"Relax, for goodness' sake!" Deborah said. Joanna's anxious paranoia was getting on her nerves.
"Is something wrong?" Helen asked.
"No, nothing,' Joanna said innocently. She gave Deborah a dirty look.
"There they are," Helen said, pointing off to the right. "There's Megan Finnigan, the laboratory supervisor, and Christine Parham, the office manager. Conveniently enough, they're sitting at the same table. Come on, let me introduce you!"
Joanna cringed and tried to keep her back toward Dr. Donaldson as she followed Deborah, who'd fallen in behind Helen. Helen was leading them toward one of the tables near the window. To Joanna's dismay, the sound of Deborah's heels on the aged parquet floor combined with her tawdrily provocative outfit had caught the attention of everyone in the place, including Dr. Donaldson.
Deborah was unconcerned about the stir she was causing. Her attention had been absorbed by a table of Spanish-speaking diners she'd passed near the dining room's entrance. They were all young, compact, darkly complected women who Deborah guessed were South American or Central American natives. What caught her attention was that they all appeared to be pregnant – and all of them seemed equally far along.
Following the introductions to the two department heads who had finished their meals and were about to depart, Helen took Joanna and Helen to a separate table. There they were served by another woman who, like the young women they'd seen on the way in, appeared to Deborah like she was from South or Central America. She, too, was pregnant to the same degree as the others.
Once the lunch was served, Deborah's curiosity got the best of her, and she asked Helen about the women.
"They are Central Americans," Helen said, corroborating Deborah's impression. "They're from Nicaragua. It's an arrangement that Dr. Saunders has made with a colleague in that country. They come for a number of months on a work visa, and then return home. I have to say, they have solved a big problem for us by providing kitchen, cleaning, and serving help, which we were unable to find in this area."
"Do they come with their families?"
"No, just by themselves. It's a chance for them to make a serious amount of money, which they send back home."
"But they all look pregnant," Deborah remarked. "Is that some kind of coincidence?"
"No coincidence at all," Helen said. "It's a way for them to earn extra money. But listen, eat up! I really would like to show you the living quarters which I hope we can talk you into taking advantage o£ I know you'll be pleased with the rents. They're shockingly reasonable, especially compared to those in Boston."
Deborah looked at Joanna to see if she'd been listening. For most of the meal Joanna had been preoccupied by Dr. Donaldson's presence and the supposed need to keep her back to the table where the doctor had been sitting, but Dr. Donaldson had now left, and it was apparent to Deborah that Joanna had heard what Helen had said about the women laborers. Joanna returned Deborah's stare with a look that was a mixture of dismay and disbelief.
TEN
AFTER LUNCH HELEN MANAGED to get the two women into the golf cart despite Joanna's reservations. Once the tour began, even Joanna found it interesting. The size of the property was impressive, and most of it was covered with dense, old-growth forest. The residences of the upper-echelon personnel like Wingate, Saunders, Donaldson, and a few of the others were detached homes similar to the gatehouse in style although 'with white trim instead of black, making them significantly more appealing.
Even the average workers' housing was charming. The buildings were two-story row houses grouped together in a fashion reminiscent of a rural English village. The two-bedroom unit Helen showed the women was quite homey. Its front windows looked over a small, cobble stoned central square, while its larger rear windows faced south, affording a view over the millpond. Equally attractive was the rent: eight hundred dollars a month.
At Deborah's insistence, after leaving the apartment Helen took them on a short loop around the farm and even around the power plant before bringing them back to the main building. The only downside of the entire excursion was that Joanna and Deborah were never out of Helen's earshot and had no chance to speak privately. It wasn't until Helen deposited them back in the anteroom of Wingate and Saunders's office to wait for Dr. Wingate that they had their chance to talk.
"What was your take on those pregnant workers in the dining room?" Deborah asked in a whisper to keep Gladys, the secretary, from overhearing.
"I was blown over," Joanna said. "I can't believe they have a whole group of migrant women who are being paid to become pregnant!"
"Do you think it is some kind of experiment?"
"Heaven only knows," Joanna said with a shudder.
"The question is, What are they doing with the children?"
"I should hope the children are going back with the mothers to Nicaragua," Joanna said. "I don't even like to think of any other possibility."
"The first thing that comes to my mind is that they are selling them," Deborah said. "Surrogacy doesn't seem likely since they are all so equivalently far along. Selling them could be quite a lucrative business on the side. Being an infertility clinic they certainly have the appropriate clientele, and when we were here a year and a half ago you were impressed with the money this place was seemingly raking in."
"I was impressed with the money they have to be generating from the infertility business," Joanna said. "With the numbers they're obviously doing here, they don't have to be in the baby business to make ends meet. It doesn't make sense! Selling babies is against the law, pure and simple, and Helen Masterson was so up-front about it. If they were doing something against the law, she certainly wouldn't have been so forthright."
"I suppose you're right," Deborah said. "There has to be some reasonable explanation. Maybe they are women suffering from infertility themselves. Maybe helping them get pregnant is part of the deal to get them to come."
Joanna treated Deborah to a look of disbelief. "That's even less likely than surrogacy and for the same reason."
"Yeah, well, I can't think of any other explanation."
"Nor can I," Joanna agreed. "I'm going to be happy to learn about my eggs, and then turn my back on this organization. I felt uneasy about this place the first day we came here to donate, and today has just underlined that impression."
The door to Dr. Wingate's office opened and the doctor emerged with narrow-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Clutched in his hand were balance sheets, which he continued to examine intently up until the moment he placed them on the secretary's desk. He didn't appear to be pleased.
"Call the accountants," he muttered to Gladys. "Tell them I want to see all four quarters of last year."
"Yes, sir," Gladys said.
Spencer gave the balance sheets a final knock with his knuckle; were still mulling over their contents before looking in the direction. He took a fortifying breath and then walked over to where they were sitting. As he approached his expression softened and a tentative smile appeared.
"Good afternoon, Miss Marks," he said, reaching out to shake hand, which he held for an extra moment as he locked eyes with her. Then turning to Joanna he said: "I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name. Georgina mentioned it, but it's slipped my mind."
"Prudence Heatherly," Joanna said. She shook Spencer's hand and stared up into his face. Deborah had been right; the man didn't look like her father, yet there was something about him that was similarly superficially appealing.