By Her Bootstraps
© 2023
Blairswood, Indiana 1910
In a sleek, midnight-black Oldsmobile convertible, three young men puttered toward two teen girls carrying a handwoven basket brimming with homemade foods.
The man beside the driver stood, his eyes narrowing as he stared at a ragged group of indigents huddled at the edge of a nearby park. “Hey, Lila, why don’t you grow a brain to fill your empty skull?” He hurled a jagged rock at a middle-aged woman.
Karen Feeney and Margaret Yost cringed as it ricocheted off Lila Strulinski’s forehead. Lila wailed, grasped her head, and fell to the ground.
Karen, heart pounding out her anger, stepped to the curb as the vehicle reached her. “You’re a stuffed pig in dire need of being roasted!”
“Blow it out your hole,” the driver spat as the automobile chugged past. Karen glared until it disappeared around the next corner.
She spun and seized Margaret’s free hand, and they hurried toward the indigents surrounding Lila. Karen ignored the odor of unwashed bodies while maneuvering delicately through the crowd. She pressed her basket into the fragile, trembling hands of an old man. “Please hold this, Abraham.”
The girls gently supported Lila as she struggled to sit up, her blood flowing freely like wine from a bottle.
When Karen pulled a lace kerchief from her dress pocket, Margaret gasped. “That’s your good hanky. Your mother will be angry.”
Shrugging, Karen pressed it to the gash above Lila’s right eye.
Margaret pointed down the road. “Here comes Doctor Armistad in his buggy.”
He drew his horse to a stop, climbed out, and tied the mare to a hitching post. Karen breathed easier when Dr. Armistad set his well-worn medical bag next to the injured woman.
As he cleaned the wound and applied salve, the air became saturated with the smell of antiseptic mingled with the fresh scent of pine pitch. He turned to Karen. “You and your friend should stay away from Trackside. It is the seedier side of Blairswood.”
Pointing to the basket Abraham still clutched, she furrowed her brow. “Someone must give them food.”
“You’re Karen Feeney.”
“Yes.” She tilted her head. “How did you know? My parents have always called on Doctor Anastasio.”
A faint, reminiscent smile crossed his lined face. “I’ve been watching you grow up. You were a very difficult birth, as I remember. What are you … fourteen?”
“Fifteen.” She pursed her lips. “Uh … I thought Mother used a midwife for my birth.”
He applied salve to Lila’s wound. “She told you that?”
“You delivered Karen?” Margaret said. “But you deliver lots of babies. How can you remember better than a mother?”
“Believe me, her birth was very eventful.” He pointed at his bag. “Now please, Karen, fetch a bandage for me.”
She selected one and handed it to him. “How was my birth eventful?”
“I apologize for speaking hastily.” The doctor finished with Lila, wrapped the soiled instruments in cloth, and laid them in his medical bag. He helped the frail woman to her feet. “There. You’re fine.”
Lila fingered the bandage. “Boom on the head.”
The doctor handed Karen a jar. “I know you may not heed my advice and stay away from Trackside, so have Lila apply salve for the next three days.”
She accepted it. “How can anyone be so cruel as to throw rocks at someone with only half her wits?”
“People don’t understand retardation; what they don’t understand, they try to destroy. Lila has long needed help. One day, someone will come along and pluck her out of this destitution.”
Her eyes shone with empathy. “I think of Lila as my friend.”
The doctor patted her head. “You have a good heart, Karen Feeney.”
“But what about her birth, Doctor Armistad?” Margaret asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “First, can either of you tell me who’ll pay for my services?”
Karen glanced around as Margaret shrugged.
“I suppose I can.” Karen bowed her head. “Only … I don’t have money right now.”
A smile crept onto the doctor’s lips. “It’s a dollar.”
Margaret’s eyes bulged. “A whole dollar?”
“Well ….” Karen stared at the ground. “I suppose I can save it up.” She met his eyes. “My father gives me two bits a week for doing chores.”
Easing a hand on Karen’s shoulder, he leaned closer. “I’ll tell you what. Ask me no more about your birth, and I’ll forget the charge.” With a playful wink, he ambled toward his buggy and drove off.
The girls distributed their food offerings to the indigents.
“This situation is most peculiar, Margaret. I had no inkling that a mystery lingered around my birth.”
“I don’t think it is a mystery. He merely said you had a difficult birth.” She shrugged. “I could talk to old Mrs. England, the Gypsy mystic. She knows every odd thing that’s gone on in Indiana since the eighteen-eighties.”
Karen’s eyes widened. “You know her?”
“Somewhat, but she won’t give out information for nothing.”
She frowned with a cautioning tone. “I wouldn’t trust her, Margaret. If a person takes money for information, they’re most likely prone to fabricate the truth.”
“It may be worth it to put your mind at ease.”
******
“Oh, look at that, Karen,” Margaret said, scooping up a large clump of coal from the railroad track. “You rarely find them that big.” She dropped it into her metal bucket.
“It’s sparse pickings,” Karen replied, gazing into her nearly empty pail.
“That’s because the coal train from Louisville hasn’t passed through yet. It should be here soon.”
“I wish I knew about my birth. Not knowing gnaws at me like a rat on a carcass. It’s like my mother and father own a secret about my life.” She transferred her bucket to the other hand. “Did you find out anything from that Gypsy woman?”
“Mrs. England? I went there, but she told me to return in a day or two and bring you and twenty-five cents.”
Karen jerked to a stop. “What? No, don’t do it.” Margaret halted and shaded her eyes from the sun streaming in from behind Karen. “Margaret, if she’s charging that much, then she must be flimflamming you. I wouldn’t trust anything she said.”
Margaret clasped her pail handle with both hands and let it dangle against her skirt. “But you have to know. If she can provide the answer … isn’t that worth two bits?”
“Forget it. Don’t waste your money on a scalawag.”
Margaret picked up a small lump of coal, eased it to her bucket, and paused. After glancing at her friend, she swung the coal lump toward Karen’s bucket and let it drop. “Well, that Gypsy woman has your answers. However, I only have fifteen cents, but I can get a dime from my sister. She can afford it because she’s being courted now, and her beau buys her everything.”
They ambled along the tracks again as Karen reached two fingers into her waist pocket, plucked a dime from it, and held it out. “Then, at least let me make up the difference. You are a noble friend, and if you feel that strongly about Mrs. England … do it.”
Margaret waved the coin away. “No, save your money. I’ll get it from my sister.”
Karen slipped an arm around her friend’s waist as the two girls gazed at each other and smiled. A whistle blared, and the girls spun around to face a colossal train engine sputtering plumes of black smoke. They jumped from the tracks and waited until the train neared. Gazing at the engineer, they waved, grabbed the air above their heads, and pulled on an imaginary handle several times. The engineer waved back, and the whistle sounded three times. The girls jumped up and down, spewing torrents of laughter. After the coal train passed, they busied themselves, plucking up the clumps of coal now strewn more plentifully along the tracks.
******
The girls climbed the veranda steps to Karen’s house. As Karen reached for the doorknob, the door flew open, and a disheveled man rushed out. He bowled her over, knocking her to the floor and spilling her coal bucket.
He stood over Karen and grunted like an ape. “You tell that phony father of yours to conjure up the money, or the whole world will know.”
Karen scrambled to her feet and watched him barrel down the steps. “That gruff man came yesterday and spoke to Father in private. He’s as uncultured as a canal barge worker.” She slapped her thigh. “I wish I knew what was happening!”
“Enough of this mystery.” Margaret set her bucket down, reached into her waist pocket, and pulled out her dime and nickel. “I’m getting my sister’s dime, and I’m going to see Mrs. England immediately.” She inserted the coins back into her pocket. “This mystery is growing like an invading mold, and we will get some answers.”
Karen jerked her head back. “You’ll do it now?”
“We have to find out!” She picked up her bucket, spun, and descended the steps.
Inside, Karen spied her parents on the sofa in the back parlor. Gathering her gumption, she counted to three before entering. “Father, Mother, please tell me what’s going on? I know it has to do with me.”
Her father frowned. “We’ll discuss it another time.”
“No, Harold.” Karen’s mother wiped her eyes with a kerchief. “It’s time we told her.”
Karen’s stomach tied itself into an icy knot, and she had second thoughts about hearing their explanation. “I know you’re distraught, Mother. Another time, perhaps.” Karen turned to leave.
“Stop!” her mother said. “You come back here this instant, Karen. I have held this in for fifteen years, and it’s time for you to know.”
Karen pivoted and doddered to her mother’s side. “Yes, Mother. I apologize for trying to leave.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Delia.” Karen’s father rose. “I think we should wait until the matter is resolved.”
Mrs. Feeney opened her arms, and Karen slipped into them. “Sweetheart, the man who has been coming … he knows our secret, and he is trying to make us pay to keep it quiet. I want to pay, but your father doesn’t. He feels the man will only return and ask for more.”
“When the matter is settled,” Karen’s father said, “it needs to be final. Now, we do have some options. We can give him the money and get lost in another city, or we can simply refuse and suffer the consequences until it’s forgotten.”
Mrs. Feeney narrowed her eyes. “Nothing so incredible is ever going to be forgotten. Pay the man what he wants. Get rid of him now. If he returns, then we can think of a better plan. One time may be enough.”
Karen burst into tears. “Oh, Mother, you’re frightening me! What have I done that’s so terrible?”
Her father glared. “You were born. That’s what.” He trundled toward the hearth. “You’re here because … well, it’s your mother’s fault.”
“Don’t put all the blame on me. You had a say in it as well, Harold. Let’s just work together to find a solution.”
Mr. Feeney turned and pointed at his wife. “It’s all because you couldn’t give birth!”
Crying louder, Karen broke free from her mother. “Will you please tell me what this is all about?”
Mrs. Feeney rose and stretched her arms toward her daughter. “Sweetheart, after trying to have children for two years, the doctors declared me barren.”
Karen tilted her head. “Barren?”
Turning away, Mrs. Feeney lowered her arms. “You’re our adopted daughter.”
“What?” Karen froze and paced the room in a daze. “I’m not your real daughter? I’m adopted?” She stopped and threw up her hands. “I can’t believe that. No, it has to be something else.”
Mr. Feeney marched forward and grabbed her shoulders. “It is the truth. Jacob Baranski has fallen on hard times, and … now he’s threatening to tell our secret to everyone. That could ruin my law practice. We may be forced to move and start over again.”
Karen scrutinized him through teary eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?”
“When you came of age.” Her mother edged toward her.
Bowing her head, Karen’s tears flowed unabated. “How could you do this to me?”
“Sweetheart, we adopted you from an orphanage. Granted, it was an orphanage of a low reputation, but no other allowed us to have an infant.”
Karen tasted the tears that had reached the corners of her mouth. Failing to make sense of the images flooding her mind, she screamed. She sped to the archway entrance and looked back. “I hate you both!” She dashed down the hall.
******
A few days later, Karen and Margaret sat before Mrs. England, watching the middle-aged woman staring into her crystal ball. Against the dingy, dark room, Mrs. England’s heavily patterned, multi-colored dress stuck out like a clown’s outfit among nuns’ habits. The Gypsy woman’s equally gaudy bandana hugged her head so tightly that only a few blond strands protruded.
“I see … in ball.” She spoke with an East European accent. “I see kindred one.”
“My mother? Who is she?”
“Face blurry, but woman here … in Blairswood. Is forty-five. Thirty when you born.”
Karen shifted her mouth to the right and puckered her lips. “Yes. Fifteen from forty-five is thirty. I can do the math too … and for far less than two bits.”
Margaret laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “Give her a chance. Just think, she’ll tell you the identity of your real mother. She’s right here in town, and we can visit her today.”
She pulled her arm free. “So, Mrs. England, what’s the woman’s name?”
Mrs. England hovered her hands above the glass sphere. “Ohhhhhh! Glass grow dark.”
Margaret leaned forward, gazing into the ball. “What? We almost had the answer. Can you get the images back?”
Mrs. England thrust out her hand. “Dime, please.”
Karen jumped up. “This is nonsense. You’ve already given her two bits. Let’s go.” She stormed toward Mrs. England’s door.
Margaret raced after her. “Wait!” She grabbed her friend’s skirt. “We are so close.”
Karen knocked her friend’s hand away. “Do you have another dime?”
“No, do you?”
“Yes, but I won’t throw it away. Let’s leave.”
“No! I know this will lead to the truth. I just know it! Let me have the dime, and I’ll pay you back.”
Karen gawked at her. Reaching into her waist pocket, she extracted the dime and flipped it upward.
Margaret caught it and slapped it on the table. “Here! You’d better be telling us the truth.”
Mrs. England picked up the dime, opened a small wooden box, and slipped it inside, closing the lid. Spreading her hands above the crystal ball, she shut her eyes. “Yes, images return. See woman clear now.”
“I bet you do. It’s amazing how money improves your psychic vision.” Karen stepped back to the table and plopped onto her chair.
Margaret sat, focusing on Mrs. England’s face.
“Is unlucky woman … burden with child … cannot give care. Seeeeeee doctor … buggy … inside big, yellow house.”
Margaret glanced at Karen. “That’s your house.”
Karen bit her lip. “She probably already knows where I live.”
“He deliver child.” Mrs. England ran her hands above the surface of the crystal ball. “Is girl … brown hair … blue eyes.”
Margaret turned to Karen. “Those are your eyes and hair.”
“I’m not impressed.” Karen shook her head. “She can know that just by looking at me.”
Mrs. England vibrated one hand over the crystal ball. “Birth difficult … mother … not good.”
Margaret slapped her hands together. “Doctor Armistad said it was a difficult birth.”
Mrs. England nodded. “Amistad deliver Karen.”
“Of course he did,” Karen replied, “because Margaret just gave you his name.” She spun toward her friend. “You should have kept your money. Let’s go.”
Mrs. England looked up. “Want name?” She pointed to the crystal ball. “Is here.” She cupped her hands around it and inched her face closer. “Ah, I see. Wait. Wait ….”
Karen rose. “Don’t tell me … the ball has gone dark, and it will take another dime.”
Mrs. England pressed her hands on her cheeks and groaned. “Noooooo! Cannot be!” She dropped her arms, which hung by her sides like two dead snakes, the tension draining rapidly from her face. “You no want to know.”
“What a flimflam!” Karen marched to the door. “Let’s leave here before I throw up.”
“What’s the name?” Margaret encroached on Mrs. England. “You know. Tell us!”
Mrs. England paused for a long time. “Will hurt to know.”
Karen stomped to the table and glared at the Gypsy. “Tell me who it is. Tell me!”
Mrs. England shook her head.
Karen slapped her hands down so hard the crystal ball shook. “I said, tell me!”
“You better to not know.”
She whipped her hands off the table. “We paid you an extra dime for the information. Now, out with it!”
Mrs. England opened the wooden box, withdrew a dime, and stretched it toward Karen.
“No!” Margaret blocked the Gypsy’s hand. “Let her keep it. She must tell us.”
Mrs. England dropped the dime back into the box and gently closed the lid. “Your mother?” She paused so long that Karen spun and stomped away. Mrs. England raised her hands. “Lila Strulinski!”
Karen whipped around. “You’re as phony as an eleven-cent coin!” She dashed across the room and leaned into Mrs. England’s face. “Lila is a halfwit. If she had a child, it would be like her. You’re nothing but a bearer of falsehoods!” Karen drew back a hand. “Liar!”
Margaret scurried around the table and grabbed Karen’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“Despicable, lying woman! You’re nothing but a rapscallion!” Karen wrestled herself free and thrust her face toward Mrs. England’s. “You should be ashamed. You just stole thirty-five cents from two children. Thief!” Karen spat on the Gypsy’s cheek. Mrs. England appeared unaware of the globs of saliva running down her face.
Margaret pulled Karen to the door. “Let’s go see Dr. Armistad.”
Karen jerked Margaret’s arms downward. “Margaret, promise me you will never have anything to do with that deceiver again.”
******
At the doctor’s office, the girls waited an hour for Doctor Armistad to finish with his last patients. When he entered, he smiled upon seeing them.
“Did you come to pay me the dollar for Lila?”
Karen narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Yes. I would be more than willing if you told me about my birth.”
“I’ve told you it’s a matter best laid to rest.” Doctor Armistad ambled to his desk and set down a small board with papers attached to it.
Karen followed closely, blood draining from her face like water down a rainspout. Fear nearly kept her from speaking. “I already know the mother I’m living with isn’t my real mother. A man has come to our house demanding money. My mother said I was adopted from an orphanage of shady practices. You say I was a difficult birth. Did you birth me from my kindred mother before being sent to an orphanage? And if you did, how did you know who adopted me? Orphanages don’t give out information on where their children originate because they believe the child needs to start over. I know, sir, because I checked at our local orphanage.”
The doctor spun around and sat on the edge of the desk. He seemed to weigh his next words like a priest in a confessional. “My, you seem to know a lot, and you’ve thought it out quite well too. So, you think I’m involved in a conspiracy?”
Karen stepped forward, clasping her hands before her skirt while swallowing the last of her fear. “I know there’s something more to the story than even my parents are telling me. Why would my father worry about losing his law practice … or being disgraced if anyone found out I originated from an orphanage? Is that so bad? Mother has tried to say I came from a shady orphanage, and I suppose she believes I’ll think that’s reason enough, but it isn’t. There’s more, so we came to you for the answers.”
The doctor shifted his weight to his right foot while running his upper teeth back and forth over his lower lip. “I think you should take your theories to your parents.”
Karen stepped closer to the doctor. “So you will be spared having to tell me? Doctor Armistad … you were in on it. Did you ever think I would find out?”
“Is Jacob Baranski the man extorting money from your father?”
“Yes. Now tell me what you know, sir.”
Margaret stepped forward. “We know Lila Strulinski is Karen’s kindred mother.”
The Doctor stared at Margaret for a long time. “Who told you that?”
Catching on to Margaret’s plan, Karen lunged forward. “That is the truth, isn’t it?”
“Who told you that?” the doctor repeated, losing all his politeness.
“My father,” Karen lied.
The doctor strode to the fireplace and stared into it. “He assured me he would never tell you the complete truth.”
The realization that Mrs. England had been correct hit her like a slap across the face. Steadying her head with her hands, she attempted to cease the vibrating pain. Trying to comprehend Lila Strulinski as her mother proved too much. Her mind retreated into the familiar comfort of an unconscious state as she collapsed to the floor.
******
Karen stormed through her front door, fuming like a volcano roiling with angry lava. She followed the sound of her parents’ voices to the back parlor. Pausing at the entranceway, she glared at them.
“Karen?” Mrs. Feeney rose from the sofa. “Where have you been?”
“I just visited Doctor Armistad … Mother! Do you remember Doctor Armistad? He delivered me, not the midwife.”
“What were you doing there?” Mr. Feeney slid a book onto the table beside his chair.
“Doctor Armistad is mistaken,” Mrs. Feeney said. “He has delivered hundreds of babies in his time. How can he remember a particular one from fifteen years ago?”
Karen stepped forward and stamped her foot. “Because it was the only baby he delivered from a retarded woman.”
Mr. Feeney leaped up and lunged toward her. “What did you say?” His voice shook like an erupting volcano.
Ignoring the coming tirade, she pushed past him and charged toward her mother. “You’re a liar. You told me about my adoption … and you lied about that. I wasn’t taken from an orphanage. Lila Strulinski was with child.” She thrust a thumb onto her chest. “And I was that child!”
Mrs. Feeney threw a hand to her chest. “Don’t even think such a thing!”
“Jacob Baranski ….” She overrode a twinge of fear with her boiling rage. “Is he my real father? Is that what all this intrigue is about?”
“Karen!” Mr. Feeney stepped toward her. “Stop it! You’re acting like a silly schoolgirl!”
Karen spun to face him. “I won’t stop, Mr. Feeney, until your wife answers my question.” She eased closer to Mrs. Feeney. “You said you adopted me from an orphanage, but now I know you lied. You cannot give birth, so when Jacob took advantage of Lila, you brought her to this house to have her baby and then kept it! Now, that’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Enough!” Mrs. Feeney slammed her fists on her thighs. “You just settle down now, and we’ll explain everything!”
“No! You’re a liar!” Karen whipped her arms to her sides and glared from parent to parent. “You’re both liars!”
Mrs. Feeney slapped her.
Karen glanced down, recovered from the sting, and lifted her head. “You never intended to tell me the truth, did you?”
A more forceful slap only doubled the defiance on Karen’s face.
Mrs. Feeney burst into tears and reached for her. “Oh, Karen, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me!” She wrapped her arms around her daughter.
Karen jerked away and backed up a step. She thrust one hand toward Mrs. Feeney. “Stay away from me. You are not my mother!”
Mrs. Feeney glowered, stepped forward, and delivered her most brutal slap.
Karen rocked to one side as she struggled to stay on her feet. Straightening, she closed her left eye against the pain. She gritted her teeth as blood trickled to her chin, and her tone softened. “It doesn’t hurt half as bad as the lies you kept all these years … Mrs. Feeney.” Karen pivoted and marched toward the door.
Mr. Feeney grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Karen tried to pull free but failed. “Away from this kingdom of deceit.”
Mr. Feeney shook her. She kicked his shin, whipped her arms from his grasp, and dashed toward the front door.
He lifted his injured leg and rubbed his shin. “You’d better snap out of it, or we’ll ship you off to boarding school.”
Sprinting to Trackside, Karen found Lila sitting on a bench while sorting through a fruit basket. She wet her lips before inching toward the haggard woman. Lila looked up and smiled without a mother’s recognition.
Karen threw herself onto Lila’s lap and sobbed. “Oh, Mother!”
Lila gingerly drew her hands back, eased one onto the girl’s hair, and petted her. “Baby.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Baby.”
******
Driving his buggy past the train station, Doctor Armistad spied Karen sitting alone. He tied his horse to a hitching post and strolled toward her. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Yes, sir.” Karen rose while offering her hand. He grasped it, and they sat on the bench. “I’ve returned to settle my affairs.”
“Off to your first employment, so I’ve been told.”
“Yes, sir. I studied journalism while away at boarding school and managed to procure an apprenticeship with a small, progressive Chicago newspaper.”
He removed his hat and dangled it between his knees. “I’ve thought a lot about you these past three years.”
“I’m glad you came by. I really should thank you, for you were the only one besides a crazy Gypsy woman who told me the truth.”
He nodded. “As I recall, I didn’t inform you. You and your friend tricked me into divulging it.”
She grinned. “Just the same, thank you. I stopped by to see Mrs. England … to apologize but discovered she had passed on.”
“Yes. One year since.” He looked up and down the platform. “I passed Trackside on the way here. I didn’t see Lila. Do you have any idea where she is?”
Warmth spread through Karen like wildfire. “My mother? Are you inquiring after the woman who gave me life? Why, thank you, Doctor. She is quite well.”
“Where is she?”
“A sagacious man once predicted that someone would come along one day and pluck her out of her destitute situation. Finally, someone has.”
A middle-aged woman left the station privy and sauntered toward Karen and the doctor. She doddered on unsteady indigent legs, but her long, flowing dress enhanced her visage with a pristine appearance. The smell of lilac arrived with her.
“Doctor Armistad?” Karen rose and stretched a hand toward the woman. “May I present Lila Strulinski, my mother.”
Doctor Armistad stood, placed the hat on his head, and took Lila’s hand. “Charmed, to say the least.”
“Oh, Doctor,” Karen continued, “there is someone else new you have not met.”
The doctor surveyed the platform, then raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Karen extended her hand. “Yes … Lila’s daughter, Miss Karen Strulinski.”
A whistle sounded in the distance. Karen lifted two bags and turned to Lila. “Come, Mother, we’re off to Chicago.”
The three moseyed to the platform edge.
“Miss Strulinski?” the doctor said. “I cannot let you go without giving you the complete truth of your birth. Nasty though it is, you must know it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Doctor?”
“You’re correct in assuming Jacob Baranski is your real father, but the circumstances by which that came about are far more appalling than you can imagine.”
Karen raised an eyebrow. “Does it really matter, Doctor?”
“To me, it does. To know you have the whole truth will mean a great deal to me.”
“Then tell it. I am prepared for anything.”
The train whistle sounded again, much louder than before.
“The Feeneys paid Jacob Baranski to impregnate Lila.”
Karen leaned back and laughed.
The doctor winced. “Miss Strulinski, I shouldn’t think that so humorous.”
“I find it very amusing, Doctor. I discovered that carefully guarded fact after my second summer at boarding school. It appears that a few people outside our little clandestine circle also know our closets are stuffed with dirty laundry. But I will go you one better, Doctor.”
He wrinkled his forehead. “You know something I don’t? Please enlighten me.”
“You are correct. Mr. Feeney did pay Mr. Baranski to impregnate Lila, but Mr. Baranski failed in his attempts.” The whistle blared as the train chugged by, spewing steam everywhere. Several cars passed before it stopped, allowing Karen to continue. “My real father had to do it himself.”
Doctor Armistad leaned back. “What? Are you saying Mr. Feeney …? That’s impossible. Whoever told you that is speculating.”
“I thought so myself when I first heard it. However, as loathsome as that task was, I forced my father to admit it. You can believe the horse’s mouth, can you not, Doctor?”
Doctor Armistad bit his lip. “It’s the devil’s work.”
Karen broke into a smile. “No devil, sir, just human nature. My foster mother, Mrs. Feeney, wanted a child so badly that she sanctioned the unholy event; for you see, with the Feeneys, it’s always been whatever satanic means were required to justify their clandestine ends.”
“I am so sorry, Miss Strulinski.”
Karen plucked a silver dollar from her reticule and handed it to the doctor. “I think this squares our account. Thank you, and good-bye.” She helped her mother onto the train and climbed on after her. They disappeared through the door and reappeared at an open window. Karen’s waving hand thrust through. “No matter the history, Doctor, Lila Strulinski is my mother. So long, and good luck to you.”
The doctor waved as the train pulled out. He popped the silver dollar in his jacket pocket, smiled away a tear, and sauntered toward his buggy.
THE END
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