But Sophia didn’t want her sympathy. She wanted to run out into the cold so she could lick her bleeding wounds in private.
“My aim was always to do good. To be useful and help those American children confined to the orphanages. All children deserve a mother’s love,” Mrs. Gathers said, and then she let out a strangled breath. “But even though I had the best of intentions, some things did go wrong.”
A chilling shadow passed over Mrs. Gathers’s face.
“Please, give me a moment to explain.”
CHAPTER 42Washington, D.C., December 1965
ETHEL
It was a good thing that Sophia had refused the offer of tea, because given the way Ethel’s hands shook, she would have scalded them both.
Sophia’s arms were once again wrapped around herself and she looked much smaller than she did when she arrived. Poor thing. Ethel’s mission had always been to help the children, and she could not fail the girl sitting in front of her. She closed her eyes, reached into her dress pocket for her rosary beads, and took a deep breath. The cool feel of the beads between her fingers steadied her and gave her the courage she needed in order to forge on. When she opened her eyes, the day at Idlewild Airport slowly came into focus, like a Polaroid picture.
Ethel blinked. “I hadn’t anticipated that the news of my arrival in New York city with the Brown Babies would cause such a ruckus. The Scandinavian Airlines flight had arrived at Idlewild ahead of schedule, and so we had to wait a few minutes before deboarding the plane.” Ethel remembered her anxiety at being alone and in charge of seven German-speaking children under age five, including one infant whom she had to carry.
“Naturally, the children were cranky and hungry,” she said. “And as we deboarded, it was raining, so I had to hurry the children down the airstairs, across the tarmac, and into the terminal.”
Ethel had assigned all of the children a line partner, and they walked in pairs. Once inside the terminal, she did a quick head count and then hurried the little ones along, following the signs for Immigration. She carried a large canvas bag with a file holding each child’s information. Every folder contained the name of the child and the birth parents, the date and place of birth, the alien number, a copy of the birth certificate, a passport, and a photograph of the child, as well as the adoptive parents’ names. Ethel had decided on the photo at the last minute. She’d had a photographer come two weeks before and take portrait photos of each child. She had two copies made up, one for her files and the other for the new family.
“Transparency was always my aim. I wanted the children to know who they were. I gave the parents everything I had, with the hope that when the children asked, they would share their identity. I have always been up front with my own family. But I must admit, in hindsight, most parents have passed the children off as their own and never disclosed that they were in fact adopted.
“When we rounded the corner toward the Immigration line, bright lights assaulted us as photographers from all the major news outlets took flash photograph after flash photograph.”
The lights made Margit fret in Ethel’s arms, and she had to rock the baby to get her to settle down while, at the same time, ushering the other children through the line. One of the boys began to cry.
“Ethel Gathers, is it true that they call you the Brown Fairy?” one reporter called out.
“How did you manage to get these children to America? Are you sure they have American fathers?”
“What if the children get to their home and it’s not a fit? What will you do then? Send them back to Germany?”
More flashing lights. More microphones. More reporters.
“All the children looked panicked. I tried to shield them the best I could and soothe them with the few German words that I knew.”
Ethel looked around for help. Why wasn’t there someone from Child Services, or the police holding these aggressive reporters at a distance? She felt ambushed as she continued to move the children through the line. Ethel handed over her passport and then the baby’s paperwork. Stamped and processed. She handed the next two, then the next two.
“Oh my goodness. They’re here. Our little darlings are here!” a woman shouted and then ran over to Ethel. “Which one is mine?”
“Just a second, ma’am. If you’d just wait over there. We are still processing the children,” Ethel said, trying to hold her at bay.
The woman, taller and wider than Ethel, pushed her aside. “My goodness, look at all that good hair,” she exclaimed.
By this time baby Margit was full-out crying, and Ethel fumbled in her pockets, searching for the pacifier. From the corner of her eye, she could see the cluster of families who had arrived to pick up their children and hoped that they’d have more patience than the large, pushy woman.Rejoice,she told herself.This is what you wanted. To do right by these children and give them loving families.
Ethel juggled the baby while she ushered the children through two at a time and handed the man behind the Immigration desk their folders. The two boys went first. As the next two girls were coming through the line, a bold reporter in a black pantsuit snaked her way to the Immigration table. Her photographer flashed the light and took a picture of Ethel as the reporter shoved the microphone in Ethel’s mouth.
“Mrs. Gathers, surely this is going to be a problem. The children are speaking German. The parents are speaking English. You say they are American, but they are German too. How do you plan for these kids to adapt?”
Ethel said to Sophia, “At that moment, a television camera appeared in my face, and I just froze. I remember feeling attacked and wondering why this interview couldn’t wait. But you know reporters, everyone is rushing to be first, they don’t care about the people involved. Then I heard the clerk at the Immigration desk swearing.”
Ethel saw from her peripheral vision that the Immigration agent had dropped the file folders on the floor. Before Ethel could move closer to make sure the files were sorted in the right order, the reporter grabbed her arm.
“This is a live broadcast, Mrs. Gathers, the American people who have helped fund this experiment of yours deserve an answer.”
“Well.” Ethel pulled herself together. “I can’t understand why people think it is so strange for a colored couple to adopt these children. Don’t they think we have hearts too?”
