By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
Staff Writer

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