The most daring knelt on the walkway in front of the clinic. By law they were forbidden to trespass on the property itself. Unflagging in their zeal they continued to pray, and to chant. There were priests among them. There were nuns. There were teenagers, and there were children. There were the elderly, the infirm. Some were in wheelchairs pushed by adult children. Proudly they held picket signs aloft. Their banners—SEPTEMBER 13 NATIONAL DAY OF REMEMBRANCE FOR PREBORN HOLY INNOCENTS MURDERED BY ABORTION. Few women and girls would dare to enter the abortion clinic on this day for no one wished to run such a gauntlet past the shouting volunteers.
Yet, the abortion clinic was not shut for the day. Through the windows the enemy watched them covertly and at the door security guards stood.
Did they fear fire? Firebombs? Gunfire? A deserved conflagration as of hellfire, did the murderers fear?
In the street were TV camera crews, adding to the congestion and confusion.
Edna Mae had been brought to the abortion clinic (somewhere in inner-city Cleveland) with others from the Mad River Junction church. This was her first prayer vigil and she would not tire easily. With Dawn, Anita, and Noah she knelt, prayed, chanted. All around them was an army of the faithful who would not tire easily. But soon the younger Dunphy children were dazed with exhaustion and Edna Mae had no choice but to allow them to nap on the walkway. Sulky-faced Dawn knelt beside Edna Mae with her picket sign over her shoulder at an insolent angle.
In a whiny voice Dawn said they needed to go home. Anita and Noah needed to go home.
Edna Mae said snappishly that they were not going home until the Day of Remembrance was over. Of the volunteers from Reverend Trucross’s church, she was not going to weaken and withdraw.
“Momma, for God’s sake!”
“Don’t you ‘for God’s sake.’ Watch your mouth.”
“Maybe you don’t care but Anita and Noah are tired . . .”
“The murdered babies are more than tired. The rest of us should be ashamed.”
From time to time there were shouts, screams. It wasn’t clear what was happening but you might catch a glimpse of Cleveland police officers dragging volunteers away. Had they dared to approach the front entrance of the clinic? Had they tried to prevent a pregnant woman or girl from entering? So often had Dawn been told that police favored right-to-life picketers, it was disconcerting to see how roughly the officers treated them, how angrily they shouted at them—“Keep back! Keep the way clear!”
At last, at dusk, the clinic was darkened.
“MOMMA? Why aren’t we leaving?”
“Why? Because we are not.”
Dawn was baffled why Edna Mae, and some others, were not leaving the Cleveland County Planned Parenthood Women’s Surgical Clinic. The last of the clinic staff had quickly departed, to a chorus of cries—Murderers! Cowards!
Edna Mae plucked at the children’s arms. Hurry! Reverend Trucross was leading them.
Dawn was very tired. Dawn could not comprehend. Where were they going? The clinic was shut for the night. There was no one to pray over, or to harass or threaten. One TV camera crew remained in the street.
Only a few volunteers remained—fewer than twenty. But these appeared to be members of Reverend Trucross’s church.
They were led to the rear of the clinic. In the alley behind the clinic where there were trash cans and Dumpsters. It was dark here. Flashlights were lighted. Dawn could not see well. The younger children stumbled and whimpered. Edna Mae spoke in a voice trembling with excitement. One of the TV crew was speaking to Reverend Trucross. A pair of headlights flared in the alley and Dawn saw the sharply shadowed faces of volunteers. Mostly they were strangers but there was Edna Mae Dunphy among them. They had the look of persons who did not know their surroundings, where they were or why. Dawn did recognize Jacqueline, a heavyset girl with asthma, from Mad River Junction, of whom it was said that Jesus had “saved” her when her throat had closed up as a younger girl and she’d been unable to breathe. At the Pentecostal church it had happened, dozens of witnesses would testify that Jesus had “breathed” life into Jacqueline and restored her to the world.
Edna Mae had acquired a flashlight. There was a smell in the alley of rotted fruit, rotted meat. Something sour and rancid. Dawn swallowed hard not wanting to be sick to her stomach. Edna Mae was reaching for her, gripping her hand with surprising strength. “Dawn! Come with me.”
She would not come with her mother! She dug her heels into the ground.
Yet still, somehow her mother pulled her. Who would have thought that Edna Mae Dunphy was so strong.
In the alley behind the clinic amid the sickening stench they had overturned trash cans to poke in the debris. Boldly they had thrown open Dumpster lids to poke inside and to peer with flashlights.
A cry went up—they had discovered a cache of cardboard boxes in one of the Dumpsters. The first was removed and seen to be secured tight by duct tape neatly wrapped. With a knife they cut the duct tape, and opened the box. Inside were five or six Ziploc bags and in each bag a small star-shaped thing . . . More cries went up, of anguish and jubilation.
Edna Mae said fiercely, “You see? Babies—that didn’t get born as you did.”
Though Edna Mae was very frightened too, Dawn could see. Her face was drawn and ashen and her mouth was set in a fixed half-smile like the smile of a mannequin. Her fingers were very cold.