I apologize for starting a new story before my WIP (Upgrades Have Consequences) is finished. This idea came along and simply wouldn't be ignored.
THE DAYS OF HIS LIFE
St. Catherine's Children's Home, Chicago, December 1952
The only name the girl gave was Shannon.
Ellen couldn't tell if that was her first name or her last. Shannon had intercepted the novice nun as she was just about to enter St. Cat's front door. She simply thrust the baby into Ellen's arms, and walked away.
"Wait, please!" Ellen called after her, following her down the steps of the orphanage, cuddling the baby close to protect it from the cold December air. "We can help you!"
"Don't need your help." Shannon did not even turn around as she called back over her shoulder. "Just take care of him."
"What's his name?"
"Jonathan."
The young novice Sister stood on the sidewalk before the entrance to St. Catherine's Children's Home, and watched the girl walk rapidly south along Churchill Road. Within moments she vanished around the next corner.
Briefly Ellen stared at the spot where Shannon had disappeared. Then the baby began to whimper, and her attention was diverted to the small bundle in her arms. "Shh, baby Jonathan," she whispered softly. "You're all right. I'll take good care of you. I promise."
Jonathan grew quiet and his eyes opened and looked straight up into Ellen's, as if to say, "I know you will." His eyes were dark brown, his little round cheeks were pink from the cold, his hair was light brown fuzz, and his tiny lips pursed a perfect bow. Those lips suddenly quirked in a sweet one-sided smile and Ellen fell instantly in love.
The oldest of ten children, eighteen-year-old Ellen McNamara had a lot of experience taking care of babies. She knew when to expect the first smiles, the first words, the first steps—all those important milestones. She was an expert at soothing a sick or fussy child, or distracting a cranky one. Every child she came in contact with adored her, and she loved each and every one right back. She was delighted when her novitiate assignment was here at St. Catherine's.
Ellen's thoughts turned back to the girl, Shannon. She'd looked so young. Fifteen—sixteen at the most. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and the deep brown eyes already had a hard edge to them. Jonathan had Shannon's eyes.
The wind picked up and Ellen shivered, and held Jonathan closer. She hurried up the steps and into the warm entrance hall of St. Cat's.
At the front desk, Sister Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Who have we got here?" she asked.
"This is Jonathan," Ellen turned the baby so the older woman could see his face. "A girl handed him to me at the door and then left. She said her name was Shannon, and refused help when I offered it to her. She just asked that we take care of him."
"Another mouth to feed," Sister Rebecca complained, but her eyes lighted up as she stroked his cheek and he made a small baby sound.
"I'll take care of him, Sister. I'll add him to my schedule."
Sister Rebecca smiled at Ellen. "Take him up to the nursery and let Sister Bea know we need to set up another crib. I'll call Father Dennis. How old do you think he is?"
"About six weeks."
"He's kind of small."
"I know," Ellen agreed. "But he smiled at me."
"Gas. Just gas," Sister Rebecca teased. "Now get on upstairs with you. I'll make that call."
Ellen hurried up to the big sunny second floor room which served as St. Catherine's nursery. There were eleven babies under a year old there at the moment. Jonathan would make an even dozen. Four staff members were working in the nursery this morning; the nurse Sister Patricia, Millie and Fay, two other novices, and Sister Beatrice, the nursery supervisor. All four gathered around to see the new arrival.
"He's so cute!" Millie gushed.
"Bring him here and let me check him over," Sister Patricia instructed. She was brisk and businesslike with adults, but always gentle and thorough with the children.
Ellen carried Jonathan over to the examining table—really just a crib with one side lowered, and set on blocks—and laid him down. Sister Patricia began to unwrap the blanket from around him; it was clearly worn, but clean. An envelope fell from its folds. Ellen reached for it instinctively, and then paused and glanced at the nurse, who nodded at her to take it. "Open it."
Ellen slid a finger under the flap and tore it open. There were two sheets of paper. "It's a birth certificate," Ellen said in surprise as she unfolded one of the pages. "Chicago General Hospital. His name is Jonathan Aidan O'Neill. He was born October 20, 1952, at 6.34 p.m. Mother; Katy Shannon O'Neill. Mother's age; 15. No home address, no father's name." She handed the certificate over to Sister Bea, who had joined them. "Six weeks and two days old."
"Well, this is more than we know about some of our children," Sister Bea commented. "What does the other paper say?"
Ellen unfolded the second page. "It's a note. It says; 'I cant keep him cause I got no place to live and my Da says I cant stay in his house with a... bastard..." Ellen stalled, cleared her throat and glanced at Sister Bea, who merely nodded for her to continue. "Jonny's a good baby and dont make much noise. He wont be no trouble. He likes to be rocked.'" Ellen looked up. "That's all, Sister. There's no signature."
Sister Bea and Sister Patricia exchanged a look and Bea sighed and held out her hand for the note. She then called Fay to help her get another crib ready.
Sister Patricia had Jonathan's blankets loosened from his torso by now, and he was lying on his back waving his arms happily. "She took care of him—he's clean and content," she said. "He's a little thin. But we can probably fix that with good nourishment. I don't see any obvious problems." She reached for her stethoscope, and spent several minutes listening to Jonathan's heart, lungs and stomach. "Everything sounds good. Dr. Hannon will look at him when he comes in on Wednesday. No extra clothes, I see. We'll have to find some things for him."
"I'll check the donation boxes," Ellen said. A glint of something caught her eye, and she pushed aside a fold of the blanket to uncover the baby's foot. "Oh, look, there's something tied around his ankle."
The something turned out to be a loosely knotted shoelace threaded through a key ring. Sister Patricia held Jonathan's foot while Ellen untied the lace. Ellen held up the ring. There was a silver charm attached to it—a shamrock. On the back were the letters JO. "Jonathan O'Neill?" Ellen guessed. "The baby's initials?"
"I'm not so sure," Sister Patricia said. "It looks much too old for that. Maybe it belongs to one of the girl's parents."
Ellen stared at the charm. "I see what you mean. The letters are worn. I guess she wanted him to have something that belonged to his family."
Sister Patricia nodded. "Maybe. Put it away for him. We'll give it to him when he's old enough to understand."
Ellen nodded and slipped the shamrock and key ring into her pocket before going to find clothes for baby Jonathan.