SOME RENEWALS RETURN

by JoAnn Baca

KEEPSAKES

Keep a leaf between your pages
when you forget your season…
some memories keep their green.

Carry a feather in your pocket
when the world grows weighty…
some flights are never lost.

Set a pebble on your desk
when your thoughts scatter…
some footings remain true.

Hold a seashell in your palm
when silence grows heavy…
some songs endure.

Keep a drop of rain in your memory
when the days turn brittle…
some renewals return.

~ Monika Ajay Kaul

“It’s my key-sake!” Kipper snatched his precious item from Samantha.

Embarrassed at being caught rummaging through his chamber, Samantha muttered, “I was just looking for the book you were supposed to share with me so I could do my English homework.” Hoping to intimidate her excitable friend into ignoring her trespass, she added, “Father said we’re supposed to share!”

Still clutching the box she had been on the point of opening, Kipper pointed to his bookshelf. “It’s right there.”

She grabbed the book…which she didn’t really need, having already borrowed a different copy from Geoffrey…and stormed out of the chamber, stiff-backed and still red-faced.

When Kipper had moved from the dormitory to his own chamber, she’d helped Cullen set it up, always ready to nose around in other people’s chambers. She had become intrigued by the little wooden box he’d clutched, letting no one else handle it. What could be so important? She’d asked casually and received nothing more than a shrug from him.

Why wouldn’t he tell her? They were pals, in many of the same classes, and she was used to being successful at prying secrets out of people, especially other kids. His resistance had only exacerbated her interest. So today, she’d thought she’d have the perfect opportunity, and she’d waited until he had gone to lunch with Eric before slipping into his chamber to search. Why had he returned so quickly, so abruptly? She was mad at herself for not being more careful.

She smiled as a thought struck her: he had mispronounced “keepsake” as “key-sake”! What a dope! That made her feel a little better. She headed to the Dining Chamber to get lunch before all the peanut butter sandwiches were gone.

* * *

“Vincent? Can I come in?”

Surprised to find Kipper at his entry, Vincent stood up from making his bed. “Of course. How are you?”

The youngster lingered just inside the entry. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need a favor.”

“Come. Sit.” Vincent pointed to the massive chair beside his writing table. He sat on his partially made bed, facing him, noting that the boy had something in a carry bag that he was clutching in both hands. He was curious, but he waited for Kipper to open the discussion.

Kipper was blushing deeply. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He squirmed in the big chair and seemed almost at the point of deciding to leave when Vincent reminded him, “You can tell me…or ask me…anything. If you want advice, I’ll give it, but if you just want a friendly ear, I’ll keep your counsel.”

The young boy let out a deep sigh of relief. “OK. Thanks. Well…” He tightened his hold on his carry bag and finally blurted out, “I need a new hiding place. I lost the best one in my chamber.”

Indicating the bag with one claw-tipped index finger, Vincent asked, “For what’s inside?”

Kipper nodded vigorously. “Snoopers have been…well…snooping.”

“Ah. I see.” He contemplated the boy for a moment in silence, then asked, “Many…snoopers? Or one in particular?”

The youngster lowered his gaze and nodded. “Just one. But…she found it…and almost opened it…and…well…it’s my key-sake, and she shouldn’t have been snooping!”

“Very true. Nobody should be snooping in your chamber. Especially if you don’t want to share your…did you call it a ‘key-sake’? Did you mean a keepsake?”

Kipper frowned. “It’s a key. Isn’t that why they call them ‘key-sakes’?”

Smothering a smile, his elder shook his head. “The word ‘keepsake’ can refer to anything you want to ‘keep’ special; usually it’s a thing that you treasure, such as a photograph, or an item given to you by someone you love. For instance, my favorite keepsake is a toy carousel. It reminds me of a moment from my childhood.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed now, Kipper’s blush returned. “I thought it was ‘cause it was a key you saved.”

To banish the boy’s embarrassment, Vincent replied, “Of course, it could very well be a key. Perhaps that’s where the confusion came in. It’s understandable.” He reached over to pat Kipper on the arm. “Do you wish to hide your keepsake somewhere in my chamber?”

A nod was his answer.

“You may choose a spot. I can look away, if you wish. And if I happen to stumble across something I don’t recognize, I will assume it’s yours and not disturb it.”

Relief spread across the youngster’s face. “You won’t open it?”

“I promise not to.” Vincent rose. “I’ll leave for a few minutes, and you can hide it.”

Kipper nodded, but as Vincent approached his chamber entrance, called out to him. “You…you don’t need to. I trust you.”

Without turning entirely, the big man inclined his head toward the boy. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you prefer secrecy. I understand the importance of keeping some things for yourself alone.” He thought of his own keepsake box that held every note Catherine had sent Below. Yes, he definitely understood.

“It’s OK.” He hopped off the chair. “I could use your help to find the best spot anyway.” He reached into his carry bag and pulled out the small box, which he handed to Vincent.

It was light, almost as if nothing were inside. He thought back to Kipper’s misunderstanding of the word “keepsake” and jiggled the box ever so slightly, hearing an object strike one side. A key for a ‘key-sake’?

“How about behind my steamer trunk that contains my own keepsakes? I rarely pull it out, and nobody ever opens it but me.”

Nodding, Kipper said, “I like that idea. Thanks, Vincent!”

The deed done, a lighter-hearted Kipper thanked him again and scooted out of his chamber.

Vincent soon forgot about the hidden box. But, of course, Kipper never did.

Years went by…

* * *

“I’d have to check our records, sir. Back that far, we weren’t computerized. It means digging through old boxes stored in the depths of the basement. So please don’t get your hopes up.”

The man who made the request nodded, resigned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “This was found with me. It was tucked into the blanket I was wrapped in.”

“Looks like a safe deposit key.”

Failing to keep the pleading out of his voice, he said, “I realize this is the biggest stretch, to assume I was left with a note, with a name…something I could trace.” He gazed at the name tag on the woman’s sweater. “Whatever you can find, I would appreciate so much, Ms. Glenda.”

“Look, all I can do is try,” she said, her voice having softened infinitesimally at the use of her name. “Just…like I said…don’t expect a miracle.”

He nodded again. “I understand how impossible this sounds.”

The woman patted his hand and turned to her telephone, which had begun ringing. He left without a backward glance, so he didn’t see Glenda gaze at his retreating form and shake her head with sadness in her eyes.

* * *

An elderly man…bordering on ancient…was sweeping the sidewalk when Kipper left the adoption agency. Whether it was his job or his avocation, Kipper wasn’t sure.

“Hey, kid!”

When he looked over his shoulder, he noted that the man had stopped sweeping and was staring at him.

“Overheard your problem.” He began leaning on his hands, which were clasped over the top of the broom’s handle.

Kipper couldn’t imagine how he’d overheard anything, since he’d been inside an office with a closed door. Bracing himself for a plea for funds, he slid one hand into a pocket.

The old man caught the gesture and shook his head. “Not looking for a handout, young ‘un. That over there…” He tilted his head to indicate a barred window at street level. “Sound comes through pretty good if you put your ear up close and turn your hearing aid up.”

Kipper smiled. “You have information about a baby left on the doorstep thirty years ago?”

“One like you described? Key in a blanket? Yeah, think I do.”

The smile faded. “It’s not kind to mock me, sir.”

“Not mocking. I was here, back then. Not sweeping, that came later. I was, you might say, engaged in entertaining myself with a bottle of brew, on about a sundown, ‘though it hadn’t gone dark yet. Saw it.”

Kipper stepped toward him, intrigued despite the seeming impossibility of the tale.

The old man leaned his broom against the wall and beckoned Kipper even nearer.

“Despite what you might think, very few, even back then, left a baby on a city doorstep like that. Too dangerous. Anybody coulda grabbed the babe up before the door was opened, you know?” He shook his head. “Seen the gal around the neighborhood. Sweet kid. Brown curls, looked just like you. Always had a kind word for me, is why I remembered her.”

His eyes grew misty as he reminisced. “Well, sir, she runs up to the door, cryin’ her eyes out, and sets this baby right down on the doorstep. She starts to turn away, then reaches into her pocket, pulls out a little key and bends down, sticking it into the blanket. She’s bawlin’ so hard she’s stumblin’ as she runs away down the street, holding her tummy like she’s about to be sick. Well, I couldn’t let that little one just lie there, right? So I scooped him up and kept him warm until the place opened the next day. Took the kid in then. Explained what happened.”

Taking a desperate chance, Kipper asked, “Any idea what year that was?”

“Can tell you the exact date, sure.” He reached into the pocket of his ragged jeans, pulling out a battered wallet held together with strapping tape. Out of a credit card slot, he pulled a piece of notepaper that had been folded quite small. “Asked them for a receipt, I did! They thought I was nuts but gave me one so’s I’d leave, I guess.”

He handed the “receipt” to Kipper. He opened it carefully. It read: Receipt for one baby boy wrapped in blue wool baby blanket w/ ducks embroidered on edges, key inside folds. Sally Martinson, June 23, 1977.

Looking over Kipper’s shoulder at the receipt, the old man said, “That there’s the lady who ran the place back then. Miss Sally. Nice one, her. She seemed to always have leftovers of some kind she didn’t want, kept me from starving some weeks.”

Heart beginning to beat faster, Kipper inquired, “You said she…the mother…was from the neighborhood?”

“Yep. Lived in a brownstone couple blocks from here. Walked to the subway down this street.”

Grasping at this sudden straw, Kipper asked eagerly, “Could you show me?”

“Sure!” The old man placed his broom carefully under the building’s fire escape. “This way.”

As they walked, the old man introduced himself. “Name’s Autry. Parents got the moniker from the singing cowboy, starred in all those movies. Know who that was?”

Kipper shook his head, then held out his hand. “Mine’s Kipper Smith…well, that’s the name I was given, if not born with, anyway.”

Autry shook with him. “Pleased. Anyway, back in the 70s, the gal lived in the brownstone I’m taking you to. Whole family lived there, but she was the only nice one of the lot. Always a kind word.”

They walked in silence for another block, until Autry stopped and pointed. “There it is. Mostly the same people live in it now, far as I know. Haven’t seen her in a long, long time though.”

Kipper noted the address, excitement spiking. But he cautioned himself against expectations. He needed to consider his next steps…and also consider whether to take on faith what this elderly gentleman said he recalled.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your information very much.”

He accompanied Autry back to the adoption agency, buying them both lunch at a cart along the way. When he’d finished eating, he shook Autry’s hand and, resolved, re-entered the agency.

“Is Glenda here?” he asked the receptionist.

“Uhhh…” She glanced behind her at the office where Glenda usually sat. “Don’t see her. She might be in a meeting or…something.” She returned her gaze to Kipper. “Shall I give her a message?”

“Please. It’s…very important. I asked her for a huge favor recently, and I have more specific information now which might help reduce the time she spends on it.” He wrote down the date and other information Autry had provided.

She took his note and nodded. “I’ll put it on her desk right now, sir.”

* * *

Days passed and Kipper’s impatience was rising, which was laughable, considering how many years had gone by before he’d summoned the courage to approach the agency.

He thought about the house Autry had pointed out. Kipper had checked the tax records and gleaned some information that way. The Morgensterns were, indeed, long-time owners of the property. It was held in a family trust these days. He’d researched the family, too. He had emptied his savings account to hire a genealogist, who had created a family tree for him, going back to the turn of the last century. Isaiah and Sarah Morgenstern, who owned a factory making women’s clothing, had moved to a tony neighborhood in Manhattan in the 30s, having managed to retain their wealth even during the Depression. The brownstone they had bought eventually had been turned into apartments that now held descendants.

He had researched the living members of the family, and none seemed a possibility to be his mother. Questions about the past might haunt him, but to a family with, perhaps, no knowledge of secrets kept for decades, asking those questions now would likely not be met with any kind of helpful response, whether from genuine ignorance or even suspicion or anger. It was most likely that a woman who found herself in the family way back in the 1970s might not have made it into the family lore. Times were on their way to changing by then, but unmarried mothers still were considered shameful in prideful families.

Determined to hold off contact until Glenda got back to him, he forced himself to call upon his dwindling patience and tamp down his curiosity.

* * *

“Mr. Smith? It’s Glenda Martinez from the adoption agency.”

Kipper sat down heavily, anxiety ripping through him. “Yes, Ms. Martinez. Do you have news?”

She chuckled. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible but…yes, I do. It seems our Autry’s ‘receipt’ was quite useful.”

“And?” His heart was trip-hammering in his chest.

“I believe I have found your intake file. There are some notes in it – which alone is extremely unusual – that confirm the female parentage, at least.”

“Tell me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather read it for yourself?”

Surprised it would be allowed, he merely said, “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

* * *

As he sat with the closed file in his lap, he asked, “How is it possible? I thought files like this were sealed?”

“Usually, yes. But…well…read the notes in back. You’ll understand.” Glenda rose. “I’ll leave you alone to read everything.”

Kipper didn’t even notice when she left the room. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling. A moment he had never truly believed in had arrived.

He opened the file.

There, on yellowing paper, was the information already provided by Autry, confirming the date and description of the abandoned baby. The intake clerk had added notes about Autry’s involvement and his request for a receipt, a carbon copy of which was included in the file. And there was another page underneath the receipt, typed and inserted. It read:

Today, June 24, 1977, a young woman came to the door asking about a male newborn abandoned recently. She identified the duck design on his blanket, and said that a safe deposit key was tucked inside. The last was such an unusual piece of information, I believed her to be the mother, or at least the woman who left the child that Autry found on our doorstep yesterday. She informed me that her name was Esther Morgenstern, and while she was distraught at having to give up her child, she wanted it noted herein that if he ever sought information on his abandonment, we have her permission to tell him her name. She also asked that the key be kept with him when he was put in an orphanage or adopted. I told her it was unlikely the key would remain with him during transitions from place to place, but she insisted, and I promised that I would note this request in subsequent paperwork.

Fat tears slipped from his eyes onto the paper. He looked up as the door behind him opened.

Glenda’s voice, softened now, said, “I made a copy of your file before you arrived.” She went to her desk and took an envelope from her out-box. “I hope this helps in your search.”

He smiled as he wiped his face with the backs of his hands. “Whatever happens, I will never be anything but grateful.”

Shrugging, she replied, “I would have suffocated in that dusty file room if Autry hadn’t provided the clues. It’s really him you should thank.” She rose and held out her hand.

He shook it with both of his.

* * *

Autry wasn’t around when Kipper left, or he’d have treated the man to a nice meal, as if that could ever be enough to repay him for the precious gifts of his memory and his foresight all those years ago.

* * *

Kipper decided to go through an attorney to make contact with the Morgensterns. It would allow time for the family to absorb the situation in privacy. He wanted nothing from them except whatever information about his mother they could provide…and, if possible, the identity of his father. Just knowing he had roots was more than he had ever expected, even if the family decided against meeting with him.

* * *

“Kipper? It’s Catherine. My law partner, Joe, happens to be acquainted with a member of the Morgenstern family, so we thought it might be best to have him make the contact. He did, and I have news.”

Kipper sat back in his office chair. He’d been anxiously awaiting a call since he’d dropped his file off at the offices of Chandler and Maxwell a few days before.

“Is it good news or bad?” He was so tense that his voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s good! Joe went to law school with Solomon Morgenstern and they’ve been friends since, so he was able to smooth the surprise over and make Sol understand that you only want information, although you would be open to a meeting. Sol feels it best to meet with you himself. But he plans to ask questions of the elders in the family, maybe find photos… Joe gave him your cell number and email address. He promised to be in touch.”

Kipper exhaled a held breath, relieved to hear that this first step had gone smoothly. “Does he know about the key? Has he any idea what it might mean?”

“Joe felt that was something you might want to bring up yourself. Solomon already had so much to consider. Baby steps.” Catherine’s voice softened from lawyer to friend. “I’m so happy for you, Kipper. Let me know if there’s anything else we can do to help.”

“Thanks, Catherine. Wow, I’m… Please tell Joe I’m in his debt.”

She laughed. “Normally he’d say just pay his bill, but this one is on the house! See you soon.”

* * *

“Is this Kipper Smith?” The man’s voice sounded uncertain.

“It is. May I help you?” He was pretty sure who the man was, but he wasn’t going to push.

“This is Sol…Solomon Morgenstern. Joe Maxwell gave me your number.” A brisk, formal sound replaced the uncertainty.

“I’m grateful you called.”

“Look…let’s agree this is a strange situation and make the best of it, OK?”

Kipper nodded as he replied, even though the man couldn’t see him. “I can only imagine how out of the blue this news is for you.”

Ignoring his comment, Sol just asked, “Are you free for lunch? Say, tomorrow?”

“Name the place and time.”

* * *

When Kipper entered the crowded restaurant, he looked around for a man sitting alone and immediately saw him. In fact, it was like looking in a fun-house mirror. He and Sol looked so much alike, some might assume that Sol Morgenstern was his father.

He saw the exact moment when Sol’s eyes lit on him. Surprise replaced his former bland expression.

Kipper headed to the table and said, “From your features, I’m assuming you are Mr. Morgenstern?”

“Sol, please.” The man stood to shake Kipper’s hand. “Sit, if you would. And yes, I’m surprised to see you in more ways than one! It’s a bit like my youth coming back to haunt me!”

Kipper smiled broadly. “Never having seen anyone who looks remotely like me before, it’s a happy surprise for me!”

Sol stared at him for a moment, taking in his features. “Remarkable.” Then he shook himself. “Sorry for staring.”

The waiter showed up at that precise moment, looked at them both, and said, “Mr. Morgenstern, I didn’t know you had a son!”

Kipper bent his head to hide a smile as Sol sputtered a bit before blurting out, “We’ll both have the salmon, Martin.”

When Martin had bowed and left, Sol looked at Kipper in discomfort for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Well, I guess nobody can argue you aren’t family! Shall I tell you what I learned?”

* * *

Catherine listened as Kipper told her about his meeting. He finished by saying, “Sol had some photos of my mother that he gave me. She was really beautiful. He also asked about her and, well, me. From what he could piece together, the older relatives knew all about her situation but said they didn’t like talking about long-buried family secrets. He pushed them and finally got the story.

“Esther was seeing a young man behind everyone’s back, as he wasn’t Jewish or from a ‘good’ family, so wasn’t a suitable match. They either forgot his name or refused to tell it to Sol. The result is the same – Sol couldn’t find out who he is or was. It seems that Esther got pregnant but hid it until it wasn’t possible to hide it anymore.”

His tears made Catherine’s heart go out to him, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’m so glad Sol has been open to you, Kipper.”

Nodding, he continued. “She was kept at home once she was showing. They kept a close watch on her. That’s where she had me: at home, in secret, so there’s no birth certificate. But when she was left alone for a few minutes, she rushed out, returning without the child…me. The family never questioned what she had done with her baby. Sol said the elders he spoke to seemed relieved they wouldn’t have to deal with a child, find explanations for their social circle… As far as they were concerned, the matter was closed.”

Catherine shook her head. “It sounds odd now, but back then, some families were that way. Appearances mattered more than anything else, even a family member’s happiness, even a child.” Catherine had tears in her own eyes, both for Kipper and for Esther.

“I know. I try to understand but…”

She nodded, realizing how torn he was, wanting to meet his family but knowing that some of them didn’t want to meet him.

“Anyway, Sol vaguely recalled that while he was away at school, a cousin – Esther – had some health issues and…passed away. Now that he knows about me, he thinks there might have been some unaddressed complications after my birth.”

“How sad this all is.” She reached out to hug the boy who had grown into a wonderful, thoughtful man. She’d had no idea of his search until she became involved at the very end of it and was glad he had learned what he had. So many children in similar circumstances never found their birth families. “I’m impressed he got so much from his family – people not exactly thrilled to recall the past. He must be quite persuasive!” She smiled. “It must be a family trait!”

Kipper blushed at the compliment.

Catherine probed further, the last mystery being too compelling to wait for him to mention it. “Could he shed any light on the key found with you?”

Nodding, he said, “He could. It seems that every family member was gifted a safety deposit box upon reaching their majority. Esther was 22 when I was born, so she had already received her own box and key. Sol got one himself at 21. He said it contained bonds and stock shares in a variety of companies. He used the funds within a few years – he bought an apartment in a co-op building, put himself through law school, set up his law practice… As you can imagine, cashing out the gift turned it into a substantial sum.”

“What happened to Esther’s once she died?” Catherine wondered if it was possible that her death had resulted in the box being closed and its contents redistributed.

“Sol suspects the family forgot about it. Certainly, her pregnancy and death caused a lot of disruption, and soon after, the family faced a series of issues – sale of the business, a tax audit, several illnesses… Concern about Esther’s key likely was subsumed amidst more pressing, more immediate problems.”

Catherine leaned forward in her chair. “So…if you can prove you are her heir, it’s possible you might inherit the contents of the box, if it still exists?”

Kipper tilted his head, considering her question. “Maybe. I didn’t think to ask.”

She thought for a minute. “If Sol would agree to DNA testing, and we could prove a familial match to yours, we could provide that to the Surrogate Court, along with a copy of Esther’s death certificate, and the records the agency found mentioning that your mother wanted you to have the key to her safe deposit box. Once that court determines that you are entitled to inherit her assets, the bank would be required to release the contents of that box to you.”

* * *

A year later, Kipper reflected on all that had transpired in that whirlwind of months.

Sol had found Esther’s diary tucked away behind an old encyclopedia in a library in the family’s brownstone – after a truly epic search that Kipper never questioned but often wondered about. What had possessed Sol to embark on it? But it proved to be incredibly useful. Not only did it name his father, it held a lock of Esther’s hair as well as his father’s. Testing confirmed beyond a doubt that he was a Morgenstern, as well as confirming his relationship to his father, Anson Porter.

As it happened, Anson never knew that Esther was pregnant. He had thought she’d abandoned him at her family’s urging. After waiting for some time for her to contact him, he had resigned himself to losing her and had moved on, eventually meeting and marrying another, with whom he had three children.

So, after decades of thinking himself an orphan, Kipper suddenly had three families – his adopted Tunnel community, the Morgensterns, and the Porters. It felt odd but wonderful to find himself with more relatives than he had fingers and toes.

The bank had followed the court’s instructions and allowed him to open the safe deposit box belonging to his mother. As expected, it contained a bounty similar to Sol’s…only its worth far exceeded Sol’s, as the stocks and bonds had sat collecting value for decades beyond the time that Sol had liquidated his.

Kipper now was rich in funds and family beyond his wildest dreams.

He had been looking for Autry since his life-changing meeting with Glenda. She told him that Autry had just disappeared, and she hadn’t seen him again. Kipper had searched shelters and food kitchens for months after, even calling hospitals and the morgue, but nobody matching Autry’s description had ever been found.

* * *

Late one night, Kipper was flipping through the channels on his television, needing something to take his mind off a problem at work. A movie was just starting called Goldtown Ghost Riders, starring Gene Autry. He smiled and settled back to watch it, curious about the singing cowboy Autry was named for.

Just as he did, there was a knock on his door. Startled to have a visitor at that hour, he asked, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Glenda from the agency. My apologies, but my curiosity…”

She didn’t finish her explanation, because Kipper had thrown open the door. He would never not answer if Glenda was contacting him.

“Come in, please.”

She was hauling a large box behind her, and he helped her bring it inside, his own curiosity piqued further.

“You’ll never guess… Well, maybe you would. I saw Autry again!”

Kipper smiled with delight. “Great to hear! How is he? Where has he been?” He indicated the couch and she sat down with a sigh.

“I wish I could tell you. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…” She shook her head with a wry smile. “So…this evening I was leaving late.” She checked her watch. “About an hour ago, in fact. And as I turned from locking the door, a limousine pulled up. Pretty rare in that area, as you can imagine. The back door opens and…there he is, smiling at me. I was stunned, and asked how he was, told him we’d been searching for him. Well, he just waved my questions off and told me he had something for you.”

Kipper glanced at the long box. It had been bulky but fairly light.

“The driver got out to remove this from the trunk. Didn’t look much like a limo driver, him wearing a baseball cap and regular clothes. He had a very engaging smile, though, and winked as he handed the box over. Anyway, Autry just told me this was for you, and that he was leaving town. They both popped back into the limo and off they went.”

“How strange.”

Both pairs of eyes were on the box now.

“Let’s open it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!”

He got scissors from a drawer in his side table and stripped the tape. He folded back the flaps…

They stared at Autry’s broom in surprise, and then they both laughed.