Robin Caroll [Caroll - Darkwater Truth

1918

Im sorry, but I cant keep you. The young woman kissed the babys head, tears obstructing her view. Im only eighteen. I have my whole life ahead of me.

The seven-month-old boy flashed a grin, revealing two bottom teeth just barely visible above the gums. He kicked his little sockless feet, rocking the pram in his enthusiasm.

She handed him a rattle, guilt nearly strangling her, but she had to do what was best for him. Sure, she loved him and wanted to keep him, but she couldnt. She had no means of supporting him and what kind of life could she offer him? Her family didnt have money or social status. If she brought home another mouth to feed, there would be no telling what her father would do.

He gurgled and put the rattle in his mouth. Teething.

She ran a finger along the soft curve of his face. He was such a good baby. Rarely cried, only when he was hungry or needed a diaper change. Smiled all the time.

His eyes grew heavy. It was his bedtime. The August sun had set over New Orleans, leaving only remnant trails of orange blazing in the darkening sky.

Her stomach flipped. Shed take him when he fell asleep. She wanted these last few minutes with him. Lifting him from the pram, she hugged him close. Inhaled the sweet, intoxicating perfume that was universal to babies. His warmth infused her as his little fist wound her hair in his grasp. He cooed and kicked, delighted to be held and snuggled.

Shed been his main source of love and attention. She knew that. He knew that, even at his tender age. It didnt make sense how much she loved him. Hed given her an amount of joy shed never known possible. She wondered if shed ever feel this type of love again.

Tears burned her eyes again, and she eased him back into the pram, careful to remove her hair from his grip. He grinned and gurgled up at her, kicking, rocking himself. He blinked again, those eyelids of his so very heavy.

She used a handkerchief to dab her eyes, then her entire face. This was the best thing. Best for her, but definitely best for him. At least this way, hed stand a chance of being adopted by a family who could provide for him. They wouldnt ever be able to love him as much as she didneverbut they would love him because he was so loveable.

His eyes closed for longer and longer before they fluttered open. It was time to go. Shed made her decision and she needed to stick to it. Shed told no onehadnt had timebut knew this was the right thing to do.

The only thing she could do.

Pushing the pram, she made her way down Magazine Street in New Orleans. The gaslights on the street lit her way, but she paid no attention as she strode toward her destination. St. Vincents Infant Asylum was run by Daughters of Charity order of nuns, and they took in babies without question. It was reported that the nuns were patient and loving to all the infants in their care. Thats what she wanted for him: patience and love.

The nuns would adore him. How could they not?

She stopped outside the three-story red brick building. The white wrought iron decorative element seemed too muchtoo ornate.

The baby whimpered in his sleep, as if he knew subconsciously what was about to happen to him.

Her hands shook as she pulled the letter shed written out of her pocket. She opened the paper, rereading her words once again by the light from the lamp set high on the opening post of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the building.

Shed written about his birth. It was hard to accept that hed be born out of wedlock, born of original sin. He, himself, was so good. A happy baby. Robust. Cheerful. He brought her such joy.

She continued reading her letter that explained the weeks and months following his birth. How hed grown to be a delight, despite his rough beginning and his station in life. Her handwriting faltered a little as she explained the recent tragedy that had forced her to place him in the care of the nuns. How she couldnt watch out for him, despite her love for him. Shed written the details of his birth and his family as best as she could. It was her prayer that the nuns would be able to place him in a loving family, perhaps with siblings to grow up with.

Thats what she liked to fantasize aboutthat he would be immediately adopted by a family with a couple of other young children, a big house, lots of laughter, and maybe even a dog. Shed always wanted a dog herself, but theyd never been able to afford one.

He stirred again and she knew she had to move now. If she didnt, things would only get more complicated and harder if he woke.

She pushed the pram up to the stairs. Leaning over, she gave him a final kiss on the tip of his nose. I love you, she whispered through her tears.

She placed the letter at his feet in the pram and slowly looked up at the entranceway. Dare she knock to make sure he wasnt left outside alone too long? What if someone saw her and asked questions? She didnt want to have to answer questions, certainly not if the police wanted to talk to her.

Was this how Mosess mother felt?

Suddenly the door opened.

She dove into the clump of hedges on the outside of the wrought iron fence.

A nun in full habit stepped onto the concrete porch. What is this? She descended the stairs and touched the prams handle. Oh, my. She took the letter, read it, then slipped it into her pocket. She gently lifted the sleeping baby and held him against her.