“Siegfried? Like the opera? There must be a million Siegfrieds in Germany. And Schultz? Could he have a more common last name? That’s like tracking down a man named Smith in America. Not to mention that Muriel Bernstein is a pretty common name as well.”
“Too hard for the great Taggart?”
“I didn’t say that.”
THIRTY-SIX
CATHERINE TOSSED AND TURNED all night and finally rose before sunrise. Liam was brewing a pot of coffee when she entered the kitchen.
“Sorry to wake you. I couldn’t sleep last night,” she said.
“I noticed. What’s in your hand?”
“It’s an overnight bag. A toothbrush, some toiletries. My medicine.”
“Seriously? Cat, I can’t let you do this. You’re a high-risk pregnant woman. You are not going to spend time in the nasty confines of the Cook County Jail.”
“First of all, I’m not high risk. Second, it’s not a decision for you to make. I’m meeting Walter at seven-thirty. He still believes that Peterson will back down. Walter can’t remember the last time they locked up a lawyer for refusing to reveal a confidence. Anyway, he’s sure that it won’t stand up on appeal.”
“An appeal could take weeks, even months.”
“Liam, why are we arguing about this? You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. I understand that you’re worried, and I’m sorry to cause you stress, but I really believe in what I’m doing and I need you to support me.”
She put her arms around his neck. “This might be the most important thing I’ve ever done. People like Lena, they had more courage in their little fingers than I’ll ever have. I’m standing up for what I believe. I have to do my part, and if protecting her means confronting Judge Peterson, then I’m going to do it. I won’t give Arthur the ammunition to take away Lena’s independence and put her in a home. She will not be locked up again.”
* * *
AS BEFORE, JUDGE PETERSON’S courtroom was standing-room only when Walter and Catherine entered. Earlier that morning she stood before her closet trying to decide on her outfit for judgment day. What does one wear to go to jail? She finally selected her navy suit, a white blouse and a red, white and blue silk scarf. Very American. No jewelry.
She and Walter had met that morning. She told him not to play the pregnancy card. She didn’t want mercy, she wanted justice.
“We need to make a clear record this morning,” Walter had said. “If we’re going to ask the appellate court for an expedited review, we need to put it all on the record.”
“Do you think he’ll actually lock me up?”
“Yes, I do. Shirley has skillfully backed Peterson into a corner. He won’t hesitate unless you consent to follow his order.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. Let’s go.”
Catherine and Walter took their seats at counsel table. Across the room, Arthur sat next to Shirley. An arrogant grin stretched across Arthur’s face, as if to say, “You’re about to get yours.” He tried to catch Catherine’s attention and lock eyes, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Liam sat in the front row, wishing it were possible to resolve the dispute by knocking Arthur into next week.
The corner door opened, the crowd hushed and Judge Peterson followed his court personnel into the room, the duck behind the ducklings. “All rise.” Catherine stood tall and confident. Arthur leaned forward and craned his neck trying to catch her attention. His pompous smile never left his lips.
“Case number 13 P 6268, In re: the Guardianship of Lena Woodward, continued by previous court order for status,” announced the clerk.
Walter, Catherine, Shirley and Arthur rose and approached the bench. The judge motioned for the overflow courtroom to be seated. In a quiet voice, he said, “The record will show that this matter has been continued by me for a third time to allow Ms. Lockhart to bring herself within compliance of this court’s orders, which heretofore she has intentionally resisted. Since she is represented, I will address my remarks to Mr. Jenkins. Does Ms. Lockhart understand the terms of my order?”
“She does, Your Honor.”
“Does she have any questions at all about what this court requires of her?”
“She does not, Your Honor.”
The judge took off his reading glasses. He leaned forward. “It is not my desire to sanction anyone, especially such a committed attorney as Ms. Lockhart, but I have a duty, a responsibility as a probate judge, to protect the elderly members of our society who come before me. Does Ms. Lockhart understand that?”
“She understands what you articulate as your duty.”
“So that my record is absolutely clear, the petitioner, Arthur Woodward, has, under oath, alleged that his mother, Lena Woodward, is a disabled adult by reason of her senile dementia. Specifically, he has asserted that her mental state has deteriorated to the point where she now suffers from an obsessive-compulsive disorder to locate people who do not exist and who never did exist.” He turned to Shirley. “Is that essentially correct, Mr. Shirley?”
Arthur vigorously nodded his head up and down, stepped in front of his attorney and interjected, “That’s right, Your Honor. She’s got some crazy delusion that a woman named Karolina had two girls during the war and that she’s got to go find them. Ridiculous. And this lawyer here, Lockhart, is leading her on, trying to get her hands on all my mother’s money.”
Judge Peterson slammed his gavel. “I did not address you, sir. I addressed your attorney. When I want you to speak, I’ll let you know. Right now, you turn around, go back to counsel table, take a seat and keep quiet.” Arthur tilted forward to look at Catherine, put a satisfied grin on his face, turned and strutted to counsel table.
Shirley answered the judge’s question by saying, “Your Honor is correct in briefly summarizing the allegations of the petition. We are concerned about the conflicting position in which Ms. Lockhart has placed herself.”
The judge nodded. “As am I. Mr. Jenkins, Ms. Lockhart herself has stated in open court that she is representing the alleged disabled person in a matter separate and distinct from this probate case. It may very well be an entirely proper representation. But the petitioner has alleged otherwise. It is my responsibility as a probate judge to inquire. It is also my judgment that by entering an appearance on behalf of Mrs. Woodward in this probate case, and by declaring to me in open court that she does represent Mrs. Woodward in a secondary matter, Ms. Lockhart has thrust herself into this controversy. If there is nothing untoward about the attorney-client relationship in the secondary matter, then let her tell me and this proceeding is over.”
Walter turned to face Catherine, who shook her head. “Your Honor,” Walter said, “divulging the information you seek would require her to betray the confidence that Mrs. Woodward has justifiably placed in the sanctity of the attorney-client relationship. It would broadcast to the public that private, privileged communications from a client to an attorney are confidential and protected from disclosure only until some judge or litigant decides he wants to know them. Ms. Lockhart intends to stand firm and is quite certain that the appellate court will see it that way as well.”
“Well, she’s going to get a chance to find out. Ms. Lockhart, I put it to you one last time. Will you comply with this court’s order and advise me fully about the subject matter of your representation of Mrs. Woodward in the separate matter?”
“No, sir, I will not.”
“Then you have left me with no choice. Given my responsibility to Mrs. Woodward, the alleged disabled person, I hereby confirm my finding of direct contempt and remand you to the custody of the Cook County sheriff to be held in the Cook County Jail, from day to day, from week to week, until you are prepared…”
“You’ll do no such thing,” bellowed a voice from the back of the courtroom. A tall woman, with glaring eyes and a determined look on her face, pushed back the swinging gate and with the assistance of her cane confidently strode directly toward the bench.
“Lena!”
Catherine said.
“Who is this woman?” Judge Peterson demanded.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Arthur said, popping to his feet.
Lena turned and stiffly pointed at her son. “Arthur, sit down and shut up.” Which he did.
Shirley was startled. “Apparently, she is the respondent, Lena Woodward, Your Honor.”
“That’s correct. I’m Lena Scheinman Woodward, and the accusations of my irresponsible son are pure poppycock.”
The judge raised his eyebrows. “Any layperson who comes before me to testify must be sworn in.”
“She’s not here to testify, Your Honor,” Catherine said. “Lena, you’re not required to say one word.”
“I’m not going to let you go to jail. That’s my choice, not yours. I’ll answer any questions this judge wants to know. I have nothing to hide.”
Judge Peterson looked to Catherine. “She’s apparently overruled you.”
Lena raised her hand and swore to tell the truth.
“Is Catherine Lockhart your attorney in this probate matter?”
“Yes.”
“Is she also your attorney in another matter?”
Lena paused. She tilted her head this way and that. “I believe that’s a technical question. I have not signed any papers. I have not formally engaged her. I haven’t paid her any money. But I consider her to be my attorney. I’ve sat in her office for several days and talked her ears off. She’s a very good listener.”
The judge wrinkled his forehead. “And you haven’t paid her? Have you agreed to pay her anything?”
Lena shook her head. “No, we’ve never even discussed fees, but if I had, don’t you think that’s my business and not Arthur’s? I’m taking up quite a bit of this attorney’s valuable time. Why should I expect her to work for free?”
“Can you tell me what these talking sessions are all about? Without disclosing the actual conversations, can you tell me, in general, what is the subject matter of your discussions? And before you answer, I will give you time to consult with Ms. Lockhart or Mr. Jenkins.”
“I don’t need time.”
“You don’t have to answer those questions,” Catherine said. “And I advise you not to. He could ask follow-up questions. Once you open the door, you can’t limit his inquiry.”
“I understand that. It’s okay. I’m proud of what I’m doing.” Lena looked directly into the eyes of Judge Peterson. “In 1943, on a Nazi transport train to the Gross-Rosen concentration camp, two beautiful little girls were abandoned and lost. Intentionally. It was my fault. I take the responsibility for the decision to abandon them in an effort to save them from certain death at the hands of the Nazis. When we did that, I gave my solemn promise to go back and try to find them. They may not be alive, Your Honor. I know that. But they did exist and I held those babies in my arms. After all these years, I’ve finally found the courage to fulfill that promise. I can’t do it alone. I’ve asked Catherine Lockhart and her husband to help me. Have I done something illegal?”
Judge Peterson exhaled a grateful sigh. “No, ma’am, you have not.” He sat back. “Since the court’s basic inquiry of Ms. Lockhart has now been satisfied, and since I’m also satisfied that Mrs. Woodward’s financial estate has not been depleted or placed at risk, and, most importantly, based upon my observations of the witness this morning, this contempt hearing is dismissed. Ms. Lockhart, any findings of contempt are stricken from the record. You are free to go.”
“Just a minute,” Shirley interjected. “I have questions. I want my right of cross-examination.”
“Denied.”
“But, Your Honor, all you’ve done today is to complete the contempt hearing. This case isn’t over. My client, Arthur Woodward, still maintains that his mother is suffering from an obsessive-compulsive disorder to find children that do not exist. We’ve done our homework and we strongly believe there is no proof they exist or were ever born. Just because this woman comes to court, puts on a good show and says they existed doesn’t make it true. Arthur’s petition is pending, and we insist upon keeping our trial date of April twenty-fifth.”
Lena turned around and looked sternly at Arthur, who hid his face.
“Is that correct, Mr. Woodard?” Judge Peterson said. “Do you still wish to proceed to trial on your petition to declare your mother a disabled person?”
Arthur nodded. “I do.”
“He does, he most definitely does,” Shirley said.
“Very well. This matter is continued to April twenty-fifth for trial on Mr. Woodward’s petition to declare Mrs. Woodward a disabled person. We’ll consider the proofs on that date. This hearing is adjourned.”
Outside of the courtroom, in the busy halls of the courthouse, Lena, Liam and Catherine gathered. “Did you tell her to come today?” Catherine said to Liam.
“I’d be revealing a confidence, wouldn’t I?”
“I did it of my own accord,” Lena said. “I called Liam. I couldn’t allow your loyalty to subject you to punishment. I’m sorry if I stepped on your legal toes.”
Just then Shirley and Arthur walked out of the courtroom. Arthur looked sheepishly at Lena. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I have to do what I have to do.”
“No, you’re not sorry. Not in the least. Arthur, I’m ashamed of you. This is an entirely selfish pursuit.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m doing it for your own good, to protect you. I just can’t see you throwing all Dad’s money away on some preposterous quest for two Polish children. If such children ever existed. Perhaps you believe in your mind they’re the daughters you always wanted. Maybe that’s it, huh? Maybe it was never very satisfying just having a son, was it? You’d rather chase after imaginary daughters.”
With tears in her eyes, Lena took a quick step and slapped Arthur’s face.
“Did you see that? Did you see that?” Arthur said to Shirley. “Didn’t I tell you she’s out of control?”
Shirley tugged at Arthur’s sleeve and pulled him toward the elevator. “C’mon, Arthur. Don’t make a scene here. You’ll have your day on April twenty-fifth.”
“Damn right I will.”
Lena shook her head and blotted her eyes with her handkerchief. “He was never like that before my husband died. He never forgave me for selling the business. He wanted it for himself. To tell the truth, I didn’t think he was capable of running my husband’s business, but it didn’t really matter because the business had to be sold to pay the estate taxes. It’s what my husband wanted anyway.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
“MURIEL, KAROLINA AND I arrived at Gross-Rosen concentration camp in a state of total shock,” Lena said as she started another session in Catherine’s office. “The main entrance was similar to the entrance to Auschwitz. It was a large brick façade. The entrance to the camp was through a tall archway flanked by two one-story buildings, like wings on either side. ARBEIT MACHT FREI was stenciled over the archway beneath three windows. ‘Work makes you free.’ History’s most cruel joke.
“We disembarked from the passenger cars and were pushed into two lines, one for men and one for women. I held Karolina close to me. She was still in a stunned state. Truthfully, I wasn’t much better. We clung to each other, staggered by what we had done, wondering how we could possibly carry on. All the women were led into a room and told to disrobe. We were being cleaned, disinfected. Jews were known to have lice and other dirty diseases, they told us. Each of us was handed a tiny piece of soap.
“We showered and were led into a large empty room. No towels. The door was locked and we were kept in the room for hours. About a hundred naked women. From time to time, a guard or two would come in. They’d tell us to stand and be counted. They’d call our names. They had a list. Sometimes the guards were women. Sometimes they were men who would look us over, point and make snide remarks. They subjected us to cavity searches twice. Often they would stare and comment about which ones looked strong. They asked us what we did before we got there.” She shook
her head. “I was in bad shape mentally. All I remember was the room was cold and we had no clothes.
“Finally, guards came in and separated us. Half of the women were given uniforms and marched out. Karolina and I were in the other half. We were given our uniforms and marched back to the train tracks. We were told that our group was going to a sub-camp. To our good fortune, it was a production sub-camp, not a construction sub-camp.”
“I don’t think I understand,” Catherine said.
“Construction sub-camps were hard labor. Work in the quarry, work in the mines. Bomb shelter construction, removing rubble, underground construction—many of the manufacturing facilities were underground, like tire manufacturing and weapons manufacturing. Prisoners assigned to construction sub-camps had a short lifespan. Because of malnutrition and hard labor, prisoners became emaciated, they lost muscle mass, their immune systems were weakened. Many died within six months. There was a term used in the camps—müselmanner—to define someone who had lost more than a third of her body weight. At that stage the body begins to consume itself and mental acuity fails. People become zombielike, apathetic, and it’s only a matter of time.
“My group headed back to the train. Muriel was not with us. I guess it’s because she told them she was a nurse and was sent somewhere else. My group was going to a textile plant.”
“You didn’t stay at Gross-Rosen?”
“Gross-Rosen was a huge conglomerate, a concentration camp with over one hundred sub-camps spread all over Poland, Germany and Czechoslovakia. At its peak, Gross-Rosen held over one hundred thousand prisoners. Some were sent to be slave laborers for Blaupunkt, some for IG Farben, some for Mercedes-Benz; others worked for other German corporations, like Bosch, Bayer, and Audi. Our train headed south to Parschnitz, a sub-camp just over the Czechoslovakian border.
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