Finding Kate

by ShiningStar

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

I was almost six when I first heard someone say that Mother and Papa were my grandparents. I knew very well that I didn’t have any grandparents at all, because I had visited the family cemetery on the farm near Nashville where Papa’s parents were buried, and Mother had told me that her parents were buried in Pennsylvania. But after I heard the same remark twice in a short period of time, I took my concerns to Mother.

“I don’t have any grandparents, do I?”

Mother looked up from the cake she was frosting for Papa’s birthday. “No, Kate, unfortunately you don’t. But you have a large family nevertheless.”

That was true. My two uncles, Papa’s brothers, had children who had children of their own. Then I had four brothers and a sister who lived in California. Of course, Papa wasn’t their father—only mine. I knew that because they called him Royce instead of Papa.

I climbed up on a stool to observe the frosting process—and, hopefully, to be offered the opportunity to run my finger around the frosting bowl. Mother smiled and pushed it toward me, and I wasted no time in foraging for the remains of the dark, thick chocolate.

“Mignon’s grandmother is visiting her.”

“Oh?”

“Mignon’s mother told her that you and Papa were my grandparents.”

“I see.”

“But you’re not—are you?”

“No.”

“I told her that was wrong, and she said I was being im—im—im...”

“Impertinent?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her politely?

“I think so.”

“Then you weren’t being impertinent.”

Mother lifted the cake from the table and carried it to the sideboard in the dining room. I trailed behind her, licking the remains of the frosting from my fingers. “There—now we’re all ready to celebrate tonight.” She wiped my mouth with the corner of her apron.

“Will the Vandemeers be here? And Uncle Rand?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Uncle Rand isn’t really my uncle, is he?”

“No.”

“But I call him uncle.”

“That’s because he’s someone special in your life.”

I followed Mother back to the kitchen. It was Isabel’s day off, and Mother was cooking dinner. “Bring your stool to the sink, and you can wipe the dishes for me, Kate.”

I did as she said. Mother said that a well brought up little girl learned to do things besides sit on the stairs looking pretty and waiting for her Papa to come home at night.

“Why did Mignon’s mother say that you and Papa were my grandparents?”

Mother handed me a cup towel. “I suppose because we’re older that other parents with little girls.”

“You’re not old.”

She kissed my cheek. “You keep me young, Kate.”

“So why are you and Papa older than other little girls’ parents?”

Her hands never stopped their movement in the soapy water of the dishpan. “Well, that’s a very interesting story, Kate darling, and tomorrow, when we don’t have guests, Papa and I will enjoy telling it to you.”

Given the fact that both Papa and Mother told wonderful stories, tomorrow seemed a long time to wait. I sighed. “All right.”

“As soon as we’ve finished cleaning the kitchen, we’ll go to the market for some fresh mushrooms,” Mother went on. “You know how much your Papa likes them with his roast beef.”

The prospect of a trip to the open-air market made me forget the story, and I concentrated on wiping the bowls and spoons as quickly as I could.

* * * * * * * *

Papa’s birthday dinner was a huge success. I sat beside Uncle Rand, who cut my roast beef for me, and thought about how Mignon hadn’t believed me when I told her that I always ate with Mother’s and Papa’s guests. She insisted that I had to go upstairs with my nurse. I replied that I no longer had a nurse. Mother said I was big enough to look after myself—with her help, of course. Mignon didn’t believe that either.

Tonight I basked in the warm candlelight and Uncle Rand’s attention, but I didn’t say anything. Mother said that well brought up little girls were seen and not heard and only spoke to guests when they were spoken to. Maybe, I thought, Mignon wasn’t a well brought up little girl, and that was why she had to go upstairs.

After dinner, I helped Mother serve the cake, carrying each plate very carefully from the dining room to the parlor where our guests were having coffee. “My, Kate, what a lovely young lady you’re getting to be,” Mrs. Vandemeer said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vandemeer.” I glanced at Papa. He was smiling.

“She has such lovely manners, Royce,” I heard Mrs. Vandemeer say as I returned to the dining room for another plate. “I don’t know another six-year-old who would sit at the table throughout an entire dinner without interrupting everything.”

Later, I climbed into Papa’s lap and snuggled against him contentedly. It had been a busy day, and I was very tired, but no one suggested that I go upstairs to bed. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Mother was tucking me into bed. “Did everybody go home?” I murmured sleepily.

“Yes, darling.”

“Goodnight, Kate precious.” Papa bent over me and kissed my forehead.

“Papa, do I have nice manners?”

“Certainly.”

“Papa, what are manners?”

He laughed. “Sleep well, precious, Your guardian angels are watching you.”

I hugged my favorite doll and turned over.

“I promised her that tomorrow we’d tell her about things,” I heard Mother say.

Papa sighed. “I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask so soon.”

“But she has—and we must tell her the truth.”

The door closed.

* * * * * * * *

Papa only spent a half-day in the office on Saturday. He said that Saturday afternoons were family time. We always did something special. Sometimes we had a picnic or visited friends. Sometimes we walked around the shops and had tea at an outside café. Other times we stayed home and roasted nuts or made popcorn in the fireplace and played games.

And every Saturday night, Papa and Mother went out to dinner by themselves, while I stayed home with Isabel. I loved watching Mother get dressed up for these occasions. I thought she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen—more beautiful even than Mignon’s mother who was from Paris. I’d sit curled on the foot of the bed while Mother arranged her hair and chose her jewelry. Sometimes she’d even let me try on a necklace or a brooch, but I couldn’t try on the earrings because my ears didn’t have holes in them yet. She said I could do that when I was thirteen.

This Saturday was going to be a stay-at-home day, Mother said, because of the wonderful story that she and Papa had for me. I hurried to straighten my room that morning and practiced my piano lesson without being told. Then I went in search of Mother to discuss manners.

“Having good manners just means being polite, Kate,” Mother said as she helped Isabel sort the table linens for washing. “You’ve been taught to be polite.”

“Is Jarrod polite?”

“Yes.”

“Is Nick?”

“Sometimes.”

“Didn’t you teach him to be polite?”

She laughed. “Well, I tried.”

“Nick yells a lot.”

“Yes, he does.”

“I wish it would be Christmas soon. I miss everyone at the ranch.”

“It will be Christmas soon enough, darling. Go upstairs and bring me the scarves from your dresser and bureau. I think I’ll send them to be washed today.”

“Can I put new ones on? The ones with the roses?”

“Yes, they’re in the cedar closet.”

I’d watched Mother embroider the scarves with the roses. She said they reminded her of her garden at the ranch. They were my favorite, too.

When I returned with the others, she smiled at me. “You’re such a good help, Kate.”

I felt warm inside. I loved doing things with Mother. Mignon spent a lot of time with her nurse—a woman who looked like she’d been eating sour apples and had lines between her eyes that Mother said meant that she frowned a lot. I’d loved Elspeth, but just before my fifth birthday, Mother explained that Elspeth would be moving to a new place.

“You haven’t needed a nurse in quite some time, Kate, but we’re all fond of Elspeth and hated to see her move on. Now, however, it’s time, and she’s going to take care of another brand new baby.”

“Will she still come to see me?”

“We’ll invite her for tea sometimes on her afternoon off.”

Even with that promise, the parting had been difficult. I’d tried hard not to cry, but I did—and so did Elspeth—and so did Mother.

After that, Mother said it was time for me to learn about chores, and I spent most of my day following her around the house being her helper. Isabel said she didn’t know why she was there because Mother and I did most of the work. Mother just laughed and said we couldn’t get along without Isabel who was, in fact, responsible for my learning to speak French at an early age.

Then, after we returned from the ranch at Christmas, Mademoiselle Renee began coming to the house every morning to teach me. That’s when I met Mignon, whose father, Charles Dubois, did business with Papa. They discussed things and decided that we would be good companions and could share a governess.

Mignon was a good companion, and I liked her very much. Sometimes I was invited to her house to play, but I liked having her at mine better. I thought maybe she did, too. Her nurse was always around, telling us not to get our clothes dirty or to muss our hair, and her mother never ever played with us or had tea with us like Mother did. And Mother said that hair would brush and clothes would wash and that being a little girl was my most important job right now.

I liked lessons with Mademoiselle, too. Papa had taught me to read, and I could write my name and all the days of the week and most of the months of the year. Mademoiselle said that I was tres intelligent. Mother, overhearing, said that I should remember that being intelligent didn’t make up for being lazy—so I should work hard.

Mademoiselle didn’t come on Saturdays, and on this particular Saturday morning, I stayed so busy helping Mother that the clock in the foyer was chiming eleven before we knew it. We hurried upstairs to change our dresses and be ready to meet Papa.

“Your father likes for his ladies to look their best,” Mother had explained as soon as I was old enough to understand. “It pleases him—and we always want to please him, Kate darling.”

At eleven-thirty, Mother and I were sitting in the parlor when Papa came through the door. He scooped me into his arms as I ran to meet him. “Here’s Papa’s princess!” He kissed me, then set me down and went to kiss Mother. “Hello, my love.”

She lifted her face for his kiss. “Isabel is going to serve a light lunch whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll just go upstairs and change,” Papa said.

Suddenly I remembered the story. “Papa, will I get my story after lunch?”

I thought he looked a little sad all of a sudden. “To be sure, Kate precious. Right after lunch.”

* * * * * * * *

I was a little disappointed that the story wasn’t full of knights in shining armor and princesses—or, at least, cowboys riding fine horses. In fact, I didn’t understand all of it the first time, so Mother had to repeat parts.

“So, you see, Kate darling, that’s why Papa and I are older than Mignon’s parents, but we’re certainly not your grandparents.”

“That’s what I told Mignon’s mother.”

“But I am Trevor’s grandmother—and Camron’s and Leah’s.” Those were Jarrod’s, Audra’s, and Heath’s children.

I thought for a minute. “Are you their grandfather, Papa?”

“In a manner of speaking. Their real grandfather died many years ago—Tom Barkley.”

“Jarrod, Nick, Audra, Heath, and Eugene are Tom Barkley’s children, Kate,” Mother explained again. “I was married to their father. After he died, I was very lonely until I met your Papa.”

“And then I was born.”

“Yes, but not to me,” Mother said, glancing at Papa over my head.

“But you always said that the Christ Child brought me to you!”

“Indeed, He did, precious,” Papa said, cuddling me close. “The very first first Christmas your Mother and I were married, we saw you and knew you were meant to be ours.”

“Where did you see me?”

“At the orphanage where Audra helps out. You had just come.”

“Where did I come from?”

Mother and Papa exchanged long looks again. “You were born in a line shack, Kate. You know—the little places where Nick and Heath stay sometimes when they’re busy and can’t get home at night.”

I understood about line shacks and nodded.

“But you weren’t there?” I asked Mother.

“No.” She took my hands. “The young woman who carried you under her heart—as you saw Audra carry Camron—died, and you were left all alone. One of the hands on another ranch found you and took you to town to Dr. Merar, and he took you to the orphanage.”

I digested that bit of information. “And you and Papa saw me there.”

“On Christmas Eve,” Papa said. “You were the prettiest baby I‘d ever seen, and I loved you right away.”

“Did you love me right away?” I asked Mother.

“Yes, of course, I did. And later, your Papa and I talked and knew that you were supposed to be ours, so we went back and got you and brought you home.”

“You didn’t have to rescue me from a dragon?” I asked hopefully.

Papa laughed. “No, precious, but we did have to rescue you from Audra later. She wanted to take care of you all the time.”

Mother laughed, too. “She still does.”

“Katherine Barkley Wardell,” I murmured.

“We wanted you to have a name that was part of both our lives,” Mother said. “Audra was already named for me—Audra Victoria—so we decided to make Barkley your second name.”

“Who is Katherine?” I asked.

“I was married, too, before I met your Mother,” Papa said. “Her name was Catherine—spelled with a C—and she died, too, like Tom Barkley. So we gave you her name as part of my life before.”

It was all beginning to make sense, but one thing bothered me. “Were there other little girls at the orphanage?”

“Yes,” Papa replied.

“But you knew that the Christ Child brought me for you and Mother.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

“We just knew,” Mother said softly. “Like you know the right thing to do, Kate. Like you know when you’ve done the wrong thing.”

“God tells me.”

“That’s right.”

I sighed happily. “I’m glad you listened to God.”

Suddenly I was caught up between them, and they were laughing—and Mother was crying a little, too. “Oh, so are we, Kate! So are we!”

From the diary of Dr. Katherine Barkley Wardell:

Later, of course, I acquired more details about my origins when I was old enough to understand. The story of the Christ Child, however, was always my favorite, and perhaps it was the truest. Annie had given birth alone and in desperate circumstances. That I had survived was a miracle in itself. That Mother and Papa had been led to make me their own was also miraculous.

Even now, remembering that long-ago afternoon in the parlor of our first home in New Orleans, I can still feel their arms around me and hear Mother’s wonderful, encompassing laughter. I also remember Mother scolding me later for telling Mignon the story and adding that I was more special that she was because the Christ Child brought me especially for Mother and Papa.

“All babies are gifts from God, Kate,” she admonished me. “You came to us differently than Mignon came to her own parents, but she is special, too.”

I was always convinced otherwise, however. Even the inevitable mean whispers and innuendos never caused me to waver from the firm belief that I was more blessed than any of my friends.

“Honestly, Mother,” my daughter Vicky said to me once, “the way you tell the story, you’re the only person in the world who was ever adopted!”

“I was the only baby that Papa and Mother adopted,” I silenced her. “And that made all the difference.”

THE END