Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (2 page)

"But I didn't throw her back into the water!" I exclaimed. "My grandmother stole my baby and forged my signature on documents. Didn't Mr. Updike make that clear?" I cried out in dismay.

"All Mr. Updike said was minds have changed; you want the baby back. I have been in contact with my lawyers, and they have advised me I have a legal position. I intend to enforce it."

His words sent shivers down my spine. I felt as if someone had thrown a pail of ice water over me—a legal battle? For my own baby? Grandmother Cutler's revenge continued even after her death. She was still controlling my life and happiness, even from her grave.

"Look," Jimmy said, still trying to quiet his temper, "you're making a big mistake here. Maybe you don't understand what happened. Dawn never agreed to—"

"We were offered an infant that a mother didn't want," Sanford interrupted. "My wife and I have been trying to have our own child for years now. While we want a child desperately, other people," he said, spitting his words in my direction, "have them in a very cavalier manner and then want to get rid of them. Well, we didn't question all the details; we accepted the conditions, signed papers and were given the child.

"Now you come here and want to undo all that has been done. Some time has passed. We love Violet, and, as unlikely as it might seem to you, Violet has taken to us, especially to my wife. You can't play with people like you play with dolls."

"That's not fair, Mr. Compton!" I exclaimed.

"That's stupid," Jimmy snapped back.

"Jimmy!"

"No, he has no right to talk to us this way. He doesn't know anything," Jimmy sneered.

"I know we're not turning the baby over to you," Sanford Compton said, standing up abruptly, "and I know I would like you two to leave my house immediately."

"You can't keep her baby!" Jimmy shouted, rising to his feet.

"I told you," Sanford Compton said calmly, "it's not her baby anymore. Violet is our baby."

"Like hell she is," Jimmy flared. "Come on, Dawn. We'll go to the police. These people are stealing your baby."

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Compton said, and this time she could not hold back her sobs.

"Now look what you've done—you've upset my wife. I must insist you leave, or I will be the one to call the police."

"Don't worry about it," Jimmy said, reaching for my hand. "We'll see the police, and we'll be back. All you're doing is making unnecessary trouble for everyone."

The butler appeared in the doorway as if Sanford Compton had pushed an invisible button calling for him.

"Frazer, see these people out, please."

I looked at Mrs. Compton before leaving.

"I'm sorry," I said to her, "but I never agreed to the giving away of my baby. It's not my fault. I didn't intend for this to happen."

Patricia Compton began to sob harder.

"Please leave," Sanford commanded.

Jimmy and I walked out. The butler stepped back and then moved forward to open the front door for us.

"Damn stupid people," Jimmy muttered loud enough for them to hear.

We stepped back into the sunlight, only to me the day had turned pale gray. It might as well be raining, I thought. Would nothing be easy for me, ever? Mistakes haunted me like ghosts. I had begun to believe that because I was a child born from evil I would be cursed forever. The sins of the fathers do rest on the heads of their children. I couldn't keep my own tears back, and before we had left the portico I was sobbing hysterically. Jimmy embraced me quickly and kissed my cheek.

"Hey, don't cry. Don't worry. This isn't going to be hard," he promised.

"Oh, Jimmy, don't you see that everything's going to be hard? I don't know why you would want to marry me. You're only going to suffer along with me. I'm cursed, cursed!"

"Come on, Dawn. Take it easy. It's not you; it's what that evil old lady did. Well, we'll just see it undone. That guy's stupid and asking for trouble."

"I can't blame these people, Jimmy. He wasn't all wrong. And did you see the expression on that woman's face? She finally got a baby she could call her own, and we're here to take it away," I moaned.

"But you want to, don't you? You want Christie back?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes, of course I do. I just can't stand all this pain and suffering. Why was one old woman given so much power to hurt other people?" I cried.

"I don't know. She did it, and it's over with. Now we've got to make it right. I guess we'll go to the police first," he said.

"No, we had better check into a hotel someplace close by and call Mr. Updike. The police can't help us. Sanford Compton is right—it's going to be a legal battle."

I looked back at the house once, trying to imagine which room Christie was in. I was sure they had bought her the finest crib and the most expensive baby clothes. Just a baby, she didn't know where she was or what had happened to her. She was probably as content as she could possibly be. In a short while I would disturb that contentment; but I had to believe that even an infant as young as Christie would sense her own mother when she was finally placed in my arms, and that would give her a deeper, more complete sense of security and love. Armed with that faith, I hurried off with Jimmy to begin our battle for custody of my own child.

We checked into a small hotel just outside of Richmond. It was a restored old mansion, and the rooms were quiet, large and comfortable, but we were not able to enjoy anything. Our time here was to be filled with waiting for phone calls and preparation for a hearing.

When I phoned Mr. Updike I was surprised at his reaction.

"Maybe it would be wiser just to leave things be," he suggested. "The baby's in a very good home and will be very well taken care of. Sanford Compton is wealthy and powerful in his community."

"I don't care how wealthy he is, Mr. Updike. Christie is my baby, and I want her back," I said sharply. "I thought you had explained it all to the Comptons," I continued, not disguising my annoyance. If he intended to continue as the family's attorney, he would have to satisfy me now that I was the majority owner of the hotel and property.

"I didn't get into the nitty-gritty details with them," he confessed. "I was just trying to protect the Cutler name. You can imagine what a field day the newspaper people would have with such a story, and that might very well reflect on the hotel."

"Mr. Updike," I said, speaking through clenched teeth, "if I don't get Christie back and get her back soon, I will feed the story to the newspapers myself!" I flared.

"I see," he said. "I just want you to understand what will be exposed—your affair with this older man, your pregnancy out of wedlock, your—"

"I know what I've done, and I know what has happened, Mr. Updike. My baby is more important to me than any of that. If you can't help me and help me quickly, I will see another attorney," I said, no longer veiling any threat or anger.

He cleared his throat.

"Oh, I'll help you. I just wanted you to understand all the aspects of this," he quickly explained.

"What do we do next?" I demanded.

"Well, I know some people there. I'll get right on it. Maybe we can settle this in a closed hearing in front of a judge with just the attorneys and parties present. I'll work toward that, and hopefully—"

"Then Jimmy and I will remain here and await your making the arrangements quickly," I emphasized.

"Okay. I'll call you. Where are you?"

I gave him the place and the number and repeated my desire to have the problem solved as quickly as possible. He promised to get right on it.

The day after I had first phoned Mr. Updike he finally called to say he had managed to get the Comptons and their attorney to agree to a hearing in front of a Supreme Court judge, Judge Powell, who was both a friend of the Comptons and an acquaintance of Mr. Updike.

"If Mr. Compton is so powerful around here and this judge is his friend, will he be fair?" I asked with concern.

"Well, this is sort of an off-the-record hearing, a favor the judge is doing for both of us," Mr. Updike explained. "We can always turn to formal legal remedies afterward if we're not satisfied with the outcome. The Comptons aren't happy about the prospect of a public hearing either."

He gave me the address and time to be at the judge's chambers and told us he would meet us there an hour earlier. It was an afternoon meeting. I was so nervous about it, I couldn't eat a thing for lunch.

"It's going to be okay," Jimmy continued to assure me. "Once everyone understands the truth of what happened, it will be settled simply and quickly."

"Oh, Jimmy, I'm not as confident as you are. Mr. Updike keeps emphasizing just how powerful Sanford Compton is, a man of great influence with politicians and lawyers alike, and he's forever reminding me about the sordid details of my background."

"I don't care about any of that," Jimmy insisted. "The truth is the truth, and Christie is your baby," he said with a firmness that helped me to revive some of my own confidence.

"I'm so glad you're with me, Jimmy. I couldn't do any of this without you," I told him. He reached across the table in the restaurant where we were having our lunch and put his hand over mine.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but at your side, Dawn. Now and forever."

I wanted to kiss him there and then, but we were surrounded by people, all well-dressed and sophisticated-looking. It was a fancy restaurant, too, and I was sensitive about doing anything that might attract attention and gossip. Jimmy said events were making me paranoid, but I couldn't help it. He laughed but made me promise to kiss him twice as much when we were alone.

The afternoon of the hearing was gray and even a bit chilly. Fall was creeping in like a wolf on the prowl around a chicken coop. It cast its shadow first. Birds seemed more restless around us, their biological clocks ticking closer and closer to that hour when they would be nudged to go off and seek warmer climates. Clouds looked darker and more ominous, and the wind was stronger. Leaves weakened by age snapped off branches and began their slow singsong descents to the ground, while other leaves had begun to take on tints of orange and yellow and brown.

Mr. Updike met us in the lobby. Although he was an elderly man, easily in his early seventies, he carried himself with an air of strength and authority characteristic of men much younger. His cap of white hair still had a slight wave in front, and he stood firm with broad shoulders and a bit of a barrel chest. The sight of him and the sound of his deep, resonant voice restored some faith and confidence in me. He shook hands with Jimmy firmly and described quickly how he wanted to conduct the meeting.

"Just let me do all the talking until Judge Powell asks you questions."

I nodded. Just then we saw Sanford and Patricia Compton enter the building with their attorney. Mr. Compton was holding Mrs. Compton at the elbow as if she had to be guided along. She had her lace handkerchief closed in her small left fist. I saw the terror and fear in her face when she glanced our way. It sent shivers of ice through my heart.

The Comptons' attorney was a shorter man with a much slimmer build but a surprisingly beautiful speaking voice. As a musician and singer, I couldn't help but notice. His name was Felix Humbrick, and the moment he began to talk I knew we were in for a time of it.

We all gathered in the judge's chambers, a large office on the second floor. It had marble floors, and both walls were lined with shelves containing volumes and volumes of law books. On the wall behind the judge's large, dark oak desk were framed pictures of Judge Powell shaking hands with politicians, even one showing him with the president. All of it gave the office a magisterial air of authenticity and officialdom. There was a feeling we should whisper when we spoke.

The Comptons and their attorney took one side of the room, and we took the other, with both attorneys sitting in the leather chairs closest to the desk. Mr. Compton refused to look our way, but every once in a while Patricia Compton gazed at me, her eyes glassy.

Judge Powell was an intense man, focusing sharply on whoever spoke as if he could see into the speaker's face, behind his words. Of course, I studied his face for some hint as to what he was feeling, but when he began to conduct the hearing his face became a mask—his lips unmoving, his eyes simply reflecting what he saw and not reacting. Not even his eyebrows lifted. He was as still as the statue of Justice herself.

"I would like it understood at the start," the judge began, "that this is an informal hearing requested and agreed to by both sides concerned, and therefore I have not asked for a stenographer to take down any notes or record the proceedings. Also, any recommendations I might make at the conclusion of this informal hearing are not binding on either party, nor can they be used as evidence or testimony in any formal hearing that might result. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Mr. Updike said quickly.

"Quite clear, Your Honor," Felix Humbrick said.

"As agreed to beforehand, then, we will begin with Mr. Humbrick," the judge said, and he turned his swivel chair slightly so that he was looking directly at Felix Humbrick. Jimmy took my hand and squeezed it gently.