Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way

by Rohn Federbush

  “I don’t want to see the Brents, right now.”

  “I know.” Helen patted his knee.

  “I could have ruined the case.”

  “Dr. Handler’s errors are not yours. You had the misfortune of being injured in the service of your country and ….”

  “Being used by one woman the way I had used every one I touch.” Max took both of Helen’s hands in his. “Until now, Helen. I won’t make love to you until we’re married, even though I love you.”

  “I know,” she said. “We just need to get you home to rest.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Third Tuesday in July, 2008

  Washtenaw County Courthouse

  Max watched the jury over the top of Helen’s blonde curls. If they, the jury, could feel half the affection he held for this courageous friend of his, they would surely acquit a confessed mass-murderer. He hoped his terrible collapse in the witness stand wouldn’t sway any of them. He prayed the jury had carefully weighed the evidence against Dr. Handler. The closing arguments had been fairly brief.

  Sister James Marine was recalled to the stand to reiterate her testimony as a character witness for Marilyn Helms. “The Dominican nuns at St. Anthony’s Convent in Adrian elected me as their Mother Superior. We accepted Marilyn Helms as a community service worker to fulfill her sentence for a DUI, driving under the influence, conviction. Her pet, Rufus, was very well mannered while she was with us. He slept outside her door at night. Am I taking too long?” Sister asked the judge who waved his hand to relieve her of any worry. “I think you all should know the reason I became a nun. I was inspired by a woman, a Dominican nun who visited prisons. Actually, she only visited death-row inmates. She said she found every person is more similar to us than we first think. It was true the people she met had gigantic sins on the surface of their souls, but the rest was as pure as if you’d noticed a dot of dust on a fresh white handkerchief – more good is present in all persons than bad.” Sister James Marine folded her hands in her lap. “I do want to add from Matthew, Chapter Seven, Verse One, my belief of how you should see Marilyn’s plight and her truthful statements about Dr. Handler’s mishandling of Larry Schneider’s life.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Verne Chapski, Dr. Handler’s defense attorney tried to usher the nun from the witness box.

  “Yes,” Judge Wilcox said, “It is necessary.”

  Sister received a nod to proceed from the judge. “I want you to remember the words of Jesus when you are together in the jury room. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you, again.’”

  “Your Honor!” Verne Chapski stormed around the area in front of the jury box. He waved in their direction. “Direct the jury to disregard that sentimental drivel.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Judge Wilcox’s stare was not friendly.

  “I give up!” Verne Chapski slapped his sides in exasperation and sat down.

  “I take that as your closing statement.” Judge Wilcox dared the attorney to argue. “Mr. Warner are you prepared to give your closing arguments?”

  Roger Warner turned slowly and faced the jury. “I’ll let the Lord’s words burden the jury.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not:

  for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.”

  John 12:47

  First Monday in July, 2008

  The Firm

  Max shut his second-floor office door behind Andrew. He considered locking it to avoid letting Helen walk into the middle of an embarrassing conversation. “Maybe you should sit down, Andrew? I don’t think you understand the complications involved.”

  “What are you so serious about?”

  “Can you hear me out?” Max slumped into his desk chair. “I’ll talk and you listen. I’ll ask you what you think afterwards, okay?”

  “Sure, Max.”

  “As I tried to tell you when Helen was still living at home, I like your daughter.” His brain provided a bridge detour for the flow of truthful words he had intended to convey. The silence between the men grew. Frustrated, Max finally said, “I need to start at the beginning, don’t I?” Andrew encouraged him with a nod. Max looked around his office. Would he need to call the movers to store his mahogany desk, file cabinets, the clock downstairs, the wingback chairs, the ruined fake greenery, until he found a new job? “Mr. Brent’s case threw me a curve ball. I think I needed the sucker punch. You can believe I didn’t know I was dating his wife. Now she’s pregnant with my child.” Andrew didn’t comment. His eyes widened slightly, but his face remained friendly, concerned. “She called herself Maybell and lied about not wearing rings, but that doesn’t excuse my actions. Anita was the mirror of my sins, like Don Quixote’s when he recanted his lofty goals. I asked her to marry me, before we had sex; but it doesn’t relieve me of the responsibility, does it? What I’m trying to explain to you is….” Max felt his throat clog. “… even though I think your daughter is getting too involved with me,” each word caused real pain as he pushed it past his lips, past his deceit-encrusted soul, “I’m not fit husband material.”

  Andrew sighed. The truth was laid bare. Max added, “The Iraq buddies I partied with, before Maybell, said I reach for women the way drunks grab their next bottle, drain them and toss them in the garbage. I already told Helen about Anita and the baby.”

  Andrew sat very still, too still. “Say something, please?”

  “I think women can break or make a man. My daughter is one of those who creates the man she loves. You’ve changed since meeting Maybell. I didn’t know she was Anita, but part of you changed. The human soul you’ve kept buried since Iraq or your parents’ deaths, it’s still here, caring. Your feelings for my daughter are not my concern. I can see you are suffering. I know what she thinks of you. Do you? I would strongly advise you to leave the future of your involvement, or not, with Helen. If you love her, you will confidently leave your fate in her hands. She’s not going to rush you into anything you’re not ready to undertake.”

  Max stared. “But, Andrew….”

  “No buts. I think the world of you, Max. That’s not going to change, even if you and Helen never marry.”

  “I promise…”

  Andrew held up his hand. “Please. Let’s pretend we never had this talk.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Andrew left, but didn’t close the door.

  Max felt fine, better. If Andrew knew the score and didn’t throw him out of The Firm, he must be okay. Max patted his desktop as if to reassure the thing they were not packing up. He wondered how soon Helen would make her move on him.

  Max hooked his seat belt before driving home to his apartment. Helen had never seen his place. If Mrs. Schneider could invite her estranged husband over, he could certainly ask the woman he loved, Helen Costello, to visit him. Maybe he could include George and Mitzi in the invitation, just to keep the atmosphere safe for Helen.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  George laughed when Helen drove up in her new Honda. He stepped aside after opening the elevator door to Max’s apartment so Mitzi and Helen could precede him. “Why did you drive the gas-guzzling Oldsmobile anyway?”

  “I miss Dad’s car.” Helen cocked an ornery eye at George and Mitzi. “Have you ever flown down a country dirt road at 100 miles an hour in a heavy car?”

  “That tank couldn’t go that fast.” George scoffed. “It didn’t even own seat belts.”

  Helen tugged at the neckline of her white cotton dress. “I drove through Waterloo on moonlit nights with the lights off, too.”

  “You are one crazy child.” Mitzi laughed.

  “I’m older than George. I am glad I finally moved out of my parents’ house.” Helen sighed. “Mitzi, you might want one of my dollhouses. I gave ten of them to the nuns at St. Anthony’s convent.”

  “Oh,” Mitzi
clapped her hands. “I never owned a doll house when I was a kid.”

  “You’re still a kid.” George whacked Mitzi’s bottom.

  Mitzi punched him hard on the arm for the infraction.

  On the ride up the elevator to Max’s apartment, Helen checked off her recent advancements toward maturity. She’d received a dollhouse from her father for each birthday. With the gift for Mitzi and the convent’s presents of ten that might mean that she had shed eleven years of her childhood. Fourteen more to go, before she could claim womanhood at twenty-five. She planned to be a first-time mother before the age of thirty. She wondered if she should let Max in on her plans for his added fatherhood.

  “Mother is giving the final thirteen abodes to a shelter for abused women. They usually aren’t allowed time to pack their children’s toys. Did you see the Victorian one I brought with me? It’s in my condo’s bedroom. I was thinking, Max is so tall, if we ever do get together, like you two, we’ll need a house with high ceilings.” Helen knew she was chattering away. Why was she so nervous? She knew Mitzi and George were with her. It wasn’t as if she was going to Max’s apartment by herself.

  Helen laughed. “I like buying groceries, cleaning up after myself, living alone, taking care of my cats…before I think about marrying. Too many of my friends left their parents’ domination only to succumb to some idiot’s idea of a happy home…usually answering to them, too much.”

  “Good for you.” George patted her shoulder.

  “What about you, George?” Mitzi asked. “Are you a confirmed bachelor?”

  “Not me.” George laughed. “Helen, have you seen Max’s apartment before?”

  Helen stayed in the elevator after George and Mitzi got off. “I have been curious. He says the ceilings are two stories high. He’s arranged some sort of temporary ceiling with bolts of silk cloth hung on wires or rods.”

  “Sounds innovative.” Mitzi tugged on Helen’s arm to pull her out of the elevator.

  “You like him, George, don’t you?” Helen didn’t really care if George hated him. She knew she was in love.

  George rolled his eyes at Mitzi. “If you like the guy, he’s fine with me. Just remember you have a brother to lean on, now.”

  “Yeah.” Helen said. “I like that. I feel braver, you know, to venture out into the real world, because of you.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s give Max a good time.”

  “He deserves one, George. A married client of ours is carrying his child.”

  George stroked his chin. “Does he need a lawyer?”

  “Exactly,” Helen said glad again for the attributes of her sibling. “I knew you would take his side.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Max wasn’t sure George would be a pleasant guest. He was surprised at how well they all got along. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Max filled an entire half-hour describing the glories of his apartment complex. “They did a good job converting the old factory.” Helen chose his favorite chair.

  George seemed to imply he was more interested in Helen’s business than Max. “Do you like pets?”

  “Mitzi and I just picked out two Siamese cats.” Helen stroked the leather arm of Max’s chair. Her smile melted Max’s reserve not to say another bragging word.

  “I’m buying a sailboat with a slip on Lake St. Claire.” Helen’s brown eyes widened. “As soon as you help me pick one out.”

  The End

  Other Books by Rohn Federbush

  Salome’s Conversion, 2011

  North Parish, 2014

  Floating Home, 2014

  Sally Bianco Mystery Series, 2014

  About Rohn Federbush

  Rohn Federbush retired as an administrator from the University of Michigan in 1999. She received a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing in 1995 from Eastern Michigan University, where she studied under Janet Kauffman and Larry Smith. In 1998, Vermont College awarded her a summer conference scholarship to work on her novel under Ellen Lesser and Brett Lott. Frederick Busch of Colgate granted a 1997 summer stipend for her ghost-story collection. Michael Joyce of Vassar encouraged earlier writing at Jackson Community College, Jackson, Michigan in 1981. Rohn has completed fourteen novels, with an additional mystery nearly finished, 120 short stories and 150 poems to date.

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