A Silence of Mockingbirds Read Online Free Page A

college.
    Hillary is the baby Sarah had the year she came to live with us, and in a very
conflicted way, Hillary feels like a baby I gave up.
    It’s hard to talk about it. There are probably hundreds of families out
there with a similar tale: a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, women
who’ve suffered miscarriages or adoptions that failed. I imagine they all
struggle with the same question. How do I tell others about the child I
almost had? The only answer to that question is that you don’t. Best to
keep it to yourself, except for a rare few.
    I’m pragmatic about the pitfalls of adolescence, having had an
abortion my senior year of high school. Sarah was one of the half-dozen
friends who knew the story of the baby I had aborted, and of my regrets.
I am sure that is why she felt comfortable confiding in me. She knew I
wasn’t going to lecture her.
    We talked, heart to heart, then Sarah left town. She relocated to a
home for unwed mothers several hours away in Tacoma, Washington.
    Sarah claimed the decision was her parents’ idea. At the time,
I accepted Sarah’s explanation, but I never discussed the matter with
Gene and Carol, even though I had strong opinions about Sarah moving
away.
    There was a time when being pregnant out of wedlock was socially
unacceptable, a shameful thing. And while it’s true Sarah’s unplanned
pregnancy would have been the scuttlebutt around Pendleton for a
while, it would hardly have been headline news.
    She was a college student, after all, plenty old enough to be considered capable, whether she planned to keep the baby or adopt it out.
While having a baby was sure to interrupt her life, what was the point
in hiding away until then?
    Despite the distance separating us, Sarah and I grew much closer
during her pregnancy. We talked weekly by phone, and when I could,
I made trips up to see her. As I expected, she was miserable, living in
a home where she had no emotional attachments to anyone. My sister
and mother were within a short driving distance of the home, so I would
make the six-hour drive, take Sarah out for a while and then head on
over to visit with the rest of my family.
    The home had rules dictating whom Sarah could see and when she
was expected back if she went out. Like many nonprofit agencies, they’d
bought the best house in the safest neighborhood they could afford, but
it was a dingy place, full of cobbled-together donations: beds, couches,
chairs, plates. While the people who ran the house were nice enough, I
hated leaving Sarah there. I wanted to put her in the car, sneak her back
into Pendleton under the dark of night, and hide her away myself.
    Sarah was set on giving the baby up for adoption. The father of the
child was reportedly a fellow from the nearby farming community of
Heppner. Marrying somebody from a rural place like Heppner was not
Sarah’s vision for herself. She had a hunger for a more glamorous life.
    It was during her sixth or seventh month of pregnancy that Sarah
asked, “Would you and Tim adopt my baby?”
    Stunned by the unexpected request, I tried to listen as Sarah thoughtfully
explained why she wanted us to adopt her baby, but my mind was racing. Our
children had been born in rapid succession. Our youngest daughter was nine,
the twins were eleven, and our son was fourteen. Long gone were the playpens,
diapers, cribs, strollers and Johnny Jump-Ups. We’d be starting from scratch
with a newborn. Could we—more,
would
we do that?
    I knew before I asked what Tim’s response would be. He has always
been the most devoted of fathers, so it was more a question of whether
I would start over.
    Tim responded exactly as I expected he would. He did a little hot-diggity-dog jig in the dining room and said, “I hope you told her yes!”
    “Not exactly,” I replied.
    Tim removed his tie and walked into the bedroom. When he came
back out, he asked, “Why not?”
    I didn’t know where to begin. Now that