The rectory was empty, except for Fr. McGee in his study, pouring over the documents of a recent episcopal council.
“John. Have a seat.” John took a seat in the carved chair placed before the priest’s desk. “What brings you here today? It’s not a Finance Committee meeting, is it?”
“No, Father. That’s next week.” John cleared his throat. “Grace and I…we have a problem.”
Fr. McGee closed the text in front of him and knit his fingers together. “What is it?”
“Grace is pregnant. And that’s not the problem. We’re so happy about it…”
“It is the law, isn’t it.”
“You know?”
“The Church was one of the few lobbying agents against it.”
“Then you know our problem.” The priest nodded. “Father, we will never….”
“I know. I know you and your wife would not.”
“But what are we supposed to do? The doctor is expecting us for the tests in a few weeks’ time. And Grace will need a doctor, a good one, for this.”
Fr. McGee sighed. “Have you been tested?”
John shook his head. “Grace, obviously, doesn’t need to be. She will be sterilized…forcibly, from what I understand.”
“Yes. She will be. So will her sisters, and her brother.”
“But they might not be carriers!”
Fr. McGee shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The law says anyone with any immediate family….”
“That’s a huge amount of the population!”
“It’s how they decided to control it. The population. Resources are limited, John. They have to be distributed equally.”
“The 30th amendment,” John murmured. Ratified four years ago, it was a utilitarian’s dream, prescribing that limited government resources were to go to the most amount of people. People like Grace were stricken from government insurance plans, and without her father’s generous help, she could never afford the medications she needed—not even with John’s large salary.
Fr. McGee nodded. “Limit the amount of people who can have children, and whether or not the offspring will be healthy.”
“They can’t predict that. Any geneticist can tell them that. What about spontaneous mutation?”
Dr. McGee shrugged. “Any scientists that are saying that are not taken seriously. Their research funds are pulled. Hospitals won’t have them.”
“This is…this is outrageous.” John buried his head in his hands. “What are Grace and I supposed to do? These are sins, Father.”
“They are.” He drummed his fingers together. “I think I can help.”
“You have an idea?”
“Perhaps. It is dangerous for you both—if you are found out—and the child…but I see no other way.” Fr. McGee jotted down a name on a piece of paper. “Take this. This doctor is a good man. He is practicing in secret…has already begun. Many others from the parish are going to him. If you call, he will give you the address. His wife is a nurse-midwife, so they are working as a team.”
John nodded and crumpled the paper into his pocket. “Thank you, Father.” He stood. “Pray for us.”
The priest nodded. “Yes. Always.”
*
Grace was floating in the bathtub, reading a book, when she heard John come in. “John?”
He poked his head through the door. “Can I join you?”
She splashed some water at him. “No! Where were you?”
“I went to St. Jude’s.”
“Today’s not a finance meeting day.”
“I know. I went to light a candle for you and the baby.” He had done that. After he’d talked to Fr. McGee.
Grace’s face melted. “Aw, John. That’s so sweet. Thank you.”
“Anything to help.”
“I should have my sister visit that Marian shrine near her house,” Grace said. “Light a candle or something. Remind me to call her later.”
“OK.”
“Hey, what did Eric say about that law?”
John closed his eyes and turned back into the bathroom. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just pre-birth genetic testing.”
“Do we have to have it?” Grace stroked her belly. “I don’t want to. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want a baby.”
“Me too. No. It’s no big deal.”
Grace sighed and poured water over her body. “Good. I don’t want all those ridiculous tests. Whatever we get, we get. Right?” John nodded. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “If my parents had done that…I might not even be here.”
John swallowed, his throat tight. “I know. Don’t worry Grace. We’ll be fine.”
“I know.” She smiled at him, confident in his ability to protect their family.
“Hey, I’ve got to make some phone calls. You just…melt,” he said as he shut the door. Grace’s laughter followed him into the kitchen, where he reached for the phone and dialed the number Fr. McGee had given him.
“The Masons’,” A woman’s voice jangled over the line.
“Is Dr. Mason there?” John gripped the paper in his hand.
“Sure. I’ll get him.”
“Hello?”
“Dr. Mason?”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“My name is John Connor. We go to St.Jude’s—“
“Sure, John Connor. You’re on the finance committee, right?” John nodded. “I am too but I can never make the meetings…babies always seem to be born on that day.” He laughed. “So what can I help you with?”
“Um…my wife, Grace—“
“The lector, right?”
“Right. Um..,she’s pregnant.”
“Ah. And you need a physician that specializes in high-risk pregnancies?”
“Yes. Fr. McGee gave us your number…”
“Great. How about you both come over on Tuesday, for dinner? My wife would love to meet both of you—she helps me in my practice, and I with hers, you know—so just come over, say, around 6?”
“Sure, sure. Um..we went to our regular OB today…what should I…?”
“Tell your wife it’s just a dinner invitation. Does she know?”
“No.”
“OK. Try to keep it that way. We’ll talk at dinner.”
“Thank you. So much. We…”
“Don’t mention it. We’ll see you then.” Dr. Mason gave him his address, his voice lowered. “And if you have any questions, just call.”
“Thank you. Have a good weekend,” John stammered. He replaced the phone, heart pounding.
“Who was that?” Grace was behind him, wrapped in a towel.
“Um…Leo Mason. He’s on the finance committee with me?” Grace nodded. “He wants us to come for dinner on Tuesday.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve been wanting to meet some more people in the parish.” “Well, here’s our chance. His wife will be there too.”
“What’s her name? Karen?”
“ I think so. I haven’t met her.”
“Neither have I. I mean, I’ve seen her, at church, and she’s just gorgeous.” Grace’s face fell. “What am I going to wear?”
John laughed and embraced her, kissing her neck. “Don’t worry. We can go shopping tomorrow.”
“You have to work.”
“I turned in the report to Ken, and I can videoconference if I need to. Jet lag is a real pain. Don’t worry.”
“All right. I’m working here anyway, until I get this article written. It’ll be nice to have you home for a change.”
*
At 5:00 on Tuesday, Grace stepped into a black shirtdress, quickly buttoning the small black buttons. She misted hairspray over her wavy hair and slid grey pearl earrings into her ears.
“Nice dress.”
“Thank you. Glad I can still wear it.”
“You’ve got months until you start showing.”
“Not that long.” She sprayed perfume on her neck. John adjusted a blue tie. “You look nice. I love that tie.”
“I know you do. Want to make a good impression.”
“You know Leo.”
“I meant on Karen.”
Grace swatted him with her powder brush. “Don’t even.”
“Kidding.”
John entered the address into the car’s GPS system and they drove through the late afternoon sun. “They live close,” Grace said, looking at the GPS map. “Good.”
“What, if they lived far we wouldn’t be going?”
“Ha. No, I just like knowing people that live close. Like neighbors.”
“Better than the ones we have,” John muttered.
“Should we start looking for a bigger place? We only have one bedroom, and it won’t hold a crib.”
“Sure.”
“You sound distracted.”
“Just concentrating. Don’t want to get lost.”
Grace tapped the GPS unit with her finger. “John…we can’t get lost.”
“Sorry.”
The house, when they pulled up to it, was large, rambling, really. Almost like a compound. Grace could see outbuilding, small and white, with clapboard shutters, behind the Georgian brick main house. The serpentine driveway curled lazily up to the font door.
A tall, lanky man and a woman who looked so similar to him she could be his sister emerged from the blue front door, heading for the car. The woman opened the door on Grace’s side and squeezed her hand as Grace exited.
The woman scanned her face, looking for something she couldn’t find. Her eyes rested on Grace’s unstretched abdomen. “Ah.”
“Excuse me?”
The woman—Karen, she assumed—shook her head, as if dislodging a particularly stubborn thought. “Nothing. I’m Karen.” Her smooth hand, bedecked with sapphire rings, was cool to the touch. Her skin reminded Grace of cocoa powder.
Grace could hear the men talking behind her—they were already well acquainted, and walked up the stone steps ahead of the women. “Come,” Karen said. “Everything’s ready.” Grace took Karen’s hand and followed her inside.
* * *
She didn’t want to believe any of it—nothing that Karen and Leo were telling her could possibly be true. It sounded too Orwellian to exist anywhere except in a future designed by writers.
She shook her head. “It can’t be true.”
“It is, Grace. That’s why your husband called me.” Dr. Mason sipped his glass of red wine.
Karen laid her hand over Grace’s. “It might be true, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not for any of the couples that come to us.”
“You can help.” Grace felt like a very slow child as she processed what Karen and Leo had told her.
“If you want us to.”
“Of course I want you to. Why would I…why would I want anything else?” Karen squeezed her hand again. “This is my child, and I don’t care what happens to me, I have to have him…”
“We know, Grace. That’s why we’re going to help you.” Leo stood and motioned to Karen, who helped Grace up. Wordlessly, John wrapped his arm around Grace and helped her out the back door, across the dark lawn, to one of the out building Grace had noticed earlier.
Here, Leo helped her onto the examining table and began to conduct an ultrasound. “There he is.”
“He?”
Leo focused the picture and zoomed in on an area. “Sorry. She.”
“A baby girl,” John said. “Our daughter.”
Our daughter. “She looks beautiful.”
“She is beautiful.” Karen said firmly.
Leo clicked and zoomed on another area. “We can’t really see her face…she’s turned away from me. But we will, at some point.”
“She’s going to look like her mother,” John said in Grace’s ear.
“If we can keep her that long.”
“You will.” Karen’s voice was sharp. “There is nothing to it.”
Leo turned off the machine and wiped the probe’s fluid off Grace’s abdomen. “Call Dr. Wallace and say you have switched doctors—that you’d feel more comfortable with one who deals especially with genetic research.”
“He’ll think that you’re being proactive, having the termination so early.” Karen’s voice was brittle.
“He won’t question it,” Leo said smoothly. “Ask him to send the records here.”
Grace and John nodded.
“Once we have them I will list you as my patient. As for the genetic test he mentioned—we’ll simply use the genetic make-up of another child.”
“How can you do that?” John asked. “Everyone’s genetic make-up is catalogued in Washington.”
“Not if they were never born.” Leo stood and reached under a stainless steel cabinet. A drawer popped open. “I have DNA from babies who were stillborn, or miscarried. I’ve saved them for years. We can simply use their DNA.”
“It won’t compare with mine,” Grace said.
Karen shook her head. “We’ll manipulate the pairs. The important thing is to ensure that, genetically, it looks ‘clean’. Don’t worry about how we do it.”
“The important thing is that we do.” Leo pushed the button and the drawer vanished. “Once we submit those results to Washington, your baby will have her unique DNA strand entered. That will be her number for the rest of her life.”
“After she’s born we’ll make up fake documents with the altered DNA information,” Karen said.
“But what if she gets sick, or needs a blood transfusion?” Grace asked.
“Obviously that’s the tricky part,” Leo conceded. “What we’re giving you is a short-term option, to get you and John and your little girl out of the country. We are sending most of our patients to Portugal.”
“They’re the only country—besides Vatican City—that doesn’t have genetic coding law,” Karen said. “Vatican City still had diplomatic immunity. But it’s so small, we are sending most people to Portugal now.”
“The country’s all but been evacuated,” Leo said. “It’s almost all ‘genetic refugees,’ as the government calls them. And they aren’t being denied entrance.”
“So,” Karen said, “After the baby is born, it’s in your best interest to immigrate. Obviously you don’t have to, but with the risks Grace just brought up, it is much safer. Their medical system is superb, and the quality of life is excellent.”
“Suppose I should learn Portuguese,” John said.
“It doesn’t matter. English is the second official language of all EU countries.”
Grace clutched at her abdomen where her baby girl lay peacefully. “I…Is this the only way?”
Karen nodded. “To save your child? Yes.”
“And yourselves,” Leo added. “The sterilization procedures are not without risk.”
John shuddered, thinking of Grace in the hands of a surgical hack. “What do we have to do to immigrate? ”
“We’ll do the paperwork,” Leo said. “The only thing the two of you have to do is act like none of this is happening.”
“Once the baby is delivered, you can take her home. But you must get out of the country before her first birthday.”
When a child turned one, genetic testing was done again, to rule out any spontaneous mutations. If any were found, the child was taken away and “institutionalized”—but John knew that the children were euthanized, their bodies dumped in mass graves. After he had met with Fr. McGee, he had studied the law more closely, and found gruesome pictures of dismembered corpses, tossed in heaps behind clinics in Vermont and Nevada.
“You will have 11 months to do it,” Karen said. “It shouldn’t take that long to get the papers.”
“You don’t immigrate directly to Portugal. You do it through Italy, then Vatican City, and then to Portugal. The settlements in Portugal are currently divided by country of origin, so it won’t feel very foreign at first,” Leo said.
John and Grace nodded. “We want to do this,” Grace said.
Leo nodded. “All right. Get your files transferred to me, and tell Dr. Wallace that I will do the genetic blood work. He won’t question it—one less test he has to run. I will want to keep a close watch on you, and the baby, to ensure a smooth delivery.” Grace nodded.
Karen handed a book to John. “Our basic What to Expect guide for high-risk parents,” she said. “Nothing Brave New World to worry about.”
“I don’t think this is the brave new world Miranda was talking about,” Grace said as Leo helped her down.
“No. She was thinking of princes,” Leo said.
The pair escorted John and Grace to the car. “Call me tomorrow,” Leo said. Grace nodded and John drove the car down the driveway, towards the avenue.
Grace was silent the entire way home, tears making silent tracks down her cheeks. When they entered their apartment, Grace slipped off her shoes and headed wordlessly to the bedroom. John checked the messages on the videophone and saved the few that pertained to work. In the bathroom he undressed and, carrying his clothes in a bundle, went into the bedroom.
In the dark he said Grace huddle don her side of the bed, clutching her stomach. Her quiet sobs echoed in the room. “Grace.” John dropped his clothes on the floor and lay next to her.
“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Grace said. Her voice was a thin thread in the dark. “My baby does not have a death sentence. We are not leaving our families behind. I am pregnant and it will all be fine. We will have a dozen children.”
He stroked her hair. “We will, Grace. We will. Leo and Karen will make that happen for us.”
“But not here, John. Somewhere…here, my baby…and you..and me…and my family….we aren’t wanted. We’re…”
“I want you.”
“But no one else does.” She said it so softly John wasn’t sure she had actually said it.
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