A Trusting Heart

by Judith Mccoy Miller

“Don’t you look pretty,” Jake commented to Michelle as he tousled her hair.

  Claire smiled at the comment, unexpectedly surprised at his relaxed countenance on only his second visit. Jake pushed the wheelchair to the car, and after Claire transferred Michelle into the automobile, he collapsed the chair and placed it in the trunk.

  “We’ve about got that down to a science,” he remarked as he sat down in the driver’s seat.

  “Just about,” Claire replied, watching as he expertly backed the car out while making a clucking noise that caused Michelle to laugh.

  “She’s got the cutest giggle,” he commented. “No wonder Sandra’s always trying to make her laugh.”

  ❧

  Jake carefully maneuvered the wheelchair as they entered the theater. Finding the only place to position Michelle’s chair was in the back of the theater where she would be unable to view the screen, he promptly wheeled down the aisle and transferred her into one of the regular seats.

  “She’ll be too low in the seat to see,” Claire told him.

  Going back to where he had positioned the wheelchair, he popped out the removable seat of her specially built chair and carried it to where Claire and Michelle sat.

  “Slip this under her,” he instructed Claire as he lifted Michelle.

  It worked beautifully, and although Claire noticed they were receiving some stares during the episode, it didn’t seem to bother Jake in the least.

  “Can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed Snow White so much,” he said after they had taken Michelle home.

  Claire grinned.

  “I mean it! I had a good time,” he insisted.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Okay, now it’s my turn to hear about your life,” she told him as they began the trip home.

  “I was born in Nebraska. My mother stills lives there; my father is dead. I have three sisters who all live in Florida. I joined the Navy right after I graduated from high school. . .”

  “The Navy?” she interrupted.

  “Right! The Navy. I did a four-year hitch and then got out and went back to Nebraska. Worked for a bridge-building contractor for about five months and decided that was no life for me. So I enlisted in the Army.”

  “How come you didn’t go back into the Navy?” she asked.

  “The Navy was okay, but I didn’t think I wanted to make a career of living on a ship. So I joined the Army and made a career of living in foxholes—hypothetically speaking at least,” he said. “I’ve been in the Army ever since. That’s about all there is.”

  “Wait a minute, I gave you more detail than that,” she said feigning indignation.

  “Well, I’ve already told you that I’ve done three tours in Vietnam, two tours in Germany, and the longest I’ve spent at a military base stateside is here at Fort Riley. What else can I tell you? I had the usual high school romances, and one serious relationship years ago. It didn’t work out,” he told her.

  “So is that why you’ve never gotten married?”

  He gave her a hearty laugh. “No, not hardly.”

  “Then how come?” she persisted.

  “The military isn’t any kind of life for married folks. Just look at the divorce rate,” he stated.

  “There are married couples in the military that do just fine. I don’t think the divorce rate is much greater in the military than elsewhere.”

  “I think you’re wrong, but putting that aside, it never appealed to me to make a commitment to spend my life with someone and then leave her behind at least fifty percent of the time to raise the kids and worry about whether her husband was alive. Besides, back when I was young enough that I might have considered marriage, I never met anyone I thought I couldn’t live without,” he said.

  “Ten points for honesty, Jake,” she said, and then caught herself.

  “Let’s see—I’m up to thirty-two points, now. I’m glad you insisted that I add more to my story,” he said, giving her a wink.

  “Looks like I talked you home this time,” he said, walking her to the back door.

  “You may have done some talking, but I’m not sure I heard as much about your life as you’ve heard about mine,” Claire admonished as she placed her key in the door.

  “Here, I’ll get that for you,” he said, turning the key and pushing the door open for her.

  “Thanks.” As she turned to tell him good night, he gathered her into his arms. Pulling her to him with an unyielding urgency, he covered her lips with a yearning, passionate kiss. She felt herself returning his ardor, her whole being succumbing to the undeniable pleasure of once again being held in the protective arms of a man.

  “I know, I know—don’t do that,” he whispered as she pulled away.

  She nodded her head, walked inside the door, and watched as he waved his arm in the familiar manner—his car keys dangling from his hand.

  NINE

  On Monday morning, the trial began in earnest. Claire placed a call to Dr. Bogan’s office and explained the situation to his nurse. After receiving the nurse’s assurance that she would call back during the noon recess, Claire joined Lyle in the courtroom just as the judge was ruling on the last of the pretrial motions.

  “How’d you do?” Claire inquired as she sat down beside Lyle.

  “Okay. They lost on their motion to strike our expert witness. That was the only one I was really worried about. Were you able to reach Doc Bogan?”

  “No, but I talked to his nurse. She’s got the information and is going to consult with him and call back during noon recess,” she replied as she pulled the sheaf of paperwork dealing with the prospective jurors from a thick folder.

  The morning plodded along slowly. There had been so much publicity about the impending dam project that there were few residents who hadn’t formed some type of opinion regarding the land condemnation of the Lyndon community.

  “I don’t mean to sound impertinent, Your Honor, but you’ll recall the fact that you denied my request for a change of venue,” Lyle stated when the judge requested a sidebar. It was obvious the judge was growing irritated with the attorneys’ various objections and the number of jurors who had already been struck from the panel.

  “I don’t need to be reminded of my own rulings, Mr. Johnstone. I’m not senile,” the judge retorted. “I’m telling you gentlemen that I want a jury seated today and this trial to begin first thing tomorrow. I suggest you quit nit-picking so that we can move forward. I don’t like things to bog down in my courtroom.”

  “Yes, sir,” both men stated. Bill Statler, lead counsel for the defense, gave Lyle a smirk as they returned to their respective chairs.

  By five o’clock the jury had been selected, although neither of the attorneys seemed particularly pleased.

  “Bill seems just as unhappy as you. Perhaps that’s a good sign,” Claire said to Lyle as they left the courthouse.

  “We’ll have to hope you’re right,” Lyle pessimistically replied. “I hope Gloria got my opening statement typed up before she left work.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t leave unless it was completed, Lyle. Don’t start looking for trouble,” Claire admonished him.

  “Did you ever talk to Bogan’s nurse?”

  “Yes, but she didn’t call back until shortly before one-thirty, so I didn’t get a chance to brief you.”

  “So? What’d she say?”

  “Lyle, you need to take a deep breath and count to ten, or we’re not going to make it through this trial. This is only the first day, and if you can’t do better than this after one day of Judge Hackley, we’re really in trouble,” Claire replied, surprised by his demeanor. Lyle was the steady, dependable partner of the law practice. Nothing flustered him and he was always prepared.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I know I’m on edge. Just give me the scoop, will you?”

  “The doctor said that Mrs. Roseman has dementia. He’s tried to get her into a nursing home but has been unsuccessful. Like me, he’s been unable to find any living relatives. He’s not
even sure that the niece she occasionally talks about really exists.”

  “Great! So in the midst of all of this, we’ve got to get a guardian appointed for her. Otherwise, if there’s a settlement offer after we’ve presented our evidence, she won’t be competent to sign the agreement.”

  “I can start the paperwork; Dave can handle the court appearances. With a little luck, we’ll be able to get a guardian appointed without too much difficulty,” Claire said, although, knowing Lyle, she figured he was already ten steps ahead of her.

  If Gloria had been at the office when they returned, Claire would have cajoled her into helping with the paperwork. Unfortunately, she was gone, but Lyle wouldn’t rest until he felt something was moving forward to resolve the problem with Mrs. Roseman.

  The pleadings were typed and ready for filing by eleven o’clock. “I’m leaving, Lyle,” Claire called from her office.

  “Wait a minute. I’ll walk with you—it’s too late to be going out alone,” he said, emerging from his office.

  “I’m sorry I’ve acted like such a jerk today, Claire. My apologies. And thanks for staying to get those pleadings done. I really do appreciate all your hard work,” he said, giving her an impulsive hug.

  “Thanks, Lyle. It’s okay—really,” she said, surprised at his sudden show of emotion.

  Claire appreciated his thoughtfulness, but on the way home she tried to remember a time when Lyle had ever shown any affection or emotion toward her. She couldn’t. It seemed as if his whole personality had begun to unravel with this trial.

  Lyle was an extremely brilliant attorney, having graduated Order of the Coif, the most prestigious scholastic honor given to law school graduates. He had proven himself worthy of the award. His practice reflected a dedication to detail and hard work.

  Dave, on the other hand, was of average intelligence, although he, too, had built a fine reputation as an honest, hardworking lawyer. The two men were as opposite as day and night. But their differences served to enhance their joint practice. What one didn’t like to do, the other enjoyed, with only a few exceptions. They had agreed early in their practice that they would not handle divorces and would accept criminal work on only a limited basis. They had held to that agreement.

  Dave was married to his high school sweetheart, Peg, had three small children, resided in a sprawling house in one of the wealthier sections of town, and drove a Mercedes. In contrast, Lyle had never married, lived in an apartment in a middle-class neighborhood, and drove a dilapidated Volkswagen Beetle. He was just under six feet tall and of average build with hair resembling the color of cinnamon. Sometimes it appeared reddish-brown and other times it appeared to be more brownish-red. His eyes were a deeper shade of brown and his overall demeanor was unremarkable. It was Lyle’s personality that made him appear more attractive. Although Claire now thought of him as a handsome man, when she had first met Lyle, she had considered him rather plain.

  When Claire had first begun working at the office, Gloria had confided that rumor had it that Lyle had been left standing at the altar. Supposedly he had never recovered; at least not enough that he was willing to begin a relationship with another woman. At that time, the story hadn’t interested Claire, but tonight she found herself wondering about Lyle and the impulsive hug. This is silly, she thought to herself. Lyle Johnstone gave you a friendly hug, and you’re making a federal case out of it.

  After finally arriving home and relaxing under a hot shower, Claire impulsively picked up the phone and dialed Jake’s number. She didn’t sit down—she didn’t expect an answer. He was never at home.

  “Hello,” came a voice from the other end of the line, just as she was about to hang up.

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?” he asked, his voice sounding different.

  “It’s Claire. Is something wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “Oh, hi, Claire. No, nothing’s wrong; I was just asleep. We’re going to the field tomorrow, so I’ve got to be out at Custer Hill by four in the morning. That means I have to leave here by three-thirty, so I turned in early. I tried to call you, but there wasn’t an answer.”

  “I had to work late—the trial,” she explained. “What does ‘going to the field’ entail?” she asked.

  “It’s another one of those special parties that Uncle Sam throws for his soldiers. We get to go out and play war games, sleep in our tents, and eat C-rations. Like most of us haven’t had enough experience doing that throughout our careers,” he said grimly.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Ten days. I told Roger to have Gloria get word to you. We’ll probably have a three-day weekend when we get back. Can we go out when I get back?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what I’ll be doing when you get back, Jake. I don’t want to make promises I may not be able to keep,” she cautiously answered, remembering her thought that she needed to quit seeing him.

  “Well, if I call you when I get back and if you’re not busy, will you go out with me?”

  “Probably,” she answered.

  He laughed. “You feel some special need to keep me guessing?”

  “No! I’m just trying to be honest.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get defensive. I don’t want to end our conversation on a sour note. But I really need to get back to sleep. Hope your trial goes well, and I’ll call as soon as I get back to town. Good night, Claire.”

  “Good night, Jake,” she replied and hung up the phone while inwardly chastising herself for calling.

  I know I’m attracted to him, and I need to stop this relationship before it goes any further, she thought. So why can’t I keep myself from calling him, she pondered as she walked to her bedroom.

  ❧

  The following day, the lawsuit almost ground to a stop as the defense attorney objected to almost every question Lyle posed to his first witness. It was an old tactic. Although the attorney knew his objections would be overruled, the interruptions caused a lack of continuity in the pattern of questioning. Claire observed the majority of the jurors begin to fidget and lose their focus early in the afternoon, which was disturbing to watch. Lyle’s ability to question witnesses far excelled that of the opposing counsel, but his expertise was diminished by the constant delays.

  Driving back from the courthouse after court had been adjourned for the day, Lyle settled into the driver’s seat of the battered yellow Volkswagen.

  “Tell me something, Claire. Is it me or is this trial going down the tubes before we even get a good start?” he asked as they head toward the office.

  “Don’t overreact,” Claire answered, not wanting to further upset him.

  He laughed—not just a little chuckle, but a deep, belly laugh.

  “What is wrong with you?” Claire asked as he turned and headed away from the office.

  “Nothing. Let’s go get something to eat,” he suggested, catching her by surprise.

  “I probably should go home if we don’t have to work late,” Claire told him.

  “There’s certainly no need to work late tonight. I’m still questioning the same witness I started with this morning. If the rest of the trial moves at this pace, we won’t be through for six months. Why do you need to go home? You’ll just have to fix dinner when you get there. This way, you’ll have it out of the way and won’t have to do the dishes,” he said, pulling the car to a stop in front of The Circle restaurant.

  She immediately thought of Jake. Stop it, she told herself. You’ve got to quit thinking about him.

  “Claire!” Lyle called, attempting to gain her attention. “You’re acting like you’re a million miles away. You going to get out?” he said, holding the car door open.

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  Immediately Lyle began discussing the day’s events. “Tell me what you think is going on in that courtroom,” he requested as he leaned across the table toward her.

  “I’m just guessing, but it
may be that Judge Hackley is paying you back for your earlier remarks at the sidebar—about wanting a change of venue. It’s the only reason I can think of that he’s allowing Bill to continue the interruptions. You know Hackley’s reputation as well as I do, Lyle. Everyone says you’d better not cross him.”

  “I know what you’re saying is true. I just don’t like to think a member of the judiciary would impede justice,” he said.

  “Come on, Lyle. You know and I know that this kind of thing happens all the time. It’s not pleasant to think about, but there are bad judges, and unfortunately you’ve drawn one of them for this trial.”

  “I’ve made objections to his ruling for the record. At least I’ll have grounds for appeal, but I’m thinking about asking for a meeting in chambers before the trial begins tomorrow. If I don’t have any success getting him to stop Bill’s continual objections, I’m considering asking him to recuse himself.”

  “Lyle—that’s a dangerous step. Are you sure you want to go that far? It could really backfire if he won’t step down. And with that man’s ego, I’d be shocked if he’d give it a minute’s consideration,” Claire responded, surprised at Lyle’s suggested tactics.

  “I know it’s unusual. Of course, any time you ask a judge to recuse himself, there’s the possibility of backlash. No one ever wants to admit he has any prejudices, least of all a judge. Personally, I admire any judge who can objectively look at a case and honestly say there are reasons why he or she shouldn’t be the judge and then step down. Whether it’s by their own initiative or when an attorney files a motion for recusal, I have to admire that kind of integrity.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Dave about this? I think he could give you a much more discerning perspective,” she suggested, not wanting to take part in a decision of this magnitude.

  “How is the guardianship coming along for Mrs. Roseman?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “There’s going to be a hearing tomorrow.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s going to be in the courthouse!” Lyle stated, a note of panic in his voice.

  “No, the hearing will be held at the annex building. Dave specifically requested it over there and Dr. Bogan is going to testify. John Ingmire said he would bring her to the hearing. Dave thought it would be best if the judge could visit with Mrs. Roseman personally.”