Free In the Bleak Midwinter by Julia Spencer-Fleming Page A

the fact that they were the only home for pregnant teens in Washington county, DHS yanked their license and shut them down.”
    “That’s outrageous,” Clare said.
    “So you can see why we’re not eager for them to get their hands on the birth mother,” Geoff said.
    “We’ve already filed suit requesting temporary custody of Cody,” Karen said, “but we talked it over, and we think it might be helpful to have members of the congregation write letters in our favor to DHS.”
    “Especially if anyone knows someone personally they can write to, or call. A state senator, or a member of the governor’s staff, or someone on the board of governors for Human Services.” Geoff braced his elbows on his knees and cracked his knuckles. “You know, Reverend, when we first started trying to have a baby, I swore we’d do it ourselves, with no help from anybody, doctor or adoption agency. But now?” He scowled. “What the hell. Let’s get everyone involved. Maybe someone in the congregation has a friend of a friend who knows Senator Schumer. Whatever it takes to get the baby into our home as soon as possible.”
    “Okay,” Clare said. “At the end of my sermon tomorrow, I’ll ask the congregation for help. We’ll need some sort of directory, something that gives addresses that people can write to.” She reached for one of the croissants Karen had laid out on the flattened bag. “We can just squeak it into the December newsletter if you can get the information to Lois by Monday.” She bit off a chunk of croissant, showering her lap with buttery flakes. Her eyes widened at the taste.
    “Wonderful,” Karen said. For a moment, Clare didn’t know if she was talking about the bread or the plan. “I have a good feeling about this. I think having the backing of the whole congregation will make this time different.”
    Clare devoured the rest of the croissant and brushed the flakes off her lap. “I’d like to talk about the other half of this matter. The part that Chief Van Alstyne brought up with you. Have you thought about what happens when Cody’s mother shows up? From what I understand, the mothers in this sort of abandonment case are almost always caught, or turn themselves in.”
    “That’s why we need custody now,” Geoff said. “We’ll need to be able to argue that the baby has bonded with us, that she is an unfit mother, and that the child’s best interests will be served by remaining with us.”
    “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
    “Reverend, finding a healthy white infant in this country is a harsh business. It’s not for the squeamish, or for people who aren’t willing to play hardball.”
    “And besides, maybe the mother won’t turn up.” Geoff and Clare both looked at Karen.
    “That’s an unrealistic attitude to take, Kar. We have to position ourselves strategically to win against her, not cross our fingers and hope she’s disappeared for good.”
    There was one more croissant left, and Clare snagged it, wondering what it said about her personality.
    “Of course. You’re right. It’s just I believe that Cody is the one. I just know he’s meant to be ours.” Karen beamed. Clare hoped that all their focus and intensity wouldn’t end in disappointment. Who could say? If passion and commitment made for good parents, the Burnses would be the best thing that could happen to Cody.
    “Then we’d better be prepared to do what we have to to ensure that he stays ours,” Geoff said.
     
     
    Russ resignedly contemplated the old glass-fronted vending machine in the hallway between the coroner’s office and the mortuary, where he was reluctantly spending his Saturday afternoon. EAT-A-TERIA it proclaimed in vintage fifties lettering. HOT—COLD—TASTY—CONVENIENT ! For a buck in change, you could get one of several sandwiches alleged to be turkey, ham, or cheese, and for fifty cents more you could make your meal complete with chicken soup, which poured out of a spout to the right of