If he knew what they were up to, he never let on.
The adults stood in the hall talking, while I waited near the big window, feeling the sun slanting across my face. I wasn’t afraid, not really. So many things had gone wrong that the edge of fear had slipped from my life.
When it was time for court, the adults pushed through the swinging doors, into the courtroom, and I followed. It was my first courtroom ever. I stopped in the aisle, looking at a huge lady statue in the corner—she was blindfolded, and carried a sword in one hand, and in the other hand she balanced a couple of plates on strings. “Lady Justice” she was called, standing there in court—a place dedicated to finding truth and justice, as Joe Brewer said. I certainly hoped that Lady Justice stayed blindfolded and that she didn’t see our truth that day, because we were telling big fat lies.
We stood up. A judge, who looked like somebody’s grandmother, came in and sat. We sat back down but not for long.
We were first on the docket, Joe Brewer said. A docket is the list of people coming to court. We walked to the judge’s desk and looked up at her. They sit up high, judges do. I stood, with exceptionally good posture, between Eleanor and Mother, holding both of their hands. Joe Brewer talked the talk. Custody, conservatorship, adoption. I don’t know what all they did legally to take me from my mother and give me to Eleanor—only, as I have said, they were giving me to my mother, who had me already.
I kept an eye on Lady Justice, daring her to peek out from behind that blindfold.
But since everybody was in agreement, it was fast and simple. After looking at all the papers and listening to Joe Brewer explain what he called the circumstances, the judge leaned over her desk and spoke.
“I want to commend you, Mrs. Henderson, for this extraordinary step you are taking. Considering your medical and legal problems, you are putting the interests of your child ahead of your own. I must say, we don’t see that very often in family court.”
Eleanor, as Mother, said, “Thank you very much, your honor. I know my sister will love Ruby Clyde as her own.”
And it was done.
* * *
It took me all summer and into the first of school to finally finish reading the original, long version of Oliver Twist. That boy! He’d gotten into more trouble than I had, but he survived. It always annoyed me that Oliver Twist never did much for himself, he just went along with whoever had him: the child farm, the workhouse, the horrible coffin-builder Mrs. Sowerberry, and that criminal pickpocket Fagin.
Well, once he ran away. That was action. But the Maylies and Mr. Brownlow had to rescue him, and Oliver Twist hadn’t done anything himself—they just caught him and took care of him. Oliver Twist was lucky more than anything.
What the book showed me most was that you need to be careful who you fall in with. They can get you in big-time trouble. Fagin was a mastermind criminal with a band of children pickpockets, very funny, but bad. Yet the Artful Dodger (and I admit I’m more of an Artful Dodger than an Oliver Twist) only hurt himself by staying with Fagin. Don’t even get me started on that wicked Bill Sykes! Why would a nice lady like Nancy stay with him? Like Mother staying with the Catfish. Bill Sykes killed Nancy dead, and I’m just glad that didn’t happen to Mother.
Mr. Bumble, Mrs. Sowerberry, Fagin. All bad. You have to find the Maylies and the Brownlows in this life and hang on as best you can.
I had found my people there on Paradise Ranch, and while I had doubted they could fool the family court, they had. And they’d done it for me.
Toward the end of Oliver Twist, I read:
And now, the hand that traces these words, falters, as it approaches the conclusion of its task; and would weave, for a little longer space, the thread of these adventures.
Mr. Charles Dickens didn’t want the story to be over. I must admit that I wanted the Adventures of Oliver Twist to go on. I wanted to read more, and more. But not so for my own adventures. I was ready for the misadventures of Ruby Clyde to fast-forward. I wanted a happy ending of my own and I wanted it fast.
THIRTY-SEVEN
School started and I was doing well enough, but I hadn’t made any friends. I hadn’t really needed any since I got Bunny, but he couldn’t come to school with me. He’d taken to spending his days at the Red Eye with Frank. We’d drop him off in the morning and pick him up after school. And let me tell you, it was no small feat convincing the pig to ride with my mother driving the blue van, but I’d sit in the back with my hand over his eyes the whole time.
There were a couple of bullies at school, and you know how I feel about bullies, I used to beat them up, easy—but I’d grown up. My boots were even making blisters on my heels. Also, I feared that if I caused any trouble, somebody might discover our secrets. So I trained my mind away from the little idiots.
One day Joe Brewer showed up at my school to have lunch with me. I’d seen other kids with adult visitors, mostly parents, but I never asked Mother or Eleanor to come because, well … our secret again.
I couldn’t stop smiling that I had a guest at school. Even though the other students had been cruel to me, because word got around about my mother being arrested for armed robbery, I didn’t care. They were staring at me wondering who this big important man was, having lunch with me, Ruby Clyde Henderson. (I was also glad that we had graduated up to the full-sized table and chairs. I didn’t think it would be appropriate for a man like Mr. Joe Brewer to sit down in one of those little chairs they had in the lower school. His knees would be up around his ears.)
A timid boy approached our table, shoulders up, and asked, “Is that your daddy?”
Joe Brewer, as my daddy, was too much to hope for, and I so wanted to say yes, because he could be my daddy. He could. But I shook my head, no.
The kid rocked back and forth on his heels. “They bet he was a policeman coming to arrest you. I bet that he was your daddy. Damn.”
“Watch your language, young man.” Joe Brewer stood up and waited for the boy to slink back to his tableful of snickering weasels.
Joe Brewer sat back down slowly and cocked his head. I shook my head that it didn’t matter. I’d mastered that since the first week of school, when the bullying started. I didn’t care, not one little titch. Really I didn’t.
“Have you spoken to a teacher about all this?” Joe Brewer sized up the situation all by himself.
I said no, I could handle it. Actually, I had spoken already to the homeroom teacher, but she just said not to come whining to her. She said I needed to get a backbone. If she only knew! I tell you what, I had a much bigger backbone than she would ever have. I could beat her to pieces with my backbone. I had plenty of backbone. Ask anybody. Except that teacher, of course. She was— I bit my tongue at the “S” word and instead said wrong-headed. Who on earth would tell a child to get a backbone?
After we finished eating, Joe Brewer asked me to get my book bag and come out to the car. On the way out, he stopped at the teachers’ table and said to all of them, “I am taking Ruby Clyde Henderson home for the afternoon. When she returns in the morning I expect you to have taught your students and yourselves a lesson in civics. The law of this land is innocent until proven guilty.”
They stared up at him like raccoons caught in the garbage.
He continued. “I am an officer of the court and I have the power to provide a guard for her safety.”
Then I piped up, “And armed guards won’t look too good for your school.”
Joe Brewer took me by the elbow and marched me out. “We’ve made our point.”
I didn’t make any friends at school, but after that, they gave me a wide berth.
* * *
Anyway, on the drive back to the ranch, after we picked up Bunny from the Red Eye, Joe Brewer announced he had a surprise for me. He rolled up to the ranch house and stopped, then broke into the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his face. He was usually a grinner, not a toothy smiler.
I turned in the car seat and waited.
H
e reached into his jacket pocket and took out an envelope. “I received this letter from the home for unwed mothers.”
He’d done it. He’d found Eleanor’s son. And he must have gotten good news because his pride was busting out.
“Why don’t you do the honors,” he said, handing me the envelope.
I turned it over in my hand. Then I showed it to Bunny and said, “I thought something so important would be bigger, heavier—too heavy to lift. Like you.”
We got out of the car. Bunny twirled by Joe Brewer, waiting for his treat. I headed toward the porch. Eleanor was looking out the window. She had no idea what we were about to tell her. Life is like that. Full of surprises.
Eleanor walked onto the porch and saw us, obviously in cahoots. “What are you three up to now?”
We walked up the stairs of the porch.
“What?” she asked. Suspicious.
“I hope you don’t mind, Sister Eleanor…” Joe Brewer started. And he explained how I had wanted to give her peace of mind about her son. He explained how he had finally located the home for unwed mothers and spoken to the administrator at length. At first there was a wall of privacy, he said. But he explained to the administrator that the birth mother had a life-threatening illness and that she needed to know that she did the right thing by her son. No details, just assurance that the child was safe and well and loved.
“I used all of my trial techniques, my powers of persuasion,” he smiled. “But she refused, citing the strict privacy policies that were agreed upon at birth. It was in the child’s best interest, she said, and warned me never to call again. But then out of the blue I received this in an envelope with no return address.”
Aunt Eleanor took the envelope, unfolded the paper, and read. Her eyebrows arched high into her forehead, making her eyes round and wide. They filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks. She caught a quick breath and said, “Oh dear God.”
We sat quietly. Mother joined us on the porch and Eleanor said, “Look at this, Barbara. Look what your daughter has done.”
She handed Mother the letter. Mother read it and handed it back to Eleanor. From her face I couldn’t tell if Eleanor was happy or sad. Finally she asked me, “Have you read this?”
I shook my head.
“Do you want to?” she asked.
I nodded.
She handed me the letter and said, “After all, this is your doing.”
I unfolded the paper; it was a handwritten letter.
Dear biological birth mother,
I’ve always known I was adopted so I don’t mind writing you a letter. I have other siblings who are also adopted. I’m not supposed to say anything about them or us or me. But I am happy with my mom and dad, and I do have everything I want, except a skateboard. Mom won’t let me.… Wait, I can’t say that either. I have a nice house and friends and stuff and I’m healthy. They said you wanted to know that. Thank you for asking. I can’t sign my name, but I have one.
Bye,
* * *
I went upstairs to rest. Rain fell softly on the roof. I drifted into sleep with my light on, imagining that the rain was tears of angels crying for Eleanor and her son. When I woke up, it was night. My bedside light was on. But Eleanor sat on the edge of my bed, holding my hand.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” I whispered back. “I hope you don’t mind I did that. I needed to do something important for you. I promised God.”
“I do not mind.” She squeezed my hand. “And I wouldn’t recommend breaking promises to God.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s like your pieces of love,” she said. “You have given me a piece of the child I can never fully know.”
“But I wanted to heal your cancer.”
“Ruby Clyde.” She lifted my hand and kissed the fingers. “Listen to me. You have healed something far more important.” She took my hand and held it over her heart, and we sat like that for a long time. I leaned into her, then she kissed the top of my head and said, “My son is where he is supposed to be, and you, child, are here with me.”
Then she reached over my head and switched off the bedside lamp.
That night, in my dreams, I grabbed snakes right behind their heads and looked in their mouths. But I wasn’t afraid because I could see all the way down their throats to their empty rattles.
THIRTY-EIGHT
We had made a plan to leave Paradise Ranch before Mother’s trial. It wasn’t safe for Mother to pretend to be Eleanor in the Hill Country; certainly the nuns would catch on. Eleanor had said her goodbyes. In their minds, Eleanor had quit being a nun and would take care of me elsewhere. Before the trial, we would pack bags and be prepared to stay in town with Joe Brewer. I still held out hope that we might win in court, but if we lost then Mother and I would live in town. But I would lose Eleanor.
Bunny had to be cared for. Frank had agreed, happily, to take him. It was the right thing to do. I couldn’t keep him. Like Eleanor giving up her son, I had to do what was best for my pig. He couldn’t live in a high-rise or a city or wherever we ended up in life. He deserved better, and that meant living with Frank.
The day before Mother’s trial, I took my pig to the Red Eye. Frank was pumping gas when we came up the road. I walked over with a big smile on my face. Act as if, and the feelings will follow. My mean grandmother always said that, and she was right sometimes. But I wasn’t nearly as happy as the smile on my face. Still, it kept me from crying.
“Bunny!” Frank hooked the nozzle back and swung her big arm. “Come see what I built you, my friend.”
Right beside the building, under the big bloodshot eyeball, she had made a pen with a trough for food. It had a hose to fill the water bucket and she had made Bunny a big sloppy mud puddle. He was much too big for me to pick up anymore, so I kneeled down beside him and wrapped both arms around his neck. Our hearts beat together for a few brief moments, then I let go and stood up. Bunny waddled into his new pen and rolled over in the mud, as happy as I had ever seen him.
Frank propped the gate open with a cinder block. “He’s smart enough to roam free. I’ll just tuck him in at night to keep him safe. Is that okay with you, Ruby Clyde?”
I handed Frank the $257.
“What’s this, Sugar Foot?”
“Some I had, most I made here washing trucks; I want you to have it.”
She was about to refuse, but I pushed on. “I’m a girl who needs to do things. You’re taking my pig for me, and I want you to have this money. Spend it on him if you wish, but just take it. Please.”
She did.
And that is how I left my pig. Under the big eye that had seen that whole part of my life, one that I would shortly leave behind. Bunny. Living at the Red Eye Truck Stop, where he would spend the rest of his days lolling in the mud by Frank’s door and winking at cowboys who stopped for gas or food. No Cadillac, no bacon. Life had worked out for Circus God’s pig.
* * *
That afternoon, I asked Eleanor what would happen if Mother were not found guilty at trial. “You all seem so sure that we will lose. What if Mother doesn’t lose and you don’t have to go to prison?”
She said, “That, dear child, would be a delightful problem.”
“And if you go to prison, what will you do?”
“I will minister to the incarcerated women,” she said, as if she had given that much thought. “It is not often that we are given the opportunity to make a true sacrifice. You know, Ruby Clyde, people argue about the Bible all the time, making it serve their own agendas, but one thing is perfectly clear. Jesus got up on that cross. And instead of getting on a cross for others, we run around saying Jesus died for me, me, me, but that’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?”
“Can I visit you in prison?” I bypassed the Bible lesson because I was missing her already.
She laughed gently. “I don’t know. I’m going to be pretty busy at my new calling.”
“I’m serious. I want to see you.
”
“We can write letters and talk on the telephone, but I think you’ve seen enough of the legal system for a lifetime.”
I started to cry. There was nothing left in me to hold back the tears.
“Tears are good, baby. You don’t need to visit on my account, truly. If you really need to see me, then Joe Brewer can bring you. But I deeply hope that you will be busy with the new life we have worked so hard to give you.”
Later, Mother and I rocked on the front porch and then she tucked me into bed, but I couldn’t sleep. It was a moonless night so my room was pitch-black dark. No matter how wide I opened my eyes, it was a wall of black. And my mind wouldn’t stop. What if, what if, what if …
Finally I got out of bed and tiptoed into Aunt Eleanor’s room. I knew it might be a very long time before we were together again. I slipped in beside her and snuggled up close to her back and tried to breathe with her. She stirred, saw that I was there with her, then adjusted the bedding to cover me up. She didn’t seem worried at all. So I decided not to worry either.
All good things come to an end, my mean grandmother always said. But you know what? All bad things come to an end too.
THIRTY-NINE
The day finally came for the trial.
Eleanor (dressed as Mother in that matching dress) pushed through the swinging doors, into the courtroom, with Joe Brewer beside her. Mother (dressed in Eleanor’s habit and wimple) followed with me (in my silly dress) holding her hand. I knew they had practiced swapping places, but I was nervous. This was a trial for Mother’s freedom. Anything could happen. What if they both ended up in prison?
I stopped cold and stood there looking at Law Itself. The big seal of Texas on the wall. Flags on either side of a big raised desk for the judge. His hammer was sitting there waiting for him. Guards, policemen, and people in suits all seemed at home, standing around chatting.
Joe and Eleanor took their places at the defense table up front.
Mother and I sat in the front row behind them, feeling miserable. Miserable is the only word that describes what I felt, sitting in that courtroom not knowing anything about anything. Being ignorant is a feeling I do not like. And my dress and hair bow weren’t helping. Much less those new sneakers I had to wear. I had a tan line from wearing my boots all summer so my white ankles looked pathetic.
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