Before Annie rose from her seat and approached the witness bench, she clenched Travis’s fingers, hard. When she took the stand, she raised her hand and without a single ripple of nervousness swore to tell the truth. But Travis knew how frightened she felt. He also knew she’d come across as exactly the kind of person she was: intelligent, loving, an endearing combination of youth and capability.
Muriel easily guided Annie through the events of the day Hank was taken, and in such a way that Annie responded with maturity and calm composure. By the time his mother’s attorneys got hold of her, Annie was ready for them.
They gave it a fair shot. They must have realized their client wasn’t playing with a straight deck. But they worked for Ruth Quincy. Travis didn’t doubt she’d already threatened their jobs if she didn’t win today. Being faced with the loss of a prestigious and well-paying job would make anyone toe the line, even if—as he suspected—her attorneys didn’t believe much of what his mother had told them.
They asked Annie about the knot on Hank’s forehead, and she explained how he slid out of his highchair and when she tried to catch him, the tray caught him in the head.
One of the attorneys queried, “Why use such a substandard piece of children’s furniture for your son, if he could be in danger of sliding out of his seat?”
Annie lifted her chin. “I’ve been saving money for a new highchair.”
They asked about the bruises on his arms, and she replied that in her panic to get a grip on him before he hit the floor, she grasped his arms tightly. Hank’s tender baby skin bruised easily.
They wanted to know if she was in the habit of leaving her child in soaked diapers and tee shirts crusted with food. With admirable restraint, Annie said, “Bath time could wait. It was more important to calm my son down.”
The attorney smoothly changed tactics. “You cannot deny your inability to care for your son by yourself, at your age. When you start college—”
“I have already started college, sir.” Annie interrupted the man without apology. “I’m going to be a sophomore. I also have a job at the university bookstore. I have a full scholarship this semester provided I maintain a three-point-five grade average. Which I intend to do. And Hank has a daddy, too.”
“We are not establishing the dependability of the child’s father at this time, Miss Turner.”
“All right, if you want to leave him out of it, fine. I can do it myself, if I have to. I can take care of my son, work part-time, attend college and still maintain three-point-five or better.”
“You cannot predict—” the attorney began.
“Oh yes, sir. I can. I graduated in-home high school study at college level, with a four-point-zero average, two days after Hank was born. To get this full scholarship, to be able to pay for most of my schooling and not have to burden my family with the cost, I can do another four-point-zero, and I can do it on my head if I have to.” Annie was on a roll. It was all Travis could do not to laugh aloud in profound relief.
She paused as if to calm herself, and looked the attorney dead in the eye. “I can do it without sacrificing my son’s well-being. I can do it without having to depend on strangers. Would you like to know how I’m sure I can do it?”
He started to say something, hesitated and then shrugged. “Certainly, Miss Turner.”
“Because my family’s behind me. They want me to succeed. I don’t have to beg them for help because they’d offer it anyhow.” Annie paused again and tilted her head curiously. “You must not know much about big families, sir.”
“Well, I—”
“Big families take care of each other. Big families have a lot of love to pass around. When I was a kid, my mama and daddy weren’t always right there to stick a band-aid on my finger if I hurt it, or to read me a bedtime story. But my older brothers were, and before I knew it I’d be tucked up in bed and falling asleep and it didn’t matter if it was Mama or someone else who took care of me. I once had the measles and couldn’t do my chores, so my sister and my brothers did them for me. There wasn’t much money but there was always lots of love, and that was more than enough. Family is family. We help each other out. That’s the way it should be.”
And that, Travis thought, was that. Annie summed it up in her soft, sweet voice, without anger, and with strong conviction. He was so proud of her.
Finally, the Quincy legal team let her go. Annie started to step down, but instead turned toward his mother’s attorneys. “I’m sorry I interrupted you so many times, sir. It’s true I had something to say. But I was raised better, and I was taught to always respect my elders and not interrupt them while they’re talking.”
With that, and amidst chuckling that rippled through the courtroom, Annie returned to her seat. Travis guessed the younger attorney was none too pleased at being referred to as someone’s “elder,” judging by the pinkish tips of his ears. Travis stifled his own chuckle.
Then it was his turn. He took the oath and seated himself, locked away his nerves, knowing he needed his wits about him. He felt positive the case had already swung in his and Annie’s favor, but it was unwise to assume anything. He’d learned that particular lesson the hard way.
“Travis, your son’s welfare and safety must mean a great deal to you.” The attorney—Sheffield, if Travis wasn’t mistaken—began his examination with what passed for avuncular concern.
Without a blink of hesitancy Travis answered, “Yes of course. And Annie always—”
“And yet, you allow your son to be cared for by a young woman who doesn’t appear to understand the first thing about proper childcare. Bruises on his arms and neglected diaper changes seem to be the scope of her nurturing, wouldn’t you say?”
“Objection. Your Honor, this is ridiculous. The circumstance behind the child’s alleged condition that day has already been established.” Muriel jumped in quickly.
Judge Perdue leveled a frown toward Sheffield. “Sustained. Mr. Sheffield, watch yourself.”
“I’ll rephrase. Travis, how long have you known your son, Henry Travis Turner?”
“Approximately two months.”
“And in that time have you been satisfied with his upbringing and care under his biological mother, Annie Turner?”
“Yes, very satisfied. Annie is a wonderful mother, and—”
“And hasn’t it worried you that your own mother would make allegations of neglect and abuse against the mother of your son? Wouldn’t you need to find out just how factual these allegations might be?”
“I don’t need to find out anything. I know Annie. I know her family, and I can see for myself how much they love and care for Hank. His nickname is Hank,” Travis added wearily, right before Sheffield could open his mouth and say anything. “I was introduced to him as ‘Hank.’”
“Yes, exactly. “Introduced.” To your own son. Doesn’t it bother you that your son’s biological mother hid his existence from you, including her pregnancy? By your own admission you have only known your son for two months. Doesn’t it upset you that Annie Turner and her family kept you from your own son?”
“Not anymore. Because I understand the reasoning behind their decision to—”
“And now that you have had a chance to know your son, wouldn’t you do anything to keep that child? Wouldn’t you be willing to overlook some aspects of his upbringing, for the chance of a continued relationship with your son?”
“Your Honor, I have to object—” Muriel interjected.
“Your Honor, I am trying to establish a reason why the witness would allow his son to live under slovenly conditions and less than desirable guardianship—”
“Enough!” Judge Perdue slammed his gavel down hard, held in one broad hand. His black brows furrowed and his eyes flared with impatience. He leveled a thick finger at Sheffield. “Sit down, Mr. Sheffield. You too, Ms. Findley.” Both attorneys resumed their seats. “Now, then. I have presided over many a custody case, and I guarantee you, there are two sides to every single story. Often
there are even three or more. I have heard Mrs. Quincy’s side of the story. I have heard Annie Turner’s side, too. Now I would like to hear Travis Quincy’s, and without further interruption. Is that clear, Mr. Sheffield?”
“Your Honor, I merely attempt to establish—”
“Is that clear, Mr. Sheffield?” Judge Perdue stressed.
Sheffield wisely subsided. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded toward Muriel. “Ms. Findley? Is that clear for you as well?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“All right. Since we’re all clear, the witness will answer the original question, which I believe queried whether or not he was upset from attempts by the Turner family to keep his son’s identity from him.” Judge Perdue looked over at Travis. “Answer the question, please.”
Travis didn’t hesitate at all. “At first, I was angry. I missed out not only on the first year of my son’s life, but also the preparatory excitement that goes along with planning for a baby. I would have been scared knowing I was to become a father so soon, but thrilled to share in all of that with Annie and her family.” Travis smiled directly at Annie, and saw the way her eyes glittered with emotion. “But I understood why Hank’s birth was hidden from me for as long as it was.”
Travis paused, looking not to either attorney but to Judge Perdue for permission to continue. The judge nodded encouragingly, and Travis realized that ‘go-ahead’ nod may have helped them turn an important corner.
“My mother, Ruth Quincy, has disapproved of my relationship with Annie since we were children. She treated the Turner family badly, spoke against them in slanderous terms, and threatened them verbally. She used my affection for the family as well as my love for Annie as a way to manipulate me, and threatened to cause trouble for the Turners if I didn’t sever my relationship with Annie. That’s why I broke things off with her. Consequently I was kept in the dark about the pregnancy and Hank’s birth, and I don’t blame Annie or her family one bit, given the way I acted.”
With his words, Travis might have felt a twinge of guilt at the way he aligned himself against his mother, but only a twinge. Because there was fury on his mother’s face. Fury, and something else. Something ugly.
Judge Perdue asked, “And what did she threaten the Turner family with, young man? What sort of trouble could she have caused?”
From the plaintiff’s table, Travis saw the look of puzzlement and then worry that Louden shot in his mother’s direction. He and Sheffield crowded in, and both whispered urgently to her. With a swipe of two hands, his mother cut them off. Her spine steel-rod stiff, she glared at Travis.
A frisson of panic made him falter. God, he didn’t want to push his mother’s past into the open like this. But then he looked at Henry and saw the smile of reassurance, the nod of acquiescence. In Annie’s eyes he saw only love and pride.
As Travis parted his lips to speak, Muriel got to her feet and sent a pleading glance toward Sheffield. He resignedly stood to address the bench. “Your Honor, we respectfully request a short recess, to confer privately with you and with our clients.”
One thick black eyebrow shot up. “Ms. Findley, is this acceptable to you?”
At the judge’s gruff query, Muriel spoke up, “Yes, Your Honor. With your permission.”
“All right, then. Twenty minutes.”
Chapter 32
“Everybody take a seat. If there’s not enough to go around, too bad. You’ll have to stand.” In his chambers, Benson Perdue settled his large frame behind his desk.
“Let’s get this over with. Mr. Sheffield and Mr. Louden, Ms. Findley, I assume you all know what this impromptu conference is about?” When the Quincy attorneys merely looked confused, Perdue sighed, and turned to Muriel. “All right, Ms. Findley. You’re up.”
With a quick glance at Travis, Muriel began, “Your Honor, you wanted to know what Mrs. Quincy could have used as a threat against the Turner family—”
“I know what I requested, Counselor. Now, why doesn’t somebody just give me the answer?” Perdue barked.
“Your Honor, may I speak?” Travis asked.
The judge gestured with his hand. “By all means.”
Travis cleared his throat. “My mother hates the Turners, Your Honor, because years ago when she was just fifteen, Henry Turner’s father, Franklin Turner, sexually abused her repeatedly—”
“Travis, you will be silent.” His mother half-rose from her seat and hissed at him.
“Mrs. Quincy, you never mentioned this,” Sheffield sputtered at her, trying to catch hold of her arm. She pushed him away.
“Mother, it needs to be told. It’s festered inside you for far too long,” Travis pleaded.
“It has nothing to do with how horrible that girl is as a mother to my grandson,” she spat.
“It has everything to do with your opinion of me and my family, Mrs. Quincy,” Annie protested.
“Shut up! Good God Almighty, can’t I get a straight answer when I ask for one?” Perdue looked ready to pitch all of them out the door. “Everyone sit down, and stay there. You,” he pointed to Sheffield, “can shut up as well. And you,” his finger swung toward Annie, “young lady, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, either. Now, sit.” He waited until his commands were obeyed, then gestured to Travis. “As I said before, let’s hear it. You have ten minutes, so make it count.”
It took roughly seven minutes. Travis kept to the facts and reiterated those with as much straightforward economy as he could. At one point, his mother covered her face with both hands and didn’t pull away when Sheffield placed a bracing arm around her. And by the end of it, Annie as well as Muriel blinked away tears.
“Anything else to add?” Perdue asked. Throughout the telling of it, his expression hadn’t altered one iota. It was impossible for Travis to gauge what the judge might be thinking.
“No, Your Honor. That’s about it.” Travis started when he felt Annie’s hand squeeze his. He hadn’t realized he’d clung to her shoulder for dear life.
“All right. I’m going to extend the recess by ten additional minutes, while I give this latest information my attention and thought. I will make my ruling presently. You’re all excused, and will repair to the courtroom.”
Judge Perdue cast his black eyes around the room. “But, before you all leave, let me just say this.” He settled on Travis’s mother first. “Mrs. Quincy, it was extremely unfortunate that you had to endure such a crime, and at such a young age. There is no ready excuse nor condoning what was done to you. However, if you had reported it at the time, I believe valuable counseling could have been arranged for you to help you past the pain of your ordeal. That you chose to conceal it for all these years, tells me you need closure badly. My advice to you is to get yourself into counseling, the sooner the better.”
Travis was certain Perdue’s gruffness hid his very genuine concern over the wife of his good friend. But his mother sat ramrod straight in her chair and refused to acknowledge the judge’s words. Only her eyes seemed alive, and they were a blistering blue.
With a sigh, Perdue regarded Annie. “Miss Turner, this episode of your family history must be difficult for you to accept. Maybe you’re afraid there might be repercussions, should this information about your grandfather become public knowledge. But in a court of law, the sins of the father stay with the father and are not visited upon his children. Your own father need not worry about his good reputation. The law doesn’t bend that way.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” It was a husky whisper. “And thank you, in my daddy’s name.”
Judge Perdue stood, and the attorneys jumped to their feet. He addressed them all. “Counsel will take this information as background evidence inasmuch as it applies to the plaintiff’s mindset, because that’s exactly what it is. I trust the three of you will use some common sense while you’re at it. Dismissed.” He waved everyone toward the door. “Ah, Mr. Quincy? A moment, please.” Perdue motioned to Travis, who obediently remained behind while
everyone else shuffled out.
“Take a seat, Travis, I won’t be long-winded.” The judge gestured to the chair nearest his desk and Travis sat down, trying not to feel too much panic.
“Relax, son. I just wanted to thank you for this additional information. I have often felt—well, it doesn’t matter. Your story does go a ways toward helping me to understand somewhat better. Now,” Perdue took a pad and pen, and scribbled a few lines, “I am writing down the name and number of an excellent therapist who focuses on the victims of sexual crimes and deviant behavior. She’s sympathetic and knowledgeable and holds several three-month counseling sessions a year. I think the sooner you get your mother into one of these sessions, the better.” He ripped off the note and handed it to Travis, who folded it into his pocket.
“I’ll try, Judge Perdue. I really will. But if you know anything about my mother, you also know how stubborn she is.”
Perdue chuffed out a brief chuckle. “Oh, yes. That I do know. Nevertheless, see what you can accomplish with her.”
Benson Perdue adjusted his robes and slipped on a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses. He sorted through the papers in his hands one more time, before he raised his head and fixed that intensity on the two groups in front of him. Travis gripped Annie’s hand.
“In my experience,” Perdue began, “custody cases are amongst the toughest of domestic disputes. Someone wins, someone loses. If we are lucky, the children involved are always on the winning side, and we as public servants have done the right thing, made the best choice for that young life.
“I made a choice today, one I feel is in the best interest of the child, Henry Travis Turner. After weighing evidence, such as it is, and hearing from everyone concerned, I have made my decision based on what has been proven. I see no evidence that Annie Turner, or her fiancé, Travis Quincy, are anything other than good parents, therefore they shall retain full custody of their minor child, Henry Travis Turner.”
Promises to Keep Page 26
