Judge Horner nodded thoughtfully. “The whole country’s getting that problem,” he said.
“A social worker can only do so much,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “You see where the trouble is, you diagnose it, you make suggestions, but you can’t force people to make the right choices. In our system, people are basically on their own. And that’s what we’ve got here, your honor. A mother who makes the wrong choices.”
“So what do you recommend?” said the judge.
Mrs. O’Brien shrugged. “I think the county simply has to get more involved.”
“All right,” said the judge.
Reverend Vaughn suddenly stood up. “Can I say something,” your honor,” he asked.
“Of course.”
I turned to look at the minister. Tall and assured, he seemed to provide a kind of balance to the judge. But behind him, the courtroom stretched back in row after empty row. He looked very alone.
“I must say, I’m a little bit mystified,” Reverend Vaughn began. “I won’t say there’s been a misunderstanding, but there certainly seems to have been a … a loss of context here.”
“Family matters are context,” said Mr. Moon. “That’s what it’s all about.” He looked around with bright eyes shining from his dark face.
“I realize that Martha’s family has had some problems,” the minister continued, “but she’s smart and mature. From everything I hear, she’s a fine student and, aside from this one incident, I don’t think she’s ever been in trouble before.
“Three incidents,” said Mr. Moon.
“Three?”
“The boy and the two police reports.”
“Well, I’m not sure how much credence to put—”
“Do you have any reason to doubt the accuracy of the police reports?”
“Only from what Martha has told me.”
“So you’re taking her word over an officer’s, Father? Or, excuse me, Reverend. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a Catholic.”
Reverend Vaughn turned to the judge. “Your honor, Mr. Moon keeps interrupting me. Couldn’t I have a chance to say what I want without getting interrupted?”
“I’m sorry, your honor,” said Mr. Moon. “I’ll be quiet. It’s just that I hear these things, and I feel compelled to speak up for our police department.”
“Go on,” said the judge.
“Well, I’ve never been involved in one of these proceedings before, so I’m not quite certain what standards you apply,” Reverend Vaughn said. “But I listened to this long recitation of incidents involving Martha’s brother and her mother’s boyfriends, and I started to wonder whether Martha is being punished for problems that her family had, not for anything that she did herself.”
“Oh, I can’t stay quiet for that,” said Mr. Moon.
“Your honor—”
“Officer Wesnofske spent twenty minutes detailing, detailing, what the girl had done,” Mr. Moon said in a loud voice.
“Your honor.” Reverend Vaughn was looking for help.
“The information about the family is relevant in these proceedings,” Judge Horner said. “It helps me get the overall picture for my decision.”
“Well, if you’re looking for the overall picture, what about this town?” Reverend Vaughn said sharply. “The major employer is closing down. Hundreds of people are going to be out of work. And all anyone is worried about is this sixteen-year-old girl.”
“What’s he talking about?” said Mr. Moon.
“About opening your eyes,” snapped the minister.
The prosecutor was on his feet. “Your honor, this is more of that stuff,” he shouted.
“What stuff?” said the minister.
“Hold it,” said the judge. “Hold it both of you.” He cleared his throat. “Reverend Vaughn, the KTD isn’t relevant in this proceeding. It’s just not relevant. If you want to talk about it, you’ll have to find another forum.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Do you have anything else to say?”
The minister glared at the prosecutor. “I’d like to be able to say it without being interrupted.” Mr. Moon smiled pleasantly and sat down.
“Go on,” said the judge.
Reverend Vaughn reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He scanned it for a moment, then put it back. “Your honor,” he said, “I’m sure that sitting in juvenile court day after day, you see some disturbing things. The relation of parent to child is not an easy one—I’d even venture to guess that the pathologies of that relationship account for almost all the cases that you get. But most of those pathologies, I’d bet, are rooted in some failure of love, some blockage in the pipeline of love between the parent and child.”
Mr. Moon rolled his eyes and dropped his pencil on the table. It made a clattery noise that stopped Reverend Vaughn for a moment.
“When that love isn’t flowing,” the minister went on, “then it’s your job—the county’s job—to move in and repair the situation. That’s when the authorities need to act. But what we’ve got here is a different situation entirely. There’s love here between Martha and her mother such as I’ve hardly ever seen before. Martha is devoted to her mother. If anything, she’s an idealization of what a loving child should be. Maybe that’s too much. Maybe she should get out more, as Mrs. O’Brien says. I don’t know. But to suggest that there’s some failure on the part of Mrs. Calhoun, some unfitness that would justify taking Martha away—”
“He’s getting into disposition, your honor,” barked Mr. Moon.
“We’re here for a fact-finding, Reverend,” said the judge. “What you are saying may be more relevant to deciding what to do with the girl afterward.”
“But the girl’s relationship to her mother is relevant to the fact finding. We’re talking about Mrs. Calhoun’s fitness as a mother, and, by the measure of love, Mrs. Calhoun is very fit, wonderfully fit.”
“What about seducing little boys?” snapped the lawyer. “Maybe she learned that from her mother, too.”
“That’s obscene!”
“You said it.”
“All right, all right,” said the judge. “Mr. Moon, I expect you to set a better example in here.”
“I’m sorry, your honor, but I just don’t like to let these things pass unnoted.”
“Reverend, do you have anything else you’d like to say?”
Reverend Vaughn looked around the court. I remembered how flustered he’d become that time when Tom started speaking out during a sermon, how helpless he’d been when the polite world of the church was cracked in even that silly way. Now his eyes met mine, and for an instant we looked at each other like two burglars who’d been caught.
“Judge Horner, I think you’d be making a mistake if you took Martha away from her mother,” he said simply.
“Thank you,” said the judge.
Mr. Moon hopped to his feet. “Your honor, can I ask Reverend Vaughn a few questions?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Reverend,” the lawyer said, stepping out between the tables to get a more direct line at the minister. “How long have you known Martha Calhoun?”
“Personally?”
“Yes, personally.”
“Oh, I’d say I’ve known her personally—really well—about two weeks.”
“In other words, since this incident with the Benedict boy occurred.”
“Yes.”
“And before this incident, did the Calhoun family ever come to your church?”
“Yes, they did. And the brother, too.”
“They did. And tell me, was that more than one time, Reverend?”
Reverend Vaughn stared down at his hands folded in his lap. “At least once,” he said finally, looking up at the lawyer.
“At least once, but would you say less than five times?”
Reverend Vaughn nodded. “Fewer than five times.”
Mr. Moon turned back to the judge. He lifted his arm and for a moment it floated in the air, weightless, waving
like a pennant in the direction of the minister. “This is the best the family can do,” said Mr. Moon. His arm dropped suddenly. “That’s my point.”
Outside, a light rain had started to fall, and drops of water were streaking down the long, thin courthouse windows. Rainy summer afternoons have always seemed wasteful to me—a childish notion, I know, but something I’ve never outgrown. Now, my sense of loss expanded, opening a huge, hollow place exactly in my center. A car with speakers on top passed by the courthouse. The speakers blared a tinny message about a Republican rally on the square. A woman in the building across the street, alerted by the rain, pulled some potted plants off the window ledge, then slammed the window shut. Everything just kept on, as if nothing were happening.
At last it was Bunny’s turn. She got to her feet, her hands working nervously to pull down the skirt of her dress. Her breath came in quick, hard gulps. She cleared her throat. Sergeant Tony took his chin out of his hand and swiveled to get a better look. Bunny cleared her throat again. Her eyes jitterbugged around the room. Still, she said nothing.
“Well, Mrs. Calhoun?” said Judge Horner.
Bunny shook her head. “I can’t think what to say.” Her voice came out so slight there seemed to be no breath behind it. In the half hour since she’d last spoken out, she’d been very still.
“Do you want to comment on this proceeding? This is your chance to talk.”
Bunny stared back blankly at the judge. I realized suddenly why seeing her in that dress had made me sad. It was the dress she used to wear when she went out on dates on Sunday nights when the country club was closed. Tom and I would be in the living room, listening to the radio or playing with each other, and she’d appear in that dress. It meant she’d be leaving us, going off someplace with a boyfriend, and, for a night—a rare night when she wasn’t working—other people would get to hear that voice, that laugh.
Judge Horner tried to be helpful. “There have been some serious accusations against you and the way you’ve raised your family,” he said. “Try to respond to them, Mrs. Calhoun. Give us your side of the story.”
“Everybody …” Bunny started and then stopped. She looked over at Sergeant Tony and Mr. Moon and then back at the judge.
“Say something,” I whispered.
“I …” Again she stopped. She frightened me, she looked so frail. Her face was as pale as the blond hair she’d teased into lifeless waves around her head. She shrugged and slumped back down in her chair.
I reached for her hand. Her palm was covered with a cool film of moisture. I could have been squeezing an old, damp sponge.
Judge Horner waited a few seconds. “All right,” he said, after a bit. “You don’t have to speak.” He turned to me. “How about you, Martha? Do you want to say anything?”
I shook my head. I was frightened and confused by Bunny’s behavior. My mind was a jumble. I just wanted this to be over.
“Come, Martha,” said Mrs. O’Brien loudly. “You must have something you want to say to Judge Horner. We’ve all been brought here for your benefit.”
I stared down at the tabletop. To my left, Sergeant Tony whispered something to Mr. Moon. Then the lawyer spoke up. “Your honor, I think it’s worth noting that Martha has never expressed the least bit of remorse about any of the events that have brought her here.”
“Is that so?”
I glanced up and saw that the judge was staring at me, waiting for an answer. They were all staring. Even behind me, I felt Reverend Vaughn’s eyes on my back. But I couldn’t talk. It was one thing to sit there like a spectator, watching the hearing unfold as if it were happening to someone else—as it was, in a way, since it was unthinkable that I’d end up like this. But it was another thing to say something, to participate. That would put me in it, that was real.
Anyway, by then I’d caught the same muteness that Bunny had. There was nothing to say.
“You must have some explanations,” said Judge Horner. “What were you doing with that little boy?” There was an edge to his tone. Dealing with these silent women was frustrating to him. It robbed the hearing of something, even I could feel that. He waited, staring. “Well, Martha?”
Bunny made a noise. She struggled to sit up straight, then made the noise again. “Judge,” she was saying. “Judge.”
“Yes, Mrs. Calhoun?”
“Can I have some water?” She aimed a limp finger at her mouth.
Josephine hurried out of the courtroom and returned a few seconds later with a tall glass. Bunny drank the water down without stopping, holding the glass in both hands like a baby. Handing it back, she smiled warmly at Josephine and blinked with heavy lids.
The water revived her. She sat up in her chair. A touch of pink returned to her cheeks.
“Feeling better?” asked the judge.
Bunny nodded. Suddenly, she started to talk—not the way people talk in court, but the way she does at home, when we’re just sitting around, and the thoughts and sentences drift out almost unconnected. “She was a perfect child,” Bunny said, “a perfect child from the moment she was born. Oh, it was a hard birth, much harder than her brother, which is strange, since the first is supposed to be the worst. I didn’t even mind the pain, though. It was good in a way, you know what I mean? Good pain.” She smiled at the judge. “And after she was here, she was perfect, a perfect child. She never once cried. Can you imagine?”
Josephine threw a nervous look at the judge. Mr. Moon cleared his throat. Mrs. O’Brien reached behind me and tapped Bunny on the shoulder. But Bunny kept talking. “I remember the day I brought her home from the hospital. I knew I was going to have a girl, I just knew it, so I’d fixed up the guest room next to mine, since I think a girl should have a room of her own, even if she’s only a baby. I’d painted it pink and covered the walls with these decals of seahorses and fish and mermaids. It was sweet, an oceany kind of thing. So I brought her home and set her in the crib. It was a hot day, and all she had on were her diapers. She looked like a little roasting chicken, all naked and pink, with her arms and legs curled up. A little plucked chicken on her back there in the crib. But she was happy, so happy. All the neighbors came over to admire her, and she just looked up at everyone, looked right into their faces. You could just feel the joy she brought, you could feel it like it was something you could put your hands on. I don’t think I was ever happier than that day.” Bunny reached over and stroked my hair for a moment. “That’s funny, isn’t it? To be able to think back to your very happiest day.”
Again, Mrs. O’Brien reached behind me to touch Bunny. Judge Horner waved her hand away. “There wasn’t a woman who came that day who didn’t tell me she was a perfect child,” Bunny went on. “All of them said it, and some of them were no friends of mine, that’s for sure. But they just couldn’t help themselves, she was so wonderful. Of course, a mother can’t take credit for her child—or at least not much. It’s her flesh and blood, but a child’s a gift, really, isn’t it? You can’t know what you’re getting.” She paused. “Still, I knew with Martha long before she was born that I was getting something special. Even before I was pregnant enough to show, when she was only that tiny hum deep inside, I knew.”
Bunny’s eyes had been wandering around the top of the courtroom, almost as if she had been reading from notes scribbled to herself on the ceiling. Now, she shifted and started speaking directly to the judge. “Afterward, your honor, you can’t imagine the joy that child brought me. She was like a friend, a best friend, from the moment I brought her home. I had someone put rollers on her crib so I could wheel it around the house while I cleaned up or cooked. And then we just talked. Talked about everything. I’d be busy, but we’d just talk away for hours about any old thing that came into my head. Those were hard times for me, your honor, being a mother alone with two babies. But having her to talk to kept me in one piece, I really believe that’s so. At night, I remember, her brother used to go right to sleep, but Martha would stay up with me, she just didn’t want to lea
ve me, even to go to sleep. I used to have this old radio. It had belonged to my mother, but she gave it to me for company after my husband left. Anyway, after Tom had gone to bed, Martha and I would sit up in the living room and listen to the radio. She was just a tiny little thing, but we’d sit there and listen to the news broadcasts to see how the war was going. The war was just starting then, and I knew a lot of boys who’d be fighting. Anyway, I’ll always remember that. It was a bad radio, real crackly, but Martha and I would sit there together and listen every night, me on the sofa and her in the crib. Or sometimes I’d hold her in my lap. And she’d reassure me … I knew so many boys.…”
“Your honor.” Mr. Moon pushed his chair back and stood up. “Your honor, I’d like to know what an old radio has to do with this proceeding.”
“It’s my turn to talk,” said Bunny.
“You were wandering a bit, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner.
“Your honor, I think we ought to get back to the issue here,” said Mr. Moon. Now that he was on his feet, he wasn’t going to let Bunny run away again. “The issue is whether this young girl is in need of more supervision, and I submit the record is abundantly clear that she’s not getting the type of supervision from her mother that a girl needs in these difficult times.”
“What do you know?” said Bunny. “She’s my daughter, and I love her more than anything.”
The lawyer made a face like he’d bitten something sour. “That’s not the issue, Mrs. Calhoun. The issue is whether she’s getting adequate supervision.”
“Love is supervision.” Bunny’s face was turning white again and her lower lip was starting to dance. “Love is all the supervision she needs.”
“And what about last night?” said the lawyer. “Where was your love when she was off gallivanting around Banyon’s Woods?”
Martha Calhoun Page 28
