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Had two or three days passed? Meg was hazy about everything except the pain in her chest. Each beat of her heart was like a fist squeezing hard, accusing her of not being here when Jennifer needed her. Of not being a mother to her daughter. The single most important job in her life was caring for her child, and she hadn’t been here.
How could she not remember how many days it had been since learning her darling girl had been stolen from her?
She pressed her knuckled fist against her temple and shook her head. ‘I can’t remember what day of the week it was, Sergeant, but it was the day I arrived home from Townsville.’
The police officer wrote in his small, black notebook then asked Gerry, ‘Did you accompany Miss Dorset to the orphanage?’
‘I went with Lieutenant Dorset to pick up her daughter. Jennifer’s father was killed in the war, and we—I am her only family in Brisbane.’ Dark shadows lay beneath Gerry’s eyes, but in the midst of her grief over Vera, she was the stronger of the two of them right now.
‘And what relation are you to Miss—Lieutenant Dorset?’ Distantly, Meg noticed the slight pause before he used her RAAF rank, as though it pained him to do so.
Accustomed to the chain of command, and the respect given to nurses by most members of the forces, the sergeant’s disdain stood out, stark and accusatory. Did he think like the nuns—that she didn’t deserve her child because she was unmarried, or was it because she’d passed off her maternal responsibility to go off nursing? ‘We aren’t blood relations, Sergeant, but we have been as close as family—closer, perhaps, throughout the war.’
‘I see. And the woman who was caring for your child—’
Gerry chimed in with, ‘My aunt, Mrs Vera Burnett.’
‘She was no relation either?’
Sensing where the policeman’s questions were leading, anger stirred in Meg, nudging aside the fog of her grief. ‘No. She looked after my daughter while I was serving. I was working up north in hospitals and with a medical air evacuation team.’
‘My aunt cared for Meg’s daughter while Meg was doing her job, Sergeant—saving soldiers’ lives.’
The sergeant closed his notebook and tucked both it and his pencil into his pocket. ‘From what you’ve told me, this isn’t a police matter. The police cannot force nuns to release information about adoptions. You’ll need a solicitor. I’m sorry, Miss—Lieutenant Dorset, but there’s nothing I can do for you. Good day, ladies. I’ll see myself out.’
Stunned at the abrupt dismissal of her case, Meg watched him retreat down the hallway. The screen door banged shut before she closed her mouth. She looked at Gerry who sat as stunned as Meg. The kitchen clock ticked loudly – ticking away the seconds and minutes of her life without her daughter.
‘This is completely wrong.’ Gerry pushed her chair back and reached for the kettle. Shoving it under the tap, she turned the water on hard. ‘Jennifer’s been taken without your consent. It’s like she’s been abducted, and he’s doing nothing. What does he think the police are for if not to help?’
‘I’d report him if I thought it would do any good.’ Meg thumped both hands on the table and shoved her chair back. The scrape of wood on lino raised goosebumps on her arms. ‘Damn and blast it. If I were a man, this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘If you were a man, I wouldn’t be here.’
Meg turned at the sound of Geoffrey’s voice. He stood in the hallway, cap in hand, an uncertain half-smile disappearing as their gazes met.
‘I passed a policeman as I came through the gate and let myself in when no one answered my knock. What’s the matter? Can I help?’
Something stirred in Meg at the sight of him standing there, so calm and practical. Calm—that was what she needed right now. Holding out both hands she stepped towards him. He took them, and his touch anchored her. She pushed the words out. ‘The nuns took Jennifer. An ambulance came for Vera. She died and the nuns took my daughter. They’ve given her away. Geoffrey, they took Jennifer.’
Vera’s kitchen had always been the heart of her home. Cups of tea and biscuits at the table, chats while she cooked dinner and Meg fed Jennifer – memories of love and friendship filled this room.
Geoffrey looked at home sitting in a chair at Vera’s table as he listened to Meg. She shared her fruitless efforts to find her daughter, and when she finished, he spoke for the first time since she’d begun.
‘I think the policeman was right. You’ll need legal representation to crack the code of silence around adoptions. I’m fairly sure they’re covered by State law. If it would help, I have an old school friend who works as a solicitor for a big firm in the city. He was injured in a car accident some years ago so couldn’t serve, but he became a junior partner in his firm. Shall I phone him and make an appointment?’ Geoffrey still held her hand, she realised with surprise. The simple connection was comforting.
‘Yes please. Can we see him today?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. It may depend on whether he’s in court or not, but I’ll ask. Geraldine, may I use your phone?’
‘Of course. It’s on the hall stand.’
‘Thanks.’ Geoffrey walked down the hallway and a few moments later, they heard him giving the operator a number in the city.
Gerry took the kettle off the stove and poured boiling water into the teapot. She put the lid back on and sat down, leaving the tea to brew. ‘I don’t know about you, but seeing Geoffrey makes me feel better. He’s always so unflappable.’
Meg agreed. ‘But none of this is his responsibility. It’s mine, and the situation only happened because I was determined to keep working.’
‘Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You did your bit during the war, and Vera loved caring for Jennifer. She often said caring for Jennifer was the best gift anyone could have given her. You gave her another chance to bring up a child she loved while you were saving lives, so don’t blame yourself.’
‘But I do, Gerry. If I hadn’t been so determined to push boundaries, to show I could do it all—have it all—’ Meg tipped her head back and blinked furiously. ‘Why should I be any different from the thousands of other women who have children and stay home to raise them? If I hadn’t gone back to nursing after Jennifer was born, someone else would have filled my place.’
‘Sure, there would have been another body doling out pills and handing over surgical instruments, but Meg, you gave so much more than that.’
‘No more than you or every other nurse did.’
‘Aside from Eva who did less than anyone. Come on, Meg. You’re a born leader. Look at the innovations you made as Sister-in-charge. Consider how smoothly Currajong ran under your guidance. Think about how you stepped up when the call went out for nurses to fly on air-evac flights.’
‘Others did that too.’
‘You were first in line – Flying Angel number one. Remember? And that is no small deal. You underrate what you achieved.’
Geoffrey appeared in the doorway and leaned against the jamb, his hands folded across his chest. ‘That’s true, Margaret.’
‘Did you talk to your friend?’ She couldn’t waste time talking down their crazy view of her, not when Jennifer was out there somewhere, with a family who wasn’t hers.
‘I did. He’ll call in here after he leaves the office tonight, as a favour to me. Will that be okay, Geraldine?’
‘Of course. Do you think he’ll stay for dinner?’
‘I have no idea, sorry.’
Meg sucked in a deep breath. It felt like the first one that had filled her lungs since she’d collapsed in the convent. ‘Thank you. Did he say anything more?’
He glanced at Gerry. ‘Can we talk somewhere quiet? Sorry, Geraldine.’
Gerry shook her head. ‘Go ahead. Take a cuppa out with you. I’m going to bake some biscuits; one of Vera’s recipes.’ She poured two cups and put them on a tray beside a small milk jug.
Meg took the tray and led the way out to the swing seat. The most important events in her life had centred around Vera’s swing, and Geoffrey’s tone had sounded serious. Setting the tray down, she handed a cup of black tea to Geoffrey, added milk to the other and sat beside him.
‘I gave Roger, my solicitor friend, a brief outline of your situation. He believes he can help—’ Geoffrey set his cup on the tray. Turning sideways, he caught Meg’s gaze.
‘I sense a ‘but’ coming. Tell me, Geoffrey. What’s the catch?’
‘He feels a judge will probably be more amenable to finding in your favour—if you’re married.’
There was weight and waiting in his gaze, and sadness. She hadn’t expected that. ‘Are you suggesting—’
‘This isn’t the way I planned to ask you, Margaret. I’ve been waiting a long time— For your grief to ease. For the war to end. Perhaps I shouldn’t have waited so long, because now, you might feel you have no choice. I never wanted that for you, but—’ He went down on one knee and took her hand in his.
Never in her wildest dreams could Meg have imagined these circumstances for Geoffrey’s proposal. She’d considered other settings; the Strand after a dinner at the Queen’s Hotel in Townsville had been top of her list, or even a drive up to the heights of Castle Hill once the army allowed public access again. Every imagined setting always had Townsville as the backdrop since it was the only place she had known Geoffrey.
She looked at him kneeling before her, holding her hand, and panic fluttered through her. He was good and kind, caring, and he’d make a wonderful father. He knew about Jennifer and was happy to offer his name and his help.
But I don’t know if I love him.
Time had run out. There was no more time. No more choice.
The only answer she could give was the one that would bring her daughter home. Sitting perfectly still, she met his gaze.
‘Margaret, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘I will marry you, thank you, Geoffrey.’
##
Roger Altmann limped into the room, his walking stick tapping on the hardwood floor. He took a seat across the dining table from her, opened his briefcase and set a legal notepad in front of him. He was the same age as Geoffrey but looked older, and his fair hair had begun to recede into a widow’s peak. A three-piece suit and gold fob chain added to the impression of an older man, she realised. Perhaps that was useful when you worked for a firm with an old established name, where appearance and reputation counted for much.
‘Lt Dorset, how may I be of service?’
‘I thought Geoffrey had told you?’ She glanced at Geoffrey. He gave an encouraging nod and sat back, folding his arms across his chest.
Mr Altmann uncapped his fountain pen and smiled at her. ‘The bare bones only. It would be helpful if you could tell me your story in your own words, starting with your daughter’s father.’
Meg nodded and folded her hands together on the table. ‘Very well, Mr Altmann.’
‘Please – call me Roger. I can’t be Mr Altmann to you and Roger to Geoffrey here.’
She nodded. ‘In that case, please call me Margaret. I met Jennifer’s father – that’s Corporal Michael Seamus Flanagan – when we were evacuated from Darwin during the first bombing raid. That was the morning of the nineteenth of February 1942. We travelled down to Adelaide River where we were both instructed to stay and work in the hospital. The River became an important—’
‘Can you focus on your relationship with Michael.’
‘Seamus. His father was the only Michael in their family, he said.’
Roger underlined Seamus’s name in his notes. ‘Go on.’
‘We fell in love and he asked me to marry him. I said yes the day he was transferred out.’
‘And your daughter Jennifer – she was conceived when?’
Heat rose in Meg’s cheeks at the clinical dissection of her love. It had been special, and private, but the solicitor wanted to know intimate details. In front of Geoffrey!
Meg cleared her throat. ‘At the River. She was conceived one night before I told Seamus I’d marry him.’
There, she thought. Judge me for that.
But Roger surprised her. ‘Understandable, especially in wartime. And did Seamus know you were with child when he was transferred?’
‘You don’t think I’m terrible for making a child out of wedlock?’
‘It isn’t for me to pass judgement, but I don’t believe a civilised society has the right to condemn people for their choices. When did you realise you were pregnant?’
Her appreciation of Geoffrey’s friend grew, and she began to feel a glimmer of hope. ‘I suspected it when I threw up unexpectedly one morning. That was before I was transferred, but my pregnancy was only confirmed after I got to Townsville. I chanced to meet a doctor who was an obstetrician—’
She glanced at Geoffrey. If he hadn’t known before that Don Newton had provided the diagnosis, he would now. ‘Once Dr Newton confirmed it, I wrote to my fiancé. He was thrilled and said we were to be married when he got leave. He was killed in action. By that time, I was here living with Vera Burnett, who offered to care for my baby when I went back north to nurse.’
‘So, this is Vera’s house and she cared for your daughter for what – three years?’
Regret clogged Meg’s throat. If she hadn’t accepted that last rotation in place of her friend and had flown home instead, would she have been able to save Vera? If she’d flown home when she was meant to, for certain Jennifer wouldn’t have been taken by the nuns and given away like a Christmas present to some other family.
‘Yes, three years.’
On and on went Roger, drawing out details of her visit to the convent, the nuns who had offered only adoption of her baby, and the shock of her recent visit.
‘I understand the convent offers the only hope for many young women and abandoned children, but in your case, it is clear they got it wrong. However, there are laws that protect children, and both their biological parents and the adoptive parents. The 1921 Amendments to Infant Life Protection Act are an important aspect here, and probably the key point we need to address. The Act requires that parents renounce all claims upon the child—’
‘But I didn’t renounce anything.’
Roger held up one hand and nodded. ‘I know, but the fact of your leaving your child to be raised by a non-relative is likely to be made use of by the other side. The Catholic Church is powerful, and their solicitors may try to construct a view of you as a mother who abandoned her child in order to pursue her own interests.’
Despite the warmth of the night, a chill ran down Meg’s spine. She’d said much the same to Gerry. Would her friend be called as a witness?
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘That should be easy enough to disprove. You could subpoena Margaret’s service record. That speaks for itself of her commitment to her patients and her nursing. There is nothing frivolous or self-indulgent in the work she undertook. She joined as a RAAF nurse in 1941 and served in several hospitals over the next three years then was on the first medical air evacuation in 1944. She’s worked tirelessly since then to recover and repatriate our men and women from Pacific arenas of war.’
Roger made notes on the pad. ‘We’ll tender her service record of course, but as a single mother, we are fighting a long-held social belief that mothers take care of their children, regardless of their skills in essential areas. The 1905 Act might also be an issue. It focuses more on the needs, as opposed to the rights, of the child. Every child needs to be looked after, and people willing to look after another's child are assumed to be 'good'.’
Bile rose in Meg’s throat. She saw where Roger was going with this. ‘So, if the adoptive parents are good, the biological parent must be the opposite. They’ll cast me as some kind of Jezebel and claim I’m an unfit mother.’
Roger nodded. ‘It’s all about constructing the right image. I’ll come back to that shortly. Following the Acts of 1905 and 1921, we then have the 1935 Adoption of Children Act. Now this one is a bit of a kicker. Children's needs and rights to permanent legal parents are addressed. The key word is permanent. Adoptive parents are considered much more responsible and stable than biological parents and so are seen as more deserving of protection. Their identity is kept secret, although not that of the biological mother. Adoptive parents are now given details of the mother's name.’
‘But I’m not allowed to know who has taken my child?’
Geoffrey covered her hands. ‘Breathe, Margaret. We’ll work it out and with Roger’s help, bring Jennifer home.’
Roger’s gaze lingered on their joined hands. ‘I hope this isn’t an indelicate question, but do you have any plans to wed in the near future?’
Meg looked up, her gaze swinging from Roger to Geoffrey. The solicitor must have intimated this solution during the phone conversation.
Geoffrey answered for both of them. ‘Margaret has done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife. We’ll be married as soon as it can be arranged.’
‘Excellent news. Congratulations. Your case will be stronger if you appeal to the court as a married couple. A major focus of the 1935 Act is on the creation of new family units, of which the adopted child is an integral part. However, once you are married, your union will be seen as providing that element of stability and care, especially if Geoffrey formally adopts your daughter.’
‘Which I will do.’ Geoffrey squeezed her hands and Meg allowed herself to hope. Alone, it was clear she would have fought an impossible battle. With Geoffrey by her side, there was a chance.
Gerry tapped on the door and stopped in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but would you like to stay for dinner, Mr Altmann?’
‘Thank you, but no. My wife will have dinner ready when I get home.’ He shuffled his notes into order and tucked them first into a folder then into his briefcase before he stood. ‘Congratulations again on your impending nuptials. I’d be delighted to act as your witness or best man, whichever way you choose to go.’
Geoffrey held out his hand and they shook on it. ‘Thanks, old man. Can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help.’
Meg offered her hand too. ‘My sincere thanks, Roger.’
The solicitor took her hand between his. ‘Rest easy, Margaret. I will do everything in my power to restore your daughter to you.’
‘I’ll see you out.’ Geoffrey followed his friend down the hallway.
Gerry stepped into the room. ‘You’ve decided then? You’re going to marry Geoffrey?’
‘I am.’
‘So you love him – that’s good.’
‘I wish I could tell you that’s true, but I have no idea if it is. But marrying Geoffrey is the only way I can see to find Jennifer and bring her home. I know that makes me a terrible person, but I have to get my daughter back.’