The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“It’s not your fault,” the tall one said. “She’s been dying to get rid of Blanche since her baby was born dead. Furious with her she was. We reckon the nuns must have been going to lose out on money that was promised them.”


“I don’t know why she stayed so mad,” Aggie said. “I hear she found herself a pretty, fair baby to take the place of Blanche’s.”

“You know Sister,” Elaine said. “Once she carries a grudge, she’s not going let up on it.”

I was trying to find a way to bring Maureen or Katy into the conversation.

“Come on, back to work, I suppose,” Elaine said, “Or we’ll never hear the last of it.” She picked up a basin and walked ahead of me past the beans and tomatoes to a line of raspberry bushes.

“Elaine,” I whispered, falling into step beside her. “Are you saying that the nuns make money from our babies?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’d say Sister has a nice little business going here.”

“But why would people pay for a baby?” I asked. “Surely they can go to the foundling institutions and find babies aplenty, free for the taking.”

“There are several reasons, I suppose. The prospective parents know that these girls have been vetted and don’t have any awful diseases, and they can request a particular type of child. Sometimes a couple wants a baby that looks like them—a redhead like yours, for example. Other times they are paying for a baby with no questions asked.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at my puzzled face and laughed. “You’re rather green behind the ears, aren’t you? You know—a society family and the wife is worried that her baby might look like the Spanish gardener and not the fair-skinned husband, for example. Or if a touch of the tarbrush resurfaces after a generation or two.”

“‘A touch of the tarbrush’?” I looked confused.

She laughed again. “My dear, where have you been all your life? There are plenty of families, especially in the South, with Negro ancestry they’d rather forget. And it does resurface at the most inconvenient times.”

“You mean these people trade their own child for one from here?”

“Exactly. And they feel justified in donating to the good sisters knowing that the truth will never get out.”

We had reached the raspberries. She surveyed them and shook her head. “Not much here,” she said. “I love that talk about their vegetables and fruit having to last the sisters all winter. The ground is so poor here that they never get a decent crop of anything. We’re on a rock, you see. The soil is just not deep enough.” She started plucking raspberries and dropping them into the basin. I followed suit.

“Why do they need enough vegetables for the winter if the convent has money coming in from these donations?” I asked.

“Good question. I’ve had to help prepare the sisters’ meals and frankly they don’t eat too well—lots of soups and beans and coarse bread. Of course they may like it that way, as a continual penance.” She grinned. “But the ground is so rocky they can’t even dig graves for the nuns to be buried here, because they can’t get down far enough in the solid rock.”

“So where are the nuns buried then? I thought I was told they never left this place after they made their profession.” I looked around at the rows of plants and then the small orchard beyond. Someone had been digging up a patch of bare earth over by the orchard. On one side of us was the severe fa?ade of the building with its turrets in the corners and sloping slate roof, and on the other three the high brick wall. I saw no cemetery.

“They aren’t,” she said, then laughed when she saw my surprised face. “There’s a crypt under the chapel and the dead nuns are put in big stone coffins down there. Poor old Sister Francine was taken down there only a few weeks ago.”

“I gather she was very kind.”

“And a good midwife too,” Elaine said. “To be honest with you, Molly, I’m not looking forward to having this baby with those sisters helping with the delivery. I don’t think either of them has much idea what to do. And they are both horribly impatient. If there’s an emergency then God help us all.”

“Couldn’t you ask to send for a doctor if there was an emergency?” I asked.

“Jerome sent for a doctor with Blanche’s baby in the end,” Elaine said, “but we have no telephone or means of communication with the outside world so sending for a doctor requires somebody to run to the nearest house. By the time he got here it was too late.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off that high wall. Now that I was close to it I saw that it was topped with broken glass. I wondered whether this was to keep intruders out or the occupants in.

“So are we ever allowed out to go down to the town or for a walk?” I asked. “Or do the girls sometimes slip out when Sister isn’t looking?”