Saving Jane Doe

In January of 1973, the Supreme Court ruled in the Roe v. Wade case and abortion became legal. For good, Betty the Butcher was out of business. For bad, millions of unborn babies would die and their mothers would live with the guilt and shame of it. Saturday, January 13, 1973, dawned a beautiful, sunny winter day and we decided to visit some antique shops in Washington, a small historic town about an hour-and-a-half drive from Lexington. Jessie wanted an antique desk and while I did not share her interest in antiques, I thought it would be a good way to get her out and into a new place. I was still feeling disappointed that her exposure to the University had not triggered any new memories. We visited a number of antique shops on the main street of the charming little town. Jessie found desks that she liked but none that she could afford. Her favorite was semi-circular, made of wood and leather in a style designed by Thomas Jefferson. After a morning of frustration with the prices, we decided to have lunch and head home. An historic inn at the edge of town was recommended to us by one shop owner. Built of logs in the year Kentucky became a state, 1792, the inn had been restored and renovated with electricity and running water added. The owner and cook served soups, salads, and sandwiches at lunch time and a full menu in the evening. We had finished eating and paid the bill when they came in. The man was handsome in a rugged, Marlboro man sort of way. About six feet, two inches tall, he stood straight and proud. Large square shoulders and powerful muscles stretched the sleeves of his blue shirt; blond curls formed around the collar. Big blue eyes twinkled with his easy smile. He accompanied a petite blond woman, who would have been rather plain except for her radiant smile. They sat in the middle of the room facing the door with her back and his side to us. Jessie watched the man come in. She began fingering a curl of her long hair as she stared at him, a gesture I had never seen her do. She stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence and failed to notice when I asked her if she knew them. I touched her wrist to get her attention and found it hot; her pulse was racing and pounding so hard I could feel it through her blouse. “Jessie, you're staring,” I said, shaking her arm. “Do you know that man?” “Yes,” she said. “I mean I don't remember him, but I know him. I am sure of it.” “Go say something to him.” “I can't.” “If you know him, he will know who you are. Don't you want to know?” At that moment the man looked up and saw Jessie staring at him. His smile vanished and his ruddy cheeks went white. The woman, seeing his face, turned to see what had caused the reaction. He started to stand up, but the woman, who also seemed to recognize Jessie, placed a restraining hand on his arm. “I must speak to her,” he said. With that he stood and came to our table. “Jess?” He said. “George?” She said in a soft voice, unlike Jessie's, at least as I knew it. Then in a bewildered sort of way in the voice I knew, she said “I remember your name. I knew you.” “You knew me?” He said in a voice, equally bewildered. “Of course, you knew me, I am …er…was you husband.” Jessie fainted. “I'm Jessie's doctor and friend, Cara Land,” I said, as he helped me ease Jessie out of the chair and onto the floor. We elevated her feet and asked the waitress to get some smelling salts. “What's the matter with her?” He looked confused. “I think she needs to be the one to tell you that rather than me, but I will tell you that she has amnesia. You are the first person she has recognized in a year and a half.” At that point, the blond woman stood and in a meek, little voice said, “I'll wait in the car, George.” “I'll just be a moment,” he said with kindness in his voice. “What did you mean 'was your husband?'” “I divorced Jess six months after she left. When she left, I filed a missing person report and looked in hospitals all over the country. It wasn't like her to disappear like that. Then, I got my credit card bill. She had paid her way to California on my credit card, and I am still paying it off. My lawyer said I should cancel the card and I could divorce her after six months, so as not to be responsible for any more of her bills after that.” “I see.” With a sinking feeling, I asked “What is your last name?” “Green,” he said. “Look, I have to go. Mary is waiting in the cold.” “I don't know what will happen when she comes to. Can you tell me how she can reach you, in case she doesn't remember?” “She doesn't need to reach me. I remarried six months ago.” “What about your children?” “I have full custody,” he said as the door closed behind him. The waitress arrived with the smelling salts, and Jessie came to. “Is he gone?”