I, Theresa, Registered Nurse — Diane Frazer

I Am THERESA

“You see, Greg,” she said soberly, “nobody really knows when my birthday is.”

He turned around and looked into her face. “What is this, a gag? Surely your mother knows. She was there after all.”

She sat up straight. “Nobody knows when I was born. I'm not really the daughter of Stewart and Alicia Winslow; they adopted me when I was a little girl. It's rather like a Victorian novel. But it's fact, no fiction.”

“But who … but they must know who …”

“No, I was found, it seems, asleep and almost frozen to death in some woods in France, near the Swiss border. The Winslow's took me from a home for such war orphans in France. All they know is that I was about four when I came up to the French peasants who discovered me and said, Je suis Thérèse …”


“Believe it,” she said quietly, “It's true, Mr. Grauer.”
“It was near the Swiss border, you say? And this was in the fall of 1944?”
“Yes near a town called Annemasse. Do you know the region, Mr. Gauer?”
“I have been in France, yes.”
“I mean were you there during the war?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I have this feeling you know something, Mr. Gauer. Something concerning me. What I want to know is why you suddenly didn't meant to see me again. Why you didn't want me to see the snapshot of your daughter. You are not helping me, Mr. Gauer. Tell me about your family, your daughter>”
“They are dead,” he said firmly. “I don't want to speak about them. I have learned to forget about them. You should learn, too!”