Chapter 13
Olga Krause normally wasn’t one for theatrics, but that day she would make an exception. It was, after all, the time of year one showed goodwill to one’s fellow man. Besides, she really didn’t have a say in the matter.
“I want you to know this is highly unusual,” she said to the police officer and to Carla Albright, a social worker she’d known since coming to work at the orphanage twenty-seven years ago. “Come inside; you’ll let out all the warm air the state has to pay for.” Olga Krause opened the back door for the pair. Highly out of line, they were.
“I know it is unusual, that’s why we’re here,” Carla stated matter-of-factly.
The policeman, who couldn’t have been a day over thirty, held a small infant carrier by its sturdy plastic handle, while in his other hand, he gripped the hand of a little boy. The child’s face was red, his bright blue eyes cloudy and puffy, as if he’d been throwing a temper tantrum. Miss Krause peered inside the carrier. Practically a newborn. And she did not accept newborns under any conditions. Or she wouldn’t if given the choice. They cried constantly and were never satisfied. Fortunately, the state agency rarely saw a newborn. It seemed adoptive parents wanted them. She did not understand why. Why would one willingly want a baby? She had eleven children at the agency ranging in age from nine to fourteen. Not that she liked them, but they were much easier to manage than infants. Babies required constant attention.
“Follow me,” Olga Krause said to the two unwelcome visitors. “Let’s go to my office.”
They followed her down the dark hallway.
“You would think the state would spring for some lights,” Carla said to Olga’s back. “It’s as dark as a cellar in this place. And it’s too quiet. Where are all the children?”
When they reached the office, Olga Krause turned the desk lamp on. She nodded toward two old blue-gray chairs. “Sit.”
The small boy hiccupped, then stuck his thumb in his mouth. “Take your thumb out of your mouth right now, young man. You’ll have an overbite, and the state will be responsible for the bill.”
Carla Albright practically flew out of her chair. “How dare you speak to a child that way! He’s only three years old, and he just lost both of his parents in a terrible car accident! Why do you care what the state has to pay for? It certainly doesn’t come out of your paycheck.”
Carla reached for the little guy’s hand. She gathered him in her arms and sat down, holding him tightly in her lap. She dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “Officer Rogers, please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. At least six-foot-three, Officer Rogers looked like an oversized child in the small chair. Careful so as not to wake the little girl resting peacefully inside, he balanced the carrier on his lap.
“Now, tell me exactly why you’re here,” Olga Krause demanded. “It’s after eight o’clock. We normally don’t allow visitors at this ungodly hour.” She crossed her arms over her more-than-ample bosom, waiting for an answer.
“You need to retire, Olga. You’re too old for this job,” Carla said through clenched teeth.
“How dare you tell me what I can and cannot do! Now, get on with it before I ask you both to leave. Explain.” She directed her hateful gaze at the little boy and his infant sister.
“Every state agency except yours has reached its maximum occupancy. It’s Christmas, Olga. Where is the Christmas tree the state allocates its tax dollars for?” Carla smoothed the little boy’s damp hair. “I’m serious. Olga. Something is not right here. I’m sure you have an explanation, but before you say another word, hear me out. Officer Rogers, would you mind taking Sam—that’s his name, by the way—to the restroom, wipe his little face off, and see if he needs to potty. It’s my understanding he has been trained for quite some time now,” Carla said.
“Uh, sure . . . but,” Officer Rogers looked at the baby in his lap.
“I’ll take her.” Carla gently helped Sam off her lap, then took the infant carrier from Officer Rogers. Sam looked like he was getting ready to cry again. Carla was so sad for the two children, she was tempted to take them home herself, but it was against state policy. If something didn’t change soon, she would have to risk the state’s wrath.
“Where are the children?” Carla demanded as soon as they were alone. “And don’t you dare tell me they’re sleeping, because no one puts a child to bed this early anymore, unless they’re sick. And where is the Christmas tree? I’m not going to ask you again.” Had she not had the infant seat in her lap, Carla would’ve reached across the desk and smacked Olga Krause right upside her homely face. Thank goodness for the baby, she thought as she fought to control herself. No wonder World Adoption Agency never ran at capacity. Who in their right mind would send a child to this . . . this prison camp?
“The children are in bed. I don’t know if they are asleep; if they aren’t, they should be. Bedtime is seven thirty, prompt. No exceptions. I have used the funds allocated for a tree for another purpose, which is none of your concern. Now, what is it you expect me to do with these two . . . kids?” Olga Krause gestured toward the baby as though she were garbage.
Carla was a calm woman. Never married, she’d devoted her life to finding homes for children who needed them. At sixty, she wasn’t quite ready to call it quits, but after this experience, she wasn’t so sure. Olga was in her midseventies and as mean as a belly-crawling snake. Carla prayed she never became as bitter and hateful as the woman sitting across from her. The state should have fired her years ago. Why they hadn’t remained a mystery.
Forcing herself to bite her tongue, Carla spoke between gritted teeth. “Two days ago, these ‘kids,’ as you so eloquently call them, were made wards of the state when their parents were killed in a car crash on I-70. It was on the news—I’m sure that if you watched the news, you would have heard about the pileup. Eight cars were involved. Sadly, Sam and Lily, she’s three months old, in case you’re interested, were left without any family. Both parents were adopted and had no family to speak of. They were young and apparently they hadn’t made . . . arrangements for their children, which is the worst injustice in the world. Now, does that answer your questions?”
“You want to leave them here? I am not equipped for an infant, I’ll have you know. We don’t have a crib, and certainly there are no baby bottles to be found. I’m sure one of our sister agencies is much more equipped than I.” Olga Krause drummed her fingertips on the desk.
“Trust me, if I had a choice, we wouldn’t be here. There is nowhere else, Olga. You have to take them. Unless you’ve a family willing to foster them on such short notice. My fosters are full, especially during the holidays. Poor little things,” Carla said.
Olga cleared her throat. “Well, I have a young couple who might take them in, but I can’t say for sure until I speak with them. The woman was just here; we haven’t even completed her background check, though I’m sure she passed. I haven’t counseled her or her husband. Never mind, they’re not qualified. Forget I brought this up.”
“No. Let’s call them. I’ll see to it that their paperwork is expedited. Give me the information before I do something I’m not proud of.” Carla made a mental note to check on the other children before she left. This was worse than she’d imagined.
Olga removed the single file from her desk drawer. She hadn’t placed a child in over twenty years. With luck, that was about to change.