Page 15 of Dead Rattled
Ten dabbed at his own damp eyes. “That’s beautiful, Jude.”
“Fitz and I have had a lot of conversations over the years about our girls and how to handle the inevitable questions. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s one hell of a man and father.”
“Damn straight he is,” Ronan agreed, just as the doorbell rang.
“Speaking of Fitz.” Ten walked out of the kitchen to get the door. “Hey, there!”
“I brought cookies!” Fitz walked into the house carrying two plates. “One for us and one for the kids. Maybe.”
“I’m glad you’re here, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” Ten led the captain into the kitchen where Jude and Ronan were quick to swoop in and grab the snacks.
“What did you guys learn this afternoon?” Fitz asked, when everyone was seated with a drink and some chocolate chip cookies.
“St. Agnes Church has been in operation since the mid-1700s,” Jude began. “It served as a meeting place for the local Sons of Liberty prior to the start of the revolution. The building that would eventually become the maternity home began life as a convent for the nuns. It was turned into a convalescent home for soldiers returning from France after World War I and laterbecame a shelter for families during the Depression. In 1945, it again became a home for soldiers coming back from Europe and the Pacific. The building became the St. Agnes House in 1955 after teenage pregnancy rates began to rise. Lastly, the house closed in 1975. The stated reason was a lack of funds, which is bullshit, because we all know how loaded the Vatican is. The real reason, of course, wasRoe v. Wade. Girls who would have been forced to have their babies at St. Agnes House now had another option available to them.”
“Were you able to find any priests or nuns who served at the home?” Fitz asked.
“Not yet,” Jude said. “I’ve got several names to check out, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Dr. Anthony Savini was the obstetrician from the time the House opened, until it closed. He was twenty-two years old when St. Agnes House began to host expectant mothers, which would make him ninety-three years old. Same goes for the nurses. Some might have been in their teens when they started working there, but even still, that would put them all over seventy.”
“Keep on them, Jude. See if you can contact children or grandchildren of the doctor and nurses. Anyone who can give us information about what happened to the missing babies.”
“You got it,” Jude agreed.
“Ronan, what have you got?” Fitz asked.
“I’ve been working on social media sites looking for groups searching for adopted kids, Catholic adoptions and things of that nature. One of the pages I have several St. Agnes House mothers looking for their birth children.” Ronan blew out a ragged breath. “The posts are heart wrenching. Mothers who know their time is short trying to reconnect with the kids they gaveup. Every Catholic adoption from 1955 through the early 1970s was closed. Several women have gone so far as to mention the records being destroyed. Some in structure fires, others under more suspicious circumstances. Asking about the St. Agnes House records might be something to talk about with your new bestie, Ten.”
Fitzgibbon’s eyes narrowed on Tennyson. “What’s Ronan talking about?”
“I called St. Agnes Church and spoke with Father Joseph Baker. I asked him how someone would go about exhuming a grave from the church’s special section. He told me about the documentation the mother would need to bring in order to get the ball rolling. Then I asked if it was possible for him to bless that entire section of the cemetery.”
“Why would you do that? We know those graves are empty, right?” Fitz asked.
“Right. I wanted to find out if he knew they were empty as well. He doesn’t.”
“According to the St. Agnes website, Father Baker is only thirty-five years old, so he wasn’t even alive when the House was shut down,” Jude said.
“No one knows better than we do the way that secrets are handed down.” Ten took a deep breath. “I also found a couple of Catholic adoption pages on Facebook. I’ll sit with them and see if there are posts tagging St. Agnes House or any of the other maternity homes in Massachusetts.”
“Good plan,” Fitz agreed. “As for me, I dozed off watchingThe Young and the Restless. I haven’t watched that show since the last time I got shot. Nothing much has changed.”
“Kids are gonna be getting off the bus soon. Anyone in the mood for Greek Life?” Jude asked. “I’m too tired to cook.”
“Same,” Ten agreed. “I don’t care what you guys order, so long as there’s salad I won’t feel like a terrible father.”
“Pizza and hot wings aren’t going to kill our kids. Last week, Aurora wouldn’t eat anything but boxed mac and cheese. Sometimes I think the biggest part of being a parent is knowing when to give up the good fight.”
“Amen to that, brother!” Ronan raised his can of ginger ale to toast Fitzgibbon. “Make sure to get some of those buffalo chicken fingers with extra hot sauce and blue cheese.”
Ten grimaced and grabbed his computer. As he walked out of the kitchen the boys were discussing which meal produced their deadliest farts ever. He didn’t want to stick around and listen to Ronan recount the story, for the hundredth time, about the gas station burrito he’d eaten on a high school field trip.
Instead, Ten would spend a little time going through the Facebook pages in hopes he’d find adoption notices tagging Natalie or The St. Agnes House. Natalie and the other mothers deserved a chance to reunite with the children they lost or were forced to give up. Ten was going to do everything in his power to make sure some of them got their happy endings at long last.
7
Ronan
Ronan, Jude, and Fitzgibbon sat in the West Side Magick conference room going over everything they’d learned yesterday, which, to be honest, wasn’t much. Tennyson and Cope had early morning readings, but would join the others when those obligations ended.
