Lena Jones 02 - Desert Wives

continue on to the next room when I heard a small sound coming from one of the blue-draped bassinets. A baby, doing baby-type things. Alone. I remembered the different eating “shifts” at Ermaline’s. Some of the mothers hadn’t finished eating, which meant that their babies wouldn’t be brought to them until later. A stroke of luck for me. Still, I would have thought the babies would stay with their mothers all the time, but perhaps Solomon, the clinic’s designer, felt some separation gave the mothers more rest.
    Come to think of it, though, such a compassionate idea didn’t sound like the Solomon described by his wives. Still, perhaps this baby was Hanna’s. Perhaps she lay in a room down the hall, dreaming of ways to end its tiny life.
    I tiptoed over to the bassinet and peered in.
    It found it hard to believe something so tiny could live, but the little white-haired creature appeared brimming with health and energy, thrusting his fists out from his blue blanket as if boxing the air. Entranced, I cooed softly at him, but he ignored my presence and kept jabbing at empty space.
    As I leaned over to make sure he was all right, I frowned. Something didn’t look right.
    Then I saw.
    The baby hadn’t been making a fist, as I’d first believed: he’d been born without fingers.
    I bit my lip to suppress a moan and stepped away from the bassinet. This was probably Hanna’s baby, then, the baby described as “sickly” a frequently employed euphemism for birth defects.
    Sad, but not tragic. I’d simply find Hanna and tell her that she didn’t have to kill him, that the government offered a bevy of no-cost programs to the families of such children. Prostheses would even help him lead a normal life. He could grow. He could be happy. Hanna would understand. Like all mothers, she’d want to help her child in any way possible.
    Like all mothers?
I remembered my own mother raising a gun, aiming it me, screaming “I’ll kill her! I’ll kill her!”
    No. Not like all mothers.
    Hanna could be a good mother, of that I was certain. She had what it took, the patience, the compassion. I’d seen her with other children in the compound, bending over them, cooing at them as foolishly as I had, holding them tenderly, speaking to them with love.
    Please, God, let her not be a child killer.
    I reached out and touched the baby’s cheek. He turned, latched onto my fingers with his mouth and began to suck.
    “I’ll save you, little one,” I whispered. “I promise.”
    I froze. Why did those words sound so familiar? After a few moments, they swam up from my deeply buried memories, the memories of an uncomprehending, four-year-old child.
    I heard my mother’s voice.
    I’ll save you, little one, I promise,
she’d cried.
    No! Impossible! My mother was a killer!
    Brushing away the memory, if indeed the words were memory, I withdrew my fingers from the baby’s mouth.
    He wailed crossly as I left the room. I’d find Hanna, talk to her, tell her about the help the baby could receive, tell her to reconsider. And then I’d watch her eyes. If I saw a shadow there, any warning sign, I’d come back for the baby and sneak him to Saul’s. Then we’d drive him to Zion City and…
    And what? Turn the baby over to Sheriff Benson?
    Better to worry about the details later. For now, I needed to find Hanna.
    I looked down the long hallway, at all the doors. Heard women’s low, murmuring voices, the tiny cries of infants. The clinic bustled with brand-new motherhood.
    Deciding to start directly across the hall, I opened the door upon a bed-lined room, only to see a solitary blond girl of around fifteen—not Hanna—nursing a pink-blanketed infant. The girl looked at me in surprise.
    I forced my voice to sound casual. “Hi. I’m looking for Hanna.”
    “Hanna. What’d I hear…?” As she looked down at her baby, the blanket slipped and I saw white hair. Another albino? Or just another blond? The baby had all her fingers, so I exhaled in relief.
    After kissing the top of the infant’s head, the girl frowned at me. “Somebody said somethin’ about her at lunch but I wasn’t payin’ much attention. She had some kinda problem with her baby, I think.” The frown faded, replaced by a smile. Hanna’s woes forgotten already. “Ain’t my baby pretty?”
    “Adorable.”
    She frowned again, as if it hurt her to think. “Oh, yeah! Somebody said Hanna went upstairs, that’s where she is! I’m Sister Kathy. And this little