Hope's Daughter

by Joani Ascher

  “Did you believe him?”

  Martin looked over at Prescott and made a big show of cringing. The prosecutor had obviously prepared him well for this testimony. “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “No further questions,” said the prosecutor.

  The judge ordered a short recess, and Prescott and his attorney went into a small room, leaving Jane and Ellen. Prescott felt ripped away from them when he needed them most.

  ****

  Jane had always tried so hard to make Ellen strong, so she would not have problems like Olivia had. Part of her efforts included protecting her from details of her past that could hurt her. No one could provide such protection for her now.

  Was it really less than two years since Martin had last come to see Ellen? At that time he had at least managed to pull himself together enough to appear respectable. Now he wore an oversized jacket that Jane suspected was provided for him by the prosecutor. And the shoes he wore were so scuffed, and with such dilapidated heels, that Jane wondered how long he had owned them.

  “I shouldn’t have sent him away,” said Ellen. “This is all my fault. He’s doing it because he’s angry at me.”

  “No,” said Jane. She took her daughter’s hand. “This has nothing to do with you. I don’t really think it has to do with Prescott, either. Martin has always hated me.”

  Ellen scowled. She opened her mouth but did not say anything, because Prescott and his attorney had returned. The court was called back to order. Martin came in again, walking self-righteously back to the witness chair.

  “Your witness, Mr. Atherton,” said the judge.

  Mr. Atherton quickly rose, buttoning his jacket, and approached the witness. “Mr. Roche,” he said, “you have testified here that Mr. Weaver paid you to relinquish your parental rights. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you stated that he offered you twenty thousand dollars for the baby.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t mention that you had previously asked Mrs. Weaver, who at that time was Miss Baldwin—”

  “Yeah,” Martin interjected, “by then she had stopped using that phony married name she took so people wouldn’t know her monster kid was a bastard.”

  Jane felt her face burn as people in the courtroom started talking to each other. The lady in the first row of the jury box stared right at her.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Order.”

  Mr. Atherton sent a warning look to Prescott to keep calm. From her viewpoint behind him, Jane could see her husband’s shoulders hunched in that way he had when he was angry. Beyond him, at the prosecution table, the prosecutor was glaring at Martin, and shaking his head slightly. Martin swallowed, and looked back at Mr. Atherton.

  “Mr. Roche,” Mr. Atherton continued. “Please let me finish. Isn’t it true that you had previously demanded ten thousand dollars from Jane Baldwin to give up your rights to Ellen Roche, now Baldwin?”

  Martin slipped lower in his chair. “Yeah.”

  “So you had asked Miss Baldwin for money to give up the baby. Did you think she had that much money?”

  “She could get it. She had that rich boss.”

  Mr. Atherton consulted his notes. “Would that be Mr. Jerome Dobbin?”

  At the mention of his name, Jane’s eyes filled with tears. The man had recently passed away.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Did you think he would give her the money?”

  “I bet he would, but she didn’t ask him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I asked him for it. But he said he would do whatever Jane wanted.”

  “So where did you expect her to get the money?”

  “I don’t know. She had rich friends.”

  Jane felt her stomach knot. Her worries about Anne being called to the stand increased. It was asking so much to put her through this.

  “Did you approach her friends?”

  “Nah. I figured Jane would find a way to pay. She had a good job and all.”

  “But didn’t she have to pay for the hospitalization of her sister, your wife Olivia, and for Olivia’s funeral, as well as the custodial expenses while Ellen was being cared for by your mother?”

  Martin held his hands with the palms turned up and shrugged his shoulders. “How much could that have cost?”

  Mr. Atherton shook his head. “I would like to leave this line of questioning.” He picked up some papers that had been on the defense table and walked toward Martin. “This is a copy of the judgment against you. The one for which you recently served time.”

  “Objection,” shouted the prosecutor. “That has no relevance.”

  “He tried to use the story of the baby sale as his psychological defense for the crime, your honor,” said Mr. Atherton, stepping closer to the bench. “I think that makes it relevant.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Mr. Roche,” said Mr. Atherton, as he walked back toward the witness stand. “Did you testify under oath, and I quote, ‘I fell into a life of crime because I was forced to sell my child to some big shot’s former mistress?’”

  “Yes. I would never have been involved in anything illegal if I hadn’t been overwhelmed with grief.”

  “But wasn’t that many years before you committed the crime for which you were on trial?”

  Martin paused before answering and seemed to be thinking. “Yeah. For that one.” He looked at the jury. “It’s been like an animal sucking at my guts.”

  Mr. Atherton followed up. “Was that when you were convicted of running a pyramid scheme?”

  Very quietly, Martin said, “Yes.” He turned to the jury. “But I would never have done that if I wasn’t so upset.”

  Mr. Atherton looked at Martin. He waited a moment, causing Jane to worry that he had run out of questions to clear Prescott. Just when she was about to panic, though, Mr. Atherton turned the sheaf of papers he held over to the last page. “The jury didn’t buy your defense, did it, Mr. Roche?”

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t give the court the name of the person whom you claimed made you sell your baby, did you?”

  “No. They didn’t believe me anyway.”

  “Why did you think Mr. Weaver called you to his office on October fifth of 1949?”

  “I thought he was going to offer me a job or something.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. He started talking about Ellen.” Martin turned earnestly to the jury. “I offered her to him. I knew that he and his wife—his first wife—didn’t have any kids. I thought it would be nice if my little girl grew up in luxury.” He looked sadly at the jury. “But as it turned out, she didn’t get that from Jane.”

  “So Mrs. Weaver, at the time Miss Baldwin, didn’t have a lot of money, correct?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I only asked her for ten thousand.”

  “That was very understanding of you.”

  Martin looked puzzled. The prosecutor rose to his feet and objected.

  “I’ll withdraw my comment, your honor,” Mr. Atherton said. He looked at Martin. “You had only asked for ten but Mr. Weaver offered you twenty?”

  “Well, it had all those conditions. They were worth another ten thousand, weren’t they?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Roche. I’ve never thought about offering to sell one of my children.”

  “Objection,” shouted the prosecutor.

  “He certainly is objectionable,” said Mr. Atherton. He started pacing back and forth in front of Martin as the judge sustained the objection.

  Ellen gasped. Jane put her arm around her shoulder. She wished there was some way to protect her.

  The judge banged his gavel and admonished the attorney.

  “Sorry, your honor.” Mr. Atherton turned back to Martin. “Did you keep up your end of the deal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you stay away from Ellen and Jane?”

  “Of course.”

  Atherton
looked surprised. “Would your honor please remind this witness that he is under oath?” He stared at Martin.

  Martin coughed. “Well, a few years later I decided I should go see my daughter, and make sure she was all right.”

  Mr. Atherton stopped pacing and looked at Martin. “And was she?”

  He blinked twice. “She seemed okay.”

  “How often did you see her?”

  “A lot of times. I used to take her out for her birthday.”

  Flipping through his legal pad, Mr. Atherton ran his finger down one of the pages.

  “When you say a lot of times, you mean once a year, around her birthday, isn’t that true?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “And you only did this for about four years, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you stopped doing that, right?”

  “She asked me to.”

  “Miss Baldwin?”

  Martin looked at Jane and shook his head. “Not her. Ellen.”

  Mr. Atherton stood stock still. “Your daughter asked you not to come see her?”

  “She was brainwashed.”

  “So you stopped seeing her, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “After Ellen asked you to stop seeing her, didn’t you ask her mother for more money, money you needed to help pay your debts?”

  “It was only a coupla thousand. And it shoulda been mine. It was from an insurance policy that my wife left.”

  “She left you two thousand dollars?”

  “Not exactly. She left about a hundred dollars, but there was interest.”

  Mr. Atherton stopped walking and stared first at the jury and then back at Martin. “What bank pays such a good interest rate? I’m sure everyone here would want to know.”

  “Er, it wasn’t a bank. Jane invested the money, and it turned into two thousand.”

  “So you were only entitled to one hundred dollars, correct?”

  “Who says?”

  Mr. Atherton turned to the jury and back to Martin. “You sold your child twice, didn’t you?”

  “Objection.”

  “Withdrawn,” said Mr. Atherton. He cleared his throat. “Did you contact her mother again, after her marriage to Mr. Weaver?”

  “She wouldn’t give me nothin’. She had all that dough and she wouldn’t give me any.”

  “Did you think she should?”

  “Yeah! She got to be with my kid and I didn’t get anything.”

  “Did you want to be with your daughter?”

  “Sure. I miss her.” He made a sad face, showing it to the jury. “I’d love to see her.”

  “Some time has passed. Would you even recognize her?”

  “Of course. I’d know her in a minute.”

  “Did you know she’s been sitting in this courtroom all day?”

  Martin craned his neck and looked around. “Where?” After a moment, his gaze came to rest on Jane, and moved sideways to Ellen. His mouth dropped open. “That’s my baby, over there,” he said.

  Ellen looked back at him. Then she covered her mouth and ran out of the courtroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jane found Ellen sobbing in the washroom. “He didn’t love me at all. You never told me.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Why couldn’t Uncle Prescott be my father?”

  Jane had no answer for that.

  Ellen wiped her eyes on the rolled cloth toweling near the sink. “I thought he loved me.”

  Jane shook her head. “I don’t think Martin ever loved anyone.”

  “No,” said Ellen, shaking her own head. “I don’t mean him. I thought Uncle Prescott loved me.”

  “He does.”

  “Then why hasn’t he adopted me?”

  Jane blinked. “Would you like him to?”

  Ellen nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Jane wondered how Prescott would feel about that. Would he want, as his own, another man’s child, especially a man who was so despicable?

  But there was no time to find out. They had to get back to the courtroom.

  When they opened the courtroom door, Jane saw that the prosecutor was back, asking Martin more questions on redirect.

  “Am I to understand that you initially signed away your rights to Ellen out of concern for her well-being and not for the money?”

  “Objection,” said Mr. Atherton. “He is leading the witness.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Let me rephrase that question. Mr. Roche, why did you give up your parental rights?”

  “Because I knew that at that time I could not be a good father to my child. My mother could not help me, either. So I said Jane could have her.” He looked at the jury. “But I never did it for the money, and it has been weighing on my mind ever since.”

  “That’s all, your honor.”

  “I have a few questions, your honor,” said Mr. Atherton. At the judge’s nod he went to stand in front of Martin again. “You said you could not be a good father to your child and that was why you gave her up for adoption. Am I stating that fairly?”

  “At the time,” said Martin, stressing the word time.

  “Then why did you ask Miss Baldwin for money to give up your rights if you agreed that you should do so?”

  “It was only fair. She was getting Ellen.”

  “No more questions.”

  Martin got up and stepped off the stand. His smirk, as he walked past Jane and Ellen, was almost too much to bear. Jane gripped the armrest on her seat, willing herself not to get up and run, screaming, after him.

  ****

  “The state calls Mrs. Regina Taggart.”

  As Reggie walked down the aisle to the witness stand, Prescott turned and had a view of both Jane and his ex-wife, who was wearing a pink suit—undoubtedly Chanel, given her love of the designer—and lacy gloves. Was it his imagination that Jane looked slightly ill? She turned her eyes to him, managing a weak smile, and nodded reassuringly.

  After Reggie was sworn in, the prosecutor established that their marriage had commenced prior to the time of Ellen’s adoption and had lasted until well afterward. “Mrs. Taggart,” he said, “did Mr. Weaver tell you of his participation in the adoption of Ellen Baldwin?”

  “No,” she intoned. Her dramatic way of speaking, Prescott noted, had not changed.

  “Then he did not inform you that he was spending twenty thousand dollars to pay off Martin Roche?”

  “No, he did not tell me anything about the money.”

  “In fact, you knew nothing about the situation until recently?”

  “Correct,” she pronounced.

  “And what would you have said if he had asked your opinion back then?”

  “I would have told him not to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was none of his business. He was married to me and he was saving for his seat on the stock exchange. Now I understand why it took him so long to buy the seat.”

  “And did that pose a hardship to you?”

  “Yes, it did. I had to live practically like a pauper while he saved for that seat, and it lasted far longer than I ever expected.” She looked at Prescott. “Now I know why.” She turned to the jury, adding dramatically, “And he didn’t care at all how much I suffered.”

  “No more questions.”

  Prescott was seething when Atherton took his place to question Reggie, but he kept his temper in check.

  “I’d like to know, Mrs. Taggart,” said Atherton, “if the money Mr. Weaver used to give Mr. Roche was from your joint account.”

  “No. He took it from the account he had set aside for his seat.”

  “Did you ever take money from that account?”

  “No. I had to get by with the money in my savings account.”

  “Did it cause you to stop purchasing clothes?”

  “No,” Reggie declared, looking pained. “But out of concern for my husband’s goals, I only bough
t fifteen new dresses and four ball gowns one autumn, far fewer than usual.”

  “Did you have to give up vacations?”

  “No, but we had to manage with only two weeks in Florida, instead of two months in Europe.”

  “So you did not go to Europe when you were married to Mr. Weaver?”

  “I did. But he didn’t go with me, because he said he had to stay and take care of his business. If he hadn’t wasted that money on that child, he could have gone with me.”

  “No more questions,” said Mr. Atherton.

  The prosecutor lost no time getting to redirect. “Did the payment to Mr. Roche cause you suffering?”

  “Yes it did.” She looked sadly at the jury. “It hurt my pride to take money from my father for my necessities. That money should have come from my husband.”

  The word necessities grated on Prescott’s ears. She made it sound as if she would have been walking around in rags if not for her father’s money. Prescott had never missed making Reggie a more than adequate monthly allowance for household and personal needs. Reggie’s tastes and requirements were what had been out of bounds, although he had only belatedly understood her need to impress Ralph Taggart.

  “So Mr. Weaver showed reckless indifference to your needs when he purchased Ellen Baldwin for Jane Baldwin, correct?”

  Reggie’s eyes took on a triumphant look. “Yes, he did. He’s a dreadful man.”

  The prosecutor nodded toward Atherton, but before he could rise for re-cross, Prescott stopped him. “No more,” he said, fighting to keep his voice to a whisper. Atherton reserved his opportunity to reexamine the witness at a later time.

  “At this time, your honor,” said the prosecutor, “the state rests.”

  With a bang of his gavel, the judge said, “The court will recess for lunch.”

  ****

  Anne and Mrs. McGill, who wore a new hat with artificial cherries draped around the brim, had been sitting in the hall right outside the courtroom all morning. When they saw Jane and her family come out, they took Ellen to a restaurant down the street from the courthouse. Jane and Prescott went to a luncheonette with Mr. Atherton.

  “Yours, Anne’s, and Mrs. McGill’s testimony,” the attorney said, “will turn Martin’s allegations around.”

  “You sound confident,” Jane said. She was anything but.

  “I must be honest with you. This case is quite serious. If the court finds that Martin’s relinquishment of his child was coerced, it could be overturned.”