Chapter 23: My Own Name

The Hollister Foundation board met at ten the next morning.

The room had a long walnut table and a portrait of Gordon's father on the wall.

The board members sat around it.

They all looked at me when I came in, and I wore the black dress again because I had nothing else good.

Adele sat alone in the last row of chairs against the wall, in a gray coat, with her hands in her lap.

She did not smile at me, and I was glad.

The old board member from the gala called the vote.

"All in favor of electing Miss Hollister as chair of the Foundation."

Eleven hands went up.

"Gillian Hollister," the old man said, reading from the page. "Is that how you'd like to be recorded?"

I thought about the name my mother had picked before I was born, the one pinned to my blanket at the home.

I thought about Gill Hartigan, who had stood on a terrace and kept her mouth shut for six weeks.

"Gill," I said. "Gill Hollister. Gillian was my mother's choice, and I'm keeping the short one the home gave me."

"Noted."

A woman slid a single sheet across the walnut.

It was the trust for St. Brigid's, six pages thick, with a yellow tab on the last one.

I read it.

It covered the roof, the wages, the repairs and a scholarship for every girl who aged out.

The trust's board had three seats, and none of them were Hollisters.

"Those are Mr. Bellingham's terms," the old man said. "Signed by Mr. Hollister at the gala. We only need the chair's signature."

I took the pen.

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