You Don't Know Jack

By Jessie Anne Wallace

You Don't Know Jack reveals how little some communities know about the children placed in foster care. State workers, foster parents, and the community must work together. One child profiled is Jack and he is a scary child, one who is fixated on his basic needs. His primary need is to protect himself. The foster parents do not understand this, with results that may have been predicted but not expected.

The fallout from child abuse harms society.

Oregonians like to think that the nation would be a fine place if everyone followed its lead. The struggles with the State's children are ongoing and no real solution is in sight. The State is a poor parent and that is true of any government agency.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessie Anne Wallace
• Release date: Oct 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311676818

Jessie Anne Wallace

A native Oregonian, Jessie Anne and her husband of nearly 45 years have raised well over a dozen children. She has volunteered for everything from wrestling dinners to band trips. After the children were out of the home she facilitated several grief groups and oversees the care that foster children receive. She is actively involved in her religion and helps her congregation in many ways. She is the oldest of several sisters, making her bossy and opinionated. At least, she hopes so.

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You Don’t Know Jack

By Jessie Anne Wallace

Copyright 2013 Jessie Anne Wallace

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For Hannah:  A woman of uncommon faith, joy, and love.

Thank you to David, Raul, and the rest of the family.

Current Day in downtown Portland, Oregon

Chip Skinner was hungry, notwithstanding the bloody corpse on the sidewalk. It was considered poor form for a paramedic to be seen eating at a crime scene but he’d been on the go since the beginning of today’s double shift and he still had over 3 hours to go. The crime scene people were hard at work and Chip suspected he and his partner would soon be released. After all, this was a job for First Call, the body snatchers. Maybe, if it weren’t too busy, he’d help them load up the remains of what appeared to have been a young man. That was a guess because the victim had apparently been shot, point blank, in the face, a couple of times in the throat, and at least once in an elbow. The elbow stuck in his mind because it had nearly severed the lower portion of the arm and it made the hand look all crooked.

Shrugging, Chip went back to the ambulance and opened his lunch. He unwrapped a granola bar and put the wrapper back in his lunch sack. Then he stood at what he hoped could pass for professionalism, sneaking bites of the bar and chewing surreptitiously.

Some years ago in rural Oregon

The stench in the trailer was overpowering. There was the usual smell of desiccating fast food, dirty diapers which were mostly in a stack by the back door, and the freshly killed deer that was hanging in the back room.

The children, however, seemed to notice little except the television set in the corner of the living room. The picture had bee nsomewhat grainy until the man brought home a satellite dish. A sort of nest had been hollowed out on the couch near the set where the two older children spent most of their time. The spot had been chosen because it was near the woodstove.

It was the older boy’s responsibility to keep the woodstove filled. No one had assigned him the task; he had merely made the connection between filling and woodstove and being warm, or not.

If they were cold or hungry the adults would leave. If the children were fortunate the adults would bring back food. It had been easier before the last baby came.

The boy was, if anyone had kept track, nearly nine years old. The woman in the house had given birth to him somewhere else; the boy could remember before they had come to live in the trailer. Since they had come there had been the two babies.

The woman had never nurtured any of the children and the most the boy had ever done was to pick up a bottle the baby had dropped and put it back in his mouth so the baby would stop crying. The baby seldom cried anymore.

From time to time, visitors came to the trailer. They would almost always stay outside and the man and the woman would go outside and talk with them. There was rarely an extended visit, especially in the winter.

One of the visitors who came inside was Roy. The boy didn’t like him. More than once, when the boy had been in his way, Roy had slapped or kicked him. The boy tried to stay out of his way. Roy usually had very little to do with anyone except the man and the woman. They would go into one of the back rooms of the trailer where the boy wasn’t allowed. Occasionally, one or the other of the men would go into the bedroom with the woman.

The trailer was situated on some heavily forested land on the side of the mountain in a rural community. The people of the community, if they had ever known of the boy’s existence, had simply forgotten about him. It was probable that no one knew about the babies, since the woman had given birth to them on the couch in the trailer.

The property was adjacent to some summer cabins and directly behind a religious youth camp. It was not visible to either. Most local people viewed the area as a place of recreation or, in the case of the religious camp, a place for spiritual renewal.

Chapter 1

As rural towns in the inland west often are, Johnson considered itself neighborly. Its politics ran to conservatism and hatred of rotten environmentalists. Most residents claimed a church affiliation and the high school football games were the only entertainment in town on Friday nights in the fall.

With the closing of one mill and cutbacks at the other, the economy was fragile. Nevertheless, many people owed more on their trucks than their homes. Those who lost their jobs either retrained and found others or relied on their extended families or church congregations for help.

Founded after the Civil War, the town had been named for the then-current President. He had promised to visit his namesake town when informed of its name. He had never come and, for a time, many people wanted to change the town’s name to Lincoln.

It was a beautiful late fall day. In the forests surrounding the community, the larches had turned golden, the few aspens had shaken their leaves, and the ponderosa stood as unchanging sentinels. Most people in town had raked and bagged their leaves. No one was outside at Methodist Church as the monthly ministerial meeting was in progress in the basement.

The Johnson Ministerial Association was an attempt to have all the churches work together. The impetus for it had been the organization of a central food bank.

There had been several food banks and the residents had been supporting them all. Father Will had suggested that some rooms in the rectory be put to use as a central bank and every religious organization could take a turn staffing it and bringing in food donations.

For the most part, it had worked well. The Mormons got over their fear of being struck by lightning for going in the Catholic Church, the Presbyterians realized that the Mormons weren’t going to spend every minute trying to convert them, and the Methodists insisted on having organizational meetings in their basement.

When they saw the benefits of streamlining their charitable endeavors, most thought that the idea of a ministerial association seemed like a good idea. The leadership of the organization rotated yearly. Father Will had just turned leadership over to Reverend Josiah Gates of the Johnson Community Church.

Reverend Gates had a large congregation and many of the mainstream churches didn’t fully understand what the beliefs of a member in JCC might be. Reverend Gates liked to say that, while his congregation was the Johnson Community, the initials actually stood for someone a small amount more powerful.

The JCC was very visible, having many leaders of the community counted as members. Reverend Gates taught that service to one’s community was a fine example of Christian Charity.

For all the good they did, the JCC made many others nervous because they saw it as an attempt to mine their own congregations for members. And, that was a fact. Reverend Gates believed in proselyting.

The basement meeting place, while large, was not particularly comfortable. The chairs were rejects from the Sunday school classes and the ceiling was not quite seven feet high.

The meetings were open to the public, though townspeople seldom attended unless asked to. Reverend Gates took the makeshift podium in the front of the room and cleared his throat. The buzz continued, unabated. He cleared his throat again, more loudly, and began speaking.

Brothers and Sister, we need to begin. We’re three minutes late and I’m sure that all of you, as I am, are busy. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedules to support our community.

He continued through the minutes and other housekeeping chores and, in the back of the room, Reverend Mary Graham leaned over to Father Will, You’ve done a fine job in setting this up, Father. What’re you going to do with all your free time now?

Father Will smiled. Free time? Hah! Maybe I’ll take up snowboarding.

You’d probably be pretty good at it except for that bum knee of yours. How’s it healing?

He grimaced and said, Not fast enough. I still wear the brace whenever I do anything remotely active. Guess I’m getting old.

Reverend Mary smiled and turned her attention once again to Reverend Gates.

Are there any items needing attention which are not on the agenda? He looked around the room expectantly. Through the last year most people in the room had come to realize that the good Reverend was not happy when people added items to his agenda. No one added anything.

Thank you, he continued, It’s time to introduce to you our guest speaker from the State Department of Community and Child Welfare. He turned to his right and said, Brothers and Sister, we have needs in our community we may not know about. Chris Webb has come to talk to us today about Child Welfare. Mr. Webb, you have twenty minutes.

After the Reverend sat, Chris Webb stood. He was in his late twenties, fit, and wearing Birkenstocks. It was immediately apparent that he was not familiar with the community and he verified that with his first words.

It is a pleasure to be here today. I’ve only been here for 3 weeks so I don’t yet know many of you. I was born and raised in the metro area and worked as a Child Welfare worker there for a bit before I decided to transfer over here where you have this fine powder snow.

Reverend Mary leaned over to Father Will, I see you have a disciple.

Father Will smiled. He’s pretty young, but I bet both his knees work.

Their attention piqued by the newcomer, they turned to pay attention.

The young man continued, This is a fine community and I’m happy to live here. He scanned the room, then continued, But some of the same problems of the metro area exist here as well.

At the mention of problems, the undercurrent in the room went silent.

Realizing that he had their attention, he said, In the metro area we don’t know our neighbors. Here, you do.

He walked purposefully over to a chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk. He drew a pie chart, diving it into several pieces. What groups make up a community? Just call out your answers.

The audience rustled and a voice called out, "The churches!’

One of the pie pieces was named Church.

Other voices called out, Business! and School!

Both of those went on the chart.

Also named were Government, the Forest Service, Insurance Salesmen, Funeral Directors, Medical, and many others.

With more than enough names for the pie pieces, Chris turned to face the audience. Does anyone know what these community members all have in common?

It was obvious that many responses were considered and discarded and after a short pause, Chris answered himself, Every one of these can be a foster parent. And we need foster parents.

With their attention, he proceeded to tell them of the need for people willing to care for the State’s children and of the training involved. He was eloquent and when he sat down, the audience burst into scattered applause.

Reverend Gates stood and, after pausing to shake the young newcomer’s hand, took the podium.

Luckily, no one in my congregation has had their children removed by the State. But for those who have lost children, this would be a good way to assure that they are raised with Christian values. He paused for effect and scanned the room before continuing. I believe I can promise that I will have a god-fearing couple for the next foster parent training session. He turned and looked at the caseworker, Did you say when that will be?

We have one scheduled for a week from tonight, at 7 p.m. It will be at our office building on Alder. I’ll leave my cards and you can call me and let me know who to expect.

Reverend Gates continued, There you have it. We have one week to fill this class. I challenge each of you to have a couple from your congregation at this training. I promise I will.

Mary Graham turned to the Priest. I’m sure it doesn’t need to be a couple. I think Reverend Gates is a little outdated.

Father Will smiled a slow smile and responded, I think we’re in agreement. I do have someone in mind, though.

Reverend Gates continued over the buzz that had begun, Next month’s main topic will be an audit of the food banks and to make sure we’re where we need to be on it. For now, we’ll have a prayer and adjourn. Pastor Friedland, would you do the honors?

Pastor Friedland, a small man, came forward and offered a short and simple prayer.

After the prayer, people stood and began milling about. A few seemed to have taken the challenge to recruit foster parents to heart and were discussing it with the Child Welfare worker. Father Will and Mary Graham headed to that group. She began speaking with Pastor Friedland and Father Will spotted a good friend.

So, Bishop! Father Will greeted the Mormon Bishop.

Bishop Hansen smiled on hearing his friend’s voice. I see you’re up and around. How long did the surgery take?

The surgery hardly took any time, but I’m getting older and the recovery takes longer than I think it should.

Bishop Hansen was also the hospital administrator where Father Will had had his surgery. He had six children and his wife was expecting again. Or maybe it was five and they were expecting their sixth. Father Will kept promising himself he’d keep it straight and never did.

How’s your wife? Father Will admired Beth Hansen. He considered her a capable and even-tempered woman.

The Bishop smiled again, She’s tired of being pregnant, that’s a fact. She mentioned this morning that she’s no spring chicken anymore. Somehow, she always manages to keep us on task.

Father Will smiled on picturing the Bishop’s wife trying to keep him on track. The man had a tremendous amount of energy and had never been able to believe he couldn’t do everything he wanted to do. Father Will had often wondered if the Bishop slept.

So, Bishop, are you planning to have a couple for the foster parent training?

A slight frown creased the Bishop’s face. You know, a lot of my families have young children and I’m not sure foster parenting’s a good idea when there are preschoolers in a home. He continued, I’m going to give it some thought and see what I can come up with. His good humor returned as he winked at the Father, This isn’t a contest, is it?

Father Will laughed. You know, it almost sounded like it, didn’t it?

Do you have a couple in mind?

You know, Bishop, I do have someone in mind. But he’s a solo like me. I know the State’s OK with that but I doubt that the good Reverend is.

When I see the single parents in my Ward and the job some of them do, I know that one parent can do an outstanding job. The Bishop didn’t have many single parents but was close to those he did have.

The two men began walking up the stairs, Father Will hobbling somewhat.

You’re actually doing well, you know, said the Bishop

I know, grimaced the Priest, but I don’t have time to sit and wait for it to heal. I’ve a lot of things I need to be doing and I need a good pair of legs to get me to where I need to be.

Is there something I can help with? It was obvious that the Bishop was sincere in his offer.

Just get one of your doctors to give me my energy back and I’ll be a happy man.

It’ll come, it’ll come.

The men continued their good-natured bantering as they walked down the street. Father Will was going to his office and Bishop Hansen’s car was parked nearby. Both enjoyed each other’s company and Father Will had been a guest in the Hansen home more than once.

Bishop Hansen reached his car and asked if Father Will needed a ride to the hospital board meeting that afternoon.

He replied, That’s good of you. It’d probably be faster if you could stop by and pick me up at my office. It takes me a bit to get my car out of the garage.

Consider it done. I’ll be here to pick you up at quarter to, OK?

Father Will promised he’d be ready when Bishop Hansen came.

The boy was wrapped in an old and stained down coat. A game show was on the television and except for the television noise it was quiet. The man and woman had gone and there was a jar of peanut butter and some soda crackers. The bigger of the two babies had wanted some food and he had let her have some of what he had. She had decided to eat the peanut butter straight from the jar and was doing so with a fork.

As the children sat in their cocoon they heard a pickup truck drive up and knew that the man and woman were home from wherever they’d gone.

The boy’s idle curiosity let him see the adults bringing boxes, jugs, and other paraphernalia in and taking it to the back room. He also saw that Roy was with them and he pulled the coat tighter around himself.

None of the children spoke but they were always aware of their surroundings and the older two would stockpile food while they had access to it. The girl knew to leave the older boy’s stash alone and she also knew that he could raid hers with impunity. He seldom did, however, as he had gotten savvy on survival and always made sure that he had enough food for himself.

The truck unloaded, the adults went to the back of the trailer. The boy knew that they would be busy back there for hours, if past actions were any indicator. He knew there would be smells coming from back there and he knew that, when they were all finished, they’d begin drinking.

They liked beer and the boy had tried it a few times. He didn’t understand that drinking it flat and tepid was not the usual way to enjoy beer. He did know that it would be a mistake to take one of the cold cans from the refrigerator. He had never done that.

He turned his attention back to the choices from the satellite and decided he’d like to watch Saturday Night Live reruns.

He was not hungry and he was warm.

Chapter 2

Following the hospital board meeting the Priest and the Bishop remained sitting at the table, chatting.

This worries me, Father. I don’t think conscripting people to be foster parents is the right thing to do.

Neither do I, Bishop. I’m going to talk to my prospect this evening and just give him the details that I know. I’ll make sure that there’s no pressure from me. The Priest shook his head.

The thought again flew through Bishop Hansen’s head that Reverend Gates had specifically said couples and the Priest was going to talk to a single guy. The Bishop doubted the Reverend would approve.

Banishing the thought, the Bishop pondered his concern aloud. I seriously don’t know of anyone I could ask to put his family in harm’s way to be a foster parent. You know some of the places these kids come from.

The Priest looked glum as he replied, I can only think of one out of the whole lot myself. He worked himself stiffly to his feet. "In fact, I told him I’d be there in a half hour so I’d better get a move one.

The other man got to his feet. Can I give you a ride?

Thanks, Bishop, but I have a ton of things to do this evening and this is just the first on the list. If you’re not doing anything right now, I could use a ride to the garage –that’d save me 10 minutes at least.

As he held the door the bishop grinned, You just want to take advantage of my parking place.

The Priest nodded his agreement with a laugh and the men went outside to the Bishop’s large sport utility vehicle.

Climbing in the vehicle was not a simple task with a recovering knee but it was accomplished and the Bishop dropped the Priest off in short order.

Let me know how it goes, Father Will.

Sure thing. Thanks for the ride. With a wave Father Will disappeared into the darkness of the garage.

Only people who didn’t know her called Reverend Graham that. Immediately on meeting her, almost everyone was told, Call me Mary. Most people did.

The Methodists were a small and close-knit congregation. In Johnson it was hard to find a Methodist who wasn’t fully active in the congregation. Being few in number, they simply needed everyone they had.

Mary had ministered to the congregation for just over 2 years. At first, some of the community had been taken aback by a woman minister. Soon, after getting to know her, her flock became staunchly loyal when someone like Reverend Gates or one of the JCC would take exception to a woman in that position.

Mary’s husband Ray had only recently re-entered the work force. Their younger child (Sarah) had entered first grade. Sarah was a little sister to Deborah, who was almost ten.

Ray was an electrician by trade and he hadn’t been too busy. Of course the church building had needed to be re-wired but who could charge for that? He was just happy that he didn’t have to supply the materials as well.

Mary often told Ray how much she appreciated that he was able to function so well as a minister’s spouse. As with many congregations, the Methodists had a couple ministering to them.

After returning from the Ministerial Association Meeting, Mary headed for her office. The choir director had asked her to go over the Christmas program proposal and she wanted to do it so it would be out of the way.

As she read through it, the phone rang. She listened, nodded a few times, and said, I’ll be there in a few minutes.

She put the phone down and thought a moment. She picked it back up and dialed her husband’s cell number.

Ray, the jail just called and they’re worried about a new intake. Can you arrange your schedule to pick up Sarah? She listened and a smile of comfort came over her features.

Thanks, Sweetie. I put dinner in the crock pot and I’ll be home in time for that, for sure. She laughed a little as he challenged her promise.

OK, I should be home in plenty of time for dinner. Love you.

She hung up, reached for her coat, and was out the door.

As she drove the short distance to the jail, she wondered idly what the problem was this time. She’d not taken long as the jail’s chaplain-on-call to recognize that many people who had been arrested were totally startled by that fact.

She pulled into her aging Honda into its assigned slot and got out, entering the front door. She saw Sue McBride, sitting at her assigned desk and wondered, just for a moment, if Sue ever missed a day of work.

Sue greeted her, Hi, Mary. The sheriff’s waiting for you back in the conference room. I’ll buzz you back.

Thanks, Sue. You’re a doll

The door lock snapped open and Mary followed a well-lit hallway to the sheriff. She greeted him, What’s up, Ken?

His face furrowed and he replied, Sometimes there’s a tough one and I’ve got one now. He motioned for her to sit and they both did.

Since she could see that he was struggling with where to begin, she prodded him, Who’d you arrest, Ken?

The sheriff squirmed in his chair and answered, I don’t know that you’ll know her, but it’s the situation.

What’s the situation?

Well, you know that the legislature made some rules and we have to go by what they tell us.

Ken, what exactly are you trying to tell me?

Well, we busted a meth lab out on Dillard Lane.

Surely that’s a good thing? Mary was puzzled.

Well, the sheriff decided just to dive in, Evan Brown had one going out in his shed and we found out. We went out this morning and raided the place, and his wife Helen didn’t even know he was doing that and we brought her in too and Child Welfare has the kids.

The light came on in Mary’s mind as she realized that the sheriff was unhappy about being mandated to remove the children from a home that was unsafe. Mary knew that it didn’t matter that the mother had no knowledge of the drug lab; it had been on the property and that law said that was enough.

Ken. Where are the children? Right now, where are they?

Child Welfare came out when we did the raid because we thought there were children and there were. So, they took the kids. I don’t know where they are.

Ken, what exactly do you need from me?

The Mom’s hysterical, Mary. We had to put her in restraints to protect her. Now she’s just sitting in the corner of the room, curled in a ball, crying like I’ve never heard anyone cry before. She’s a little woman, Mary, but the sound that comes out is…ugly.

It was obvious to Mary that the sheriff was deeply distressed so she asked if she could visit with the woman.

Mary, I don’t think we have anything at all to hold her on and I’d like to send her home but she’s in no shape… His voice trailed off.

Ken, let me go visit with her. Maybe I can help. Privately, Mary doubted that she could help but she knew she had to try.

The light finally came on in the sheriff’s head as he realized that Mary was there to help him shoulder this burden.

I’ll take you to her. He got up and Mary followed his lead. He turned and said, By the way, her name’s Helen. Helen Brown.

They again went through the brightly lit hallway to the intake area of the jail. It was usually chilly there, as the sally port where the prisoners were unloaded opened directly to the outside.

She’s in here, the sheriff motioned to the drunk tank. The walls are softer and we’ve been very concerned about her. We can watch her on the closed circuit and turn the audio up. He reached for his keys.

Having been behind the sheriff as he approached the door, Mary hadn’t known what to expect when the door opened. What she found was a small woman, curled in a corner, and sobbing. The sobs were great, gut-wrenching ones and there could be no focus other than the woman.

Mary looked at the sheriff and whispered, May I go to her?

The sheriff nodded his assent.

Slowly and deliberately Mary approached the woman. When she was close enough to touch her, Mary knelt down.

Without touching her, Mary called her by name, Helen. Helen, it’s Mary Graham. There was no response.

The sheriff had remained in the doorway and he shrugged his shoulders.

Mary tried again. Helen, it’s Mary Graham. I’m here to help you.

At this, Helen turned her head and between sobs replied, You…can’t help…me. They took…my babies. She began to wail.

Mary reached over and patted her on the shoulder, mostly to gauge whether or not the touch would be accepted. There was no response either way from the bereft woman.

Helen, is it OK if I sit her with you and you can tell me about your babies? I’ll just sit her until you’re ready to talk. With that said, Marry scooted up to the wall, still very near to Helen, and sat. The floor was concrete with a drain hole in the center. There was no change in Helen’s behavior.

The sheriff disappeared from the doorway and Mary thought that odd. Moments later, however, he returned with a couple of cushions for Mary to sit on. Her heart was lightened that he’d thought of that.

As he brought them to her, he asked, What do you want me to do, Mary? Do you need me to stay here?

Quick consideration gave Mary the answer, Ken, I’m sure you have things you need to do and they can monitor us from Admitting. Why don’t you leave us here for a bit? You can come by and check on us whenever you want.

The sheriff nodded and left, leaving the door ajar.

Mary rocked back against the wall, noticing that Helen’s decibel count seemed to be diminishing. She decided to wait, humming quietly to herself, You Are My Sunshine. She wondered where that song had come to her from.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, the sobbing stopped except for occasional hiccoughs. Mary sat, still quiet except for the humming.

When Helen inched back toward the wall, Mary stopped humming and watched. Helen was, indeed, a small woman. It had been hard to judge her size while she was curled in a ball. Her dark hair had probably been neatly braided at one time but had suffered in Helen’s grieving.

It seemed that Helen was going to sit up, alongside Mary. Mary didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything, and hardly dared to breathe. Watching closely, Mary saw that was trying to sit up. She no longer had any kind of restraint but seemed to be unfamiliar with her body. Before long, she was sitting upright and, since her head was still down, Mary stole a glance at her.

My God, Mary thought, as she saw the twin dark circles over Helen’s breasts, She’s nursing!

Just at that moment Helen opened her eyes and saw the front of her clothes for herself. Very calmly, and with just one hiccough, she said, I need to feed…my baby.

I can see that you do. How old is your baby?

Mikey is almost 3…months and he’ll be…hungry. He’s never had…a…a bottle. Helen looked as if she might begin crying again.

Listen Sweetie, said Mary, I’m on your side. But, we need to empty your breasts right away and then we’ll figure out what’s what. Do you have a breast pump?

Helen shook her head.

Hold on, then, let me scare one up for you. She stood up and said, in the direction of the speaker, Send the sheriff in right away, please.

The speaker responded, Sure thing, Mary.

In less than a minute, the sheriff was in the doorway with a questioning look on his face.

Mary had stood and placed herself in the way of the sheriff’s view of Helen to give the woman a measure of privacy. Ken, she has a 3-month-old baby she needs to nurse. Where is he?

Ken blanched as he answered, I don’t know. Child Welfare took both kids. Do you want me to find out?

Mary shook her head impatiently. No, what needs to happen is that she needs to empty her breasts. Does the jail have a breast pump?

This was not a conversation the sheriff was enjoying, especially since he doubted there was a breast pump anywhere on county property.

Mary continued, Call the hospital and get what they have to evacuate her breasts. Also, get containers to put the milk in. And Ken, she touched his arm, This is urgent. You don’t want her getting a breast infection.

Glad to leave, the sheriff hurried to his car. He wondered briefly if he should use lights and sirens to get to the hospital quickly. He discarded the idea and radioed dispatch and asked them to patch him through to the hospital.

When the sheriff had gone, Mary went back to Helen. Sweetie, he’s gone for a breast pump and I’ll help you pump your breasts when he brings it back. Then, we’ll find out where little Mikey is.

Is he with his big brother? Colin watches out for him.

How old is Colin?

Colin was three last week. He loves his little brother.

Mary was happy to open a dialogue with Helen. Do you have just the two? That’s what I have, but mine are girls.

I wanted a girl this last time. When the doctor said that I had another boy, I could hardly believe it.

Mary knew that jail conversations might seem surreal to anyone else witnessing them. She also knew that they gave people a sense of normalcy.

I know what you mean. We love our girls but we often wonder what life would’ve been like to have had one of each.

Helen had appeared to have been perking up a little and now looked glum. We almost had a girl. I lost her at seven months when the placenta separated. She was my first. The tears welled up in her eyes and Mary was afraid Helen would start crying again. But, by shear force of will, Helen willed her eyes dry.

I’m so sorry. That must be very difficult for you. Did you have a chance to name her?

Steadily, Helen replied, I held her and her name was Chloe. She would have been a beautiful baby.

Mary smiled and said, Chloe. That’s a lovely name. My very good friend who runs the nursery in Johnson Heights is Chloe.

The conversation continued with Helen opening little by little. It seemed that only a few minutes had passed when the sheriff returned with a box. He entered and awkwardly put it down.

The hospital sent over what they had. Go ahead and help her, Mary. I’m going to shroud the camera for privacy while you take care of business.

Helen shot a puzzled look at Mary, Aren’t I arrested?

No, Sweetie. The sheriff’s a good man and he was worried for you. You could go any time, but I think we need to take care of matters first.

Mary was in the box, rummaging through a plethora of nursing aids. Though she had nursed both girls herself, she hadn’t a clue what half the items in the box were. Finding a hand pump that she knew how to use, she addressed Helen, Here we go. Have you ever done this before?

With trepidation Helen answered, Well, they did it in the hospital but I never needed to do it… He voice trailed off and she thought about exactly why she was being forced to pump her breasts. She beat back the tears and asked in a quavery voice, Can you help me?

Mary figured that now was the time to act like she knew what she was doing, so she said, You need to sit up straight and open your bra.

Helen hiked up her shirt and did so. The pad that was supposed to keep Helen dry had been overwhelmed and was soggy. Helen peeled it off and laid it neatly on the floor beside her. Now what?

Mary broke the seal on the pump and said, If it’s OK, I’ll show you how to put it on and how it’s supposed to work. The milk will go into this bottle and if you fill it, we’ll start another.

Helen nodded and waited, breast fully exposed. Mary deftly maneuvered the pump into position and squeezed the bulb to apply suction. Is that too much? Or not enough? Helen nodded and Mary assumed that however much pressure she was applying was the right amount.

The small bottle was soon full. It was capped and another opened. Mary turned the management of the pump over to Helen and told her she’d be right back.

Mary approached the deputy at the Admitting desk, somewhat uncomfortable that she didn’t know the young woman’s name. Can you give me a couple of sanitary napkins, please?

Sure, no problem. Let me know when I can uncover this camera, will you please, Mary? She reached under her desk and came up with a pair of napkins sealed in brown paper. Here you go. She passed them under the glass and wire guard.

Mary took the napkins, thinking that to ask for a pair of scissors in the safety-conscious jail would prove futile, and went back to Helen. The second bottle was nearly full and the pumping had had a calming effect on the distraught mother.

If we tear one of these in two, it’ll be a pretty good pad. Mary began unwrapping the package.

Thank you, said Helen in a small steady voice.

Of course, your bra’s still soaked, but I think we can borrow one of the jail’s orange t-shirts. Mary busied herself trying to tear the napkin in equal parts.

Helen asked, If we use them as nursing pads, won’t they be pretty bulky?

Mary laughed, Yup, but they should hold back the milk until we figure out which end’s up. Are you about dry?

I think so. Helen emptied the bulb, filling the second bottle to the rim. When can I see Mikey and Colin? She looked up anxiously.

We’ll get the sheriff in here just as soon as you’re finished and he can tell us what’s going on.

I think I’m finished now. Helen looked at the pump in her small hand. What do I do with this?

Just hang on to it until we talk to Ken. Mary assured herself that Helen was all put back together. Will you be all right while I go and get him?

Do you want me just to wait here? Helen was rumpled but an entirely different woman now that the prospect of action was present.

I think that’d be best. I have to get a dry shirt for you and Ken’s pretty squeamish about these ‘woman things’.

I’ll be fine. Helen was calm.

Mary headed out the door, stopped at the Admitting desk (still unable to remember the woman’s name) and told her that the camera could be uncovered.

She agreed cheerily and told Mary she’d be happy to keep an eye on Helen until she got back.

Mary went straight to the sheriff’s office where he was on the phone. He motioned her to sit, holding up his index finger to signify he’d be with her in a moment. She nodded and sat.

Sure enough, he was off the phone in a few seconds.

How’s it going? he asked warily.

Actually, we’ve made a lot of progress. I think one reason she was so upset was that she didn’t know what was going on.

We tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t hear. We had to pry that baby out of her hands and give it to the child welfare worker.

I can believe that. Mary’s tone was non-accusatory. Where is the baby now?

The State has to keep them both overnight. They should be able to release them tomorrow. The sheriff made it sound like a dental appointment, just something routine but not fun.

It’s a pretty big deal to Helen. Who’s the caseworker?

It’s that new guy, Chris Webb. He just came here from the metro area.

I heard him talk at the ministerial association at noon. How’d he get out there and back?

The sheriff smiled, Well, that answers my question as to why he didn’t have these kids from the very first. Karen did the intake but told me that Chris’d be the worker.

Well, why don’t we go back and tell Helen what she can expect? Mary had risen and turned toward the door. And, as an afterthought, We’ll need a jail-issue t-shirt so that she can go out. I’d say a small.

You do know she’s not been arrested, right? Her husband was very clear that she’d never even been to the lab in the shed and she obviously didn’t know anything about it. The sheriff was following Mary down the hall.

She didn’t once mention her husband. I couldn’t even begin to guess the dynamic there. Mary marveled that a woman could be so blind as to not wonder why her husband spent all the time out in the shed and still have enough money for groceries. She shook her head to herself.

They reached Admitting and the woman behind the desk gave them a thumbs-up.

On entering the area, the sheriff went over to the deputy and said, Julie, we’ll need a t-shirt, size small He turned to Mary, Anything else?

No. But thanks, Julie Mary was gleeful to know the woman’s name.

No problem. I’ll buzz you when the shirt gets here. Julie picked up her phone.

Mary entered the drunk tank before the sheriff and Helen was standing with her arms folded in an X in front of her. A person not knowing the situation might assume that Helen was in a defensive posture.

Helen spoke first, Where are my children?

Mary went over to her and spoke in a quiet voice. They’ll be in foster care overnight and I should think we’ll be able to get you back together tomorrow. Their caseworker is Chris Webb.

The tears again welled up but didn’t spill over. Mikey’ll be hungry now. What’ll he eat?

Mary put her