by Anita Shreve
“Mr. Tucker, is the child here?” Littlefield asks, interrupting the lawyer.
“Your Honor,” says Tucker, “the respondents have requested permission to have the child remain with Albertine Bolduc’s parents, who live a block from the courthouse, during this hearing. He will stay with them until the day the judgment will be read, at which time the boy shall be brought to the courthouse.”
“And this is acceptable to you?”
“Yes, sir, it is. We should not like to see a small child confined in unfamiliar surroundings.”
“No, quite. Are Phillip Biddeford and the Orphanage of Saint Andre represented here today?”
“Phillip Biddeford has declined representation and agrees to provide testimony on behalf of the relator. I believe the Orphanage of Saint Andre has also declined representation and has agreed to provide testimony on behalf of the respondents, who are represented by my colleague Mr. Addison Sears.”
“Is this true, Mr. Sears?”
“Yes, Your Honor, it is.”
Looking up from his notes, Tucker addresses the judge less formally. “Your Honor, because this trail of unlawful events inevitably leads to the child being in the custody of Albertine and Telesphore Bolduc, and because this is not a criminal case but rather a petition for custody, the relator can only sue the Bolducs as foster parents for custody. It remains to be seen whether criminal charges will be brought at a later date.”
“Am I to understand that the father of the infant male child cannot be located?” Littlefield asks.
“That is correct,” says Payson Tucker.
“Very well,” says Judge Littlefield. “Let us proceed.”
• • •
Addison Sears, who is not even as tall as Olympia, rises and moves to the lectern and adjusts his monocle. Olympia notes that he has not one but several diamond rings on the soft fingers of his left hand. His frock coat is finely cut, in stark contrast to the clothes of his clients. He takes a long drink from a glass of water he has carried to the lectern.
“Good morning, Your Honor,” Sears says in a tone that suggests he knows the judge personally.
“Good morning, Mr. Sears,” the judge says amiably.
“Your Honor, this is a simple case,” Sears begins, still riffling through his notes as if he were not really beginning at all. “There is no statute in the land that would prompt a court to give custody of Pierre Francis Haskell to the young person sitting to my left.”
He pauses to let the implications of the words young person have their full effect.
“Let us consider the facts,” he continues. “A wanton fifteen-year-old girl, a mere child herself, with a child’s faculties and lack of mature judgment, fornicates with a man nearly three times her age, causing this man to commit adultery and to leave his wife and four children.” Sears pauses to allow the impact of this moral transgression to settle upon the court. “She then gives birth to an infant male, whom she abandons,” he continues. “Through the years, she shows no interest whatsoever in his welfare. She does not support the child, either morally or financially. She does not inquire as to his health and well-being. She never visits him. And then she seeks custody of this child?”
Sears shakes his head, as though bewildered.
“In truth, Your Honor, if these were not such serious proceedings, this situation would be laughable.”
Judge Littlefield does not laugh. Sears tucks his fingers into his paisley vest pockets.
“Without resorting to the obfuscation of the language of our esteemed profession, I should like permission to set forth the respondents’ position in a manner that the young person to my left might understand,” says Sears, looking pointedly at Tucker, who did not, of course, think to reject the obfuscation of the language of the law himself.
“Very well, Mr. Sears. Proceed.”
“The task of the respondents today is twofold,” says Sears. “We shall prove that Olympia Biddeford is not a fit parent for this or any other child. And we shall prove as well that it is in the best interests of the child to remain in the care of Albertine and Telesphore Bolduc, who have been the boy’s foster parents almost from birth.”
Sears takes another drink of water and then clears his throat.
“We shall show, Your Honor, that the relator, Olympia Biddeford, when she was only fifteen years of age, an age, I might add, when one’s character is being formed, participated in an improper sexual relationship with a man who was married and had four children of his own. That Olympia Biddeford not only is guilty of wanton and lascivious behavior but also has shown herself to be depraved, vulgar, and vile.”
Sears slowly turns and looks directly at Olympia. Despite her desire to remain calm, her cheeks burn, as though proving Sears correct in his accusations. He then abruptly turns his back on Olympia, suggesting that he cannot even bear to look at her.
“Your Honor, the courts of this land have consistently decided that if a child is left with an immoral mother, then that child is in danger of becoming immoral himself. Unwed mothers have, in nearly all cases brought before the courts, been denied not only custody but also visitation rights.
“Olympia Biddeford has shown no interest in the child’s welfare,” Sears continues. “She abandoned the boy on the day of his birth, never inquired as to his whereabouts, never contributed a penny to his care, never knew where he was until last fall. Moreover, she has never even met with or spoken to the child. According to the law of the land, a mother who abandons her child, who lets this child remain too long with a surrogate family, loses her custodial rights and legal standing. As there are no other cases on point with written decisions in the state of New Hampshire, making the case before us today one of first impression, I should like to make reference to other cases stated in the respondents’ memorandum. If I may refer to the 1888 decision of the Connecticut Supreme Court in Hoxie v. Potter: ‘The courts do not feel called upon to sunder the ties that have been permitted to grow up, and believe that the happiness of the boy and the rights and feelings of his foster parents will be best subserved by leaving custody where it now is.’”
Olympia glances at Tucker, who is staring at his notes in front of him.
“Olympia Biddeford may be a mother by nature, but she is not by nurture,” Sears pronounces. “And even if she were a morally upright woman, which she clearly is not, she would have to be considered an unfit guardian on the basis of her age at the time of the child’s conception, which was fifteen years, her marital status, which continues to be unwed, and her inability to provide a religious education for the boy. She herself is not a member of any church, nor does she attend services on any regular basis.”
Sears turns quickly and points at Olympia, a gesture so sudden that she flinches.
“Perhaps Olympia Biddeford seeks rehabilitation by having the child restored to her,” the lawyer says, as though the idea were a novel one. “This was once, in fact, a not uncommon if misguided notion of the courts. And I quote now from the 1873 decision of the Tennessee Supreme Court: ‘That if a woman be an unmarried mother, the surrendering of her child removes the one great influence toward a restoration of character through maternal affection. Her love for the child and fear of separation may prove her salvation.’”
Sears looks up at the judge and holds out his hands, palms up. “But, Your Honor, the state of New Hampshire does not care about the rehabilitation of the mother. It must and does care first and foremost about the welfare of the child.”
Olympia presses her own hands tightly together in her lap. But I, too, care about the welfare of the child, she wants to cry out.
“So let us, for the moment, put aside the character of Olympia Biddeford,” Sears continues. “And let us consider only the best interests of the child.”
Now Sears turns and gazes at Albertine and Telesphore Bolduc, who both immediately look down into their laps, as if about to be chastised themselves. The couple appear to be at least as uncomfortable with these proceedings as Oly
mpia is.
“Citing for a moment the New York case of Chapsky v. Wood in 1881,” Sears says, “‘When reclamation is not sought until a lapse of years, when new ties have been formed and a certain current given to the child’s life and thought, much attention should be paid to the unlikelihood of a benefit to the child from the change. It is an obvious fact that ties of blood weaken and ties of companionship strengthen by lapse of time; and the prosperity and welfare of the child depend on the ability to do all which the prompting of these ties compels.’”
Sears, seeming to study his notes for a moment, creates another pause.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bolduc have been foster parents to Pierre Francis Haskell since ten days after his birth — in effect, all of his life. The child knows no other parents. The Bolducs have lavished upon the boy all the love and affection they might have lavished upon their own blood child had Albertine not been a barren woman. Mr. and Mrs. Bolduc are of sufficient age to care for the boy: They are both thirty-two years old. They have a stable marriage, having cohabited in a state of wedded solace and bliss for eleven years. They are both longtime members of the Parish of Saint Andre, the Roman Catholic church of Ely Falls, and attend services regularly. They have expressed a passionate desire to extend to the boy a proper religious education. Moreover, they are deeply woven into the fabric of the Franco-American community here in Ely Falls and are part of a large extended family with many cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents who dote on the little boy. As Your Honor is doubtless aware, the Franco-Americans are known for their strong family and cultural ties, which they refer to as la Foi. In addition, these foster parents are hardworking. Though both are employed by the Ely Falls Mill, Mr. and Mrs. Bolduc have made adequate, not to say excellent, arrangements for the boy’s care at great sacrifice to themselves. You shall hear testimony from Albertine Bolduc regarding her love and devotion to the boy.”
Sears removes his monocle and lets it fall upon his chest.
“Your Honor, it would be a crime — a crime — to take the boy away from the only parents he has ever known. And as the state of New Hampshire is not generally in the business of committing crimes against its citizens, the respondents request that the writ of habeas corpus put before us today by the counsel for the relator be set aside forthwith.”
The lawyer takes his seat next to the Bolducs and then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as if he already knew the judge’s disposition.
“Motion to set aside the writ of habeas corpus denied,” says Judge Littlefield matter-of-factly, and Olympia understands that Sears’s speech was never intended to persuade the judge to dismiss the suit, but rather to put forth the arguments of the respondents. And this the lawyer has done, she has to concede in spite of her agitation, in rather excellent fashion.
Beside her, Tucker is standing.
“Your Honor,” he says. “I should like to call Olympia Biddeford to the stand.”
• • •
She and Tucker have agreed that she should dress conservatively, neither hiding her class and wealth nor flaunting them. To this end, Olympia has purchased a suit of charcoal gray gabardine, which she has on over a high-collared white blouse. With it, she has worn a matching hat, a black velvet tie, and small pearl earrings.
Tucker, without notes, stands up slowly and approaches her in the witness box.
“Miss Biddeford,” he says kindly and with a smile, which, though doubtless much rehearsed, puts her at ease, as it is meant to do. “How old are you?”
“Twenty years.”
“And you live where?”
“Fortune’s Rocks.”
“And prior to living at Fortune’s Rocks?”
“I was a student at the Hastings Seminary for Females in Fairbanks, Massachusetts,” she answers, making sure, as Tucker has advised, that the word seminary is emphasized.
“For how long were you in residence at this seminary?”
“Three years.”
“And the purpose of this female academy?”
“To train young women so that they might be sent out to foreign lands for the purposes of teaching children and setting good examples of Christian womanhood.”
“And were you in agreement with the aims of this seminary?”
“I was not in disagreement,” she says carefully.
“You fully intended to be such a missionary yourself?” Tucker asks, emphasizing the word missionary.
“I assumed that was my future. Yes.”
“And how did you acquit yourself at this school?”
“I acquitted myself well, I trust.”
“Is it not a fact that you consistently ranked number one or number two in a class of two hundred and seventy young women?”
“Yes.”
“Is it not a fact that you could, if you so chose, accept a teaching position right now, without further schooling?”
“Yes,” she says. “I imagine I could.”
“Then tell the court why you have chosen not to do so at this moment.”
“I wish to have my son with me.”
There is a muffled gasp from Albertine Bolduc, who brings a gloved hand to her mouth. Her husband puts his arm around her shoulders.
“I think that we can safely say,” says Tucker, ignoring the small outburst, but looking pointedly at Sears, “that the staff of this religiously oriented seminary considered you neither wanton or lascivious nor depraved, vulgar, and vile.”
“Your Honor.” Addison Sears is on his feet. “Would you be so kind as to ask counsel for the relator to desist in this line of questioning, as the answer calls for conjecture on the part of the witness?”
“Mr. Tucker,” says the judge.
Tucker seems unruffled by the mild reproof. “Miss Biddeford, how do you support yourself?”
“I have money from my father.”
“Would it be correct to say that as far as the foreseeable future is concerned, money is not a subject you need worry about?”
“One always wishes to be prudent with money,” she says carefully, “but, yes, I think you could say that was true.”
“So that, if you were to receive custody of your son, you would not have to leave the house to go to work?”
“No, I would not.”
“And thus you could care for the young boy full-time?”
“Yes, I could.”
Tucker turns and glances at Albertine Bolduc, as if physically to point out the difference between his client and the Franco woman. He walks back to the table, where he briefly consults his notes.
“Miss Biddeford, I know that these are painful questions. But let us now go back to the day of the child’s birth.”
Olympia takes in a long, slow breath. No matter how many times she and Tucker have rehearsed these questions, they always make her anxious.
“Where did you give birth to the child?”
“In my bedroom in my father’s house in Boston.”
“And what day and time was this?”
“Two o’clock on the afternoon of April fourteenth, 1900.”
“Was it a normal birth?”
“Yes.”
“And what happened immediately after this birth?”
“The boy was taken from me.”
“By whom?”
“I do not know. But I do know that it was upon the instructions of my father. I doubt, however, that he personally handled the child himself.”
“And why is it you do not know for certain who removed your child from your arms?”
“I had been given laudanum by my mother’s doctor.”
“This would be Dr. Ulysses Branch of Newbury Street in Boston.”
“Yes.”
“How much laudanum were you given?”
“I believe three spoonfuls.”
“So you were asleep.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the boy at all?”
Not once during their informal rehearsals has Olympia been able to
answer this question without her eyes welling up. “Yes,” she says as evenly as she can. “I remember some things. I was drifting in and out of consciousness.”
“Tell the court what you remember.”
“I was told the child was a boy. He was swaddled and laid beside me. I remember black spiky hair, beautiful eyes. . . .” She bites her lip.
“That is fine,” Tucker says quickly, having established his point. “Was it your desire that the child be taken from you at birth?”
“No.”
“Had you made your feelings on this subject clear?”
“Yes, I had spoken of this to my father.”
“And what did he say?”
“That he had made what he called ‘arrangements.’ And that if I kept the child, he would disown me.”
“But, Miss Biddeford, did you not care more about the child than about being disinherited?”
“Yes, I did care more about the child,” Olympia says with fervor. “But I reasoned that if I went against my father’s wishes, I would have no way to support myself and that I could not survive. And that if I did not survive, the child would not survive.”
“Miss Biddeford, tell the court why it is you have put forth your petition now, as opposed to, say, two years ago or one year ago.”
Olympia looks at Tucker and then takes in the entire courtroom before her — Judge Littlefield, the clerk, the bailiff, the Bolducs, Mr. Sears. What she says now, Tucker has told her, may be everything.
“My child was stolen from me,” Olympia says. “I have suffered greatly with this loss. I have thought about my son every single day since his birth and have wanted him with me. But until recently, I was not of an age nor was I in the proper circumstances to petition for the child’s return to me. Nor did I even know where he was, as this knowledge was kept from me all these years.”