Read Online The Rain Barrel Baby by Alison Preston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Preston
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be lying if I said we were able to keep an eye on all the patients all the time.” Norma leaned back in her chair. “We quite simply can’t. There aren’t enough of us and it’s getting worse.”
Frank could tell exactly what her breasts would look like naked. Nicely shaped, medium sized and supple.
She caught him before he had a chance to determine if he was seeing her nipples or just a trick of the material in her silk shirt.
She smiled as she adjusted her reading glasses on her toy soldier nose. Her nose was the one thing about her that wasn’t beautiful. It was a relief.
“Sometimes I think the old way, sterilizing patients, wasn’t as barbaric as they make it sound,” she said.
“It was a very small baby,” Frank said. “It wouldn’t have been hard to hide.”
He didn’t want to hear any more of Nurse Wayne’s opinions. He’d rather think about her nose. It looked exactly like the cylindrical pieces of wood glued onto the faces in Garth’s wooden soldier camp.
“Well, there you are, then.” She snipped off the words. “One more very small unwanted baby in the world.” She looked heavenwards, puffing a breath upwards so it lifted the fine hair of her bangs off her pretty forehead.
She smelled like licorice.
“I don’t know the half of it?” Frank guessed.
“You said it, Frank. You don’t know the half of it.”
“Would you mind checking to see if there was any trouble with Jane Mallet last October? Or if she had any passes out of here for a day or a weekend or whatever around that time?”
Frank pressed on. He had established by now that Norma Wayne was a blabbermouth. She had to work very hard at not giving Frank the information he wanted.
“Fra-ank.” She sang out his name. “You’re pushing me-ee.”
“Yes, Norma, I am.” He smiled.
“Okay. This is the last question I’m going to answer.” She fiddled on her keyboard. “Let’s see. Jane doesn’t get passes out of here. She could if there was someone to accompany her, but there isn’t. She’s a sad case, your Jane Mallet. She does go on excursions sometimes with a group from the hospital, swimming and whatnot. Those are fairly tightly supervised. Okay, October you say? No. No report of anything untoward.”
“Was she sick around then at all? Did anyone come to visit her?”
“I don’t know and I don’t know,” Nurse Wayne replied. “Look, Frank, I really can’t tell you anything else, unless you get the necessary paperwork. I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes while I see to a matter on one of the wards.” She winked. “I expect you to behave yourself while I’m gone.”
A printer sat on the table next to the computer. Frank got it going and stuffed his briefcase with as many pages of Jane’s life as he could before hearing Norma’s cheery voice in the outer office. He stopped printing and turned off the machine. It clicked and sputtered to a halt as the doorknob turned and she swished into the room. She left the door ajar this time. The visit was over.
Frank settled himself in his car and pulled the pages out of his briefcase. He read what he had.
Mr. and Mrs. Mallet had been killed in a car crash on the August long weekend in 1969, on their way to a rock festival near Denver. A couple of weeks before Woodstock, Frank thought. Too bad they hadn’t driven east instead of west.
The one-year-old girl, Jane, had been hurt but the file didn’t go into the nature of her injuries. After a lengthy hospital stay she was placed in a foster home while she awaited readoption. It never happened. Frank guessed that must have been because of the nature of her injuries; she was, after all, in a mental hospital. She spent the next seventeen years being shifted from foster home to foster home with the occasional stay in an institution.
The piece of paper, the order of adoption from 1968 with her birth mother’s name on it, must have followed along with her for a while, at least till she was old
Frank could tell exactly what her breasts would look like naked. Nicely shaped, medium sized and supple.
She caught him before he had a chance to determine if he was seeing her nipples or just a trick of the material in her silk shirt.
She smiled as she adjusted her reading glasses on her toy soldier nose. Her nose was the one thing about her that wasn’t beautiful. It was a relief.
“Sometimes I think the old way, sterilizing patients, wasn’t as barbaric as they make it sound,” she said.
“It was a very small baby,” Frank said. “It wouldn’t have been hard to hide.”
He didn’t want to hear any more of Nurse Wayne’s opinions. He’d rather think about her nose. It looked exactly like the cylindrical pieces of wood glued onto the faces in Garth’s wooden soldier camp.
“Well, there you are, then.” She snipped off the words. “One more very small unwanted baby in the world.” She looked heavenwards, puffing a breath upwards so it lifted the fine hair of her bangs off her pretty forehead.
She smelled like licorice.
“I don’t know the half of it?” Frank guessed.
“You said it, Frank. You don’t know the half of it.”
“Would you mind checking to see if there was any trouble with Jane Mallet last October? Or if she had any passes out of here for a day or a weekend or whatever around that time?”
Frank pressed on. He had established by now that Norma Wayne was a blabbermouth. She had to work very hard at not giving Frank the information he wanted.
“Fra-ank.” She sang out his name. “You’re pushing me-ee.”
“Yes, Norma, I am.” He smiled.
“Okay. This is the last question I’m going to answer.” She fiddled on her keyboard. “Let’s see. Jane doesn’t get passes out of here. She could if there was someone to accompany her, but there isn’t. She’s a sad case, your Jane Mallet. She does go on excursions sometimes with a group from the hospital, swimming and whatnot. Those are fairly tightly supervised. Okay, October you say? No. No report of anything untoward.”
“Was she sick around then at all? Did anyone come to visit her?”
“I don’t know and I don’t know,” Nurse Wayne replied. “Look, Frank, I really can’t tell you anything else, unless you get the necessary paperwork. I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes while I see to a matter on one of the wards.” She winked. “I expect you to behave yourself while I’m gone.”
A printer sat on the table next to the computer. Frank got it going and stuffed his briefcase with as many pages of Jane’s life as he could before hearing Norma’s cheery voice in the outer office. He stopped printing and turned off the machine. It clicked and sputtered to a halt as the doorknob turned and she swished into the room. She left the door ajar this time. The visit was over.
Frank settled himself in his car and pulled the pages out of his briefcase. He read what he had.
Mr. and Mrs. Mallet had been killed in a car crash on the August long weekend in 1969, on their way to a rock festival near Denver. A couple of weeks before Woodstock, Frank thought. Too bad they hadn’t driven east instead of west.
The one-year-old girl, Jane, had been hurt but the file didn’t go into the nature of her injuries. After a lengthy hospital stay she was placed in a foster home while she awaited readoption. It never happened. Frank guessed that must have been because of the nature of her injuries; she was, after all, in a mental hospital. She spent the next seventeen years being shifted from foster home to foster home with the occasional stay in an institution.
The piece of paper, the order of adoption from 1968 with her birth mother’s name on it, must have followed along with her for a while, at least till she was old
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