Diane Chamberlain - Necessary Lies

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For the women and men

who had no choice

Contents

Acknowledgments

As you can imagine, Necessary Lies was a research-heavy novel and I have many people to thank for their various contributions.

Ill be forever grateful that I stumbled across the book Choice and Coercion: Birth Control, Sterilization, and Abortion in Public Health and Welfare by Johanna Schoen, Ph.D. Not only was the book itself enlightening and helpful, but Johanna proved to be most generous with her time and research as well, sharing records from the Eugenics Board meetings and transcripts from her interviews with social workers and other professionals involved in the program. Johannas work helped me understand both the mechanics of the sterilization program as well as the toll it took on its victims.

In 1960, I was a kid in suburban New Jersey, so the rural South and tobacco farming were not even on my radar. Once I moved to North Carolina, however, I quickly discovered that I couldnt walk into a party without meeting at least a few people who had worked tobacca as kids. I was grateful to be able to gather information from all of them, but Im particularly indebted to my friend, mystery author Margaret Maron, for sharing her memories of growing up on a tobacco farm. Margaret read the entire manuscript of Necessary Lies for accuracy, and she and her friend Ann Stephenson drove me all over their rural countythe inspiration for my fictional Grace Countyregaling me with tales of how life used to be. Ann also gave me a tour of her familys old tobacco farm and Im indebted to both of them for answering my endless questions with patience and enthusiasm.

For brainstorming help and constant support, Im grateful to the six other writers of the Weymouth Seven: Mary Kay Andrews, Brynn Bonner, Katy Munger, Sarah Shaber, Alexandra Sokoloff, and again, Margaret Maron. We retreat a couple of times each year to the Weymouth Center for the Arts in Southern Pines, North Carolina, to write and commiserate, and I pinch myself every time I head up that long driveway to the mansion for a solid week of writing. Thank you to the Weymouth Center for its generous support of North Carolina writers.

Retired psychologist Mary Kilburn and retired social worker Mel Adair both worked in North Carolina during the era of the Eugenics Program and both were generous in sharing their experiences with me.

Im grateful to Kathy Williamson, who proved to be a skillful researcher as she helped me track down even the most esoteric bits of information I needed for my story.

For various contributions, thank you to the late Sterling Bryson, Patricia McLinn, Glen Pierce, Helen Ramsey, and Eleanor Smith.

It was my lucky day when I joined forces with my agent, Susan Ginsburg. Her knowledge of the publishing world is surpassed only by her genuine warmth. Thanks for everything you do, Susan. Im also grateful to my agent in the United Kingdom, Angharad Kowal, for all the work shes done on my behalf, and to Wayne Brookes, publishing director at Pan Macmillan in the UK for his faith in Necessary Lies and his endless enthusiasm.

Ive wanted to work with editor Jen Enderlin since I was a newbie author way back when, and Jen has certainly been worth the wait! Thank you, Jen, for being such an insightful editor and good friend. Im grateful to the entire team at St. Martins Press, particularly Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, Jeff Dodes, Paul Hochman, Dori Weintraub, Lisa Senz, Sarah Goldstein, and the entire Broadway and Fifth Avenue sales forces. I couldnt ask for better people to work with.

Finally, thank you to John Pagliuca, my significant other, muse, critic, brainstorming partner, resident photographer, and first reader. Thanks, John, for helping me think out loud, for letting me know when Ive gone way off track, and for once again putting up with all those take-out meals.

JUNE 22, 2011

Brenna

It was an odd requestvisit a strangers house and peer inside a closetand as I drove through the neighborhood searching for the address, I felt my anxiety mounting.

There it was: number 247. I hadnt expected the house to be so large. It stood apart from its neighbors on the gently winding road, flanked on either side by huge magnolia trees, tall oaks, and crape myrtle. It was painted a soft buttery yellow with white trim, and everything about it looked crisp and clean in the early morning sun. Every house Id passed, although different in architecture, had the same stately yet inviting look. I didnt know Raleigh well at all, but this had to be one of the most beautiful old neighborhoods in the city.

I parked close to the curb and headed up the walk. Potted plants lined either side of the broad steps that led up to the wraparound porch. I glanced at my watch. I had an hour before I needed to be back at the hotel. No rush, though my nerves were really acting up. There was so much I hoped would go well today, and so much of it was out of my control.

I rang the bell and heard it chime inside the house. I could see someone pass behind the sidelight and then the door opened. The womanforty, maybe? At least ten years younger than mesmiled, although that didnt mask her harried expression. I felt bad for bothering her this early. She wore white shorts, a pink striped T-shirt, and tennis shoes, and sported a glowing tan. She was the petite, toned, and well-put-together sort of woman that always made me feel sloppy, even though I knew I looked fine in my black pants and blue blouse.

Brenna? She ran her fingers through her short-short, spiky blond hair.

Yes, I said. And you must be Jennifer.

Jennifer peered behind me. Shes not with you? she asked.

I shook my head. I thought shed come, but at the last minute she said she just couldnt.

Jennifer nodded. Today must be really hard for her. She took a step back from the doorway. Come on in, she said. My kids are done with school for the summer, but they have swim-team practice this morning, so were in luck. We have the house to ourselves. The kids are always too full of questions.

Thanks. I walked past her into the foyer. I was glad no one else was home. I wished I had the house totally to myself, to be honest. I would have loved to explore it. But that wasnt why I was here.

Can I get you anything? Jennifer asked. Coffee?

No, Im good, thanks.

Well, come on then. Ill show you.

She led me to the broad, winding staircase and we climbed it without speaking, my shoes on the shiny dark hardwood treads making the only sound.

How long have you been in the house? I asked when we reached the second story.

Five years, she said. We redid everything. I mean, we painted every single room and every inch of molding. And every closet, too, except for that one.

Why didnt you paint that one? I asked as I followed her down a short hallway.

The woman we bought the house from specifically told us not to. She said that the couple shed bought the house from had also told her not to, but nobody seemed to understand why not. The woman we bought it from showed us the writing. My husband thought we should just paint over itI think he was spooked by itbut I talked him out of it. Its a closet. What would it hurt to leave it unpainted? Wed reached the closed door at the end of the hall. I had no idea what it meant until I spoke to you on the phone. She pushed open the door. Its my daughters room now, she said, so excuse the mess.