Page 116 of The High Tide Club
“Three daughters by three different women? How unusual,” Debbie said.
“Anyway, the three of us, we’re at that time in our lives, we really need some answers. For our peace of mind, and of course, to find out about our family medical history,” Lizzie went on. “You can empathize with that, can’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Before Dad dies,” Lizzie said.
“Ticking clock,” Felicia added.
“Dad told us the parish priest who found him took him to a Catholic orphanage here.”
“From the sound of it, that would be St. Joseph’s. It closed in the mid-1950s, and the children were moved over here to St. Elizabeth’s,” Debbie said.
“You still have all the records though, right?” Felicia said eagerly.
“As I said, those records are sealed to the general public.”
“But we’re not the general public,” Lizzie said.
“If you bring your father in here, with some proof of identity, we’d be happy to share the records with him,” Debbie offered.
“Not possible,” Felicia said.
“Or his authorized representative. If you could bring in a notarized letter, signed by your father, I could speak to my supervisor and I think we could possibly work something out,” Debbie said.
“But we want it to be a surprise,” Lizzie said.
Brooke had an idea. “Daddy said he’d heard that the priest’s name was Father Ryan? Maybe Charles Ryan? He’s the one who turned him over to the nuns at St. Joseph’s. We know it’s a slim chance, but maybe if Father Ryan were still alive…”
“What year did you say this was?” Debbie asked.
“Nineteen forty-two. We think,” Felicia said.
“I’m sure Father Ryan is long gone,” Debbie said.
Lizzie sighed heavily. “Is there, like, a roster or something in your computer that you could check?”
Debbie’s fingers danced over the keyboard of her desktop computer. “Well, just as I suspected. Father Ryan, God rest his soul, passed away in 1982. According to our records, he was pastor at Church of the Apostles until his retirement in 1976. Unfortunately, that church was closed in 1987, and its parish was absorbed into another church.”
The three women looked at each other, waiting for an idea to occur to their self-appointed leader.
“I just wish, for Dad’s sake,” Lizzie said dramatically. “I wish there were some way to find out if the story is true, about him being found under a pew. I mean, it’s so bizarre, you’d think somebody who was around back then would remember.”
“It was a very long time ago,” Debbie said.
Lizzie snapped her fingers. “All right. Let’s try this from another angle. After a good bit of prodding from us, Dad said he’s always believed his biological mother was a woman named Josephine Bettendorf Warrick. Would it be possible to see if she was a parishioner?”
“I can check, but not all the parishes in the diocese kept good records. And in some cases, when churches closed, their records were simply destroyed, which I think is a shame, don’t you?” Debbie began typing. “Spell that name, please?”
Lizzie spelled it out, then repeated it.
“No. Not in our database.”
“Dad has an old newspaper clipping from that time,” Brooke said. “He showed it to us. It shows Mrs. Warrick at the orphanage at Christmastime with a child identified as Charlie Anthony on her lap. Dad says he remembers she came every year to donate toys and gifts, and every year, he got special gifts the other children didn’t.”
“That’s right,” Lizzie said. “Why would Josephine do that, if she didn’t have a connection to our dad or to the orphanage or to the church where Dad was left?”
“Right.” Debbie’s brow was wrinkled as she considered the question. She chewed on the end of a pencil. “Maybe…,” she said slowly. “I think you should go speak to Sister Theresa. She’s the oldest nun still living in Savannah from that time. She’s ninety-nine and almost blind, but she’s still sharp as a tack. If anybody would remember this story, it would be Sister Theresa.”
