Finding Ashley by Danielle Steel (free ebook reader for iphone txt) 📗

old days might have been transferred to one of the other convents where adoptions had taken place, and still be there, and might remember something about Melissa and her baby, and her adoptive parents. It was a long shot, to say the least. But it was all she had to go on, with no information at Saint Blaise’s.

She wandered into the neighboring village on her walk. It was still early and the shops weren’t open yet, but the librarian was sweeping off the front steps of the library and had just opened the doors. Not knowing what else to do, Hattie walked in, and smiled at the librarian when she came to the desk after her sweeping. She was a tall thin woman with a sharp face, who glanced at Hattie with suspicion, and recognized immediately that she was a stranger in their midst. She looked old enough to have been there when Saint Blaise’s was an adoption mill, and Hattie decided to be bold and take the chance, and dove in.

“Have you worked here long?” Hattie asked her, trying to sound casual.

“Long enough. Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious about Saint Blaise’s,” Hattie said, getting right to the point. “A friend of my mother’s adopted a baby here.”

“A lot of people did. Americans mostly. Rich ones, and even some movie stars. Everybody around here knows that. It’s not a secret.” No, but everything else about it was. “You’re American,” she added. “Was your mother’s friend a movie star?”

Hattie smiled at that. “No, but they had money. I understand people paid the Church a fortune for those babies.” As she said it, she could see the librarian bristle.

“Are you a reporter?”

“No, I’m not.” She thought of telling her she was a nun, but decided it was a bad idea.

“Every few years, someone goes on a witch hunt about those adoptions. Ever since that traitor wrote a book about it, and left the Church.”

“There’s a book?” Hattie asked her. The only one she knew of was the one Melissa had mentioned, written by a reporter. But when Hattie had asked her sister about it, she couldn’t remember the author or the title and said she had thrown it away.

“It’s garbage. All lies. Banned by the Church,” the librarian answered. “She was one of the nuns here back then, and then she turned on them. You’re not a Catholic, are you?” she asked Hattie accusingly.

“Yes, I am,” Hattie said simply.

“Then you shouldn’t be snooping around what doesn’t concern you, and happened a long time ago, and trying to vilify the Church. They did a good thing for all those unfortunate, sinful girls, and put the babies in good homes. That’s all that matters. The rest is nobody’s business.”

“What’s the name of the book?” Hattie persisted.

“Babies for Sale. Catholics aren’t allowed to read it. And a good Catholic wouldn’t want to.”

“Thank you,” Hattie said politely, and walked out of the small library as the woman stared at her angrily.

Hattie walked farther into the village and stopped at a bookstore. A young girl was dusting off the books as Hattie walked in and asked if she had a copy of the book the librarian had mentioned. She wondered if it was out of print. The girl said she’d check in the back, and returned a few minutes later with a dusty copy. She grinned mischievously.

“We’re not supposed to have it. It’s banned by the Church, but the owner likes keeping books like that in the back. I think it’s about some scandal around here.” Hattie paid for it, put it in her purse, and walked back to the convent. She sat in the garden reading it, as younger nuns brought the elderly ones in wheelchairs outdoors to get a little morning sun. Hattie was so engrossed in the book she barely noticed them. The book was written by a woman named Fiona Eckles, and the blurb on the back said that she had questioned her vocation after serving at Saint Blaise’s as a nurse and midwife, and ultimately left the Church. It said she taught literature at Dublin University now. In the photograph, she looked to be in her late sixties, if the photo was recent. The book was only a few years old. It said it had taken her years to write about it. The few pages Hattie read corroborated what her sister had said about Saint Blaise’s and the adoptions that took place there.

Hattie called Dublin information on the cellphone she had rented at the airport. She got Fiona Eckles’s phone number, and left her a message. She was packing her bag when the author called her, and Hattie asked if she could meet with her, about her book. Fiona Eckles hesitated for an instant, and asked if she was a reporter. Hattie said she wasn’t, but that her sister had been at Saint Blaise’s in the late 1980s.

“I was there then, but I doubt if I can provide much information. I delivered the babies, but I was never privy to the records or the names of the adopting parents.” She said she’d had calls like this one before, from women desperate for information about where their babies had gone. “My fellow nuns covered their tracks pretty well. That was part of the deal. Some of the couples who adopted were very well known. We recognized the movie stars, but not the others. It was a booming business for a while. The Church doesn’t want anyone talking about it. If I hadn’t left, they probably would have excommunicated me,” she said with a wry laugh. “I couldn’t stay after what I’d seen.” Hattie wondered if she knew Melissa or would have remembered her. She had brought a photograph of Melissa at sixteen, just in case. She kept several photographs of her and their parents at the convent in New York.

Fiona agreed to meet with her at six o’clock that night, in a hotel lobby in Dublin. After the call, Hattie walked