The True Story of Spit MacPhee (26 page)

‘I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘He’s going to send me away to Bendigo,’ Spit whispered to Sadie.

‘No, he isn’t.’ Sadie whispered back. ‘It must be something else.’

‘Well, Mr Quayle?’ the judge was saying. ‘I’m waiting.’

‘As I understand it, your honour, you did find Mr and Mrs Tree desirable applicants on the face of it.’

‘Yes, I have said that.’

‘And that if it were not for a legal impediment, concerning religion, they would get the boy.’

‘Yes. Does it need explanation?’

‘Not at all, your honour. I just want to establish that you are concerned here with the civil right as well as what you have called the birthright of Spit MacPhee to remain a Protestant; and that there must be some sort of guarantee to protect his rights.’

‘That is correct.’

‘You feel that in handing over to adoptive parents a right which they would have in law, to determine his religious faith, you would be handing over a right that you feel is beyond your legal powers to do so.’

‘I wouldn’t put it that way, Mr Quayle, but if you wish I shall simplify it again for you. A man and his faith is such a serious right that a court cannot hand over the choice of it, in circumstances like this, to another person or persons. It is not correct in law, particularly when there is a defenceless child involved. I cannot do it in law, and that is the truth of it. I cannot give away a constitutional or a statutory right, even though it may never be used. Mrs Tree may never exercise her right to make a Catholic of Spit, but I cannot give her that right. I repeat – it is wrong in law, Mr Quayle, as you well know.’

‘Exactly, your honour,’ Edward Quayle said. ‘And that is why I have another suggestion to make. You were thinking, were you not, of your option to send the boy to a Home in Bendigo?’

‘Yes, I was coming to that.’

‘But there is another discretion open to you, sir, and I am applying to you now for an order in court, under the Neglected and Criminal Children’s Acts of 1871, 1872 and 1884, and under the 1928 Adoption of Children’s Act to appoint Mr and Mrs Tree the foster parents of Spit MacPhee …’

‘Foster parents?’

‘Yes, foster parents, not adoptive parents.’

‘And how in God’s name do you think that is going to help, Mr Quayle?’

‘As foster parents, your honour, they will have no legal rights over the boy except to his care and attention. They will have no legal rights whatsoever outside the rights defined and even limited by this court. If you, sir, want to make a ruling that they can be judged as fit and proper foster parents only on condition that there will be no attempt to change his religion or to influence him in any way to change his religion, then you may do so. You can put any restraint on them that you like, in law, because in effect though they will be the foster parents in law, Spit MacPhee would remain a ward of the State of Victoria, and the court will be able to withdraw him at any time should it think fit. In every aspect of his upbringing, including the protection of his faith, Mr and Mrs Tree would have to answer to the Attorney General by regular assessments of the boy’s condition, attested to by two assessors appointed by yourself …’

‘I can’t have this.’ Strapp was on his feet. ‘I really can’t have it, your honour. I have to object in the strongest possible terms.’

‘Just a moment, Mr Strapp.’

‘But this is nonsense, your honour. Mr Quayle springs something like this on us without warning, without considering …’

‘I said just a moment, Mr Strapp, and I mean it. You can have your say later. In any case this is not a litigation or a prosecution that needs one side or the other to be informed.’

‘Even so, your honour. Even so … It is surely unprincipled.’

‘Let us hear Mr Quayle out, Mr Strapp, and I will judge whether it is unprincipled or not.’

Incredulous, and watching these three men at their work, Grace knew that at this moment they each had an almost life-and-death grip on each other. She wasn’t sure whether Judge Laker and Mr Quayle were now in mortal combat, or whether they were in some strange accord against Mr Strapp. But none of them seemed concerned now with Spit MacPhee. They had found something in law that was far more important and absorbing to them than the will-o’-the-wisp it was all about.

‘What I would like to know, Mr Quayle,’ Judge Laker was saying irritably, ‘is why you did not make this your original application? Why on earth did you go through all this adoption charade if you were willing to ask for foster parentage in the first place?’

‘But I was not willing to ask for foster parentage in the first place,’ Edward Quayle said. ‘I always preferred adoption. But what I wanted above all else was a fair hearing on the rival qualifications of the two parties, so that if it came to a different kind of choice, your own judgement could be clear. I wanted what you have so generously given to us, your honour – a chance to dispose of all other alternatives.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have caught me unawares, Mr Quayle.’

‘I am sorry, your honour, but there was no other way.’

‘So what do you want, Mr Quayle? Are you actually asking me to make a court order, here and now, on an application for Mr and Mrs Tree to foster the boy?’

‘It’s perfectly straightforward in law, your honour. The requirements are more or less the same as for adoption, and we could easily complete the technicalities later on. There is a question of a small government grant which Mr and Mrs Tree will probably waive. And the court will have to decide later on what happens to certain monies that Fyfe MacPhee kept on deposit in two banks. But these are not problems we need settle here and now. The point is that, under the various acts, you are empowered if you so wish to make the order, simply on the evidence of fitness you have heard.’

‘And what about the assessors to protect the boy, Mr Quayle? Do you have them up your sleeve too?’

‘I have them ready and willing, your honour, which is a much better place to have them. I have spoken to Father O’Connel, our local Catholic priest, and the Reverend Duncan Mackenzie of the Presbyterian Church. They have both agreed to act as regular assessors if the court agrees. Together they will cover the two aspects required – the continuing fitness of the foster parents to keep the boy, and the protection of his birthright as a Protestant.’

‘You mean they have actually agreed? You have persuaded them?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Edward Quayle allowed himself a thin, dry smile. ‘In law it could be the ideal combination, your honour, and I thought it would appeal to you. On the one hand a protection for the boy’s religion from the Reverend Mackenzie. And on the other hand some protection for the foster parents against false accusations from any outside source which I am sure Father O’Connel would see to. For the rest, your honour, I think we can leave it to the two prelates themselves to continue their historical debate, their old and bitter contention, as they walk up the slope from the Trees’ household on their way back to their armigerous congregations. In any case they can settle or compact their differences in divine argument, but not with the body and soul of an eleven-year-old boy.’

‘It is beyond belief; it is a travesty, your honour,’ Mr Strapp shouted. ‘If Mr Quayle can make an application on these … on these flimsy grounds, so can Mr and Mrs Arbuckle. They are equally qualified and I hereby do so …’

‘Your honour,’ Edward Quayle interrupted. ‘I waited until the very last moment of your summing up to make my application because I wanted to be sure that, given your own preference in judgement, apart from the impediment of religion, your choice would have gone naturally to my clients. Do I understand that to be the case?’

‘Mr Quayle is right, Mr Strapp,’ the judge said. ‘The only impediment to choosing Mr and Mrs Tree was the religious one. Now Mr Quayle seems to have removed that.’

‘It’s not fair,’ Betty Arbuckle cried. ‘It’s wicked.’

‘Oh dear … Oh dear …’ Judge Laker said wearily. ‘Now it is wicked. But what is wicked? What is right? What is wrong? What is humane? Now, for heaven’s sake, if I am to be a Solomon in this, then I must be allowed some qualification of my own. Do Mr and Mrs Tree agree to your proposition, Mr Quayle?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I can speak with certainty of that. Although they may want to say so themselves.’

‘Mr and Mrs Tree?’

‘Oh yes, your honour. We agree,’ Grace said. ‘We agree to everything Mr Quayle has said.’

‘Then you have my good wishes,’ Judge Laker said quickly. ‘I can make the order now, appointing you foster parents to Master Spit MacPhee, but with all the various provisos that will be defined later, including the assessors and the method of reporting to the court, as well as the need for regular visits by the assessors as well as the financial arrangements of the grants, if any …’

‘We don’t want any money for it,’ Grace Tree said.

‘According to Mr Quayle there is some money available from funds left by Fyfe MacPhee, but use of that will have to be decided later by a court order. As far as this hearing is concerned, the matter is closed and you may all go home.’

Judge Laker let out his breath, stood up, shook his head a little, raised his eyes in wonder at the ceiling – at God above – and, followed by Miss Price the stenographer and Henry Fennel, he left the victims and the victors and the children to organise themselves into what was now the new shape of their things to come.

Betty Arbuckle was in such large tears that they were pouring down her lovely cheeks. In a moment’s passion she rushed at Spit, who was standing up, and embraced him. ‘You must be good,’ she said. ‘You must never give in.’

Spit, astonished, didn’t pull away but waited for her breathless grip on him to exhaust itself. Betty squeezed him hard again and then reluctantly let him go. She took Ben by the hand and, with her husband walking invisibly behind her and Strapp in front, she left the chamber almost overcome by her distress.

‘Somehow …’ Grace said, unable to move but trying to get a grip on herself. ‘Somehow I will have to find a way to thank you,’ she said to Edward Quayle who had gathered up his papers which he had never bothered to look at. ‘But I don’t know how I can do it, Mr Quayle. I don’t know how I can thank you.’

‘Are you satisfied, Mrs Tree?’ Edward Quayle said.

‘Oh yes,’ Grace said. ‘Of course I am. I thought that …’

‘And you, Mr Tree?’ Edward Quayle interrupted, turning to Jack. ‘Will you object to your house and home being inspected from time to time by Father O’Connel and the Reverend MacKenzie? Well, Mr Tree? Is that going to please you?’

‘You might have asked us first,’ Jack Tree said. ‘But as far as I am concerned they can come any time they like.’

‘And the boy? How will you treat him?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after him,’ Jack said. ‘You don’t have to worry.’

‘But I do have to worry because I am turning the responsibility for him over to you, and I have to be sure that I have done the right thing, because I can still ask the court to recall its decision.’

‘I told you,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll do my best with him. He’ll be all right.’

‘In that case,’ Edward said, ‘I shall bid you both good-day. You will have further details to settle later on, but you can do that with Tom.’

Edward Quayle left them without a glance or a gesture in Spit’s direction. But Tom waited a moment, laughter in his blond, blue eyes. ‘But are you really satisfied, Mrs Tree?’ he said almost teasingly.

‘Of course I am Tom. I can’t tell you … And you have to thank your father again for me. I don’t know what we’d have done without him. And never mind what Jack says about telling us. Just thank your father.’

‘No good thanking my father,’ Tom said. ‘He’ll say, “It’s the law, Mrs Tree, the law.” That’s the way he sees it. If the law is there he will use it. Anyway, I’m glad for old Spit’s sake,’ he said, and he laughed again as he followed his father.

Grace and Jack were left with Spit and Sadie, bunched together like flowers in the field. When Grace, still a little bewildered, asked, ‘What do we do now, Jack?’ Spit said, ‘Well, we don’t have to go back to school anyway.’

‘Oh, yes you do,’ Jack said. ‘Both of you.’

‘But it’s almost lunch time,’ Sadie pointed out.

‘I don’t care what time it is. I’ll take you up to school in the car,’ Jack said. ‘The holiday is over, so come on. The both of you.’

When the Dodge stopped outside the school gate – the silent school gate with a silent playground behind it and a low enclosure beyond it with children there, in learning, Grace said to Spit as he waited for Sadie to get out of the car from the other side, ‘Do you want to say anything to me, Spit?’ She too waited as Jack and Sadie joined them.

‘I don’t know,’ Spit said, embarrassed now. ‘Are you and Sadie’s father supposed to be my father and mother now? Is that what the judge said?’

Grace hesitated, knowing that she must think carefully before she replied; realising too that she would have to think carefully before she answered many more questions that Spit would have to ask her in order to clarify himself – to find out who he was now and who he would become.

‘No, Spit,’ she said. ‘You can only have one mother and father. We’ll be what the judge said – foster parents, which is simply another way of saying that we will be responsible for you.’

Spit had to think about that word ‘responsible’. He knew what it meant and what it could mean. ‘You won’t change anything, will you?’ he asked her reluctantly.

Grace simply shook her head.

Jack Tree took a deep breath but said nothing, and Sadie stood carefully aside as if she knew that Spit and her mother had to settle something between them. She knew too how hard both of them were trying.

‘What’ll you do if I run away again?’ Spit asked.

‘I don’t know, Spit,’ Grace said. ‘It’ll depend on why you do it. If I think you’re wrong I’ll be very angry. If I think you’re right I’ll tell you so. But are you going to threaten me like that? Is that fair?’

Spit shook his head. ‘But I’m not going to forget my grandfather,’ he said aggressively. ‘And if anyone laughs at him I’ll only get into another fight.’