Sold on a Monday: A Novel

Lily’s impatience swelled with every passing minute. At the bus station in Clover, another Greyhound came and went. Passengers climbed on and off. Exhaust fumes assaulted the air.

Too restless to sit, Lily hovered beside a wooden bench and coughed into a handkerchief, waiting for the pungency to fade. Waiting for Ellis to drive up.

When she had phoned with Claire’s news, he seemed worn, though as anxious as she was to bring the Dillards together. Geraldine had given up her children solely to ensure them a better life. It seemed they were getting anything but that. Geraldine would want to know this, yet Ellis had remained levelheaded, cautioning against sounding an alert until they learned more.

Sage advice. It had been two months since Calvin was left at the orphanage. What if he had already been adopted? Or, if still there, was he being mistreated as Claire had suggested?

Oh, why had she mentioned such a thing? Lily consequently spent half the night tossing about, disturbed by visions of neglected and battered children. She pictured their young, defenseless bodies, as small as Samuel’s, being punished with rods, starved of food, bound to their beds.

“Ellis,” she murmured, “what in the world is keeping you?”

Over the past few weeks, quite unexpectedly, he had become a person she could rely upon, someone she could trust. More than she ever should have. Her head told her this, though when she thought of him coming to her family’s aid, of carrying her son from the bath, of comforting her with his arms and his words, it was near impossible to feel she had misjudged.

Either way, her window of time was narrowing, limited by the departure of the last return bus. The sun had just dipped behind the roofline of the town, an area reminiscent of Maryville. Already, most of the businesses lining the street were closing for the night.

Purse tucked under her arm, Lily marched over to the ticket clerk. “Pardon me, sir. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

Making her case at the orphanage without Ellis’s support and testimony was going to be a challenge. Nonetheless, she would go it alone.

• • •

The walk stretched for more than a mile. Soreness in Lily’s arches told her as much. Had she anticipated the hike, she would have worn more comfortable shoes. She just hoped the overcast sky would withhold its moisture a while longer.

Following the directions by memory, she continued past a group of children playing stickball in an empty lot. On the porch of a nearby house, an elderly man slept on his rocker. Next door, a woman was beating dust from a rug.

Lily debated on interrupting to confirm the accuracy of her path. But as she neared another road, she spotted an old brick warehouse fitting the clerk’s description.

McFarland Tanning Factory was painted in white faded letters. Rows of windows dotted both levels. The orange glow of the sun blocked hints of what lay inside.

Only when she approached the front door did she find proof of the building’s transformation. Over the entrance hung a sign that solidified Claire’s heartbreaking tale.

WARREN COUNTY HOME FOR CHILDREN

Since the market crashed, Philly’s many abandoned warehouses had become common refuges for squatters. But imagining such a place full of youngsters all alone in the world caused Lily an intake of breath.

Girding herself, she tugged twice on a dangling chain, ringing a bell. After a wait, likely shorter than it seemed, a small square in the metal door swung open, revealing a single eye.

Lily felt a sudden need for a password, as if negotiating entry into a discerning underground club. She cheerfully raised a gloved hand. “Good evening.” Before she could say more, the viewing square slapped shut. She appeared to have failed the test until a low screech suggested the release of a bolt, and the door opened.

The woman had skin the color of molasses and wore a simple brown dress that hung loose on her stout frame. The stains on her apron and the frizzy locks sprouting from her headscarf denoted a long day of physical work. “You here for Mr. Lowell?”

“I’ve come in hopes of taking home a particular child. If Mr. Lowell is the person to speak with, then I certainly am.” Lily pinned on a smile to up her chances of making it past the entry.

“Well, c’mon then.” The woman waved her in and reset the bolt. Its metallic screech prickled the roots of Lily’s chignon. Securing children inside for their safety was obviously a practical measure—yet equally suited for a prison.

Lily was escorted down a hall, past doorways that afforded glimpses of two classrooms with bookshelves, blackboards, and American flags. A third room appeared to be for playing, equipped with building blocks and other small toys piled near a wooden rocking horse, its mane of yarn frayed from use.

Aside from the building’s faint scent of leather, the interior barely resembled a factory. In fact, for an orphanage, it seemed a rather pleasant setting.

At the fourth and final door, the guide held up a finger, a signal to wait. She poked her head into the room, her speech indecipherable from behind.

Lily caught the sounds of children somewhere in the vicinity. She strained to listen—not that she would know Calvin by ear—and battled a desire to sneak off in a search.

“Please, come in.” The man’s greeting turned her toward the office. “I’m Frederick Lowell, the director here.” He rose from his desk, its surface eclipsed by papers and folders, much like the chief’s but set in neat stacks. On the wall to the right, a corkboard even displayed scraps and notes in an organized fashion.

As Lily entered, Mr. Lowell gestured toward a pair of visitors’ chairs, and the escort disappeared. “Do make yourself comfortable,” he said.

She thanked him while they took their seats, and noticed a framed photograph above the window behind him. The woman in the portrait, perhaps the founder of the home, stared down with beady eyes. “I appreciate you seeing me unannounced, especially so late in the day.”

“Well, I admit, we do usually meet by appointment, which should explain my rather shabby appearance.”

Lily smiled and shook her head to dispel the claim. His reference to a lack of suit jacket, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, were easily offset by his smart plaid bow tie and peppered hair, kept as sleek as his pencil mustache. Except for a crooked nose from being broken at least once, he was rather handsome for his age of around sixty. “Sir, the reason I’m here today is to seek out a child.”

“Yes. Mildred said as much. That’s just the kind of news I look forward to hearing. Of course…I presume you and your husband have thought this well through.” The ending inflection implied a need for confirmation. But it was the entirety of his statement that revealed his misconception of her intent, as well as her status. Her travel gloves, after all, concealed the absence of a ring—like the one from Clayton.

Strangely now, her single motherhood failed to spark the tiniest bit of shame.

“I’m afraid I need to clarify. You see, just yesterday I learned that the son of a friend was brought here by mistake. I’d be more than willing to present you with a long, detailed explanation if needed, but the short of it, Mr. Lowell, is that he belongs with his real mother.”

The director showed no amazement at all. A signal of understanding, Lily prayed, versus that of a common occurrence. “And which boy might that be?”

“Calvin Dillard.” She suddenly realized a new name could have been forced upon him, as had been done with Ruby. “That was his birth name, rather. He was dropped off two months ago. I have a picture right here.” She unclasped her purse to produce his photo from the newspaper when the director flitted his hand.

“No need for that. I’m very familiar with young Calvin.”

“So, you…do have him?” Lily worked to restrain her hopes, an impossible task with Mr. Lowell’s mouth curving upward.

“Yes,” he said. “Well…we did. Until he was placed in a home.”

The ground, solid just a moment before, opened beneath Lily. She felt herself falling through. Why ever are you smiling? she screamed in her head, unable to utter a word.

He reined in his expression, as if hearing her thoughts. “I assure you, he’s with loving, God-fearing people. Their two sons are grown and gone on to other adventures, leaving the couple in the perfect position to raise another child.”

The description brought Lily no comfort. The Millstones had sounded just as impressive until she took a closer look.

“I do recognize your friend’s situation as unfortunate, of course.” He shifted to a sympathetic tone. “To be quite frank, it’s one that often brings unwanted children to our doorstep. While a mother’s change of heart isn’t unreasonable, it simply strikes too late at times.”

Lily scrambled to recover her voice, hindered by resonance to her own past. “But that’s not it. That isn’t what happened.”

He lifted a brow, a sign of intrigue. “You’re saying…your friend’s son was stolen without her knowing?”

“Not…exactly, no. But she was ill when she gave him up, and now… This is all a mistake.” She could hear her own franticness, which only intensified as she grasped the condemning nature of her own argument. “Please, if you’ll allow me to explain.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then his gaze shot to the doorway. “Yes, Mildred?”

“Sir, there’s squabblin’ in the dining room. You said if Freddy got to actin’ up again—”

“Yes, yes. I’ll handle it personally.” The director was already on his feet when he returned his attention to Lily. “I do wish I could have been more helpful to your friend. Please tell her that Calvin is now in very good hands.”

Lily stood up, tempted to block him from leaving. “Mr. Lowell, if you could just let me know who adopted him. Perhaps they would understand.”

“Our records are strictly confidential, for the sake of the parents as much as the children. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Couldn’t you make an exception, this one time? I’m begging you.”

His lips became a firm line, his nostrils flaring in annoyance, perhaps over the delay or from having to repeat himself. There was no longer a dash of handsomeness about him. “I don’t ascribe to exceptions, and I believe those of strong moral fiber should not either. As I was saying, Mildred will kindly see you out.”

Short of grabbing his leg, Lily could think of no way to stop him as he whisked past her and out the door. The only thing keeping tears from pouring rivulets down her face was the shock she was still absorbing.

And the sight of the files.

On his desk.

Within reach.

“Miss?”

The address was for Lily, an ushering toward the exit. She detected urgency from Mildred. Upon returning, her boss wouldn’t appreciate discovering his order unheeded.

Lily acquiesced—what else could she do?—and trailed the woman out.

But she would be back.

And somehow, she would find the information she needed.