Patience

By Jessica Lake

Patience was not unattractive.

That said, she was not blonde. Nor ocean eyed. Not slender. Nor tall. Patience’s treasures gave no outward sign. But she touched all with her inner brightness. She made sure each orphan, big or small, felt chosen. And she gave her all without a price tag.

Patience had arrived at the orphanage as an overnight bank deposit. The contraption stuck out of the front wall.

Picture a woman—little more than a girl—standing in the dark, exhausted, swaying. She pulled the metal door open. Placed the infant within. Pulled the lever. A dull mechanical click. And the child was gone.

A no-return, no-exchange transaction. With no receipt.

When Patience arrived, she may have been two months old. She was healthy and hungry. Waiting patiently for her bottle. She never fussed. The Sisters named her Patience, and she was.

The orphan racket is simple.

Prudent parents come in, survey the brood, choose. The youngest and glittering go first. Then the next. And the next. No one had the clarity of vision to see the treasure hidden beneath the quotidian.

At three years old, Patience stood beside Sister Maria, looking up at a print of Freedom from Want.



“This is my favorite artist,” the sister announced. “His name is Norman Rockwell. Isn’t that a grand name?”

A long table. A white cloth. A grandmother setting down a great turkey. Faces turned toward one another, smiling. Everyone had a place.

Patience studied the people around the table.

A family. That’s what they were.

Not like here. Here, the Sisters loved God most. The children came and went. Then quickly, the others lingered.

Patience was hooked.

From that moment on, her only wish was to have a family. A mother and father. Brothers and sisters. The whole kit and caboodle.

Patience grew out of patience.

“When?”

Sister Maria smiled gently. Not even the Holy Father in Rome could answer that question.

“My dearest, you are a perfect child. Ask anyone. You are a blessing to those around you. The Heavenly Father sees your goodness. In time, your prayers will be answered.”

“But I’m eight years old now,” Patience said. “I don’t have much time left. Each year that passes leaves one year less of childhood.”

Sister Maria had no answer to that.

“Darling, I know how hard it is. Trust that, God willing, in time your prayers will be answered.”

And still the years passed.

Seasons changed. Children arrived, were chosen, and disappeared. Patience endured.

At seventeen, she was no longer a child. Soon she would leave the orphanage.

And then, a miracle happened.

On the threshold of her eighteenth birthday, an older couple chose her.

She was perfect.

A year or two of high school. Maybe college. A few more to help her begin a career.

Just the final exit interview remained.

“So, are you happy?” asked the Mother Superior.

“Happy?”

“Yes. You finally have your family. You’re someone’s daughter.”

Patience looked at the couple. She smiled warmly.

“This has nothing to do with you. You are my dearest prayer coming true.”

Then she turned to the Mother Superior.

“You offered me the kingdom of heaven. A power that knows each of us, and in time answers all our prayers.”

“Exactly,” said the Mother. “I told you—if you were patient, it would come.”

Patience took a breath. Settled herself.

“Fuck you! Here I am—eighteen. My childhood spent. Withered away. And now you answer my prayer?”

She paused.

“This is the last time we will speak. I don’t want a single fucking thing from you.”