A few minutes later, Travis’s mother made a grave tactical error. When Muriel mentioned Hank by name, Ruth interrupted emphatically, “His name is
Duncan Adams Quincy
. Kindly refer to my grandson correctly.”
The murmur that rippled through the courtroom was loud enough for the judge to tap his gavel and demand order. Perdue asked all three attorneys to approach the bench. It was impossible to hear what was said, but Annie had a healthy imagination. Ruth had made a big mistake.
When Muriel returned to her questioning, she gently but firmly stated, “Mrs. Quincy, your grandson’s legal name is Henry Travis Turner. Why do you refer to him otherwise?”
“It’s an inferior, common name. My grandson requires an impressive title. Therefore, his name
will
be Duncan Adams Quincy, after I have adopted him.”
“And why do you want to adopt your grandson, Mrs. Quincy? Aside from your allegations of neglect and abuse which my client supposedly perpetrated on her own child?”
“He is the next Quincy Heir. Under my tutelage and guidance the boy will realize his full potential as befits the family legacy. If left to the devices of his mother and her family, I have no doubt he will grow to be as common and inferior as they all are.” Ruth’s voice rang with superior disdain. Everyone in the courtroom had to have heard it. Annie winced.
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.”