living with her adoptive family by then. Fred and I planned to have our own children. But life is ironic, Maggie. That’s a word I probably didn’t know when I was eighteen, but I sure know it now. Ironic. Because Fred and I couldn’t have children. And it was all my fault. We both had all the tests, and he was fine. But I had endometrial adhesions that were blocking my fallopian tubes. I couldn’t conceive. The doctor said the condition was too far advanced for surgery to help. That I had been very lucky to have a child when I was so young, before the condition had progressed. Because I’d never have another child.”
“Oh, Dorothy.” Maggie could see the pain in her eyes as she told her story.
“Fred said that a marriage wasn’t a real marriage unless there were children. So he divorced me, and I was alone again. He married a friend of mine. Last time I heard they had four children. By then my parents had died, and I’d gotten a little money after the divorce. I decided that marriage and children were not to be my life. Can you believe, Maggie? I came here, to Somerset College, and got my associate’s degree, and then went on to Rutgers. Just like Larry had.”
“How wonderful, Dorothy! You pulled your life together.”
“After I graduated I got a job down on Wall Street. I was an ‘administrative assistant’—really a glorified secretary—but I was finally earning enough to support myself and to buy some nice clothes and have my hair done.” Dorothy smiled almost shyly at Maggie. “That’s where I met Oliver. He was married when I first met him, but his wife had breast cancer. We all felt so sorry for him. And about a year after his wife died he asked me to have dinner with him and…here I am.”
“Have you ever told Oliver about your baby?”
“No. Never. That was so long ago. And Oliver had two children with his first wife and didn’t want any more. It didn’t bother him that I couldn’t have children. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that once I might have been able to.”
“But you found a way to help single parents who were struggling as you had. That’s a wonderful story, Dorothy.”
“Not quite that wonderful, Maggie. I did have the idea of creating a dorm for single parents and their children. But the more I thought about it and started talking to people about it, the more I thought about my own daughter. So I hired a private detective to find her.”
“And?” Maggie suddenly had the feeling she knew where all this was leading.
Dorothy raised her head and looked straight into Maggie’s eyes. “Sarah Anderson is my daughter, Maggie. Aura is my granddaughter. And now Sarah may die before I really get a chance to know her.” The tears started again. “I finally found my daughter, and now I may have lost her.”
Chapter 13
The Course of a True Love Letter Runs Smoothest when written with one of C. Brandauer and Co.’s circular pointed pens. Full-page advertisement, wood engraving, from The Illustrated London News, September 25, 1886, showing an elegant young woman sitting with pen in hand, gazing romantically into the distance…ignoring the five little cupids perched on her shoulder, desk, and in the sky behind her. 11 x 16 inches. Price: $70.
Dorothy was Sarah’s biological mother. As Dorothy had told her complicated story, Maggie had started to wonder…but now she knew for sure. Dorothy and Sarah both had slightly red hair. And Aura, too. Three generations. Now that Dorothy had told her, the connections seemed obvious. “Does Sarah know you’re her mother?”
Dorothy looked up from her tissues. Her expression became almost threatening. “No! And no one must ever tell her.” She paused. “But you need to understand, Maggie, that if Sarah dies, then I will take custody of Aura. She’s my granddaughter, and she’s the same age Sarah was when she was taken from me for the last time.”
Maggie moved back in her chair. This was all going too fast. Sarah was
“Oh, Dorothy.” Maggie could see the pain in her eyes as she told her story.
“Fred said that a marriage wasn’t a real marriage unless there were children. So he divorced me, and I was alone again. He married a friend of mine. Last time I heard they had four children. By then my parents had died, and I’d gotten a little money after the divorce. I decided that marriage and children were not to be my life. Can you believe, Maggie? I came here, to Somerset College, and got my associate’s degree, and then went on to Rutgers. Just like Larry had.”
“How wonderful, Dorothy! You pulled your life together.”
“After I graduated I got a job down on Wall Street. I was an ‘administrative assistant’—really a glorified secretary—but I was finally earning enough to support myself and to buy some nice clothes and have my hair done.” Dorothy smiled almost shyly at Maggie. “That’s where I met Oliver. He was married when I first met him, but his wife had breast cancer. We all felt so sorry for him. And about a year after his wife died he asked me to have dinner with him and…here I am.”
“Have you ever told Oliver about your baby?”
“No. Never. That was so long ago. And Oliver had two children with his first wife and didn’t want any more. It didn’t bother him that I couldn’t have children. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that once I might have been able to.”
“But you found a way to help single parents who were struggling as you had. That’s a wonderful story, Dorothy.”
“Not quite that wonderful, Maggie. I did have the idea of creating a dorm for single parents and their children. But the more I thought about it and started talking to people about it, the more I thought about my own daughter. So I hired a private detective to find her.”
“And?” Maggie suddenly had the feeling she knew where all this was leading.
Dorothy raised her head and looked straight into Maggie’s eyes. “Sarah Anderson is my daughter, Maggie. Aura is my granddaughter. And now Sarah may die before I really get a chance to know her.” The tears started again. “I finally found my daughter, and now I may have lost her.”
Chapter 13
The Course of a True Love Letter Runs Smoothest when written with one of C. Brandauer and Co.’s circular pointed pens. Full-page advertisement, wood engraving, from The Illustrated London News, September 25, 1886, showing an elegant young woman sitting with pen in hand, gazing romantically into the distance…ignoring the five little cupids perched on her shoulder, desk, and in the sky behind her. 11 x 16 inches. Price: $70.
Dorothy was Sarah’s biological mother. As Dorothy had told her complicated story, Maggie had started to wonder…but now she knew for sure. Dorothy and Sarah both had slightly red hair. And Aura, too. Three generations. Now that Dorothy had told her, the connections seemed obvious. “Does Sarah know you’re her mother?”
Dorothy looked up from her tissues. Her expression became almost threatening. “No! And no one must ever tell her.” She paused. “But you need to understand, Maggie, that if Sarah dies, then I will take custody of Aura. She’s my granddaughter, and she’s the same age Sarah was when she was taken from me for the last time.”
Maggie moved back in her chair. This was all going too fast. Sarah was
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