As summer begins to wind down, there is finally talk of releasing me to a group home in the coming weeks, provided I continue with my progress. Continuing to progress is Dr. Townsend’s way of saying I must remain resolutely compliant—as in, no more escape attempts—and exhibit no highly charged emotional outbursts or bouts of melancholy, as well as zero resistance in my therapy sessions.
I manage these expectations, all while overhearing from time to time the nursing and kitchen staff speak in quiet tones about the ongoing war in Europe and whether or not the United States will get involved. I have learned from these hushed conversations that Germany has already invaded Poland, France, Holland, and five other countries. I’ve heard that Jewish men, women, and children in those countries are being persecuted in the most inhumane of ways. I’ve even heard the cook and the grocery deliveryman talking one day about the thousands of children who have been transported out of countries where the persecution is the worst, sent away on ships—without their parents—to England.
“Those little ones are veritable orphans,” the cook said. “They don’t know when or if they will see their parents again. Nobody knows.”
The deliveryman replied that theseKindertransports, as the newspaper called them, would stop because England is now at war with Germany. The last group of children left by ship from a Dutch port in May, one day before Holland surrendered to the Germans. There will be no more transports of children across the North Sea to England.
“Any child still in Europe will have to live through the hell of war, just like their parents will,” the deliveryman said.
“If they can,” the cook replied.
I saw ribbons of pastel yellow and gray when the cook and the deliveryman were talking about those children, pulled from their parents’ arms and taken to a foreign land where they knew noone or even the language spoken there. I ached for those children. I ached for Amaryllis. I ached to feel my own mother’s arms around me.
On the day of my nineteenth birthday, a Saturday, Mrs. Crockett comes to my room just after breakfast and tells me Dr. Townsend has a surprise for me and wants to see me in his office. She also has a button-down dress on a hanger over her arm. Red polka dots on a field of yellow cotton.
“The dress is a birthday gift from Mrs. Grissom. Isn’t it pretty?”
“Mrs. Grissom?” I haven’t heard the woman’s name mentioned since the day I arrived at the institution. Not a single time.
Mrs. Crockett cocks her head. “You remember her, don’t you?”
“Of course I remember her. She brought me here. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh. We’ve seen her, dear. Every four or five months, she stops by to talk to Dr. Townsend and get an update.”
“Why doesn’t she ever talk to me?”
Mrs. Crockett smiles. “She doesn’t need to, Rosie. We fill her in on your progress. We’re all pleased with how you’ve come along. Very pleased. Go ahead and put on the new dress. I think you’ll be glad you did. And then I’ll take you down. As I said, Dr. Townsend has a nice surprise for you.”
I step out of the plain blue day dress that all the female patients wear and slip on the new one. It smells like it has just come from the store. The fragrance is one I haven’t experienced in such a long time. The buttons feel slick in my fingers.
“Shall we go, then?” Mrs. Crockett says brightly when I am finished.
I follow the matron out of my room, out of the C wing, and down the stairs to the first floor. Mrs. Crockett uses her key to open the door to the administration wing, and we step inside.The last time I was in that hallway, it was the middle of the night, Amaryllis was in my arms, and Belle was opening a closet door to fetch my travel bag.
We walk down the hall toward Dr. Townsend’s office. As we pass the records room, I catch a glimpse of Stuart inside it. I only see Dr. Townsend’s son on occasion now that he is involved in sports at school and practicing every day after class. We have not spoken much to each other in the year that Amaryllis has been gone. In truth, I think Stuart has avoided me the last fifteen months, perhaps because regret over what happened on the night of the attempted escape still haunts him. He must still wish he’d allowed me and my baby to flee. I’m not sure I still wish that anymore. I have protected Amaryllis the only way I could with the bargain I made. Wishing to have her back isn’t part of the deal. Stuart glances at me as I pass him, and he raises a hand in greeting.
We arrive at Dr. Townsend’s office. He is seated behind his desk. Little about his office has changed.
“Please.” Dr. Townsend motions to the same chair I sat in so many months ago. Mrs. Crockett takes the same chair she sat in that first day, too.
“It seems you are to be leaving us today,” the doctor continues. “The state has decided you are fit to be released back into the county’s care. Mrs. Grissom is coming to take you to your new home.” His words are bronze-colored, vibrant and pulsing.
Several seconds slip by as I struggle to grasp what he is saying, even though I’ve been hoping for this day for weeks upon weeks.
“I’m being discharged?” I finally say.
“Back into the county’s care,” Dr. Townsend says in a corrective tone. “You’re still a minor, still an orphan, still without a home or means of income. Mrs. Grissom will be taking you to a group home, where you will want to continue your progress in all the ways we have been working on here.”
“What is a group home?”
The way Dr. Townsend says the wordhomedoesn’t sound like a home at all.
“It’s a special place licensed by the county where girls like yourself who are not yet able to be on their own can reach their majority while learning the life skills they will need to live as responsible adults. A job has been found for you where you can continue to gain work experience.”
“What kind of job?”
“Working in a hotel. I don’t have the details. You will have to ask Mrs. Grissom about it. My task in this moment is to remind you of how far you’ve come and how important it is for you not to revert to the troublesome behaviors that brought you here. You do remember what those behaviors were, don’t you?”
