by Anita Shreve
“Yes, Mr. Sears, I did.”
“Did you consider her too young to raise a child?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Your daughter was sixteen at the time?”
“Yes.”
“Did you consider her a child herself?”
“Yes, Mr. Sears, I did.”
“Did you, at the time, give any thought to the welfare of the child himself?”
“Some, yes.”
“And what was that?”
“I thought, at the time, that he would be better cared for by an institution, but now I regret — ”
“We will confine ourselves to answering the questions at hand, Mr. Biddeford.”
“Yes.”
“And if you gave, at the time, some thought to the welfare of the infant child, what other concerns did you have?”
“I was concerned for the ruination of my daughter.”
• • •
Counsel for the relator calls Josiah Hay:
“Mr. Hay, we have heard testimony that on fourteen April 1900, you were given temporary custody of the infant male issue of Olympia Biddeford by her father, Phillip Biddeford, for the purposes of transporting the child to Dr. John Haskell. Is this true?”
“Yes, Mr. Tucker, it is.”
“What did you then do with the child?”
“My wife, Lisette, packed a suitcase of the little boy’s things and we took a carriage to North Station and there boarded the train for Rye, New Hampshire.”
“Your wife went with you?”
“Yes, sir, she did, and she cried all the way, I can tell you.”
“Were you aware that all of this was done without the knowledge of Olympia Biddeford, who was barely conscious as a result of drugs that had been given to her during her confinement?”
“Yes, sir, and that is why my wife was crying.”
“And what happened when you got to Rye?”
“We took a carriage to Ely Falls direct. Mr. Biddeford had given us quite a sum of money for the journey.”
“And there you met with Dr. John Haskell?”
“Yes.”
“And where was this?”
“At the Ely Falls Hotel.”
“Tell the court what happened at that meeting.”
“We went up to the man’s room. I had known him from before, from when he used to visit Mr. Biddeford’s house. And we handed over the child.”
“And then what happened?”
“And then Dr. Haskell, he lets out this great cry. Oh, it is too terrible to report.”
“I am afraid you must. Tell us precisely what happened, Mr. Hay.”
“Well, he lets out this great cry, and then he puts the child on the bed and undresses it and looks it over in a tender manner, and he seems to collect himself and he tells us the child is healthy, which had been worrying my wife greatly, so she was much relieved, sir.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then Dr. Haskell walked over to the door, where my wife and I were standing, and he thanked us, and he shook my hand, and my wife says to him, ‘You make sure that child is well placed out,’ and Dr. Haskell says that he will.”
“And then?”
“And then he asked after Miss Biddeford and wanted to know how she was and how the birth had gone, which my wife was able to inform him on, having been present through the whole ordeal. And then the baby started to cry and I handed over the suitcase and Dr. Haskell went to the child and held him, and my wife and I left the room. We spent the night in the hotel, since it was too late to start back for Boston.”
• • •
Counsel for the relator wishes to call Mother Marguerite Pelletier:
“You are a mother superior in the Order of the Sisters of Saint Jean Baptiste de Bienfaisance, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And, as such, you are director of the Orphanage of Saint Andre?”
“That is correct.”
“Prior to fifteen April 1900 had Dr. John Haskell ever contacted you?”
“Well, yes, the doctor had been in touch with the orphanage on several matters prior to the fifteenth of April of that year, since he was often in a position of needing to place out infants of mothers who had perished giving birth or of young girls who could not care for the infants.”
“I see. And had he been in touch with you regarding the matter of the issue of Olympia Biddeford?”
“Yes, sir, he had. Though he did not tell us the mother’s name. Only that he would be bringing to us sometime in April an infant who would be without mother or father, and would we make certain that there would be a place for the child. And, of course, there always would be, since Dr. Haskell had treated so many of our children and had not ever charged for his services.”
“And did Dr. Haskell bring that infant to you on the morning of fifteen April 1900?”
“Actually, sir, it was in the afternoon of April fifteenth. He came to my office with the infant.”
“And what happened?”
“He seemed most distraught by the plight of the child and deeply concerned that it be well cared for. Although he did not tell me of the circumstances of the infant’s birth, and I did not feel in a position to ask, I did think that perhaps the matter concerned Dr. Haskell personally, since he was in such a distraught state and also because he gave the child his name. Though not unheard-of, this was unusual. And also he gave the orphanage a considerable sum of money for the child’s care. He was insistent that we place the child out as soon as possible, and he charged us with finding the infant a household with two parents.”
“And then what happened?”
“He kissed the boy on the forehead and gave the child to me.”
“And did you place the boy out as you had been charged?”
“Yes, sir. We placed the boy with Mr. and Mrs. Bolduc.”
• • •
Counsel for the respondents wishes to put questions to Mother Marguerite Pelletier:
“Mother Marguerite, did you have occasion last August to meet the relator in this case?”
“Yes, Mr. Sears, I did.”
“Can you describe for the court that meeting?”
“She came to my door wanting to inquire about a certain child. I believe I quickly ascertained that the child in question was hers. She gave me some facts about her situation.”
“And what fact led you to discover that her child was the infant child Dr. Haskell had left in your charge on fifteen April 1900?”
“She told me the name of the father.”
“I see. And then what happened?”
“I left her in my office and went to have a discussion about this matter with Bishop Louis Giguere, who is also one of the directors of the orphanage.”
“And what did you and Bishop Giguere determine?”
“We determined that we would tell the young woman that her child had been in our care but had been placed out to a loving couple. We also decided to tell the young woman the first name of the boy, but not his surname.”
“And why was that?”
“We wanted to protect the privacy of the child as well as that of the foster parents.”
“And how did Olympia Biddeford react to this news?”
“She was quite upset.”
“Was there anything unusual in your discussion with Olympia Biddeford that day?”
“Yes, there was.”
“Will you tell the court what that was?”
“Well, Mr. Sears, unfortunately I see many young girls in similar situations. They think they can just abandon their babies and get on with their lives, and then from remorse or guilt or whatever feelings are motivating them, they show up on our doorstep wanting the child back. And I thought at first Olympia Biddeford was like the other young women I have seen. Except that she was not.”
“And how was that?”
“She was unrepentant. I asked her if she was ready to seek forgiveness for her sins, and she let me know in no unc
ertain terms that she did not think her actions at all sinful and that she would not ask for forgiveness for something she did not consider wrong.”
“Do you recall the specific language of that exchange?”
“I told her that no one just happens to conceive a child, that there is will involved and intent, and that she had obviously sinned against Nature and against God. And she said, ‘To love is not a sin against Nature, and I will never believe it so.’ She was quite insolent, I thought, and had the gall to tell me, a mother superior of the Catholic Church, that she was not sorry she had loved or had been loved in an improper relationship.”
“And then what happened?”
“I prayed for her soul.”
• • •
Counsel for the respondents wishes to call Dean Bardwell of the Hastings Seminary for Females:
“Dean Bardwell, thank you for journeying from western Massachusetts to Ely Falls, which, as we all know, is a considerable distance.”
“Yes, sir, it is. But when I received your offer of funds for the journey, I felt I could do with a bit of rest at the seaside.”
“Yes. Well. Dean Bardwell, do you remember the relator, Olympia Biddeford, from when she was at your seminary?”
“Yes, Mr. Sears, I do indeed.”
“What can you tell us about her stay there?”
“She distinguished herself academically. She was quite superior in her studies. All of her teachers gave her excellent recommendations.”
“And what would you say of her personal adjustment to the school?”
“She was what I would call a recluse. She kept to herself. If she had any friends at the school, I am not aware of them. This is highly unusual, I might add. One would expect that in three years a young woman would form some attachments.”
“Would you say that Olympia Biddeford was antisocial?”
“Yes, sir, I would.”
“Would you say that Olympia Biddeford is academically prepared to go out into the world and accept a teaching position?”
“Yes, most definitely.”
“Would you recommend her for such a position?”
“No, I would not. I cannot recommend someone who has previously abandoned an employer without cause.”
“How were you informed that the relator had abandoned her post as governess to the sons of Averill Hardy in July of last year?”
“I received a letter in the mail from Mr. Hardy. That was the first I heard of it. Miss Biddeford did not see fit to inform us herself. He said that he was glad the girl was gone, because one of his sons had revealed that she had made what might be considered to be improper advances to the boy.”
“Would you allow Olympia Biddeford to reenroll at Hastings?”
“On the basis of that letter, no, I could not.”
• • •
Counsel for the respondents wishes to call Zachariah Cote to the stand:
“Mr. Cote, you are a published poet of no small reputation within the literary community, is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Sears, I have been fortunate in my career.”
“Would you tell the court how it is that you came to know Olympia Biddeford?”
“I was a guest at her father’s house in Fortune’s Rocks on several occasions.”
“And what was your opinion of Olympia Biddeford when you met her?”
“She was obviously very well educated. She seemed nice enough, although perhaps a little too sure of herself.”
“Did that opinion change at any time that summer?”
“Yes, sir, it most certainly did.”
“Can you tell us about this?”
“On the Fourth of July 1899, I was returning from a celebration in Rye. The Burning of the Wagons? Do you know about this? The farmers roll their hay wagons into the center of town and set them on fire? . . .”
“Yes, Mr. Cote. I am sure we have all heard of this local custom. Please go on.”
“Well, my driver had decided to return to Fortune’s Rocks by way of the road through the marshes, as it is the quickest route. I was staying at the Highland Hotel at the time.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Well, as we came around a corner, I saw a couple embracing by the side of the road.”
“And can you tell us who that couple was?”
“Yes, sir, I can. It was Olympia Biddeford and Dr. John Haskell.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“Yes, I am. The lantern from my carriage lit up their faces.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I was deeply shocked, sir. Dr. Haskell was a married man. And Olympia Biddeford was only fifteen years old.”
“And did you tell anyone of this sighting?”
“No, I did not. Although I thought there might be a future date when I would feel compelled to speak of this to Phillip Biddeford.”
“And did you see Olympia Biddeford again that summer in unusual or compromising circumstances?”
“Well, yes, Mr. Sears, I did. Once while I was staying at the Highland, I happened to be returning to the hotel after an early-morning walk and I met Olympia Biddeford on the porch.”
“What time was this?”
“It cannot yet have been eight o’clock.”
“How did she appear to you?”
“Well, I must say I was quite shocked by her appearance. She appeared . . . how shall I say . . . disheveled?”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, I did. I attempted to engage her in conversation.”
“And how did she respond to this attempt?”
“I thought her impudent. She refused my invitation to breakfast and rather ran off, I am afraid.”
“Mr. Cote, did you know Catherine Haskell?”
“Yes, I knew her well as a matter of fact. A lovely woman. An excellent wife and mother.”
“Did you and Catherine Haskell ever have occasion to catch Olympia Biddeford in a compromising position with Dr. John Haskell?”
“Yes, I am afraid we did.”
“Can you tell us about that?”
“Well, sir, it is a delicate matter. It was on the occasion of an evening dinner dance at the home of Phillip Biddeford, August tenth, 1899. While I was with Mrs. Haskell on the porch, she happened to look into a telescope that had been set up there and inadvertently pointed it through a window in the chapel, which was attached to the cottage. And there she saw a most disturbing, not to say shocking, sight.”
“Did you see this sight as well?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Noticing Mrs. Haskell’s considerable shock, I bent down to have a look myself.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw Olympia Biddeford and Dr. John Haskell in a state of . . . how shall I put this . . . in flagrante delicto?”
“In the chapel, Mr. Cote?”
“Yes, sir, in the chapel. And if I may offer a further detail, on the altar, sir.”
“The altar, Mr. Cote?”
“Yes, sir.
“And what was Mrs. Haskell’s reaction?”
“She went white in the face.”
• • •
Counsel for the relator wishes to put some questions to Zachariah Cote:
“Mr. Cote, you are a poet, are you not?”
“Yes, Mr. Tucker, I have said that.”
“Of some reputation?”
“Of no small reputation, I am bound to say.”
“And were you possessed of this not entirely modest reputation during the summer of 1899?”
“I trust I was.”
“Mr. Cote, in June of 1899, did you submit a half dozen poems to Mr. Phillip Biddeford, editor of The Bay Quarterly, in hopes that he would publish them?”
“I may have. Is this relevant?”
“Judge Littlefield will determine what is relevant, Mr. Cote. Your answer, please?”
“I am not sure.”
“Think, Mr. Cote.”
“As I say, I may have.”
�
��Would it be correct to say that Mr. Biddeford rejected these poems for publication?”
“If you must put it that way.”
“I am not a poet, Mr. Cote; I prefer to speak the plain truth.”
“I do not recall exactly.”
“Perhaps this will refresh your memory, Mr. Cote. Is this not a copy of a letter Mr. Phillip Biddeford sent to you?”
“I am not sure.”
“Take your time.”
“It appears to be.”
“And what is the date?”
“August fourth, 1899.”
“Which means you would have received it shortly before the evening of August tenth, the night of the dinner dance at Phillip Biddeford’s house?”
“I may have done.”
“Mr. Cote, would you be kind enough to read the letter aloud?”
“Really, Your Honor. Must I?”
“Mr. Tucker, is this necessary?”
“Your Honor, I wish to show that Mr. Cote may not be an impartial witness in this matter.”
“Very well, then. Proceed.”
“Mr. Cote?”
“Yes?”
“The letter?”
“Yes, very well, Mr. Tucker. I shall read the letter if I must. But I should like to lodge my considerable protest at this invasion of privacy.”
“Mr. Cote, a custody hearing is nothing if not an invasion of everyone’s privacy.”
“‘Dear Mr. Cote. I am returning your several poems to you, since I find I cannot publish them in The Bay Quarterly as I had hoped. Though certainly unique in their style and content, they are not suitable for this publication. In future, you may want to consider a modest reining in of your descriptive powers, the result of which might be, I believe, less sentiment in your verse. Yours sincerely, Phillip Biddeford.’”
“Mr. Cote, did this letter make you angry?”
“It was disappointing, surely. And wrongheaded in its judgment, I might add.”
“But you went to Biddeford’s gala on August the tenth nevertheless.”
“Yes, I did. I had written that I would go, and I am a man of my word.”
“I am sure that you are. Mr. Cote, to your knowledge, was Olympia Biddeford ever wanton in public?”
“How do you mean?”
“Were she and Dr. Haskell ever demonstrative in public?”
“No, not unless you count that time in the chapel.”
“Was the chapel at all visible from any of the public rooms of the dinner dance?”
