Inconvenient Child

By Patricia Brown

What would you do if you discovered you were adopted? Following the tragic deaths of the people she had always believed to be her birth parents, a series of strange events reveal the truth of her birth, details never told her by her parents. Tracie's painful journey begins as she takes what little information she now has to find her birth parents. After finding her mother, she ignores advice and contacts her father, a U.S. Senator and front-runner in the upcoming presidential election. Nothing must stand in the way of his political ambition. The few who know the truth of Tracie's birth die, one by one. She is next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Brown
• Release date: Feb 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301706525

Book preview

Chapter One

It was too warm for September, the air thick. Sweat beaded on her face, ran down the back of her neck. Her fine hair clung damply to her scalp. It was hard to breathe. She had slept late that morning—something she rarely did—and it was nine o’clock when the phone rang. A woman who identified herself as Sister Marie Claire was calling from Sisters of Mercy Convent.

You must have called the wrong number, Sister. I have no connection to the convent.

You are Tracie Church, are you not?

I am but I really do think—I mean—I’m not even Catholic.

With one eye on the clock, Tracie slid out of bed, ready to hang up and get on with her day. She didn’t have time for this.

Please. If I may have a moment, I’ll explain.

Tracie lay back down with one arm over her eyes. I’m sorry. Go ahead.

Our Mother Superior has requested you come to the convent.

Me? Why?

I don’t have any details but have been assured it is a matter of some urgency.

And you’re sure I’m the person you want?

I am.

Tracie sighed. Nothing was going to stop this woman. That much was obvious. She’d make it short. Let them know it was all a mistake., Had to be.

Okay, okay. Maybe later in the week.

There was an audible intake of breath before the Sister replied.

I’m afraid time is of the essence. You see, Mother is not at all well. Could you possibly come today?

Today? What on earth is this about?

I’m sure it will be explained when you get here.

Okay, I’ll come but it will have to be a short visit because I still think this is all a mistake.

Sisters of Mercy Convent was a short distance from her home in Cheboygan, so after a quick shower and some coffee, Tracie decided to get this over with. Rolling down the car windows, she welcomed the breeze as it whipped her hair about her face. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Darn, she had forgotten to brush; now she had coffee breath. Keeping her eyes on the road, she felt around in her purse on the passenger seat for some breath mints. They tingled on her tongue and the roof of her mouth as they dissolved. Not as good as chocolate but good nonetheless. Hopefully they did the job. She didn’t want to bowl the Mother Superior over with her bad breath.

* * *

Chapter Two

Tracie was still grieving over the death of her parents, Mike and Julie Church, killed in an automobile accident a year earlier. Her mind took her back all too frequently to that evening as it did now. Each time she relived the fear she had felt when she opened the door to find a State Trooper on the porch. Instinctively, she knew something was terribly wrong. All she heard was her parents had been killed in an accident. Then his words seemed to be coming from a long way off as her knees buckled and he caught her on the way down.

They had been on their way to dinner with friends when a truck sped through a stop sign, broadsiding them. They died instantly. Small comfort. According to the police report, the teen driver had been texting. Since then she had struggled between anger directed at the driver and guilt. Why had they died and she lived?

She was just now beginning to feel she would survive; at least that was what she believed until that early morning phone call.

* * *

Chapter Three

The red brick building was large with turrets on all four corners. Built long ago, it looked more like a castle than a convent, more at home in Germany’s Black Forest than on the shores of Lake Huron. Feeling a little like Alice after falling through the rabbit hole, Tracie took a deep breath and tried to convince herself that this was all a case of mistaken identity, but her gut instinct told her that early morning phone calls from strangers rarely brought good news. She raked her fingers through her hair then huffed a quick breath against her palm to be sure the breath mint had done its work.

The sun was shining now in that muted way of early Fall. After parking her car in the small parking lot at the end of the driveway she walked to the massive front door, her high heels clacking on the bricks. She reached into her purse for a wad of tissues and pressed it to her forehead then the back of her neck, hoping the place was air conditioned. The building was surrounded with well-tended gardens. Red and yellow rose bushes flanked the circular driveway, their heady aroma filling the air. Closer to the building, masses of pale pink petunias were interspersed with deeper pink begonias. Multi-hued pansies covered the ground behind the roses. Not surprisingly, the flowers were beginning to wilt this late in the season but the care given them by the sisters was evident. She breathed deeply of the clean, scented air, realizing she had passed by this place many times but as it was set well back from the road, she had never been able to see these beautiful gardens.

She snapped back to reality as she climbed the stone steps. A Methodist, she surely she didn’t belong here. She would simply explain to the Mother Superior that a mistake had been made and be on her way. It was the least she could do.

She grasped the black wrought iron handle and swung open the ornately carved front door with some difficulty, her nostrils immediately assailed with the smell of Pine Sol and floor wax. The heavy oak door opened into a large foyer where two postulants were on their knees, diligently scrubbing the floor. They stood hastily, wiping their wet hands on aprons tied over drab grey dresses that reached mid-calf. When Tracie told them their Mother Superior had requested she come, she was ushered into a small sitting room off to one side where she waited while the young women scurried off. The room was spare with four hard-backed wooden chairs and one small table, certainly not a welcoming room. The walls were bare save for a wooden crucifix. She averted her eyes. There were things she had done that she had not yet shared with God. Not that he didn’t know anyway but she squirmed in her seat, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

Tracie stood when an older nun entered the room. Good morning, Mother. I’m Tracie Church and you called for me to come. I’m sure there’s some mistake. Tracie knew she was rambling and with no apparent control over what came out of her mouth, she shut it. The older woman smiled and nodded her head. I am Sister Marie Claire. The Reverend Mother is expecting you.

Tracie followed Sister Marie Claire through several hallways, all with highly polished floors, until they came to a plain wooden door which the older woman swung open, motioning for Tracie to enter. The door closed behind her and she found herself in a sparsely furnished room where the Mother Superior lay on a narrow cot. Death was in the room; she could smell it—cloying and ancient. Everything in her recoiled as the old woman reached out toward her but hesitated only briefly before gently taking the hand in her own. It was cold, the parchment-like skin stretched tightly over bones that showed through, the veins blue and prominent. The knuckles were gnarled and the arthritic fingers misshapen. There was no sadness in the brown eyes as they looked up at Tracie; rather, they were filled with compassion and she even managed a small smile as she beckoned the younger woman to come closer.

Tracie leaned in, her ear close to the old woman’s mouth. Her fetid breath smelled of death as though she was already rotting from the inside out. Her agonized breathing came in shallow gasps as she summoned strength to speak the words that had been locked in her heart for so many years.

Forgive me child but I have so little time. She took a ragged breath, gathering strength to continue.

You were born here, my dear, and adopted. Find Louise and David Adams in Detroit.

Stunned and barely able to breathe, Tracie looked down at the old woman.

I don’t understand.

The old woman’s brown eyes didn’t waver as they searched Tracie’s own for understanding and forgiveness.

I took a vow never to speak of this. But death releases us from earthly bonds and you have a right to know the truth.

She struggled to raise her head from the pillow but those words had taken all her strength. She had released the horrible secret and was at peace. Tracie waited for more but those few words were all the old woman could manage before her body shuddered and she was gone.

* * *

Chapter Four

Adopted? How could that be? There must be some mistake. But surely, something this important . . .She wanted to run, keep running until she dropped from exhaustion, then wake up in her own comfortable bedroom to find this was all a bad dream. But those words had come from the leader of a spiritual community. Her final words. Nuns can’t lie. Can they?

Later, she would have no memory of what happened next. No memory of Sister Marie Claire entering the room and gently closing the Mother Superior’s eyelids; no memory of being led to a chair lest her legs give way; no memory of the glass of water or her insistence that she was fine thank you. Nor did she remember walking out the door, down the steps and to her car.

The familiarity of her car and the physical action of opening the door brought her back to reality. She sat for a long time, her mind unable to function with anything resembling clarity, her body unwilling to move. Her eyes raised to her reflection in the rear view mirror, at her red hair and pale blue eyes. She reached up to touch her cheek, perhaps as verification that she was really awake. How often she had questioned where her red hair came from. And her blue eyes. Her parents both had dark brown hair and brown eyes. Her mother’s response had always been the same: It must be a recessive gene. Perhaps some ancestor? So Tracie accepted that. But now . . . Unconsciously pushing her hair back behind her ears—a habit since childhood—she rubbed her temples in an attempt to make sense of what she had been told. The sun, having made a brief appearance, now disappeared behind clouds that rolled in rapidly, angry and threatening. A wind had picked up, blowing in across the lake, beating against her car, rocking it. She hit the steering wheel with the heels of her hands again and again then lowered her head as the tears came. The pain was as real as if she’d been beaten. The emptiness, the loneliness overwhelmed her.

Why didn’t they tell me? I had a right to know. Now I don’t know who I am or even why I am. Is Louise Adams my mother and why did she give me away? Didn’t she love me enough to keep me? Was there something about me that kept her from loving me?

She cried with deep, wrenching sobs until she was dry. Her breathing, ragged now with the periodic hitching that followed, left her numb with anguish. She sat until her mind began to function once more, moving from one disjointed thought to another, none bringing answers because there were none.

I need a drink. I really need a drink.

* * *

Chapter Five

The emptiness left by her parents’ death felt like someone had taken a huge spoon and hollowed out the area where her heart used to be, leaving a cavernous void. She was completely alone. No brother or sister, no aunt or uncle, no grandparents. Now it seemed there was a connection. She knew her chances of finding this other family—her family—were slim. Should she even try? Was she setting herself up for more heartache? A name like Adams in a city as large as Detroit. Fat chance. She wished she had followed her first instinct to ignore the Mother Superior’s request to come. It had given her a ray of hope but what was the point? First she would have to find the family, then what? If she had been given away at birth, why on earth would she be welcomed now? She rubbed her fingers over the small pink coral cross suspended on a silver chain around her neck. Her mother had given it to her on her sixth birthday and she had never taken it off. It’s not that she was religious. She went to church and her parents had always said Grace before meals, but the cross was a gift from her mother—an amulet of sorts. As always, it brought comfort but now that was mixed with confusion and sadness.

All this was happening too quickly, allowing no time for acceptance, no time for decision-making. It had all been thrust upon her. You’re adopted. Here’s your family. All you have to do is find them. Like a board game. One step forward. Miss a turn and go back three steps. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. But it was not a board game. It was real life. Her life.

Big drops of rain spattered her windshield as the heavens opened up. She could feel the dampness, smell it inside her car. Rain had been sparse this summer and now it beat the parched earth like kettle drums. She scrubbed both hands across her face and snapped back to reality.

Okay. I’ve had my pity party. Now what?

As an only child, Tracie had learned to talk to herself or to one of her many imaginary friends. Rosemary had been her big sister. She was everything Tracie wasn’t. With dark hair and brown eyes she was full of good advice. Mikey was her little brother and she used to pretend she was his mother. They were her favorites and she could never understand why nobody else could see them. She longed now for one of them to talk to but they were long gone, as was her childhood. So she struggled. Alone.

* * *

Chapter Six

Tracie turned to the internet and of course there was more than one David Adams; however there was only one married to Louise. They lived in the Sterling Heights area of Detroit. Further investigation showed David Adams was an attorney with a New York City law firm. So, was he in Detroit or New York? Detroit was closer so that’s where she began her search. She realized this could mean nothing at all. After so many years, perhaps the David and Louise she was looking for had moved away. Or maybe, just maybe the Mother Superior had kept in touch and knew they were still in Detroit.

She remembered little of the trip from the home in Cheboygan where she grew up. She was unfamiliar with Detroit and had no concrete plan to follow if and when she found the right Louise Adams. Should she come right to the point and tell them what she knew or perhaps be more circumspect?

There was an emptiness following her parents’ deaths, a loneliness Tracie was unable to banish with hard work. Her friends didn’t seem to understand. Come on Tracie. It’s time to move on. Move on to what? She felt beaten down and discarded. Now there was a chance she had a family again.

* * *

Twenty-seven-year-old Tracie was a research biologist and had been working on her doctoral dissertation for the past year. It was close to completion and it was not easy to shift her focus. As a scientist, she couldn’t let her emotional need for family get in the way of solid logic. Of course, that didn’t take into account what her heart was telling her.

When she arrived at the Adams house, there were several cars parked in the driveway and on the street in front of the house. She parked down the street a little way, trying to decide what to do. As she sat there, her engine idling—to make a quick getaway?—she couldn’t help but notice the people who came out of the house and into their cars were dressed up. Some of the women were even wearing hats and black seemed to be the predominant color. A funeral. That’s what this was. Who? Please not Louise.

As she sat there, trying to unscramble her scattered thoughts, the only thing she knew for sure was this was obviously neither the time nor the place to approach anyone. As the cars began to pull out, she found herself following them to a beautiful old church less than a mile away. She sat in the back of St. Boniface Catholic Church during the long and emotional funeral Mass for Louise Adams. The church was packed, with many crying quietly. Louise Adams had obviously been loved and respected by many, but if this was the right Louise, was this the end of the line? Perhaps David . . . ?

The stained glass windows filtered the light in an ethereal way and Tracie thought how beautiful it would be on a sunny day. The elaborate altar with its richly carved wood and gold accents were a backdrop for the large crucifix suspended overhead. The body of Christ seemed to look down on her, understanding her pain and loneliness. She had never before been inside a Catholic church but felt God’s presence in this place and found herself offering up a prayer for guidance.

Even though she had attended church regularly with her parents, faith was not something discussed at home. If they had faith, it hadn’t kept them from dying in that accident. Her fingers found the cross at her throat. Why then had her mother given this to her?

* * *

Chapter Seven

The funeral Mass was long and Tracie understood little of it. She remained seated throughout, unsure when to kneel or even if she should. The air was thick with incense and made her cough. An elderly woman seated next to her leaned over, patted her hand and said, The incense takes our prayers up to heaven. I hope so, Tracie thought. I need help.

At the conclusion of the Mass, most people lingered, offering condolences to the family. An outsider, Tracie knew no-one to talk to so she picked her way through the crowd to her car parked two blocks away. What now? If Louise Adams was her mother, did that make her an orphan again? What about David?

She sat in her car until the funeral procession began to make its way in a long line to the cemetery. Waiting until the last car had pulled away, Tracie followed at a distance. What else could she do?

The graveside service was mercifully short and as the mourners began to leave, Tracie was left standing alone. She moved in closer and stared down into the empty grave, the elaborate casket poised, ready to be lowered into the cavernous hole. The dank smell rising from the earth filled her nostrils. She shuddered and stepped back involuntarily. The rain that had begun as a mist now fell steadily, soaking through her thin coat. With no umbrella for shelter, her fine red hair was plastered to her skull. She fought back tears of frustration which came unbidden, their saltiness diminished little by the rain.

It was one of those October days that should have been pleasant but wasn’t. The chill wind blew in great angry gusts, a foreshadowing of the cold waiting impatiently to descend upon the land, sending its inhabitants scurrying indoors to the comfort of their artificially heated houses. The workers were ready to lower the coffin into the open grave and as she turned away, picking her way carefully through the wet grass and mud that sucked at her shoes, she struggled with the hopelessness that had become all too familiar over the past year. It was a fit day for a funeral.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Death was so inconvenient. Every time she thought she had clear direction for her life, another death occurred—first her parents, then the Mother Superior and now Louise Adams, the only person who could have helped her untangle the mess her life had become.

God, what are you trying to tell me? Should I pursue this or just let it go and get back to my work?

Not that she expected a booming voice from heaven to tell her what to do, but just a hint would help.

She looked around at the family members and friends as they leaned against each other, dabbing at their eyes with wadded up tissues then breaking away into twos and threes and returning to their vehicles. Tracie was soaked to the skin, her shoes caked with mud from the area around the freshly dug grave. She needed to get into dry clothes, but she couldn’t break the only link she had. This may be her one chance to discover if this was her family. Obviously the family was gathered together, so if her mother was dead, where was her father? Perhaps she would feel some kind of cosmic connection if they could meet.

As the cars pulled out, Tracie again found herself caught up in the line of traffic traveling back to the house. Isn’t there some law about breaking into a funeral procession? Or out of?

Men in dark suits, undoubtedly hired for the occasion, helped the mourners from their cars and sheltered them with large black umbrellas, directing them into the big white house.

I’ll figure this out, she thought. There are so many people, I can probably just blend in. I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll just listen in. See if I can pick up any clues. See if this is the right family.

She stepped onto the pillared veranda and looked down at her mud-caked shoes. Returning to the grass, she tried to wipe them off but the mud appeared to have taken up permanent residence. She approached the front door gingerly and was greeted in the spacious entryway by an attendant who asked if he could take her coat. She gladly surrendered the sodden raincoat that had done precious little to protect her, slipped out of her shoes and shoved them off to the side. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and looked around at a house that bespoke comfort without ostentation then picked her way through the throng of well-wishers.

Louise Adams was dead but there must be others who could unlock her past. But what if she had given birth before marrying David? Was he her father? If not, did he know? There had to be a reason she was given up. So many questions.

Wending her way through the crowds, she tried to look as though she belonged. Finding Louise’s husband shouldn’t be difficult. As the family had been seated at the front of the church and Tracie had tried to remain inconspicuous in the last pew, there had been no clear view of the family members. At the cemetery, she had remained at the back of the crowd until they dispersed. She found the family easily enough and even though there were several men at what she thought would be the right age, an older man appeared to be visited by each person. He was surrounded by a group, all seemingly in their forties. Perhaps he was her grandfather. She would have to eavesdrop without being obvious.

Hi, I’m Johnson Adams, and you are . . .?

The tall, handsome man standing next to her extended his hand. With no time to think about how she would explain her presence, she reached out and grasped it.

I’m Tracie. Tracie Church. I’m afraid I haven’t met any of your family and I only met Louise once. Some time ago, she added lamely.

I see. Well, it was very kind of you to come, he added, obviously perplexed and wondering why she would come to the funeral of a casual acquaintance. He began to turn away, ready to dismiss her but not wanting to appear rude, asked, How did you meet my mother?

His mother? That can’t be right. How old was this woman? This is obviously the wrong