MAGGIE'S CHILDREN

 

Maggie’s Children

                                                      
            Maggie Charlton propped two pillows behind her back and sat up in the bed.  She clutched the blankets in her fists and pulled them up around her neck.  

Soon the police would come.  She waited resignedly in the dark of the bedroom and looked out the window at the blackness of night that would soon be illuminated by the inevitable flashing blue dome.

Out in the front room, her drunken husband and his three drunken pals were cursing and screaming at each other.

Maggie had endured this madness before. 

And each time, there had been a warning by the authorities.

          “Something has to be done.”  “This situation is deplorable.”  “We may have to take the children away from you.”
          But he can’t help it, she had pleaded for her husband.  It was the war.  My god!  Don’t you understand what he went through?  He has already lost so much.  And now you want to take our children!
          Certainly they understood, the authorities told her.  And of course it was very sad.  But the well-being of the children must come first.
           One pompous lady, a social worker, had said very nasty things about Maggie.  “The mother should  be examined for mental competency,” she had insisted.  “The woman may not be insane or committable, but she is lazy and shiftless.  All you have to do is see what a pig pen her house is.  And she seems somewhat muddled.  I don’t think she’s capable of taking care of her children.”
          Sooner or later, Maggie had known, they would come for her children.
          And now the dazzling blue dome whirled across the bedroom window. Sooner had come.
          There was a vicious pounding at the apartment entrance.  Maggie could not get out of the bed quickly enough to open the door, and the men in the front room were too drunk to care, so the door was forced open.  

When Maggie had managed to wobble out to the foyer, she was looking at two huge police officers and a stocky woman in civilian clothes.

          One of the police officers pushed open the door to the front room and herded the four suddenly docile drunks out of the apartment and into the police wagon which was behind the cruiser.
          The officer who remained in the apartment noted Maggie’s bloated stomach.  “You’re Mrs. Charlton?”  he asked rhetorically.
          Maggie nodded.
          The officer turned to the stocky woman.  “This is Mrs. Beatty.  She’s with the Child Welfare Department.”
          Mrs. Beatty spoke softly and smiled gently.  “You must get the children ready now.  I’m very sorry, but they’ll have to come with us.”
          It was then that Bobby, age eight, came drifting sleepy-eyed into the living room.  “Is Daddy arrested again,” he whined.
          The twin girls, age seven, and a boy, age three, were taken out of the one small room where they had all been sleeping in the same bed.  Mrs. Beatty grimaced as she watched Maggie dress her children in shabby, smelly clothing.
          “We’ll all have to go now,” Mrs. Beatty said.
          Maggie walked silently past Mrs. Beatty, and went into the front room where she collapsed onto the couch.  She groaned and then screeched sharply, and Mrs. Beatty thought that she was distraught because the children were being taken away.
          “No, that’s not it,” the police officer snapped.  “It’s time!  Is it time, Mrs. Charlton?”
          Maggie Charlton winced and nodded.

          Two mornings later, Maggie Charlton and her fifth child were settled in a bed in the State Hospital, and she was gazing at the sunshine beyond the barred windows.  The room was filled with natural light and, as her newborn slept beside her, Maggie felt an unwarranted serenity.
          Her only visitor that morning was her unmarried sister, Eleanor, who was very rich and very influential in the city government.
          “They’re going to keep the children,” Eleanor announced coldly.
          Maggie did not speak, or show any response.
          “They will want to find foster homes for them,” the sister went on.
          “What about the baby?” Maggie said flatly.
          “Do you want the baby to stay with you?”

           Maggie nodded.    
           “Charlie won’t be coming home for a long, long time,” Eleanor said. “They took him back to the Veterans Hospital.  He’ll be having shock treatments, and he’ll be kept there indefinitely.  He’s become completely disconnected again.”
          “What about my new baby?”
          “Do you really think you can take care of the baby, Margaret?”
          “Yes.”
          “Well, maybe you can, with only one child to look out for.  You do understand you may never get custody of the other four children again?”
          “I know.”
          Eleanor stood up, and moved away from the bed.  “I’ve applied to be appointed guardian for all the children,” she said. “In time, when Bobby is old enough to be responsible for himself, I may ask to have him placed with me.  But I can’t take all of them.
          “The baby can stay with you, as long as there’s no more trouble.  And if Charlie does come home, he’ll have to be watched like a hawk.  We’ll talk more about it later.”
          Eleanor turned abruptly and went out of the hospital room.
          Maggie gazed at her sleeping baby, and suddenly felt a deep and painful anxiety.  She would have liked to cry, but could not make any tears.  She could never make tears, no matter how much the inner pain required them.