Mockin'bird

By Michèle Israel

Magdalene is eager to find love and friendship, something she lacked growing up. She leaves her Canadian home to join her sisters in New Jersey, quickly learns the language, and lands a job. All that’s left is to find a husband. But after a foolish night in the city, Magdalene gives birth to a child and has no maternal instincts to be a good mother.

Anna adores her high school sweetheart—both have college plans. But when an unplanned pregnancy threatens their futures, the parents insist adoption is the answer. Devastated by her loss, Anna takes drastic measures. Decades later, after receiving a distressing call about the son she gave away, Anna is faced with what could be the most critical decision of her life.

Gabriel Mackenzie stumbles upon his mother’s secret and begins to question everything in his life—about the mother who treats him differently than his sisters and the father he knows nothing about. Angry and confused, he spirals down a dark path that can only lead to no good.

This 21st-century saga dates back to the 60s and encompasses the lives of Magdalene, Anna, and Gabriel, where the three are curiously intertwined. It is a story of love and loss, trials and tribulations, and a mother’s essential role in the emotional well-being of her child. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977272614

Michèle Israel

Michèle Israel is the author of Lessons of the Heart and the biography Out of Darkness—A Testament of Love, Endurance, and Survival. She was raised in suburban New Jersey but landed in the south, where she worked 32 years for the State of Tennessee and followed her passion for writing. She began her studies with the Institute of Children’s Literature in West Redding, Connecticut, and teaches group fitness for the YMCA.

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Prologue

October 16, 1960 ~ Jersey City, NJ

Magdalene closed her eyes as she lay her head on her flattened pillow, her body depleted of all energy from the wee morning hours of labor—push, grunt, push, grunt to get the baby out, finally.

She couldn’t remember when she experienced or otherwise imagined such unbearable pain. Even at the age of five, with her finger stuck in a washer—swollen, putrid shades of blue, the doctor coming close to sawing it off—paled against this pain. But that was entirely different. She was a mere child who recovered just as soon as the washer was removed, alleviating the pressure.

Something sharp cutting her private section, and the cold, hard-edged forceps pulling out the squalling infant stayed with her. If someone had told her a year ago that this was how she would end up, an unwed mother, she would have sworn them crazy. But the worst was over now. The soreness from the stitches and her utter exhaustion was another matter. She shuddered at the thought that her mother had been down this road an inconceivable thirteen times. And not once had she clued her in on what to expect. It was not a topic that Magdalene could see herself broaching with her mother or even her three eldest sisters—all married with children of their own.

That she had gotten herself in this predicament in the first place was embarrassing enough. Only a fool would allow a man to touch her in such a way before her wedding day, she overheard one of her sisters say long ago when they thought she wasn’t around. Those words made no sense to Magdalene, not at the time. Had they come to her later, she might have listened. But it was her body, after all. Who were they to judge her actions? The three of them still lived in Verchères, an off-island suburb of Montreal on the south bank of the Saint Lawrence River. They didn’t know about the baby for all that Magdalene knew.

Four years ago, at sixteen, Magdalene eventually followed five of her unmarried sisters to the States. She completed her high school education there, leading to cosmetology school and her first full-time job. Life was going well until that one incident with Johnny. Lilly and Fern asked her who the father was when she started to show. Not, Have you seen a doctor? Or how can we help? No. It was just a pointed nosey question about a man they never saw come around to court her. Magdalene refused to answer, gave them the stink-eye, and walked away.

After cutting the cord, the nurse tried to hand Magdalene the baby, but she waved it away. Now that she was trying to rest, the nurse returned with the hospital crib on wheels. Magdalene pretended to be asleep, willing every part of her body still. She had the rest of her life to be a mother. She would take whatever time she could now to recover from the ordeal. Several minutes passed, or so it seemed, and her non-movement became unbearable when her itchy nose begged to be scratched. Had the nurse left, or was she standing there gawking at her? Magdalene lay there like a log. She had practiced it as a child, floating on the river with her sisters. She would always outlast them because she knew that she could.

The crib wheels began to turn, finally, and the door clicked shut. Magdalene adjusted herself in bed, rubbed her nose, and sighed deeply. Sounds seeped through the walls, inflated voices from the hallway—confusion—arguing over where to place a patient, a baby, or some other nonsense. She tried to block out the noise and wavered between consciousness and sleep, her mind muddled with longing and uncertainty. If only Johnny were here to help shoulder the pain, hold her hand, something. Magdalene swallowed to wash the bitterness away, refusing to shed a single tear. Who was she kidding? He hadn’t even known she was pregnant.

Her first time alone in New York City, Magdalene tried not to look out of place. The plan was to celebrate Edna’s twenty-first birthday in the big city over drinks at a club and then a late dinner. They were co-workers at Bamberger’s, the two of them beauticians. Magdalene looked forward to the outing for weeks and even splurged on a new outfit. Forty minutes before quitting time, Edna bailed out early, claiming a nasty headache. It was never a stomach bug, the flu, or that time of the month. Always a nasty headache. The truth was, Magdalene saw Edna climb into the passenger side of Kurt’s Studebaker, and she most certainly was not suffering any headache. Not with that stupid grin on her face and throwing her arms around Kurt’s neck.

Anyone could see that Edna had known he was coming, yet she chose to lie about it. Sneaky Edna thought herself clever, but Magdalene saw just what kind of a friend she was to Edna—one of convenience until something better came along. But Magdalene knew of ways to make her pay. The next time Edna needed a haircut, her curly hair would be a pleasure to untangle. Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? It was her subtle way of getting even with those who crossed her without them suspecting it was intentional. As a child, she was forced to share a bed with two of her older sisters; if one got too close and touched her, she would pinch them hard, sometimes causing them to cry. Of course, they knew she had done the pinching and would move further away, giving her the space she needed, but Magdalene was smarter now. When it came to Edna, for this night at least, she refused to let her ruin her evening.

After finishing up her final customer, Magdalene raced home, showered and dolled herself up, wearing her new outfit.

Where are you headed dressed like that? Lilly asked.

Know-it-all Lilly would have told her not to go to New York City alone. There were too many things that could happen to a young woman. But Magdalene didn’t need her permission, nor was she in the mood for a safety lecture, so she did what was necessary to get Lilly off her back. I’m meeting Edna in town for dinner. Maybe go dancing after that.

Lilly gave her a once over as if she were Mother Teresa. Showing a bit of cleavage, don’t you think?

Am I? Magdalene shrugged. I got whistles at the shop where I bought it.

I’m sure you did, Lilly smirked. You be careful out there.

Relieved that Fern, Ramona, and Monique were not home to avoid further ogling and questioning, Magdalene drove her car to Grove Street, parked it there, and bought a ticket to board the H&M Railroad. The fare cost her a dollar and a quarter, would save on gas, and keep her from getting lost or paying for parking in the city. It was a quick thirty-minute ride to Lower Manhattan. She relaxed and noted at the station that the railroad shut down at midnight, so she would need to make her way back before then.

Magdalene found her way to 10 East 60th Street and sat at the bar of the Copacabana. She sipped her martini, making it last; it was the only one she planned to pay for when a group of men in uniform passed directly by her. The soldiers, she noticed, were impressively dressed, their shoes spotlessly shined. The one she casually eyed smiled briefly, then looked away. The second one was searching for an empty table when a waitress approached. They chatted briefly, gave their order as Magdalene angled herself toward their direction, removed a filtered Parliament from her hard pack, placed it between her lips, then pretended to locate some matches in her purse when the tallest male in the group sauntered over.

Allow me, the soldier said. Then, with a flick of his lighter, he lit her cigarette. His smoky gray eyes bore into hers.

Merci, she told him and then corrected herself. Thank you. She regarded him with warm amusement.

"A French girl, n’est ce pas? Een better, the soldier replied. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, maybe by a few years, yet he referred to her as a girl, which Magdalene chose to ignore. I’m Johnny, by the way. And you are?"

Magdalene. She tilted her head up, blowing the smoke away from his direction, enjoying the sound of her maternal name and the way his approving eyes swept over her. She was almost thankful for Edna’s deception, feeling this would be a night to remember.

Soft incessant cries brought Magdalene back to the present. She couldn’t have slept more than a few minutes. Could a mother, having just birthed a child, not get a break in this place? She realized then she was no longer alone in the room. A young girl was in a bed beside her, no more than six feet away, weeping.

Magdalene clenched her jaw. What’s the matter? She hoped to hide the irritation she felt with her question. When the girl turned towards her, Magdalene recognized she was the same girl from the birthing room, the one they shared but separated by a blue curtain. She’d only gotten a glimpse of her but remembered her just the same. It wasn’t like they would ever form a friendship or anything, not with the apparent age difference, but the state of her anguish piqued Magdalene’s curiosity.

The girl twitched, startled. Oh … sorry. She attempted to dry her face with her gown, her nose a purplish-red and her face full of acne, making her appear even younger than she probably was. She snorted into a tissue, leaned her head against the pillow, and stared into space. Magdalene waited and watched the girl close her eyes, sigh deeply, and then open them again. What did you have? the girl asked.

A boy, Magdalene told her. You? Just as she uttered the word, she wondered if the girl’s child had died during childbirth. Why else would she be grieving?

Me too. The words came out in a croak. There was no more talking. She turned to the opposite wall, allowing Magdalene to do the same.

She wondered how long the girl had been in the room, what time it was, in hopes of a few hours more of sleep before they brought the baby to her. She had yet to pick a name but had already ruled out Johnny. A father needed to earn that right.

A whoosh came through the door like a hurried intruder. Magdalene flinched but kept her head turned away, her eyes tightly closed.

Your baby needs feeding, the nurse clucked. Wake up, sleeping beauty; this isn’t a hotel you’re in.

Magdalene gritted her teeth. Vieille mémère. She would not be bullied into feeding, holding, coddling, or anything until she got some sleep if everyone would just leave her alone. She moved not a muscle and heard the squeak of the bassinet positioned at the right side of her bed when the nurse shuffled out. I’ll be back in a few minutes to hand him off to you, she said. Oh, and Anna dear, someone will be here shortly to take you to a private room.

Magdalene was livid. The nurse needed to do her job. She refused to give in so quickly or even face the baby. At least for the moment, he was quiet. But as soon as the thought came, the infant screeched like a banshee. Ah merde!

The baby wailed like a stuck needle on a scratched record, but it hurt to move; Magdalene wanted to put a cork in it. But then the girl six feet away began to sing quietly.

Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockin’bird. And if that mockin’bird won’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama’s gonna buy you a lookin’ glass. And if that lookin’ glass gets broke, Mama’s gonna buy you a billygoat.

The words stuck in her mind—a song she’d never heard before, an American song, no doubt, a soothing rhythmic sleepy flow so subtle as to render unawareness of what surrounded her. And, surprisingly, her child settled down; nothing but the soft suckling of a newborn when the girl continued, so whisper-like, so gentle, that somewhere within the second or third rendition, Magdalene herself dozed off.

Eyes closed, Anna felt a strange connection with the infant in the room, feelings she knew were meant solely for her child, the one they took away. Yet, she also knew that she would never recover from this day, from the ache in her soul of having failed to keep her child. And as much as she fought to keep at bay the tears that would further weigh her down, she failed that too.

Chapter 1

Gabe ~ December 25, 2005

Reno was known as the biggest little city in the world. It lay on the Truckee River between Lake Tahoe and the California border, surrounded by the magnificent Sierra Nevada mountains, with more than three hundred days of sunshine each year. Some even compared it to a slice of paradise.

For Gabe, at least, his slice of paradise was riding his Honda on the Kingsbury Grade Road, the Lake Tahoe loop, or other scenic routes. Plumas County was said to have the best of the best sceneries, and he saved it for the right time. It was further west and would take a full day of riding, but the treasure trove of secluded forestry roads would make it worth his while.

Gabe fastened his helmet, adjusted his dark shades, slipped on his winterized gloves, and straddled the dual-sport Honda. It was a rare occasion he found the time to ride, not since taking on the storage facility and the newly added carwash beside it that he and his wife, Maria, managed seven days a week. Since moving to Reno to take on this new venture, this became their quiet, intimate home away from family, living frugally with the barest essentials to save for their travels abroad. Life was busy but also the best that Gabe ever had. Never before had he felt such freedom to live the way that suited him and Maria perfectly. With no children to tie them down, no family expectations, and no micro-managing boss looking over his shoulder, this kind of setup allowed them to work together from home with the bonus of a semi-furnished apartment.

It was not until moments ago, following their morning coffee and breakfast, that the idea to take a ride came to him. It had snowed four to six inches during the night. Trees were caked in white everywhere, but the roads were dry and clear. With the storage facility closed for the Christmas holiday, Gabe felt a calling from the hills of Plumas County.

But it’s so far, Maria cautioned. Before Gabe could respond, she uttered, I know, I know … you wait a long time to go. You should go. Dress warm. Be careful. Have a good time.

Gabe leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. I’ll be back by dark. Promise.

It was barely eight in the morning when he hitched up the stand and fired up the engine, anxious to be on his way. He nodded towards the second-story window where Maria watched. She smiled and waved as he pulled out onto the road. It was all highway for the next two hours or so. And then the fun would begin.

The ride could not have been more perfect, with little to no traffic this time of day. Businesses were closed, and folks were at home, still in their pajamas, sitting around a Christmas tree, opening their gifts. Not him and Maria. Christmas had turned too commercialized. The store owners couldn’t wait for summer to be over to start stocking shelves for their most profitable time of year. Before trick-or-treaters were through collecting candy, donation requests came with every mailing, and TV ads with deals too good to pass up consumed every home in America. Kids begged for the latest gadgets and PlayStations with little regard for the cost. Christmas had lost its true meaning. For many families, Gabe and Maria agreed the whole concept of Christmas came with stress and worry of an overspent budget that took months, or longer, to recover from. So instead, they mailed out greeting cards, taking turns as to what to say and to whom, to keep the lines of communication open to their otherwise private lives.

Gabe kept his eyes on the road, taking in his surroundings. There were few things better in this world than soaking up Mother Nature from the leather seat of his Honda. Ponderosa pine evergreens lined US 395 N and CA-70 W. The further Gabe rode, the brighter everything became. He had studied his maps often, with the different trails available. Plumas County offered several choices depending on how much riding one wanted to do and still have enough daylight time to make it back home. He weighed the possibilities. The shortest trail was the eleven-mile Millcreek, which would take him roughly two hours to complete. The longest was Gravel Range/Grizzly Summit Loop, a four-hour trail by bike that would make for a very long day. That left him with Lookout Rock or the slightly longer Grizzly Loop. All routes offered something unique, but the Grizzly viewed the Feather River Canyon. It was what tipped the scale to make Grizzly win the toss-up. There would always be a next time to check out the others.

Gabe arrived at Graeagle when he spotted the sign to a Chevron. He wanted to fill up with gas and use the restroom. His watch read 9:50 a.m. He was within ten miles of Squirrel Creek Road, leading him to the promised land. He checked his wallet, counted his cash, topped off his tank, and went inside to pay the clerk.

Where you headed? the older man asked behind the counter.

Grizzly Loop, Gabe replied.

You up from Reno?

How’d you guess?

Nobody local would be out riding on Christmas. You riding alone?

Yes, sir. My first time in Plumas County.

Have you checked with the forest service regarding snow conditions on the trails?

No, sir, but the roads were all clear, and my bike can hold its own. It was the main reason Gabe chose a dual-sport bike for this occasion.

Well, you be careful out there.

Sure thing. Gabe paid the man before heading for the restroom. Afterward, he bid him a Merry Christmas and headed straight for the door.

The clerk gazed at his bike through the store window, his voice trailing after Gabe. You be careful.

The sky was a washed-out baby blue, the air as crisp as a frozen leaf. Gabe strapped on his helmet and slipped on his gloves; within moments, he was back on the road, born to ride, and headed to his final destination. It was days such as this one that brought him the most peace. He hoped for the following several hours to play out in slow motion. There was no telling when another day such as this would present itself. It was his first time this far west, a different flavor from the Hudson River Valley in New York or the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina and Virginia. The latter had been his most memorable ride and lasted an entire week. The road trip started at Shenandoah National Park and ended in the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. The time of year, in mid-fall, had made it even more spectacular, a bike magnet for riders, including those in groups and rallies.

When he and Maria lived in Arizona several years prior, he rode from Flagstaff to Sedona. And once, the Natchez Trace Parkway from Nashville to Mississippi and back. What a trip that had been—meeting folks along the way, detecting their accents and mannerisms. Each state had its own culture and unique flair. It was all part of the adventure, where no one judged you or asked too many questions. One day for sure, Gabe hoped to spend a week or so riding the California Coast. The highways always came with excessive traffic, road construction, and tired truck drivers—all of which put a biker more at risk but did not keep him from exploring the journey. His fond memories of his early biking days were one of the reasons he loved off-road riding. It was safer and made him feel like a kid again, that daredevil instinct he had with his first dirt bike at the age of twelve. His father had surprised him with the bike, against his mother’s wishes. It wasn’t that she worried for his safety, not when every kid in the neighborhood owned a bicycle. Gabe suspected it was more about her having never had a bike as a child, no toys, no dolls, and no board games. Instead, she and her siblings found other ways to amuse themselves along the St. Lawrence River, such as swimming, fishing, or collecting lost items that washed up to shore. They climbed trees, played Red Rover, and even used a stick and a rock to play baseball until someone nearly got their eye knocked out. His mother claimed it made them appreciate each other more instead of relying on store-bought items. But Gabe wasn’t buying it. For starters, whenever his mother spoke of her childhood, it was never with fond memories but more about resentment of all they lacked. They wore hand-me-downs until the fabric became so thin it tore. To bathe, they shared a pot of water heated on the stove. They slept three to a bed, with her sisters always crowding her when she didn’t want to be touched. The worst thing for her was growing up with only her sisters as friends, who weren’t all that friendly toward her, she admitted. So when she found the doll hidden in the shed, the one her sister Fern rescued from the neighbor’s trash and named Ivy, Magdalene snitched and told her father, who got rid of the doll, reminding them all that playing with dolls would only bring them bad luck when having their own children.

Gabe spotted Bucks Summit to his right when he entered the National Forest. He took a moment to stop and take it all in—his breaths coming out as gusts of steam. It was a clear day full of promise. The so-called well-traveled trail was bare now, not a single traveler on foot or wheels within sight. All the better with no one to slow him down. He breathed in heavily, awed by the beauty of his surroundings. The grounds were thick with snow, but the trail up ahead was starting to clear as the sun crept between the needled pines. Before leaving home, Gabe didn’t think to check the temperature for this higher elevation. He was thankful for his warm jacket, new gloves, and the thermal underwear he wore beneath his jeans. His biker boots were insulated, and he knew that as long as his hands and feet were warm, he could handle the breeze that came with the ride.

His watch read 10:15 a.m. The Grizzly was a 26.5-mile ride, roughly two and a half hours. Somewhere along the way, he would break at a rest spot to get a good look at the Canyon. By then, he’d be ready to fill his belly with a late lunch before returning home.

Gabe set off on the mostly cleared trail, wishing Maria were there with him. She didn’t mind him riding so much anymore; it was more about her fear of being on an open highway. In the first year of their marriage, Gabe rode alone on these excursions. Maria liked living too much, she told him, to risk becoming a cripple. Gabe never tried to push her, convinced that this sort of bike, one with an engine and exhaust pipe, was a death wish. But the more that Gabe loved it, the less Maria hated it. By the second year, it surprised him when she suggested he take her for a ride. Before she could change her mind, Gabe found her a fitting helmet at a flea market for practically nothing. Her first go behind him was a trip around the block seventeen times. The first three with her eyes closed. Gabe told her to relax, think good thoughts, and enjoy the feel of the ride. He explained where to place her feet and hands, hold on tight, lean into a curve, and rely on his body’s movement. Eventually, they worked their way up to longer outings. Never would she have guessed, she told him one day, that she would become a biker chick. Gabe snorted, nearly choking on his coffee. The image of Maria being a biker chick was about as farfetched as the Virgin Mary. But that was fine by him. He wouldn’t have wanted her any other way; as long as she was willing to ride with him occasionally, he was happy.

Lower Bucks Lake was 5,000 feet in elevation and had a 136-acres reservoir. Bucks Lake was an 18,500-acre reservoir. The lakes were fifteen miles southwest of Quincy, deep in the Plumas National Forest. A white sandy beach surrounded the pristine water on this glorious day. The lake was a popular destination for camping and fishing, water and jet-skiing, swimming, boating, and a marina that catered to those activities and served other visitors. It was something out of a storybook, this mountainous backcountry that provided one fantastic view after another. If only he could somehow videotape it and bring it home to Maria. The sights, the smells, the feel, the texture. All of it was invigorating. Then, in deeper snows, where the trail was covered, Gabe imagined snowmobilers having the time of their life. It was what winter was for, the perfect escape from an otherwise mundane living.

Gabe rode to the upper portion of Bucks Lake, bringing into view Feather Canyon and the Tobin Bridges used for highway and railroad crossings of the North Fork Feather River. The bridges were an extended part of Plumas County’s Seven Wonders of the Railroad World. The Feather River Canyon was well-known for high winds caused by high-pressure air over the Great Basin, seeking a path through the Sierra Nevada to the low-pressure voids of the California coast. On this day, however, everything was calm and felt right.

The trail veered inward through a canopy of pines for the next few miles. Gabe took the less-traveled road when an opening presented itself. His hunch was spot on from what he had heard and read. A stunning log cabin with a moss-green tin roof came into view. The Lake Retreat was built two years prior, in 2003. It was a custom-made log construction with exterior rockwork, vaulted ceilings, a loft, a stone fireplace, and ample windows for natural light to give the ambiance expected of a mountain getaway. That was what ads promised in magazines across the country, and he saw it now with his own eyes. He parked his bike, making a mental image of the structure.

The sliver of sun slipped behind the clouds. Gabe, his adrenaline peaking, could see his foggy breath floating. He walked to the edge of the parking lot where the land sloped, with only the sound of crunched snow beneath his boots, and viewed a winding trail amid thousands of treetops. There was a conglomeration of Douglas-firs, Pinus ponderosa, Red Firs, Incense Cedar, and Sugar pines. It was so peaceful that when a bald eagle flew overhead, Gabe followed his flight line until it landed somewhere within the treetops. Looking down, he noticed deer tracks in the snow, taking it all in. Mule and black-tailed deer were easier to spot at dawn or dusk.

Gabe checked his watch to find it was already time to go; there was so much to see and too