It had been one week since Dickie and Isobel began the process of formally adopting Catherine. Unfortunately, they did not have Catie by New Year's Eve. They spent the holiday at Downton.
"A Happy New Year to us all," Robert exclaimed, toasting the room as the clock struck midnight.
A chorus of Happy New Year answered back.
"Happy New Year, Dickie," Isobel smiled at her husband, kissing him.
"And to you as well, my dear. 1927! Can you believe it?" Dickie replied, cupping her jaw to kiss her lightly.
"And soon," Cora eyed the couple, "you two will have a young girl to celebrate with you." Lady Grantham beamed, genuinely pleased that the Mertons were adopting Catie.
"Yes," Tom mentioned, "it will be nice to have another Irish member of the family." He chuckled. "Sybbie and I will have another ally."
"Perhaps," Isobel laughed. "Where is Cousin Violet this evening? Did she not want to stay up till midnight?"
Mary crossed the room to join the conversation. "Nothing like that. She's in London, spending the holiday with Aunt Rosamund. Granny said she needed to spend some time with her daughter less Aunt Rosamund think her mother plays favorites."
"And does the Dowager play favorites?" Dickie asked.
Mary cut her eyes up to her godfather. "Only when it suits her." She chuckled. "I'm glad that Catie will be joining the family. George likes having another playmate well enough."
"I'm genuinely glad for that," Isobel confided in Mary. "I really want this to work. It's a chance for all of us, but one I'm happy the Crawleys support."
"Of course, we support you Isobel." Mary squeezed her mother-in-law's arm. "You're family, after all."
…
The Mertons enjoyed a quiet New Year's Day, stopping by the hospital to visit Catie. They kept the adoption a secret from the little girl. After all, there was still a chance that it would not go through, and they had no intention of hurting Catie. They still wondered if she would even say yes.
Prior to 1926, there had been no legislation of any form governing adoption. That year, Parliament had finally passed an act, giving adopted children some legal status. There were very few hoops to jump through only a year later in 1927. Dickie and Isobel Merton checked all the boxes. They were married and financially stable. Their age played no factor according to the act, and they could adopt Catherine Connolly without any further considerations. Only one voluntary agency that worked with the orphanage in Manchester visited Crawley House, pleased with its findings. Lord and Lady Merton would make more than a suitable home for the little Irish girl.
For her part, Isobel was shocked. She thought it would have been harder adopting a child, especially given their age. She was in the sitting room one evening, adoption papers in hand yet to be signed. "I still cannot believe that this is real. That it is happening. I'm stunned that it was this easy," she told her husband.
Dickie took a sip of tea, shaking his head in agreement. "But aren't you pleased that it is happening?"
"Rather," Isobel beamed. "I just am wondering if that's the case for all adopted children. I mean we did have someone come to the house to check and see if we are respectable and stable enough, I suppose," Isobel brought the cup to her mouth, "but I just am curious if that is the case for all adopted children. I mean how much can these agencies really know about people after only one visit?" She swallowed her tea.
"I hate to remind you that you were none too pleased about that agency woman coming into our home to, let's see, how did you put it, ahh yes, 'poke around my life,'" Dickie laughed. "She was only here for a few hours, and it was the last bit to get through before we got these papers." He un-crossed his legs and looked at his wife. "But, I imagine, you are right. You really don't know anything about a family after only seeing their home once."
"Quite right," Isobel noted. "At least, this new act marks the beginning of something, some legal grounding for adopted children."
"Yes," Dickie agreed, "at the very least, it's something. And it's how we will keep Catie, even though it did not happen before the New Year." He motioned to the papers in Isobel's hands. "Should we bring Catie the papers tomorrow? Ask her then? Now that we know it will go through and be permanent as soon as we file at the courthouse."
"Of course," Isobel exclaimed. "We meet with Inspector Rollins tomorrow to inform him that the adoption has been approved and to settle the matter of Catie's inheritance. And then we ask her. We could go to the courthouse tomorrow afternoon if she wants." Isobel looked at Dickie hopefully.
"I'm sure she's anxious to get out of that room. And," he winked at his wife, "I know she'll say yes. Catie likes you Isobel. She seems to take pride in being your art teacher." Dickie grinned.
"Well," Isobel chuckled, "I go to my lessons every day. She's a patient teacher to this rather hopeless student." She placed the papers gently on the coffee table, happy to have a plan settled.
Tomorrow night, Dickie and Isobel hoped to have the young, Irish brunette with sad eyes and soft, quiet voice inside her new home, tucked away in her bedroom.
Isobel always fancied having a daughter. Dickie did too.
…
The next day came, and the Mertons made their way to the hospital hand-in-hand. Inspector Rollins was already waiting for them in Doctor Clarkson's office.
…
Catherine Connolly had been getting restless in that small, cramped, white-washed room. She had her drawings, and Isobel came to visit her almost every day. Nonetheless, she began to wonder was this it.
Will I be here till I grow up? When is my family coming to get me? Are they ever coming to get me?
She thought that it must be a very long trip indeed from Ireland to Yorkshire. But, as time went by, Catie began to realize that no one was coming for her.
Maybe Mama and Father didn't have anybody. Maybe it is just me, after all.
She thought about that for a moment. She knew she couldn't stay in the hospital forever. Then, Catie looked through her drawings. Isobel had left some of her own with Catie, so she could come back to practice later. Catie looked at the nurse's new attempt to draw a vase with flowers. Now that looks like a six-year-old drew it, Catie chuckled to herself. With her frustrated face and furrowed brow, Nurse Grey looked so serious whenever she practiced, an image the little girl found amusing to no end.
I wonder if I could go with Isobel and Dickie. Would they want me? I think she loves me. I hope she does anyway. Catie had grown to feel safe around Isobel, comfortable with the nurse who checked on her most every day, who seemed to understand. Even if Catie was somewhat hesitant and scared of the rest of the world, she felt that she could trust this Isobel Grey and her husband.
Catie, more or less, had found a healing balm in Isobel, a kind figure who listened to her, even when she did not say anything. Isobel gets it. Though, and Catie chuckled about this, the nurse would always prefer to talk about it.
Will Isobel and Dickie take me? Catie hoped they would. She crossed herself like Mama had taught her and said a silent prayer. Please let them love me.
Catie stood up from her bed, curiosity getting the better of her. I wonder if Doctor Clarkson knows what will happen to me. She determined that she would ask him. She quietly tucked her feet inside her hospital slippers, opened the room's door, and crept out into the hallway.
The nurses were so busy and engrossed in their own work that they hardly noticed the quiet little girl padding down the hallway to Doctor Clarkson's office.
Catie stopped at the door. It was cracked open, and she heard voices coming from inside. She knew each one – Dickie, Isobel, Doctor Clarkson, and Inspector Rollins.
She knew well enough not to interrupt adults when they were having a conversation.
However, that knowledge did not stop Catie from listening outside the door.
…
"As I have told everyone before, there are no other relatives that we have found," Inspector Rollins reiterated, exchanging looks with the Mertons.
"So, that's it then," Dickie answered. "Everything has been arranged."
"All we have to do is inform the orphanage," Inspector Rollins answered, "and everything should be all set."
"Yes, the orphanage must be made aware of the situation," Isobel said as she straightened the papers in her hand, rapping them on the table lightly. "We should also inform Catie finally," she said softly. Isobel's heart was so full. She felt she could weep from joy, but maintained her composure in front of Inspector Rollins…and Doctor Clarkson for that matter.
"Catie should pack her belongings then, if that's what is indeed to happen," Doctor Clarkson mentioned. "I shall call the orphanage myself. Lord and Lady Merton, I'll leave you both to talk with Catherine, yes?" Doctor Clarkson sat at his desk, preparing to make the phone call.
"Yes, you can call the orphanage," Isobel agreed.
…
Catie had been peering through the crack at the door. Her breath caught in her throat, and she staggered backwards.
Tears pooled at the little girl's eyes, but she blinked them back.
An orphanage! She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She was so mad. So angry. So upset. So hurt. That is what the adults have been talking about this whole time. That is what they were planning. They are sending me away. To an orphanage. To Manchester. To a place I don't know and have never been. I should have known.
She quickly walked away from Doctor Clarkson's office, running down the hall as fast as her feet could carry her. She wanted to be gone before anyone could stop her.
I thought she understood. I thought she cared for me. I thought she loved me too. She's not like my Mama at all.
Tears now fell freely from Catie's eyes; tears she had fought so long to contain. She made it to her room and pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. She grabbed her drawings of her parents and her clothes, stuffing them both inside.
I'll leave all right, but I am not going to an orphanage. I will not go there. I don't know where I'll go, so long as it is away from here…away from those people. I want my Mama and Father. None of this would ever be happening if they hadn't left me! Catie felt anger welling up inside her.
She left the wooden box of art supplies that the Mertons had given her in the room.
She tossed Isobel's drawings onto the floor; she would leave them too.
Catie then looked through her own drawings. There was one of Dickie and Isobel that she had been sketching. She had not shown anyone yet. She took one deep breath and ripped it in half, stuffing it under her pillow. That would never happen. They don't want me. Catie's eyes fixed on the wooden box, sitting on the bed. Why would she ever need it again? Why would she want it, Isobel's drawings, or her own of the Mertons when they did not want her?
Catie thought back to Christmas. Did she miss something? I thought we were happy. I thought that they wanted me there. Maybe I was too quiet? Did her grandson not like me? Did I mess up the bedroom? What did I do wrong?
Catie racked her brain but could not come up with anything. Was that their plan all along? Just get to know her, so they could break the news that she would be going to an orphanage more gently?
I am an orphan. It was the first time the word truly registered with Catie. Mama and Father are gone, and I am an orphan. I have no Mama and Father any more. Santa must not be real. It's after Christmas. It's even a New Year, and my wish did not come true. It's all a lie. Adults lie; Nurse Grey and her husband lied. I guess I really am alone after all.
The six-year-old slipped her feet inside her boots, zipped up her coat, and pulled on her gloves. She cracked open the door to her room, popping her head out to check and see if the coast was clear.
It was. Not a soul was in the corridor at that moment.
She quietly snuck out, walking quickly to the door that led to the hospital gardens outside. She got there, checked once, twice, and then opened it.
The wind outside hit her face. It was chilly; a light snow had just begun to fall. She was glad for her gloves. She softly shut the door behind her and made her way out of the hospital grounds and onto the street.
No one even noticed that she had left. Gone without a word.
She walked down the street, not quite sure where to go. All she knew was that she had to keep out of sight. Once the hospital staff realized she was gone, Catie felt sure they would look for her. I'll just have to hide in some of these side streets and stores. I'm so small and quiet. No one will notice me.
As Catie walked further down the street and turned, she saw a sign for the railroad. Apparently, it was several miles away. An idea formed in the young girl's head. If I get started walking now, maybe I could make it there tonight. I wonder if there are any trains to Ireland? If my family won't come to me, maybe I can go to them. Maybe I'm not alone.
It was hard for Catie to give up hope. After all, there had to be someone who would want her. Mama and Father must have known people in Ireland. England, Catie decided, was not her favorite place anymore. She may have been born in York, but she lost her Mama and Father there. She met the Mertons in Yorkshire, and the encounter proved to be a disappointment. And, lastly, an orphanage awaited her in Manchester.
Yes, Catie thought, England is not such a good place.
She started on a long walk to the train station.
…
Inspector Rollins informed the Mertons that Catherine had inherited her parents' small cottage in Yorkshire and all its accoutrements. There was hardly a fortune and whatever the Connollys made went to everyday necessities. But, at least, there were no bills, and Catie could keep their home. The Mertons would tell her about it and provide some advice if the little girl wanted it. Whatever Catie decided to do with the Connolly home, the Mertons would support her.
When they finished their discussion, the Mertons walked down the corridor, papers in hand, to ask Catie if she would become part of their family, a permanent fixture in their life.
Isobel wanted to mention how she always wanted a daughter, but thought that suggestion may be a bridge too far, too soon. She did not want to scare Catie away, and Isobel knew she could never replace the young girl's mother. But she did love her.
As they approached the room, the door was shut. Dickie knocked on it, thinking that the child may be asleep. "Catie?" He called but got no answer. He knocked again.
"Catie?" Isobel asked and then smiled. "She must be asleep. May I wake her this time?" She gave her husband a cheeky expression.
"Of course, love. I'm rather excited to ask her myself," Dickie answered, hand on the door knob. He pushed the door open. The room was dark so he flicked on the light.
It was empty. Papers were thrown on the floor. Her wooden box sat on the bed undisturbed. Catie was not there.
Isobel stooped down to pick up one of the drawings. She recognized it as her own. As she picked up another, she began to realize that they were all her own works – what she had practiced creating with Catie.
"I wonder why these are on the floor," Isobel said aloud. It had yet to dawn on her what had happened.
Dickie eyed the gift on the bed and then left the room. He stopped a nurse who was walking down the hall. "Search the hospital, see if Catie is anywhere to be found," he whispered to her. She shook her head in agreement.
Dickie returned to his wife. Isobel looked dumbfounded until she noticed her husband's pained expression. "Dickie," she breathed, "Catie's not gone, is she? Tell me that she did not leave. That she did not run away." A hand flew to Isobel's mouth, and tears began to pool in her eyes. "Her suitcase is gone. It's not under the bed. I checked. Her jacket, her shoes, her own drawings, they're all gone."
Dickie shrugged his shoulders. "The only thing I can guess is that she heard us talking about the adoption and ran."
You see, he thought to himself, you knew this would never work out. You went against your better judgment and now this. He took Isobel into his arms and held her for a moment, stroking her back and attempting to calm her down.
"Oh, Dickie," she choked, "she must hate me." She clutched the lapels of his jacket. "She doesn't want to be with us. Now I understand. Is it any wonder that she rarely talks to me? Oh, Dickie," Isobel sobbed, "how she must despise me to run away."
"Shh, love, shh," Dickie soothed, rubbing gentle circles on her back. He peered over her shoulder at the door, noticing Doctor Clarkson and Inspector Rollins standing there. He pulled back from Isobel, holding her at arms-length now. He rubbed her shoulder and motioned for her to turn around.
Inspector Rollins spoke. "Catie is nowhere to be found in the hospital or its grounds. Doctor Clarkson and I are going to check the village before it begins to get dark."
Blinking back tears and shaking her head, Isobel muttered, "You must think we are ridiculous, trying to adopt a child who obviously does not like us." She looked at Inspector Rollins. "We have already lost her before we even asked her."
Inspector Rollins shrugged his shoulders. He looked genuinely sympathetic and surprised at this turn of events. "Sometimes even the best of plans don't always turn out the way we expect. These things unfortunately happen." He looked around the room. "Do you mind if I check in here before we set out?" He asked Doctor Clarkson.
"By all means, please," Doctor Clarkson replied.
Isobel and Dickie left the room. Isobel looked at her husband. "We've got to find her, Dickie, even if she doesn't want us. We have to help. It's the middle of winter, and she's so very small."
"We will, my darling," Dickie answered. "We'll go look." How could you have let things get this far, you silly old man? Your wife is a wreck, and you knew, you bloody knew, that this could never work out.
Isobel had grabbed her drawings and Catie's art box before she left the room. She was now clutching them to her chest, shaking her head rapidly in an effort to keep from crying.
Inspector Rollins came out from the room with two sheets of paper in his hand. He wordlessly handed them to Lord Merton.
Dickie stared down at the image of himself and Isobel, ripped in half across their faces. Catie must have drawn it and then decided that she wanted nothing to do with them. He did not want to show his wife. She was already so very upset.
Isobel, however, had already noticed the paper and went to Dickie's side to look at the drawing. "Oh," she sighed. "I guess she really must hate me." She looked down and away. "I suppose I had to learn eventually that there are things even I can't fix," she scoffed.
"I'm sorry, dear," Dickie muttered. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can say?"
"No," Isobel replied. "Other than you were right. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have pushed you."
Dickie did not know how to respond. "Shall we go and search for her?"
"Yes," Isobel answered, and the Mertons followed Doctor Clarkson and Inspector Rollins out into the street.
…
They had checked every alleyway in the nearby vicinity, every shop that was open at this time. They had not found Catie.
Inspector Rollins asked the workers to keep an eye out for a small, six-year-old brunette girl with a light Irish accent and dark brown eyes.
Isobel stood on the side of the street under a lamp post. Dusk had fallen, and it was getting darker by the minute. "Where could she have possibly gone?" She asked as she clutched her coat closer to herself.
"I don't know," Dickie replied honestly. "Surely, she could not have gotten far."
"Remember," Doctor Clarkson mentioned, "she does not want to be found. She could be hiding in plain sight. We are just missing her, somehow." He clasped his hands together in frustration.
…
Catie had ducked into an alley across the street. She saw Isobel standing there looking for her. She was just far enough back to be out of sight, hidden in the dark corner. You won't find me. I won't let you. I am not going to any orphanage. I'll get to that train station and to Ireland. I'm so close, I think.
The adults walked on, appearing to return to the hospital. Catie made sure they were out of sight and then continued her walk to the train station.
She arrived at her destination just as night fell. It was dark, and the street lamps cast a dull glow. Catie shivered. To tell the truth, she felt a bit scared being out alone by herself. She walked to building that housed the ticket booths, hoping that it was open. She pulled on the door. Thank goodness, she breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door.
Catie found herself a bench, secreted away from the rest. She took off her scarf, fluffed it up like a pillow and tried to fall asleep. At least it was warm inside.
She wondered if a train could take her to Ireland. There was a whole lot for the six-year-old to think about, but it all could wait. Her eyes were closing. She was so tired and still a little chilled. Most of all she was sad. Heartbroken, really. I wish they had loved me. A tear slipped from her eye. I wanted them to love me. I thought I had found a family. No sleep would come for that little girl.
Tomorrow, Catie would figure out what to do next.
…
Dickie and Isobel returned home late that evening. They had not found Catie, but Inspector Rollins informed them that he thought it best that they return home. He assured Lady Merton that he would keep looking through the night.
Isobel walked up the stairs and into their bedroom. She felt broken. She was very quiet. Dickie followed her. Isobel had brought Catie's art box and her drawings, including the torn one of the Mertons, home with her. She was not quite sure why. She placed them on her vanity.
They changed for bed silently.
Isobel sat on the edge of the bed. "She left everything that we had touched. Anything about us, she wanted nothing to do with," she voiced her thoughts aloud. Her eyes stared at the wall.
Dickie did not say anything. I thought something would happen. The bad will always follow, if you wait for it long enough. I never should have indulged this fantasy of Isobel's.
"I just thought," Isobel wrung her hands, "that we could be a family." She dropped her hand, palms up, to rest on her knees. "I don't understand what went wrong," she whispered.
"Don't you?" Dickie asked, an eyebrow raised, as he got into bed beside her.
"What do you mean by that?" She tucked her legs under the cover.
"Isobel, you expect things to work out. You are exceedingly optimistic. It's one of the things that attracts me to you, but it's also one of your faults. You thought everything would work out for the best, and, so, you pushed, yes, darling, you pushed this adoption. I agreed with you. I indulged you. Perhaps, I made a mistake." Isobel's mouth opened to speak, but Dickie quieted her with a hand. "Hear me out, I never wanted you to feel this pain, this ache of being unwanted by those you love. I know the sensation all too well, the bitter disappointment. I should have shielded you from it." He rubbed her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.
"But, Dickie, I didn't want that – you don't have to protect me." She settled into his arms. Isobel did not say anything for a minute. She just needed to relax in her husband's embrace. After a bit, she muttered, "I never thought that she would run away."
"I know, love. Let's get some rest. We'll go out looking for her tomorrow," Dickie answered as he laid his head on the pillow.
Isobel laid down, propping her head on her elbow. "And what do we say to her when we do find her. Do we even ask her anymore? Now that we know that this is how she feels…." Isobel let the question hang in there.
"One step at a time, love," Dickie replied. "We'll figure it out after we find her."
…
For the life of her, Isobel could not sleep that evening. She was restless. In the middle of the night, she grabbed the wooden art box and walked into the guest bedroom where Catie had stayed.
Sometime later, Dickie stirred; something was missing. He felt his wife's side of the bed, but it was empty. He got up, pulled on a robe, and walked down the hall.
He saw a small light flickering from the guest room and heard sniffling. He opened the bedroom door. Isobel lay on her side in the bed, holding the art box to her chest, crying.
"Oh, my darling," Dickie said as he moved to be by her side. He slid into the bed next to her and held her close.
"I'm sorry," Isobel sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I've made such a mess of everything, such a terrible mess." She sniffled as her tears fell.
Dickie rubbed away a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. "Love, it's okay. You cry as much as you need to. I wish I could make it better. I wish I could change how Catie feels." Despite the fact that Dickie constantly worried that something bad would happen, he still loved that little girl. He had indeed grown rather fond of her.
"Oh Dickie," Isobel whimpered, "I'm just an old fool. An old fool who chased a dream. And that's all it was, a dream. A hope I had, just a hope. I'm such a fool."
"Don't," Dickie said as he grabbed her hands in his, placing a kiss to them. "You are no fool. You wanted a family. You loved…you love that little girl. There is no shame in that, darling."
"But, Dickie, she hates me." Isobel struggled to wrap her head around it. What did I do wrong? Why did she run away? I'm so sorry, Catie. Whatever I did to upset you, I am sorry. I would take it all about if I could, do anything, if you would just come back. I love you.
Dickie kissed his wife, effectively silencing her for the moment. "I don't think that little girl is capable of hate. Let's not think about it, okay? Just rest here against me love, all right?" He pulled Isobel to relax against his chest.
She calmed down some in his arms, but she would not sleep tonight. Nor would that little girl who rested on a bench at the train station – her mind was too consumed to settle as well.
Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed this next installment. Catie is a little girl grieving and having a difficult time as any child would. Again, I appreciate every single review. It's such an encouragement to know that someone is reading it. Let me know what you think and leave me a review if you are so inclined. I promise there will be a light at the end of the tunnel.