty-five years ago, she reminisces. She remembers vividly those confusing days as a Toronto teenager in the late sixties.
During her childhood and teenage years, Mary was known as Maryann. At eighteen, she was a gentle young girl with soft, ivory-toned skin and bright blue eyes the shade of a clear summer sky. Her straight, silky, honey-coloured hair, parted in the middle, hung straight down her back and ended just above her tiny waist. High cheekbones accentuated her petite and delicate facial features. Her tall, slim figure made her look like a teenage model. Except for school, where uniforms were the rule, she was almost always dressed in bell-bottom blue jeans and one of her peasant-style, lacey tops. She also adored wearing her black granny boots and only took them off for school and bed.
While thinking about her youth, Mary suddenly laughs aloud as she remembers one particular night at her church youth group. It was May of 1969 in Toronto.
Charlie, Maryann's devoted childhood friend and next-door neighbour, whom she hadn't seen in over a year, arrives at St. Patrick's Church. What an entrance! Charlie comes romping down the steep, wooden stairs and almost falls right into their meeting room. A huge smile encompasses his round, very chubby face, which is adorned with a full, curly beard and long, brown ringlets that flow down to the middle of his back.
Holding on to the white cement-block wall, Charlie peeks into the room and sees the kids from the youth group all sitting around on grey, metal folding chairs arranged in a circle. The young people, mostly clad in jeans, with T-shirts or army jackets for the guys, and tight sweaters or peasant style blouses for the girls, are all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Most of the guys have longish hair, and many of the girls have long, straight hair, parted in the middle. Two of the guys and a girl have guitars placed beside their chairs, and the girl is carefully looking over her sheet music. Most, however, seem to be giving their full attention to Dean, one of the youth members who always has a lot to say.
Charlie walks into the room and notices the young people, who are suddenly distracted. He sees them staring at him, not saying a word. He wonders why some of the girls are giggling. Charlie feels hurt as Dean yells, "Why the hell's he wearin' that f-in' white gown?"
He watches as the kids continue staring at him, some with their...
