First there was

Owen, an energetic, loving little boy who, until

May of 1995, had lived all his four years in a

Latvian orphanage. He had no idea what his

caregivers meant when they told him he was going

to have a mommy and a daddy.

Then came Ilze of

the huge blue eyes and infectious smile who will

not remember any parents but the Peachtree City

couple who adopted her at three months.

And it looked as

though Linda and Fritz Apfel at last had the

family they had wanted for so long. Two kids, a

boy and a girl.

But there was still

room in their home and hearts; why not just one

more? They returned to Riga, the Latvian capital.

And brought home

two. Brother and sister Bryce and Britta, aged 10

and 9, joined Owen, now 8, and Ilze, nearly 2, in

March.

From no children to

four children in five years - a challenge

for any couple. But Linda Apfel's unwavering good

cheer, and the obvious bond between Fritz Apfel

and his little ones, would convince any skeptic

that this family was meant to be.

The story of the

sudden Apfel family began earlier this decade.

When Linda and

Fritz decided to adopt, horror stories of

American courts returning adopted children to

their birth parents motivated them to investigate

international placements. They linked up with a

Seattle agency called Puget Sound Adoptions.

International

adoptions had only just begun to happen when they

got Owen, Apfel said. "We felt these foreign

children had less of a chance in life than an

American child." In Latvia, the state care

system ends when children reach 15 years.

"We wanted a

European child that would blend in with us,"

said Linda Apfel, whose blonde hair and blue eyes

proclaim her Swedish heritage. "Many people

are amazed at the similarities the children

have," she added. "The agency we used

is very conscious of this and tries to match

children for personalities as well as looks. But

we all know that this was a match made in

heaven."

With Owen, it was

love at first sight, and in an interview in

spring 1997, the Apfels were already thinking

about going back to Latvia for a little girl.

Ilze came home with them that October.

In both cases,

mothers unable to support their babies gave them

up in their first week of life.

But Britta and

Bryce were in the orphanage for four years, when

it was determined that they could not be returned

to their family of origin. Although eligible for

international adoption, they did not want to be

separated. Fine, said the Apfels, and took them

both.

Apfel said she is

sure the two siblings will remember their

biological parents. "They had a home life,

then went into the care system." They talk

about school and their life in Latvia, but about

their birth families, not a word, Apfel said.

She doesn't know

whether they have blocked out difficult memories,

or if they simply don't have the language skills

to convey their story in English. No matter. When

they are ready to talk about their origins,

she'll be ready to listen.

The question of

language is the one the Apfels hear most often.

"Their English is doing great," she

said. "Their English teachers are so

impressed."

The two are

students at Braelinn Elementary - Britta a

rising third grader, Bryce heading for fifth

- where English for speakers of other

languages is offered. At that, they are out of

their regular classrooms only 35-40 minutes a

day, Apfel said; otherwise, it's sink or swim, in

English.

"Everybody is

surprised by how fast children make the

change," she said, noting that Owen was

speaking English within two weeks of his arrival

four years ago. The language difference hasn't

bothered any of them," she added.

"They're ready to mix it up. Their teachers

love them. They're good students, eager to learn.

"Even if they

can't say anything, they do understand,"

their mom marvels. Hand gestures help bridge the

language gap, and until recently, they have

carried an English-Latvian dictionary with them

all the time.

The Apfels intend

to help the two older children maintain their

language and ethnicity as much as possible, with

the help of a few Latvian acquaintances here and

in Latvia, who call or write frequently.

Britta and Bryce

learned about church in their Latvian school,

Linda Apfel said: "They're familiar with

church and the Bible." Latvia is mostly

Lutheran, as are the Apfels.

On Pentecost Sunday

last month, members of Christ Our Shepherd

Lutheran in Peachtree City read scripture

simultaneously in several languages to

demonstrate how it sounded when the apostles were

suddenly able to preach in other tongues. Bryce

stood up and read in Latvian, his mother bragged

fondly, the only child who participated.

Both the "big

kids" and Owen, who will be in third grade,

are doing well in school, and will be together at

Oak Grove. Their new mom "anticipated

getting some developmentally delayed or emotional

baggage," but she worried for nothing.

"They bonded

with us right away at the [orphanage] director's

office, and called us Mommy and Daddy right away.

Over there they still went by their Latvian

names, but on the airplane coming to America,

they began to use their new names."

New names? "I

read a long time ago that [giving new names]

helps make the transition," Linda Apfel

said. "It helps establish rapport; Owen took

to his right away also."

The Apfels' names

are not family-related, and the children were not

given a choice. "They're just names we liked

and picked out, except for Ilze. That was her

Latvian name."

Britta, whose name

is pronounced "breeta," has the most

bubbling personality, her mom says: "Such

enthusiasm, eager for everything in life."

The pretty blonde was eager to show off ribbons

and a medal she won in recent field day

competitions.

Both she and Bryce

ask a lot of questions, want to understand

things, their mom says, and "like to be

first in line."

Latvians are

"very musical, and everyone knows the old

folk dances," she said. When Owen first came

to church, members delighted in his irrepressible

"dancing" to music.

And Ilze? Ilze is

the kind of baby people say should be in

pictures, except that getting a wilful nearly

2-year-old to hold still long enough would daunt

the most patient photographer.

Friends comment on

what a hands-on daddy Fritz Apfel has become,

obviously very comfortable knee-deep in the

commotion of his spirited family. He is employed

at the Kedron Kroger and his wife is grateful

that he works the 5 a.m. to 1 p.m. shift.

Asked if he was

from a large family himself, he said he had an

older sister and, like Linda, grew up in

Illinois. She, on the other hand, was one of four

children. Formerly in computer science, she is

"a full-time mom now," involved with

the kids' many school and church activities.

International

adoption is long and tedious, involving thorough

background checks and much red tape, especially

on the American side. The FBI, GBI and INS were

among the agencies probing every aspect of the

Apfels' lives.

The waiting was the

hardest, Linda Apfel recalls. Each adoption was

as painstakingly processed as the first. "We

had to furnish three years of financial records,

and reference letters from four people. It really

burns me when people say to me, `Oh, you did it

the easy way - you didn't have to get

pregnant.'"

Yet for all that,

the cost (in money) is less than for the average

adoption within the United States.

Would they do it

again? There was a long silence.

"Fritz?" Linda asked. "Not for at

least another year," Fritz ventured, and

Linda cut in quickly: "I think this is

enough."Peignot Demi

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