Madame Clarabelle Fitzgerald's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Clara walked into the public records office and set her bag on the wooden counter. She needed to learn how to search for adoption records—what forms existed, where they were kept, and who had access. The clerk glanced up from his desk but said nothing. Clara cleared her throat and asked about records from fifteen years ago. He pointed to a row of filing cabinets along the back wall and told her adoptions were private. She would need proof she was the birth mother. Clara pulled out her old hospital bracelet and the paper she'd signed the day she gave her daughter away. The clerk studied them, then nodded. He opened a drawer and showed her how the files were organized by year and month. Most adoption records were sealed, he explained, but she could request a search if she filled out the right paperwork. Clara took the forms he handed her and sat at a small table near the window. Her pen moved slowly across each line. She wrote her name, the date of birth, and the town where it happened. When she finished, she returned the papers to the clerk. He stamped them and told her to come back in two weeks. Clara thanked him and walked outside. She didn't have all the answers yet, but now she knew the first step. She would wait, and when the time came, she would return. Two weeks felt like a year, but Clara filled the time with more searching. She asked at the general store, the church, and the boarding house. No one remembered a baby girl from that time. Then she heard about the Gritstown Orphanage from a woman at the market. The building stood at the edge of town, tall and gray against the dusty sky. Clara walked up the front steps and knocked. A woman answered and listened as Clara explained what she needed. The orphanage kept birth certificates and adoption documents, the woman said. Clara showed her hospital bracelet again. The woman led her inside to a small office lined with shelves. She pulled down a ledger from the year Clara's daughter was born. Clara's hands shook as she turned the pages. There—a record of a baby girl, born on the right date. The adoption papers listed a family name, but the address was crossed out. Clara copied the name into her notebook. The woman told her the family had moved years ago, but someone in town might know where they went. Clara thanked her and left. She had a name now. That was more than she'd had this morning. The sun was setting when Clara left the orphanage. An old lamp post stood near the front steps, its flame flickering inside a glass bulb. The light grew brighter as the sky darkened. Clara stopped and looked back at the building. She had learned more in two weeks than she'd hoped. The public records office taught her how adoption files worked. The orphanage gave her a family name and a date. Someone in Gritstown knew where that family went. Clara pulled her shawl tighter and started back toward town. The lamp post glowed behind her. Tomorrow she would ask more questions. She would show people the name in her notebook. One step at a time, she was getting closer.