Carol Ritten Smith (31 page)

“Will everyone just shut up? How’s a fella supposed to sleep with all this yappin’?” Bill grumbled, rolling over onto his stomach. His toes dangled over the edge of the cot.

“Goodnight, Bill.”

“Hmph!”

Under the covers, Tom’s hand searched out Beth’s. Their fingers laced together, the only joining of their bodies circumstances would allow.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Carver,” he whispered.

Her reply was barely audible. “Goodnight.”

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her and she did likewise. Their worries about tomorrow were intertwined with their yearnings of the night and when sleep finally came, it was long overdue.

• • •

Breakfast was eaten with the solemnity of the Last Supper. Beth sipped on tea, discreetly adding what Doc Fisher had given her to curb the morning sickness. Tom watched her guardedly as he drank his coffee.

Bill ordered a big breakfast, but didn’t eat it all. Only Davy did his breakfast justice, polishing off his own and then eating some of Bill’s.

Later he skipped ahead back to the room, while the rest followed with heavy feet.

“So what are we going to do today? Can we go shopping?” he asked, once again bouncing on the bed.

Beth looked at Tom, but he seemed as reluctant to tell Davy as she was. “Maybe we’ll go shopping later,” she said, “but we have something we have to tell you first.”

Davy gave one more hop and landed on his rump. He wiggled until he was sitting at the edge. Tom sat beside him and draped his strong arm around him as if to brace him for the news. Bill leaned against the wall for support.

“Davy, what we have to say is something none of us wanted ever to happen,” Beth began.

“What do you mean?” His happiness disappeared, replaced with a worried frown. “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

The situation became too intense for Bill and he bolted from the room.

“Bill, come back!”

“Leave him be,” Tom advised. “He doesn’t need to be here for this.” He shifted around, at the same time turning Davy by his narrow shoulders to face him. There was no easy way to do this so he came right out with it. “Son, your Uncle Mead is alive and has come to try to take you and Bill back.”

Davy stared at Tom. Then his face twisted with rage and he slammed his fists into Tom’s gut, pummeling him. He screamed, “No, no, no.” Tom didn’t try to restrain the boy. Davy had every right to feel angry, and better it was vented at him than at his sister.

Beth tried to intervene, but Tom raised his hand to stop her.

When Davy’s rage was finally spent, he began to sob and Tom held him against his shirtfront.

“Don’t let him t … take me,” he wailed, sucking in big gulps of air. “Please d … don’t let him t … take me.”

It would have been easier to cut out his own heart than to listen to Davy beg like that. “I won’t. I promise,” he answered, vowing somehow he would keep his word.

Beth sat on the bed on the other side of Davy. Tom wrapped his arms around them both and the three of them clung together.

Davy wailed for a long time and then suddenly he wrestled back, pushing against Tom’s chest to get free. Startled, Tom released him, allotting him just enough time to lean out over the floor before throwing up all of his breakfast.

And then he was crying about that, half choking as he vomited and wept. When it was all over, he ran into a corner, trying to hide from them.

It was the worst ten minutes of Tom’s life and the ashen look on Beth’s face told him it was hers too.

“I’ll go get something to clean this up.” He rose from the bed.

Beth nodded and went to the corner where she dragged Davy back into the sanctuary of her arms.

Tom found Bill in the hallway, staring out the window. Bill turned around. “How did it go?”

“Bad. He cried so hard he threw up. I’m going to get a mop.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

Tom placed a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand.”

When Tom returned a few minutes later with a bucket and a mop, Bill was still staring out the window.

Beth was lying on the bed with her little brother’s back cradled against her stomach. She hummed a soothing melody to him, and soon his sobs abated, and he laid on the bed, looking like a beaten pup.

Tom cleaned up the murky puddle on the hardwood floor, carrying the bucket and mop back to the bathroom. When he returned to the room, Davy was asleep, still held by Beth. Tom whispered quietly in her ear, “The train will be in soon. I should go meet Lanson.”

She nodded.

“Will you be all right?”

She nodded again and he dropped a kiss on her temple.

In the hall, he stopped beside Bill. “Wanna come meet the train with me?”

“Sure,” he answered, going first. His quivering voice told Tom he was close to crying.

The train was late. As soon as the conductor put the step down, Aaron Lanson shot off the train like a bullet from a forty-five. Livid, his face, flushed with anger, and his gate, long and determined, Lanson crossed through the stationhouse to the main street.

Mead Parkerson, his face just as red, rushed along behind Lanson, giving him an earful. Finally the lawyer turned and, competing with the din of the crowd gathered to greet the train, yelled, “Listen, if you do not shut up, I will shove my fist down your filthy throat and pull out your voice box.”

“Did you hear him?” Mead grabbed another passenger walking by. “He threatened me!”

“Yeah? Good for him! He’d be doing the world a favor if he could shut you up for five minutes.”

“I want to see a lawyer. Where is the nearest lawyer?”

Lanson pointed down the street. “Last business on the left. I look forward to our time in court.” Under his breath, he added, “I hope the judge throws you behind bars where you belong.”

Parkerson snorted, did an about-turn, took one step and collided with Tom’s chest. Mead looked up, surprised. “You again? What the hell was in that drink you had made for me last night? I darn near — ” Suddenly he frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to guarantee you never bother my wife and her brothers ever again.”

It took a moment to register, then Mead huffed. “You? You married Beth?”

“Yup. Got a problem with that?”

He opened his mouth, about to say something, then clamped it shut, sidestepped around Tom and hurried down the street.

Lanson shook Tom’s hand, then Bill’s. “That old coot! All the way here I wanted to choke him.”

Tom chuckled. “You look like you could use something to settle your nerves.”

Lanson straightened his collar and shook out his tight shoulders. “Not a chance. I want to stay this way. It’ll give me the instinct to kill when I get him in court. Speaking of which, I’d better stop by the courthouse and set up a time. Where are you staying?”

“At the Imperial. It’s full, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve got an aunt in town, lives in the brick house on Fifth Street. I can stay with her. As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know.”

Bill had been silent, but just before Lanson left, he asked him, “Do you know the judge?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard Judge Stone is a fair man. Don’t worry.”

Less than ten minutes later, Lanson knocked quietly on their hotel door.

“We can’t see him today,” he told Tom. “Apparently the judge has gone fishing and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”

Tomorrow afternoon.
That meant one more day worrying and another night of lying awake. Tom shook Lanson’s hand. “Thanks for letting us know.”

• • •

A loud rap on the hotel door brought Tom fully awake early the next morning. He dragged on his trousers and opened the door to find Parkerson there.

“You’re up early,” Tom growled, his mood sour partly because he had slept poorly, but more so because seeing Mead first thing in the morning was an unpleasant sight.

Mead pushed his way into the room and surveyed the sleeping quarters. “Well, ain’t this a cozy set-up.”

“What do you want?” Tom stepped in front of him, blocking him from intruding further.

“It’s time to go to court. I was just talking to the judge and he said — ”

“Impossible!” Tom spat. “Judge Stone has gone fishing and won’t be back until this afternoon.”

“Well, I guess fishing was no good, ’cause I run into him having breakfast at the Chinaman’s Café. I told him all about the trouble them damn kids have caused me and he said let’s get this settled once and for all. So you best hie yourselves on over to the courthouse right away.” Mead looked so smug, Tom had to refrain from plowing his fist into his face. It took a great deal of self-control to merely guide him out the door.

Tom turned to face his worried family. “Okay, let’s get a move on. You boys put on what you wore to the wedding.” He took two strides to the armoire. “Come on, Beth. Get dressed.”

“But the boys,” she started to protest the lack of impropriety.

“You two dress facing the wall and we’ll do the same. There’s no time to waste.”

Five minutes later, Tom was dressed and on the run to get Lanson from his aunt’s house.

• • •

The courthouse was small, its furnishings consisting of two rows of wooden benches, a large oak desk, and a bookcase sagging under the weight of volumes of thick books.

Beth moved along the front seat, Davy following her, then Bill and Tom bringing up the rear. Except for the muted footsteps on the hardwood floor and their clothing brushing against the bench, the room was silent. Lanson took the center aisle seat. They waited. Their tension was so taut one could almost hear it zinging in the air.

Parkerson entered the courtroom, sans lawyer, and sat on the other side of the courtroom. Beth glanced sideways at him, but the sight of him only added to her already queasy stomach. Just before they left the hotel room, she had a sip of her medicine, but obviously it hadn’t taken effect yet.

Davy saw his uncle and quickly crawled onto Beth’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him. His trembling increased her anxiety.

A door opened at the front left and Judge Stone entered. He looked nothing like Beth had imagined he might. Somehow she expected his appearance to reflect his name. Instead Judge Stone was a short, skinny man, in his fifties, with thin mousey-gray hair. He slouched as if his beard, badly in need of trimming, was too heavy for his scrawny frame to carry.

She glanced up at Tom and the expression on his face told her he, too, had expected the judge to look different.

Lanson stood respectfully, indicating to Tom and Beth and the boys to do likewise. Judge Stone eased himself into his cushioned leather seat, placed his palms on the desktop and looked about his courtroom as if confirming the surroundings had not changed since his last appearance.

“Be seated,” Judge Stone ordered, then picked up the gavel and rapped it soundly, causing everyone in the courtroom to jump.

Beth, so nervous her legs could barely support her, sank back into the seat. It seemed as if their entire future had come down to this one moment, down to the decision of this one man. She dared not allow herself to contemplate what would happen if he ruled against them for fear she would start crying. She promised herself she wouldn’t break down.

“All right,” the judge stated, “let’s get this show on the road. Who wants to go first?”

Lanson glanced sideways at Tom and raised an eyebrow, apparently taken aback by the lack of judicial protocol.

Parkerson jumped to his feet. “I will, your Honor. As you already know, I am Mead Parkerson and those two boys over there,” he said, pointing, “they are my nephews, and my legal wards. I got custody of them when their parents, my brother and his wife, were killed in an unfortunate accident.” He pulled a grayish colored hankie from his suit jacket and dabbed his bloodshot eyes. “God rest their souls.”

After an appropriate moment of appearing disconsolate, he sniffled and continued, this time pointing at Beth. “The boys’ sister stole them away from our home, and I’m here to take them back home so me and my good wife can give them a proper upbringing.”

Lanson stood immediately. “Your Honor, I object. Mrs. Carver did not steal her brothers. She was merely — ”

The gavel came down hard, interrupting Lanson’s objection. “Just you sit down. You’ll get your turn.”

Lanson complied, and Tom gave him a worried look.

Judge Stone turned to Mead. “You got anything else to say?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a piece of folded paper and slapped it against his palm. “This here paper proves that me and my wife are the guardians. It’s my brother’s Last Will and Testament.”

“Do you know about any will?” Lanson whispered to Beth.

She frowned and shook her head. She had always assumed Mead had custody because he was the closest living relative. Suddenly she felt physically ill and this time it had nothing to do with her pregnancy. Surely her father hadn’t planned for them to stay with Uncle Mead and Aunt Tilly. Didn’t he know what sort of man his brother was? She looked fearfully at Tom and he, too, looked concerned.

The judge reached forward. “Bring me that paper.” He studied the documentation, seemingly unmoved.

Lanson stood again. “Your Honor, we have no knowledge of such documentation.”

“Well, it’s right as rain,” Parkerson declared with a confident smile.

Lanson continued. “Judge Stone, I request Mrs. Carver be given the chance to verify the signature.”

“I guess that’s fair enough. Come and get it.”

Parkerson frowned, but did not protest.

Beth set Davy from her lap and he crawled from the refuge of her arms into the waiting arms of Bill.

Lanson handed her the paper. Her hands shook and the paper trembled like an autumn leaf in a breeze. Tom leaned across in front of the boys. His hand supported hers to hold it steady.

“Check it carefully, Beth,” he whispered. “He might have forged it.”

Beth read the will and then carefully studied the angular penmanship and the signature. It had been over four years since she’d last seen her father’s writing, but the signature before her looked genuine.