Page 106 of The Missing Pages
“I wanted to write a different ending to my story,” Ada said through her tears. “I wanted his mother to read my letter. I wanted her to have mercy on me. I wanted the two of us to find a way to raise this child together so it could be loved.”
“I know…” Fanny put an arm around her. “I know.”
“But now what choice do I have?”
“They are kind there. They even gave me a lock of her hair when she was born.”
Fanny tapped a small locket around her neck. “I never take it off, so she’s always with me.”
“We can go tomorrow after I’m done at the factory. I’ll bring you there myself.” Her voice softened. “I don’t want you to have to do this like I did. It’s not right to have to go through it alone.”
The next day Ada gave her notice to the landlady, making an excuse that she had to return to London sooner than she’d expected. Part of her was relieved that Mrs. McFay was moreconcerned with losing a tenant and the income it brought in than remarking on her thicker middle.
She packed her suitcase. It was light. She had arrived in New York with nothing but the clothes given to her on that terrible night after she’d been rescued and, of course, the garment she cherished most, Harry’s dinner jacket. The few new items she’d added over the past few months now fit easily into the leather valise.
It was easier not to ask Fanny too many questions. It was more tolerable to live through it one movement at a time. So after Fanny returned from work, they boarded a trolley car and walked a few blocks in an area that was unfamiliar to Ada.
The office inside St. Anne’s Home for Unwed Mothers was steps away from its orphanage. A small brick building with a white statue of the Madonna holding an infant Jesus outside its door.
“It’s this way.” Fanny gestured her toward a side entrance that was shaded by trees.
Bare walls. Brown furniture. The dark crucifix behind Sister Alice Rose’s desk was a not-so-subtle reminder to anyone who sat down that life and sacrifice were always entwined.
“Your name please,” Sister Alice Rose asked.
“Ada Lippoldt,” she said.
“Father’s name.”
Ada remained silent.
“You wish for him to remain unnamed?”
“Yes. He has passed. So there is no need.”
Sister Alice Rose looked up. “Are you certain?” she asked. “It will remain sealed in our files, never to be shared.”
“I need to think about it,” Ada said.
“Very well,” Sister Alice Rose said. “Then we only need the last bit of information.” She looked down at her notes.
“Date of conception?”
“April 14th,” she said.
“The day before theTitanicsank,” Sister Alice Rose said. “I only know that because we received two orphans from the ship.”
Ada held her tongue. The child’s conception had probably happened minutes before the boat had struck the iceberg.
But those were the details of her story she had no intention of sharing.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
ONCE A BOOK HAD COME INTOQUARITCH’S SHOP THAThad several blank pages in the middle of it. According to the experts, this particular printing mistake had made the volume more valuable.
Ada was only weeks into her job at the store. Fresh from her graduation from university.
“There’s no other volume ofTristan and Isoldethat has its eighth chapter missing like this.” Quaritch turned page after blank page. “That is part of this particular book’s story.”
