Promises to Keep (33 page)

“The biggest onion rings you ever saw,” Travis replied. “Hank loves them, don’t you, buddy?”

“Onwee! Owd, owd, owd!” Hank bounced in Travis’s arms, ready to visit the diner and demolish a plateful of onion rings with the seven baby teeth he possessed.

Travis escorted them to the front door and called up the stairs. “We’re heading out. Wish us luck.”

“Good luck!” Two feminine voices floated down the stairs to them. A third, more gruff voice coming from the direction of the kitchen ordered Travis to make sure everyone in the car wore their seat belts and warned him to keep within the speed limit. Annie smothered a laugh at Aunt Nan’s often caustic commands.

As Catherine walked to her car, she turned and smiled at Annie. “I was just thinking how comfortable you look in your blue jeans. I wish I had a pair.”

“And I was thinking how classic and lovely you look in that pretty suit,” Annie chuckled. “Maybe we should go shopping together one of these days. I can help you find some nice jeans. Maybe a sweatshirt. And you could give me some advice on dresses and such.” She winked at Catherine.

Catherine winked back. “I’d like that.”

His strong voice cracked with emotion several times as he told Muriel what his mother endured at Annie’s grandfather’s hands. But before that, all of them—Travis, Annie, and Catherine, too—described Ruth’s absolute determination to force a marriage between Travis and Catherine. How far she was willing to go in order to take Hank away from Annie and raise him as her own son. They’d told Muriel everything.

Their attorney sat, nonplussed, while she processed Travis’s words. Then she commented dryly, “No offense, Travis, but your mother is a piece of work.”

Annie clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in a startled giggle, while Catherine turned her own giggle into a cough as Travis chuckled. Muriel’s small bit of levity helped to lighten the overall mood considerably.

Muriel asked questions about Annie’s daddy, too, and it was hard for Annie to view her own father objectively. But she’d been as honest as she knew how to be.

“Nobody could ever ask for a better father. You bring in any of us kids and ask that question and you’ll get the same answer, over and over again. Whatever ugliness was inside Franklin Turner, it never spread any further. And there’s a lot of people, in Thompkin as well as here in Weston, who’d be happy to lay their hand on a Bible and swear to it.” Her response seemed to be exactly what Muriel had hoped for. In turn, she calmed Annie and Travis down a lot.

But now all those calm butterflies were stirring themselves up again.

In the back seat of Susan’s car, Annie gripped Travis’s hand when he twined his fingers through hers. “It’ll be all right, Annie. I promise you.” He kissed her cheek and held her close.

She nodded. Yes, it would. It had to be.

Travis figured his mother would voluntarily drag out her version of the Turner family history, if it would sway the judge in her favor. She considered Judge Perdue to be in her pocket. He vaguely remembered the man from past Christmas parties at Quincy Hall. He also knew Benson Perdue had been a frat brother of his father’s, graduating two years ahead of Dad. It didn’t surprise Travis to see Perdue’s name on the bench today, but he hoped it was just a coincidence.

The courtroom was about half filled. Looking through the open door at the people already seated, he whispered to Annie, “Martha’s here.”

She nodded distractedly. “I’m so nervous, Travis.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t be. It’s going to work out, I know it.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her back against him. Annie leaned into his chest, a hand on his arm to hold it in place around her. In that position they stood, until Muriel Findley, somber yet elegant in a dark gray suit, walked over to them and urged them to sit down. Travis released Annie and they followed Muriel to their seats.

“Relax. No tears, Annie. Look at me.” Muriel’s quiet, firm voice was close to Annie’s ear and she turned her head, gulped in a breath. Muriel looked from Annie to Travis with warmth and assurance. “I want you to see all the people who came to support both of you. It’s a good sign, trust me.”

Muriel slipped one arm around Annie’s shoulder and the other around Travis’s waist, briefly linking them all together. “You are both great parents. You have a support system that far exceeds the norm. You have bright futures ahead of you, and nobody can take that away or prove anything to the contrary. Remember that, okay?”

“We’re starting in five minutes, Mrs. Quincy.” Randolph Louden, one of Ruth’s attorneys, shuffled the papers in front of him. “I’m asking you one final time. Is there anything you’ve left out? Anything more we can use in this case? As I cautioned you before, we haven’t much to go on, here.” His low voice grated in Ruth’s ear and she glared at him. He merely raised his eyebrows and waited.

Incompetent idiot
. Ruth turned to look at the other, older attorney, Walter Sheffield, who sat on her left. Both men, employed by the legal offices of the Quincy Legacy, were reputed to be the best. She’d given them a concise description of the hovel-like interior of the Turner home. She’d detailed the unsavory quality of the neighborhood itself. They had a copy of the report Child Services filed after poor Duncan had been rescued from that wretched place. The condition of his person, the bruises and the abuse he’d suffered was documented. What on earth more could they possibly need?

“Mrs. Quincy?” Louden brought her regard back to him.

She kept her expression bland, certain everyone in the courtroom was watching her. “I have explained, Mr. Louden, you have in your possession enough to assure a successful custody victory. The filed report from Child Services is more than adequate—”

“And both Mr. Sheffield and I have explained to
you
that your case is thin and needs more evidence. We both cautioned you against a push for this court date. We want to see you get the boy, Mrs. Quincy. But frankly, we haven’t enough at this time to guarantee the judge’s favor. We think we should reschedule.”

“No. I refuse to wait any longer. Each day my grandson spends in that horrid family’s presence damages him. We have enough evidence. I also have character witnesses. We will go forward.” Ruth gave both of them a narrowed, biting stare. “I expect your litigation to be skillful and successful. Your employment depends on it, gentlemen. Please don’t forget that.”

Satisfied at the way both men seemed taken aback at her blunt threat, she relaxed in her seat and glanced around the courtroom. When she saw not only Janice Cabot but Catherine as well, seated a few rows behind, she hid a victorious smile. Her dear friend and her darling future daughter-in-law, here to offer support should she need it. How fortunate she was.

Of course, their testimony would not be required. After all, she was a Quincy. Her word alone was stellar in this state. Her motives, pure as they were, would never be brought into question.

Ruth nodded to herself in satisfaction. She’d win.

Annie tried to stay calm, which wasn’t easy. Judge Perdue, large and gruff, resembled a hefty bird-of-prey, sitting behind the massive bench in his black robes. His face held no expression. Of course, impartiality was part of his job. He had thick hair as dark as Travis’s and the blackest eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Annie took several quick, steadying breaths, then held the last one, until the panic fluttering inside her passed somewhat. She curled against Travis and he tightened his arm.

“All right?” His mouth brushed her ear.

“I’m okay. I just can’t seem to control my jitters.”

“I’m nervous too, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon, and we’ll walk out of here and go back home to Hank. Never doubt it.” Travis pressed his lips to her temple and kept them there for a few seconds.

Muriel caught Annie’s eyes. “I noticed Mrs. Quincy’s attorneys conferring rather urgently with her several times already. I’d venture to say it was to drop this whole mess. It’s what I would have done. Unless she or her boys over there have some last-minute surprises up their sleeves, I predict the judge will most likely toss her case out.”

“I’m too nervous to think that positively,” Annie confessed, as she gripped Travis’s hand.

The pound of the gavel made them both jump. “Here we go,” Travis muttered, sitting up straighter in his seat.

Annie listened as Ruth reiterated the Child Welfare Services report, using her frostiest and most precise tone. Her attorneys waited until she’d finished, then one spoke up. “Mrs. Quincy, do you think perhaps the child’s emotional outburst might have been caused by being forcibly taken from his home by a stranger, and then held in an unfamiliar place until he was brought to you?”

Fury showed on Ruth’s face, probably because her own attorneys would ask such a question. But she seemed to hold on to her calm. “Certainly not. The boy should have had no reason to be hysterical. He was being rescued, after all. His incessant crying was a direct result of the pain of the bruises. His head injury compounded the residual discomfort of wet diapers.”

Muriel stood to address her. “Mrs. Quincy, do you understand that Lawrence Bailey, the head of Child Welfare for this county, ordered the return of the child to his biological mother based on lack of evidence of any kind of abuse?”

“Yes, and it has proven to me the utter incompetence of some county offices. I intend to look into the matter myself, as a representative of the Quincy Legacy.” There was a self-righteous sniff in Ruth’s voice as she answered, a tone Annie had heard in one or another form, for as long as she’d known the woman.