TemptingJuliana Read Free

Some children are the result of rape, but most petitions come from women who claim to have been seduced with promises of marriage and then deserted when they became pregnant. In such cases, many mothers can avoid disgrace and find employment only if they do not have to care for their children.”
    “A sad truth,” Juliana said, her heart hurting at the thought of women being forced to give up their babies.
    Miss Strickland opened a door. “The Committee Room,” she whispered.
    And Juliana’s hurting heart broke clear in two.
    Inside the elegant chamber, a queue of young mothers clutched their infants tightly, the expressions on their faces a mixture of anguish and hope. Their simple cloaks and aprons were a poignant contrast to the silk gowns of a few fashionable lady patronesses who had come to observe the spectacle.
    And what a spectacle it was.
    As Juliana watched, a young woman was invited to the front, where a well-dressed man held out a cloth bag. Shifting her whimpering baby, the woman reached a trembling hand into the bag and pulled out a little red ball. She swallowed hard and, gripping the ball in her white-knuckled fist, stepped off to join a small group of mothers and babies huddled at one side.
    Abandoning the battle-axe, Juliana walked over to join the other spectators. “What does the ball mean?” she asked in a whisper.
    A tall, middle-aged woman answered in kindly tones, “The system is called balloting. These mothers have already been screened and deemed acceptable. But the Governors can accept only ten infants at a time, and there are many more qualified mothers wishing placement for their children. Balloting is the fairest method of allocating places.”
    As she finished her explanation, another young woman drew a ball—a black one—and dropped it to the floor, sudden tears spilling down her cheeks as she ran from the room, taking her baby with her.
    “Black is bad?” Juliana asked.
    “Mothers who draw black balls are immediately turned out of the Hospital. A white ball means the baby will be examined and admitted if it is healthy. Mothers who draw red balls are invited to wait to see whether any babies are refused admittance, in which case they are given a second chance to enter the lottery.”
    An agonizing lottery. Juliana watched as two more mothers drew black balls and one lucky woman nabbed a white one. “How many mothers are hoping for placement today?”
    “About a hundred, which is typical.”
    And only ten would see their babies provided for. The fortunate woman with the white ball was ushered toward a corner, where a doctor waited to evaluate her child—a girl, if Juliana could judge by the scrap of ribbon crookedly tied in the baby’s sparse, downy hair. During the short examination, a dozen more mothers drew balls—nine chose black, one red, and two jubilantwomen got white. When the first baby was declared healthy, the mothers waiting with red balls visibly drooped, gripping their infants more tightly. The lucky mother—if one could call her that—was given a numbered document that certified the Hospital’s acceptance of her baby, and a lead tag with a corresponding number was threaded on a necklace and placed around the child’s neck.
    A tightness squeezed Juliana’s chest as she watched the tearful parting, the mother kissing her baby girl over and over before regretfully surrendering her to a Hospital employee. “Is she given that paper so she can reclaim her child?”
    “Partly. The babies are baptized with Hospital names—the child is never told the identity of the mother, and the mother won’t know her child’s new name. But if at a later date she can convince the Governors of her reformed character and improved circumstances, the paper and matching necklace number will prove they restore the right child to her.”
    “But you said ‘partly,’” Juliana prompted.
    The woman sighed. “Truthfully, that seldom happens. She is more likely to use the paper for