Michael’s Wife (13 page)

Laurel watched Evan's unbelievable necktie approach and then dangle in the contents of his plate. “Well, really all he's saying is that the youth of the country is a minority group in society … as much as the blacks or Chicanos or the poor and just as powerless at the polls and the only thing they can do is join other minorities in a revolution to unseat the powers that be at political, economic, and academic levels and to bring relevancy to these institutions in a.…”

“Isn't he the one who caused the riots at Boulder a year or two ago?” Michael interrupted quietly, leveling the full power of his half-lidded gaze upon Evan.

“Well, yes. But … society leaves no other course but to revolt.…” Evan lost the staring contest and looked down at his plate. “There's no other way. What with Presidential candidates chosen by corrupt political machines and all.” He turned suddenly to Laurel. “What do you think of John the Baptist, Mrs. Devereaux?”

“What?” She'd been so engrossed in the reactions of the participants she had only half-listened to the conversation.

Janet laughed. “I don't think Laurel has picked up a newspaper since she's been here. Her own world is such an exciting one … shadows in the courtyard and what not. Which reminds me, we're celebrating Laurel's return to her family. Fill up the glasses, Consuela.” Candlelight was kind to Janet, softening the lines on her face, bringing out the sheen of her copper hair. “I propose a toast to”—and she raised her glass—“to Michael's wife.”

Claire set her glass down, hiccuped, and left the room.

Michael raised his slowly … and carefully poured the wine into his water goblet.

9

The night before the Denver trip, Laurel's sleep was disturbed by a confusion of nightmares. John the Baptist in flowing robes, Michael wielding an ax, Paul leading her through a prison door.…

The fitful night did not leave her rested for the flight to Denver. She sat next to Michael, her eyes dry and burning, the depressing headache barely controlled by the aspirin she'd swallowed before getting on the plane that afternoon.

Jimmy perched on Michael's lap at first excited at the prospect of a plane ride, but soon bored as the sleek jet refused to do anything exciting. Paul sat across the aisle.

They were in the air only a short while when a stewardess offered drinks. Laurel ordered a Martini and watched the interest in the girl's face as she leaned toward Michael for his order. She was plump and blond and managed to look fresh despite the artful eye makeup. Laurel wondered what she had looked like at that age.

The Martini made her feel better and strangely braver.

“Mommy?” Jimmy stretched out his arms toward her. She handed the drink to Michael so Jimmy could crawl onto her lap and at the same time met her husband's glance.

“You don't like him to call me Mommy, do you?”

“Why shouldn't he?” Michael turned away to study the seat in front of them.

“What am I going to do when we get to Denver? I don't know what to tell them.”

“I'm sure you'll think of something. You're very persuasive. Paul has hired a Denver lawyer for you.”

The plane soon dipped below the clouds and circled wide over mountains that were green with trees and valleys, their tops a jagged gray. She could imagine the rich scent of pine, the shadowy forests. Did Colorado put its prisons in the mountains?

Laurel cuddled the sleeping child closer to her breast and tried not to think as the plane swooped to meet the rising runway.

The dining room at the Denver Hilton was crowded that evening and Laurel kept busy trying to keep Jimmy in the highchair until his dinner came. It was closer to his bedtime than his dinner hour.

Paul introduced her to Mr. Leon Hawley, her lawyer, who joined them shortly after they were seated. He was young and brisk, and she studied him in the dim light, certain that he would only add to her depression. Mr. Hawley appeared businesslike and unemotional and totally incapable of sympathetic understanding of her problem, much like a doctor who understands your illness but not your fear of it.

The men talked of general topics and she concentrated on picking Jimmy's food off the floor while her own dinner grew cold. When the table had been cleared and coffee served, Mr. Hawley finally turned his attention to her.

“I think your best bet tomorrow, Mrs. Devereaux, would be to waive the jury, plead guilty, and let me do the talking. We just might be able to get out of the trial altogether. The court dockets are full and Judge Gillan is very busy right now. It would be months before a trial date could be set. If we can convince him that the child is in good hands and that you've mended your ways, we might get away with a fine and a probationary period without a formal trial.”

“You mean I won't go to prison?”

“Under the law you could get three months, but desertion is a misdemeanor. If we can keep this at the hearing level we might get off with probation, and you wouldn't even have to come back for a trial. There is also the problem of jurisdiction. The boy was removed almost immediately from Denver and has been living with his legal family in another state so.…”

“Misdemeanor?” Laurel looked at Paul, and he offered only a smug wink as if they shared some secret plan.

The lawyer talked on. Michael brooded into his coffee as though he couldn't really care what was said. Paul gazed politely at the lawyer, a thin smile under the mustache.

“Now, we must have some statement from you about how you spent those two years and why you left the baby.” Mr. Hawley took pencil and paper from his briefcase and looked at her expectantly.

Michael looked up from his coffee.

“I went up into the mountains to stay with friends.”

“Why?”

“Because … I was afraid. Afraid of being a mother.”

“Just exactly what made you afraid?”

Laurel lifted Jimmy from the highchair. “That's all I can tell you, Mr. Hawley,” she said and carried her son from the room, leaving the lawyer with his mouth open, his pencil suspended in midair.

Judge Gillan was a heavy man with sagging cheeks and great tired eyes. He listened to Mr. Hawley without interruption, often glancing at his watch. He stared at the ceiling most of the time but occasionally his eyes would rest on Jimmy who bounced from Michael's lap to Laurel's. They had about exhausted their supply of diversions—Michael's keys, a pencil, Laurel's handkerchief, a mirror.

Laurel knew they couldn't keep him happy much longer and still Mr. Hawley talked on.

It wasn't until the lawyer got to Laurel's reason for abandoning her baby that the judge's eyes met hers directly. Mr. Hawley went on quickly to the question of the court's jurisdiction, but Judge Gillan's glance stayed on her—penetrating. Laurel squirmed and looked away.

The lawyer finished at last and a long silence followed. Judge Gillan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his eyes. Finally he looked at Michael.

“Mr. Devereaux, have you decided to take this runaway wife of yours back into your home?”

Michael had the proud but hopeless look of a doomed man. “I'm Catholic, Your Honor.”

“That does not exactly answer the question, does it? Your affiliation with that particular church poses a problem if you should desire to remarry. But I asked if you are accepting this woman back into your home as a mother to your child?”

Michael stared back at the judge, started to speak, then closed his mouth tightly. Laurel could see the flexing of his jaw muscle as he pondered his answer. The sound of her own heartbeat filled the silent room.

“Well, Mr. Devereaux?”

“She has been living in my home since April.”

Judge Gillan did not seem satisfied with Michael's answer. The two men studied each other a few seconds and then the judge turned to Laurel. “Your lawyer has given a rather scanty explanation of your reason for deserting the child, Mrs. Devereaux, but no reason for your sudden return to your family. Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

“My nephew is heir to a rather impressive fortune, Your Honor.” Paul's voice came from behind her. She had almost forgotten his presence in the room.

“She didn't know that, Paul.” Michael turned to face his brother. “I didn't tell her.”

“I didn't know it until after I came back. I just want to make up to Jimmy for what I did.”

“This is a frightening world into which to bring a child, Mrs. Devereaux. But then it always was. To allow him to be brought up motherless is hardly a solution.” Judge Gillan studied some papers Mr. Hawley had set before him.

“It is the general procedure in this court to set a fine and a prison sentence not longer than ninety days in cases of desertion. This is an unusual case, however. A fine would probably have to be paid by Mr. Devereaux, and he is not on trial here and has suffered enough through Mrs. Devereaux's actions.

“The child has been neither neglected nor abused and the family is resident of another state. Although the welfare of the child is always paramount to other considerations of the court, the question here is the conduct of the mother in deserting her child.

“Should the question of legal separation of the parents arise, I am sure, Mr. Devereaux, that you would have little trouble in gaining custody of the child should you wish to present the facts of the mother's desertion to any court in the country.

“It is therefore the decision of this court to sentence you to the full penalty under the law of ninety days imprisonment.…”

Laurel drew in her breath with an audible hiss and pressed Jimmy's head against her breast so hard that he cried out.

“… and to suspend that sentence, placing you, Laurel Jean Devereaux, in the custody of your husband, Michael Devereaux, for a period of ninety days. In which time Mr. Devereaux may decide whether or not you are capable of providing a normal home for his son and whether or not it is possible to continue the marriage.”

Judge Gillan reminded her of the right of appeal, stared at her for a moment as though wondering if he had done the right thing, and then adjourned the hearing.

Mr. Hawley beamed and shook hands all around. “That was even easier than I thought. I don't think the judge was too sure about jurisdiction here either.”

Michael threw her a glance that sent a shiver through her, turned abruptly, and left the room. The lawyer's proud smile began to waver.

“Excuse my brother, Mr. Hawley. You did a fine job and the family is grateful.” Paul turned to Laurel. “Aren't we, Laurel? You and I won, didn't we?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are in Michael's custody now.”

Laurel sat back down on the hard chair. She was not going to prison. She did not have to give up Jimmy—yet. But it had just dawned on her what her reprieve meant. What Paul had been working toward all along. A swift image of that shadow rising on the courtyard wall floated through her mind.

“Don't you see, Laurel? Michael will have to take you to Phoenix now.”

10

After the colorful bloom of spring, summer lay on the vast landscape like the aftermath of war. The flowers and patches of green were gone from the roadsides and the desert vegetation looked more twisted and barren than ever. The giant saguaro and its smaller cousins alone appeared undaunted by the ravages of summer sun.

They rode in air-conditioned comfort, a world apart from that outside the metallic blue car. Jimmy sat on her lap, the back seat as well as the trunk piled high with boxes and luggage.

Laurel grew very conscious of the man beside her, although he seldom spoke. There was something suffocating about his presence in the crowded closed car. This was the second time she'd ridden toward Phoenix, dreading the thought of reaching it. The first time she'd relaxed next to Harley McBride. There was no relaxing with Michael Devereaux. In Harley's truck she'd felt that panic followed her, somewhere behind the truck. On this trip, it traveled in the car with her.

The judge had thrown her together with a stranger. A man she feared more than just a little.

It had taken Michael a week to find them a place to stay. During that week Laurel vacillated between relief at leaving the house in Tucson and terror of living with her husband. And, added to it all, a certain unreasonable, unexplainable excitement.

Claire hadn't bothered to hide her reddened eyes. She'd sat silent at meals and often didn't come down for them. She spoke only of her heartbreak at parting with Jimmy. But Laurel knew, and so did everyone else, that her heart was breaking at the thought of losing Michael. Laurel didn't know how much there was between Claire and Michael. It was hard to imagine that he'd had no romantic interests for those two years. Perhaps there was a woman or more than one in Phoenix.

Evan Boucher took her aside one day and whispered that he'd call her when he knew where he'd be. He looked very worried and that didn't make her feel any better. He too would be leaving Tucson now that Claire could go back to the lab and his plans were to enter summer school in Phoenix.

Paul was obviously pleased at getting her and Jimmy out of the house. Laurel expected her sister-in-law to be relieved at the new arrangement too, but Janet had been irritable and short-tempered this last week. She took every occasion to warn Laurel of Michael's “awful temper,” to commiserate with her on the judge's “unfortunate decision,” to deepen Laurel's anxiety over the impending move.

Her last morning in Tucson, she'd knelt on the parquet floor of her room beside Consuela, packing linens, towels, and toys into cardboard boxes. Jimmy bounced on the big bed while they worked. The room was already growing hot under the red tiled roof. Consuela stopped often in her packing to watch Jimmy.

“You're sad to see him go, aren't you, Consuela?”

“I shall miss him, Mrs. Michael. But he is going where he belongs. Someday this house will be his, but now it is not safe for him here.”