Second Chance-Daddy's Boy

Daddy’s Boy
At my next session I happily told the counselor that I had chosen the people that I wanted to adopt my baby.
“Wonderful,” she said smiling. Then her smile turned to a frown. “Have you contacted the baby’s father yet?”
My face fell and my heart plummeted to my stomach. “Uh, no…do I have to?”
“Well yes, at least try.” She shook her head and set the profiles I had just handed her down on the desk. “When you go before the judge the first thing he’s going to say is what about the baby’s father?”
I really didn’t want to contact Mark. I still felt about bad about breaking his heart the way I did. I supposed though that it was only fair. He did have a right to know.
“What if he wants to get back together with me?” I said to mom as I sat next to the phone that night. I was trying to get up the courage to dial.
“Do you want to?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“No!” I exclaimed.
“Then tell him that,” mom said. “Just tell him that you’re with someone else, but he does have the right to know that he has a son.”
“Yeah,” I sighed heavily. “I guess you’re right.” I got his phone number from my address book and picked up the phone.
The phone number however, had been discounted. Surprised, I checked the number and dialed again in case I’d done it wrong the first time. No, it was definitely disconnected. Had he moved? It had been almost a year since I’d seen him.
I looked in to phone book but couldn’t find a listing for Mark Musch anywhere. “Well, I tried.” I said with a shrug. “Guess he must have left the planet or something.” I closed the phone and walked away from the kitchen.
Feeling guilty though, I turned back to the phone book. I’ve got to at least try a little harder, I admonished myself. I can’t keep this from him. There wasn’t a listing for Mark, but there were other Muschs listed. I got some paper and wrote notes to all the addresses. I explained that I was looking for Mark Musch and that I had some very important news to tell him.
Nothing came of the letters, but a few days later the counselor called saying she had good news. “I believe I found him,” she said. “Mark Musch right?”
“Yes, that’s him.” I said feeling a little disappointed. Now I was really going to have to face him. “How did you find him?”
“I found his mother actually. I explained that you wanted to give the baby up for adoption but needed Mark’s okay.”
“What did she say?” I asked.
“Well, she asked why you weren’t going to keep the baby. I explained that you didn’t think you’d be able to provide for him and that this would be the best thing. Anyway, she and Mark will be at the next session so they can see the baby.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. A feeling of cold dread engulfed me. Not only was I going to have to face Mark but his mother too. I had gotten the impression the one time I’m met her that she didn’t like me very much. Now I was ready to give up my child, what did she think of me then?
I didn’t want to face them alone, so I asked Fred to be there. My mom came too. I was so grateful for their support.
The Mark and his mother showed up promptly, right on time. I started to perspire and reached for Fred’s hand. Mark wouldn’t look at me but that was okay. I couldn’t look at him either.
The foster mother brought Mikey. I pulled him out of the car seat and said in what I hoped was a cheerful voice, “well here he is. Michael Norman.” I gave him a squeeze and handed him to Mark’s mother.
“Why did you name him that?” Mark asked, speaking to me for the first time.
I looked over at him, startled at the accusing tone of his voice. “Well, Norman is for my grandfather, he died the day before Mikey was born. And I just thought the name Michael sounded good with it.”
“Oh,” Mark said, sounding a little sheepish. “I thought you named him after my friend Mike, you know from South Lyon.”
“No,” I said taken aback. I hadn’t even thought of that Mike in months. “Why would name a baby after him? I mean he’s a nice enough guy but…”
“Well, I thought maybe…” Mark looked at the floor and shook his head. “Never mind. Can I hold him?”
He took the baby from his mother and held him close. “Hey there buddy,” he said softly. Mikey molded into his father’s arms like he belonged there. Much more so than when I held him.
“I want him,” Mark announced, looking back up at me.
I was stunned. I hadn’t expected this. “But I already found someone to adopt…”
“No,” Mark insisted. “He’s a part of us, we should raise him.” He smiled down a Mikey and kissed the top of his head.
“Okay…” I said slowly. Please don’t ask me to come back to you, I begged silently. I needn’t have worried. Mark’s focus was totally on the baby. “What do we need to do?” I asked the counselor.
“Well Mark needs to acknowledge paternity over at the County Clerk’s office and then he’ll be all set.”
“I need to take care of some things first,” Mark said.
“Will we still need to see the judge?” I asked, still reeling a bit from this change of plans.
“No,” the counselor said. “Mark’s the father so he can take him as soon as he’s ready.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. Mark had a good job and would be able to provide for him. Maybe I could still even be part of his life. “Could I visit him sometimes?” I asked.
“We could work something out,” Mark said. “Maybe every other weekend or something.”
“It’ll be just like you’re divorced,” mom said later. “He’ll have full custody and you’ll have visitation rights.”
“I guess so,” I said nodding. I hated the “D” word, but if Mark and I had married we’d have ended up divorced anyway. “Just so he doesn’t expect us to get back together.”

Mark and I met up at the mall a few days later to discuss when I would take Mikey. We sat on the wall beside the fountain and pulled out calendars. Right away I realized the mistake of choosing that location.
Right behind where we were sitting was the jewelry store where we had once looked at rings.
“Remember that place?” Mark asked pointing it out.
“Yeah,” I said trying to sound casual. I opened my calendar and pointed out the dates that I could take Mikey.
“Sounds fine,” Mark said. He started to stand up but stopped and looked at me seriously. “So why didn’t you ever tell me you were pregnant?”
“I didn’t know I was,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
I sighed and related the whole story to him. “Then when he was born full term I realized he was yours,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him earlier. I was so overwhelmed I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.” That and I didn’t have the guts to face you, I added silently.
“Hmm…” Mark pressed his lips together, still looking doubtful.
“So are you still living in the same apartment?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I’m going to move in with my mother,” he said. “At least for a little while so she can help with the baby.”
“Oh, it’s nice that she’s willing to help you like that.” I stood up and made an excuse that I needed to catch the city bus. Really I had to get out of there, I needed air.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you next week then.” Mark said, standing up also.

The big day came. Mark showed up at the CSSC with his mom and his sister. The foster mother brought the baby, a baby memory book and a few other little things she’d gotten from the hospital.
Mark’s sister picked Mikey up and looked him over. “Yep,” she said. “I think he has your chin, and maybe your nose too. You of course are going to spoil him rotten.”
“Of course I will,” Mark agreed with a laugh.
The foster mother cuddled Mikey one last time. “Okay sweetheart, you’re to go live with your daddy now and he’s going to take such good care of you.” Mikey cried a little as she kissed him and handed him to Mark.
I felt like crying a little myself. Was I doing the right thing? I had to fight to keep from taking my baby and running away with him. He’s better off with Mark, the voice sounded in my head, he’s better off and you know it!

“You okay?” Fred asked as he drove me home.
“I think so,” I said.
“Mikey was really starting to bond with the foster mother,” He observed. “Did you notice how he started to fuss a little when she turned him over?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “This is best,” I repeated to myself over and over. “Mark has a good job, he’ll be a good dad. Mikey will have a good life…” But why did my heart still ache?

the longest night

Chapter 7
The longest night
“Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me…” That’s what all the grownups said whenever Laura told them about being teased at school. She knew that they were trying to say words didn’t hurt. But they could! If some words could make you feel good inside, then other words could hurt you. Sometimes words can even change the course of your life… “you have a new baby sister,” “your father and I are getting divorced,” “We’re moving,” “I love you,” “I hate you,”
For a few seconds I couldn’t breathe. The enormity of his words felt like a hundred pound weight on my chest. “How…how far…?” I managed to ask when I found my voice.
“Well, I’m not an obstetrician but I’d say at least 5 or 6 months.”
I’d been to his office several times over the past few months how could he have not known before? More importantly, how could I have not known?
“What am I going to do? I…”
“Well,” the doctor said as he pulled off his rubber gloves and washed his hands. “I suggest you get into an obstetrician as soon as possible.” He reached for my hand and helped me off the table.
In a daze I walked back to the waiting room. Fred saw me and stood up. At once I ran into arms, sobbing like I would never stop.
“What is it?” he asked in a frightened voice. “What’s wrong love?”
“I’m…I’m pregnant” I blurted.
He took a step back, his face paled. “Oh my God, how many months?”
“He didn’t know, 5 or 6 maybe,” I answered, wiping my eyes.
“It must have happened the first time we…I thought you were on the pill.”
“I am,” I said in a horse whisper. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand how…”
He put his arm back around my shoulder and led me to the car. We sat in silence for a few minutes, each deep in our own thoughts.
“I don’t think we should get married,” he said finally. “I love you but…”
I nodded in agreement. I’d read it in books and see it in movies, getting married because you have to is never a good idea. “I’m not ready to be a mother, not yet.”
“So we’ll put him up for adoption then.”
I started to cry again. “Yes, I think that would be best.”
Fred dropped me off at home. I wished he could have stayed with me, but I knew had some friends coming over that night. I imagined his mom had dinner on the table too.
“You should try and eat something,” he said walking me to the door.
“Okay, thank you for giving me a ride.” I said with my heart feeling heavy in my chest. A thought flashed in my mind, what if this is the last time I would ever see him?
“No problem,” he said with a tired smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I tried to eat some cottage cheese, but I couldn’t stomach much. I think it was partly because I was in so much pain and also because I was so nervous about calling my mother with the news. She was still at the house in Wayne with her brothers. I wished that I could put off telling her, at least till after my grandfather’s funeral. But I knew that wouldn’t’ be a good idea.
“I should get this over with,” I said taking a deep breath. “Don’t cry,” I said to myself as I dialed the phone. But of course whenever I tell myself not to cry, the dam bursts.
I somehow managed to get the words out through my sobs. She reacted as I expected; shock and anger, but I think mostly disappointment. I was always the “good daughter”. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.
“How far along are you?” she asked.
“The doctor didn’t know for sure,” I sniffed. “He guessed about 5 or 6 months.”
“Well, Fred’s parents have money. I hope they’re going to help with this!”
“They will,” I said softly. Fred’s parents, I thought to myself. What were they going to think of me?
I felt as though I’d lost everything and my world was ending. I had to talk to someone, someone who would understand and not judge me. My best friend, Selena, of course.
I called and told her my news. “I just can’t picture you being pregnant,” she laughed.
“Neither can I,” I said. For those few minutes that we talked, everything seemed normal. We were both just care free teenagers again, joking around on the phone just like the old days.
But it wasn’t the old days. I was no longer a care free teenager.
The pain was unbearable. I cried and even screamed for someone to help me, but no one came. I had never felt so alone.
I climbed into bed and tried to sleep. But the pain was so great, I thought for sure I was going to die. I watched the digital clock across the room. The bright red numbers glowing in the dark room. The pains seemed to coming about every 10 minutes.
I propped myself up on one elbow. That was weird. According to what I’d always heard, when the pain came at regular intervals like that it meant that you were in labor. Was I in labor? I called my mother.
“Mom,” I pleaded. “Can you please come home?”
“It’s awfully late,” she said. “I’ll be home in the morning.”
“But I’m in a lot of pain,” I cried.
“You think it hurts now,” she said. “Wait till you have that baby!”
“I think I am,” I insisted.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I think I’m in labor.”
“I thought you were only five or six months along. That’s false labor you’re having,” she assured me. “Take a nice hot bath, have a cup of tea you’ll feel better.”
“Okay” I sniffed.
I started to draw my bath water and got undressed. As I went to step into the tub, I noticed small red splotches on the white tile floor. In a panic I ran back to the phone.
“Mom, I’m bleeding!” I cried.
“Bleeding!? Are you sure?”
“I know what blood looks like!”
“Alright, calm down,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
She arrived home quickly and we headed to the hospital.
“I’m sorry mom,” I cried, rubbing my thighs. They hurt almost as much as my back. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m a disgrace.”
“You’re not a disgrace,” she said with surprising calm. “Did the doctor give you pregnancy test?” she asked. I shook my head. “Maybe you’re not pregnant, maybe it’s your appendix.”
A part of me dared to hope she was right, but I knew better. I was having a baby, there was no denying it.
We rushed into the emergency room and my mom explained the situation. I heard her ask at the desk if she could use her visa. I felt a pang of guilt. I knew this was going to be an expense we couldn’t afford.
“Let’s get a urine sample.” The nurse said, handing me a cup. I’ll never forget the look of alarm on the nurse’s face when I returned with it.
The next I knew, I was whisked to a room, given a gown and hooked up to a monitor. There was the baby, a grainy image on a screen. The heartbeat, echoing of the starch white walls was the loudest sound I had ever heard. Until then the whole thing was almost surreal. Now it was real, very real.
There was a whirl of activity and a tangle of voices around me. I heard things like; “active labor” and “only 6 months along?” I began to very frightened, not just for myself but for the child I carried. How far along was a baby developed at 6 months? Would he be deformed? Would he even survive?
“Does she want to call the father?”
“Yes,” mom said approaching my bed side. “Laura, Fred should be here.”
I was handed a phone. It was about 2 o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t have much choice. My hands shook as I dialed the phone, wondering who I’d be waking up.
I heard Fred’s mom’s sleepy voice over the phone. I imagined her reaching for the phone by her bed, probably worried. Was someone hurt? “Hello?”
“I know it’s late,” I said my voice shaking. “Can I talk to Fred please, it’s important.”
“Yes,” she said sleepily. “I’ll get him.”
When Fred came to the phone, he didn’t sound as though he’d been sleeping. “I’m having the baby,” I chocked. “Can you come to the hospital?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be right there.”
When Fred walked into the room a few minutes later, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my chest. I had never been so relieved to see anyone in my life.
“Well Fred,” mom said candidly. “Looks like we’re going to be related.”
“Guess so.” Fred responded, looking as though he still couldn’t believe what was happening.
The next several hours passed in a blur. I had never felt such pain. Mom and Fred stood by me, holding my hands and rubbing my arms. I screamed and cried and begged someone to make it stop.
A young nursing student was brought in to give me crash course in Lamaze breathing. “Look at me,” she said. “Hehe hoo, hehe hoo…you try it.”
I nodded and tried it too. It was easy until the pain hit again then I screamed.
“You have to keep breathing,” she said. “Breath through the pain, hehe hoo, hehe hoo…”
“I can’t” I cried.
“Yes, you can honey,” I heard someone say. Fred and my mom tried to help me by breathing too. “Hehe hoo…Hehe hoo..”
“Focus on something,” the nurse suggested. “That will help too.”
On the far wall across from the bed there was a clock on the wall. I fixed my eyes on the hands as they swept the minutes, hours away. It seemed to be moving unusually fast. Was it really 8 o’clock in the morning? Before I knew it the clock had shifted to 8:30 then 9.
“Going to be anytime,” I heard the doctor say.
“Is she going to want to see the baby?” a nurse asked my mother. “If she’s going to give it up it might be best if…” she added quietly.
I shook my head. “No, please I can’t…”
“Okay honey,” the doctor said. “He’s ready, push!”
As I pushed, I continued to stare at the clock. It seemed to be moving faster than before; 9:15, 9:30, 9:55, 10… then at 10:05… there was a cry.
“I’ve got him,” the doctor said. “It’s a boy.”
“A blonde boy,” the nurse said as she laid him gently on the warming bed.
I turned my head to see, but Fred playfully put his hand in front of my face. “You didn’t want to look, remember.”
I heard someone say, “full term…” and that’s when it struck me. This wasn’t Fred’s child. It had to be Mark’s. Once again I felt as though a heavy weight had been dropped on my chest.

Second Chance

Second Chance
Chap. 1
The Phone Call

The baby boy was born March 25th, 1986. He was blond, blue eyed and perfect. The boy’s mother however, was terrified.

It was May 12th 2010 when the call came, the phone call that nearly put me into cardiac arrest. It was about 8pm. I had just settled down on the sofa with my lap top to get some writing done, when the phone rang.

“Who is it?” I called to my son Christian who had just started to clean up the dinner dishes. Thank goodness for caller ID, I thought.

“I don’t recognize the name,” he said.

“Well, bring it here.” I sighed. It could be someone calling about Creative Memoires I thought. A new customer was always nice, especially one with an order to place.
Or maybe it was someone from work who needed a sub. I was always getting calls from other Weight Watcher receptionists. Living in Whitmore Lake I was pretty close to a lot of different centers, so I was often asked to work in Howell, Ann Arbor and many other places besides my normal center in Brighton.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

“Hello, is this Laura Ann Weis?”

I didn’t recognize the young woman’s voice on the other end. She sounded a little nervous. “Yes, at least I used to be.” I added with a laugh. Her use of my maiden name told me that it wasn’t someone from Weight Watchers or anyone wanting to order Creative Memoires products. A former class mate perhaps? One of my classmates from Huron High School and I were trying to pull together an informal 25th year reunion. Maybe this was about that. “May I ask whose calling?”

“My name is Jamie Musch and this is going to sound like a weird question, but… my husband has been looking for his birth mother.” She paused and cleared her throat. “Did you have a child 24 years ago named Michael Norman?”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me under water, struggling for breath. “Yes I did” I heard myself say.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “We’ve been searching and searching but we had your name spelled wrong and Mike’s dad said you lived in Ann Arbor so we’ve been looking there…”

“I don’t live there anymore.” I said, quietly. “How did you find me?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Well, we had your name spelled with two “s”s, so I thought we should try dropping one of them. I just went on Face Book and ...”

I began to feel faint. A day or two before I had gotten an email about the dangers of Face Book. It warned users to be sure of their privacy settings. “You don’t want just anyone to be able to get information on you.” Yikes, I thought. I’d better check mine. But of course, it moved further and further down my “to do list”.

I had been invited to join Face Book by my husband’s cousin as well as many others. I was hesitant at first but got sick of the invites from so many people. So I signed on thinking, at least the annoying invites will stop. I didn’t necessarily have to go on it all.

But I discovered that it was a fun way to catch up and stay in touch with people. I was also thrilled to discover that I could use it to find old school friends. Because many wouldn’t know my married name, I posted my maiden name on my profile page.

I remembered the day I sent it up. I was having fun looking up fellow Huron High School class of 1985 alumni. I started chatting with some old friends, seeing what they were up to. Maybe this whole face book thing wasn’t such a bad idea. I had never expected this…

I stood up unsteadily and moved toward the basement where my office was.
“I have to tell you,” Jamie was saying, “You’re a grandmother. Michael has three year old daughter from a previous relationship and we’re expecting a baby boy in September.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, gripping the stairway hand rail so tightly my knuckles turned white. I racked my brain for something to say. “So…how long have you been married?”

“It will be a year in September,” she said. “I have to be honest with you, Mike has been in trouble, been in jail a couple of times. But he’s doing better now.”
I plopped down on my desk chair and rubbed my forehead with my hand. “He must hate me,” I said, fighting tears.

“No, no” she assured me. “He would just like to know why…”

“I was so young,” I cried, “young and stupid. I couldn’t provide for him, I…”

“Can I have him call you when he gets home from work? It will be kind of late, around 11 o’clock.”

“That will be fine,” I said. What was I going to say to him? I set the phone down on the desk and stared into space, trying to wrap my brain around what had just occurred. I had to tell my husband. I wanted to put it off at first, wait till I spoken with Michael himself, but decided it really couldn’t wait.

Dazed I slowly walked back upstairs.

“Everything okay mom?” Christian asked concern in his voice.

“Yes Chris I’m fine.” I said from far away.

Most kids with autism aren’t real sensitive to the moods of others. In server cases, they’re so into their own worlds that they rarely even acknowledge other people at all. Christian, being the far end of the spectrum with Asburgurs syndrome has gotten pretty good at “reading cues.” Especially when the cues say “upset or distraught,” so he could tell, something was wrong.

I expected him to follow me upstairs, ask who was on the phone, press for details, but he didn’t. I would have to tell him about Michael soon and my daughter Ashleigh too. They had an older brother I had never told them about. What would they think, say, feel? I was always planning to tell them, but it’s one of those discussions that need the “right time.” You don’t just bring it up at the dinner table.

I walked into the bedroom, still completely stunned. Fred was lying on the bed.
“Who was that on the phone?” he asked curiously.

I sat down heavily on the bed. “Remember Michael, the…baby I had?” I didn’t look at him. “That was his wife…they’ve been looking, found me on Face Book…” I dissolved into tears. The memory of that night and the agonizing days that followed, engulfed me like a nightmare.

Fred drew me into his arms. I sobbed on his shoulder and told him what Jamie had told me. “She’s going to have him call me when he gets home.” I sniffed. “What am I going to say? What am I going to do?”

“Whatever you decide honey, I’m behind you,” Fred softly in my ear. “Just as I was back then.”

“What am I going to tell people? No one I’ve met since even knows he exists. How will I explain…? What are people going to think?”

“No one is going to judge you,” he said. “At least nobody that really matters.”

“It was always so painful for me to talk about,” I said wiping my eyes.

“I know,” Fred said tighten his arm around my shoulder. “I had a feeling this would happen sooner or later. That’s part of the reason I thought we should get a house with four bedrooms, in case he ever came to live with us.”

I was surprised. He had never mentioned that before. Fred would have been willing to take him into our home, another man’s child. I was reminded of what a wonderful man I had married.

“I never wanted to force him on you,” I said.

“He’s a part of you and I love you.”

As I lay there in my husband arms I let myself go back in time, 24 years and beyond. I was a different person back then, a person I had tried desperately to forget.
Now she was back, creeping on the edge of my conscience. That person I had been for a time during my adolescence. It was time to stop running. It was time to face the consequences of some poor choices. I only hoped others would understand how and why it happened. And not to judge me too harshly.

from The Dance of the Wedding Gown (NaNoWrimo)

Amanda tossed and turned in the four poster bed. It was too quite, she was used to the noise of the city. She sat up, it was no use. Maybe some warm milk she thought. It always worked in the movies.

She picked up her flashlight and made her way down the stairs. She didn’t want to turn on any lights for fear of disturbing her parents and brother. She came to the steep stair case and gripped the hand rail tightly.

“Of course it would disturb them if I fell and broke my neck,” she said quietly to herself. “They’d sure be sorry that they drug me out here though,” she added with a smirk. “Too bad it would hurt too much.”

Amanda reached into the small refrigerator, got out the milk jug and searched around for a mug. “Thank goodness mom thought to bring a microwave.”

She took her hot milk and looked around. “Probably not a mall or a movie theatre with in a hundred miles” she mused sadly.

She noticed a light coming from the parlor. “That’s strange,” she said to herself. She knew that her father had set up his computer as soon as they returned from dinner. Maybe he was still hard at work.

She walked in the room, but saw that the computer was turned off. “Someone just left the lamp on.’ She reached over to turn it off, but something white caught her. She turned around…and dropped the mug. The ceramic broke in three big chunks and milk stained the hard wood floor.

The very same dress that Amanda was only just admiring a few hours before, the dress that she had carefully returned to the cedar chest, was “dancing” around the room. The skirt swayed and the lace sleeves encircled gracefully around and invisible partner.

“Oh my…” Amanda moved closer and reached over with a trembling hand.

“Take your filthy hands off my dress!”

The dress fell to the floor and Amanda, sweating profusely, ran quickly back to the bedroom. “Just another wacko dream,” she told herself over and over. “I was walking in my sleep, that’s it. I’m going to look in the chest and the dress is going to be in there right where I left it.”

Amanda went to shine the flash light in the trunk, but changed her mind. “Of course it’s in there stupid. You don’t need to look.” With that she slipped back into bed and feel into a fitful sleep.

“Amanda Jean!”

“Uh oh,” Amanda said stretching and sitting up. The morning sun was streaming in the window, promising to be a hot day. “I heard the middle name used, wonder what I did this time.”

Her mother stormed into the bedroom, carrying the lace dress. “What was this doing downstairs, on the floor no less?”

Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. “I..I don’t know,” she stammered.

“This gown is over a hundred years old, it’s irreplaceable! Now would you please put it in the cedar chest like I asked you to until I can find a display stand for it!?”

“Yes, I will right now,” Amanda said quickly.

“What were you doing with it anyway?”
“I was…just looking at it,” Amanda said slowly. “I didn’t mean to leave it downstairs.”

She took the dress from her mother who stormed out of the room, mumbling something about old enough to be more responsible. Amanda stared at the dress in her hands. “Maybe I was walking in my sleep,” she said. “But why would I take the dress down there?”

She stood up and went over to the chest. Kneeling before it, she carefully folded the gown and placed it inside. Suddenly the lid slammed down hard, nearly closing on Amanda’s hands. “Hey!” she yelled, scooting back. “What…” She looked around and shivered. “Why is it so cold in here?”

Then she heard it, crying…someone behind her was crying. Amanda felt her spine tingle. Not sure if she really wanted to, Amanda slowly turned around. Standing just a few feet away from where she was kneeling was the same dark haired girl that Amanda had seen in her dreams.

She was wore a long white gown and was wringing her hands. “I’ve made my sister most angry,” she said with tears running down her ghostly white cheeks.

Another Place Another Time-synopsis

Another Place, Another Time
Laura Moehrle
Synopsis
1851, Willow Glen plantation
Virginia
Southern Belle, Abigail Peterson is given her own personal body slave for her 15th birthday. Abby is thrilled to have someone close to her own age to talk to, even if it is a servant.
Hestie quickly learns that her new mistress is not like other girls, so wrapped up in themselves that they care for no one else. Abby is kind and treats Hestie like a person, something the young slave girl has never before experienced. When Hestie takes Abby’s new brooch, Hestie is surprised yet grateful when Abby doesn’t have her whipped. A special understanding and closeness begins to form between the two of them.
During Abby’s birthday celebratory ball, Hestie trips while carrying a tray full of cocktails. The gown of one of the guests is completely ruined by the spilled drinks. Abby is furious when Hestia is beaten for the incident and confronts her father. It was an accident, she protests. Willard Peterson explains to his daughter that slaves must be kept in line or there would be too many accidents.
Meanwhile her mother sternly reminds Abby that Hestie is nothing more than a servant and must be treated as such.
Abby begins to see the harsh reality of the slaves’ lives. They are not treated as well as she’d always thought. She begins to question many of the things that she was raised to believe.
Hestie risks her life trying to get a gun away from a vengeful slave. Abby is shot in the shoulder and instead fleeing on a north- bound train, Hestie tends to her wound and gets her safely back home. Abby is shocked by her parent’s meager show of appreciation.
Abby is torn between the beliefs of her parents and her own feelings. She wishes she could be like her brother and sisters, young and care free. When Aunt Catherine shows Abby a picture of herself as small child she realizes that she must grow up on the inside as she has on the outside. She must follow her own heart, even if it’s not in agreement with how she was brought up.
When Abby is attacked by one of her suitors, Hestie hits him with a heavy cast- iron skillet, killing him. Now Hestie must run north or face lynching.
Before she leaves, Abby gives Hestie a picture of herself, with instructions to send it back when she was free. Abby also gives her the brooch, for luck. As Abby watches Hestie disappear into the night, she convinces herself that their paths would cross again…”perhaps in another place or I dare say another time.” Many years and generations later, their paths do indeed cross again.

excrept from "Second Chance"

The baby boy was born on March 25, 1986. He was blond, blue eyed and perfect. The baby's mother however, was terrified.

May 12, 2010
I had just sat down on the sofa with my laptop ready to get some writing done when the phone rang. "Check the caller ID please Chris," I called to my son Christian who had just started loading the dishwasher.

"Brian something," Chris said picking up the phone. "Moehrle residence, Chirstian Moehrle speaking...Yes, it's for you mom."

I was expecting somebody from work needing a sub, or a new Creative Memories customer wanting to order. Either would would be great. "Hello?"

"Hello, is the Laura Ann Weis?" inquired the young woman on the other end.

"I used to be," I said with a laugh. Her use of my madian told me it wasn't someone from work or Creative Memories. Perhapps a former classmate was trying to find me.

"My name is Jamie Mush and this is going to sound like a weird question but..." she hesitated for a minute then continued. "My husband has been looking for his birth mother, did you have a child 24 years named Michael Norman?"

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me under water, struggeling to breath. I knew this day would come..."yes I did." I answered slowly.

I was suddenly transported 24 years in the past. It was a very painful and difficult time, one I have tried to forget. Now the past has come forth and the story must be told. It must be told both for my sake and for the sake of my son. We both need to heal.

my hats

I was thinking about all the hats I wear. Some I wear all the time, others I switch around. They are all different but each important in their own way. Some are more important to me than others.

There are two major catagories of hats that I wear; the "who I am hats" and the "what I do hats."

The oldest hat I have of course is my "daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and cousin hat." I've this one of course my whole life and will never take it off. I got the "aunt hat" 21 years ago when my first nephew was born.

Of course one of my important hats I've had for 20 years, that of wife and life partner to the most wonderful man in the world. Along with that hat of course I got the "inlaw hat" which I do like believe it or not.

The next important hat would be my "mom hat" that I've had for 17 years and represents my two greatest accomplishments; bringing two incredible and wonderfuly talented human beings into this world.

I can't forget my "friend hat." Where would I be without that!?

Those are the hats I never take off. They represent who I am. What follows are the "what I do hats" and change frequently- sometimes once or twice in the same hour!

My volunteer hats, I have two. Sometimes I have to stop myself before taking more! There's my church choir member hat. Actually that should be just my "church member hat" because not only do I sing in the choir, but I'll do other things for the church as well, like bake for events and stuff.

Then there's my "Girl Scout hat." I've worn this one for the past 12 years, because I believe so strongly in the program. If I've even just one little girl to reach her full potientail and grow into a strong young woman than it's 12 years well spent. I've thought about taking this hat off permently, but I can't seem to manage it, at least not yet.

I have my "Weight Watcher Hat" because it brings in a small but steady income and it helps me keep my weight down.

Next is my "Creative Memories Hat" because everyone needs a hobby. It's cheaper than therapy, it's relaxing, and if I can make a little money at it, all the better.

Lastly but centianly not least is my "Writing Hat." That hat doesn't yet bring in an income, but it is my PASSION. I can no more remove this hat than my "who I am hats" nor would I want to.

Those are my hats. Sometimes I get a head ache form all the switching back and forth. Sometimes I do take them all off to give my head a rest. But they are always there waiting. Infact, I need to get to ready to switch out the one I'm wearing now!

What hat are you wearing now?