Page 3 of Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn
Lila paused, realizing she hadn’t fully defined her goals even to herself. “I think I’d like to start with just learning more about the circumstances of my birth. Maybe understanding why my birthmother chose adoption. Then, if that goes well, perhaps I’d be open to contact.”
Janet nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, let’s start with what’s possible in Colorado, since that’s where you were born. I have to tell you upfront that Colorado is one of the more restrictive states when it comes to adoption records.”
Lila’s heart sank, but she tried to stay optimistic. “What does that mean exactly?”
“Adult adoptees in Colorado can only obtain their original birth certificate through a court order, and courts typically require what they consider ‘good cause’ to grant access. Medical necessity is usually the main qualifying factor.”
“What about other records? Anything from the adoption agency?”
“Most adoption agencies are bound by the same confidentiality requirements that sealed your records in the first place. They can’t really provide anything that could lead to identification.”
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, with Janet explaining the various databases and search methods available. Most required significant fees with no guarantee of results, and all of them seemed to depend on factors completely outside Lila’s control. Then there was always the DNA test route. She could take one and hope her birth mother or another relative had done one too and would show up as a match.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of disappointing news,” Janet said as they wrapped up the call. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping to hear. If you do decide to pursue any of these options, I can recommend some reputable search consultants, but I want you to go in with realistic expectations.”
After they hung up, Lila stared at her laptop screen, feeling utterly deflated. She’d known it was a long shot, but hearing the legal realities laid out so starkly made her quest feel nearlyimpossible. Even if she spent thousands of dollars on search consultants and databases, success would depend entirely on whether her birth mother wanted to be found.
Frustrated, Lila closed the laptop and gathered the papers back into the folder. She carried the folder to her bedroom, intending to return it to the box and put this whole idea behind her.
She’d unpacked the box so she could lay the folder at the bottom where it wouldn’t get bent, but when she went to place the quilt on top something snagged her eye that she hadn’t noticed before. A small fabric label had been sewn in the corner, but it blended in with the pattern of the square. She held it up to the window, squinting at the faded green threads: Made with love by Emily.
Her heart began to beat faster.Emily.
Was Emily her birth mother? Had she made her this quilt so Lila could take a piece of her birth mother with her?
No, that would be pretty bold for someone who’d chosen a closed adoption.
But it was still something. One more clue she could add to the short list of things she knew about her birth.
Lila grabbed her phone and took a clear photo of the label with an app that allowed her to search the web by an image. It was a long shot, but she wasn’t sure what else to do with the information.
The results appeared almost instantly, and Lila’s breath caught. The third result down showed a nearly identical label on a shop’s website: Emily’s Yarn & Quilts - Pine Ridge, Colorado - Family owned since 1982.
Pine Ridge, Colorado. Lila had never heard of it. She clicked through to the shop’s website, studying every photo. The wooden building with cozy storefront windows in the first photo looked warm and inviting. Photos of the inside showed shelvesfull of colorful yarn, quilts displayed hanging from the walls, and an older woman with kind eyes standing behind the counter—presumably Emily.
Lila opened a new window and searched for Pine Ridge, Colorado. It appeared to be a half hour outside of Breckenridge. A place she’d never been but had at least heard of.
Before she could lose her nerve, Lila switched windows, found the phone number for the store and dialed.
“Emily’s Yarn & Quilts, this is Cynthia,” a woman’s warm voice answered.
“Hi, Cynthia. I’m hoping you might be able to help me,” Lila began, her mouth suddenly dry. “I have a quilt that I believe was made in your shop, and I’m trying to learn more about it.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Can you describe it?”
Lila did and mentioned the label with Emily’s name.
There was a pause. “That would have been my mother’s work,” Cynthia said, her voice softer now. “She passed away five years ago, but she made so many beautiful pieces over the years. Do you know approximately when it was made?”
“I think around thirty-four years ago. It was made for a baby.” Lila paused, debating how much more she wanted to share. “I don’t know who bought it though and am trying to find out more about it.”
“My mother didn’t keep exact records about which quilt was bought by whom, and even if she had I probably wouldn’t be able to share it for privacy reasons.” Cynthia sounded genuinely apologetic.
“Of course,” Lila said quickly, disappointment flooding through her. “I understand.”
“Do you live nearby? If you’d like to bring it by the shop, I can tell you more about the pattern and the techniques my mother used,” Cynthia offered kindly. “Sometimes seeing the actual piece helps me remember things. I would have worked inthe shop back then with my mother, and our quilts weren’t sold anywhere else.”
“I don’t live nearby, but I’m actually thinking about planning a visit soon.” It wasn’t true, but she’d acted on impulse. “Where exactly are you located?”
