“Teach riding.”
He nodded and she found herself wondering what he was thinking, but mostly she was grateful that he no longer seemed to be afraid of her, and when Jeff brought them the clothes he had borrowed from various cabins, Timmie almost looked like a new child. But she was soaking wet from his bath and she had to go back to her room to change. “Want to come see my house?” Hesitantly he nodded, and after she helped him dress, she led the way. There was an easily accessible ramp into the big house now, and he followed her into the living room and down the hall to her bedroom, while she pulled some fresh jeans and a shirt out of the closet, which had been entirely rebuilt for her. She kept Caroline's old room as her best guest room, but she almost never used it, and visited it as seldom as she had to. It still pained her to feel its emptiness without her old friend.
“You got a nice house.” Timmie was looking around with interest. The teddy bear had come with him too. “Who sleeps in the other rooms?”
“No one.”
“Don't you have kids?” He looked amazed.
“No. Except all the kids who live here on the ranch with me.”
“You got a husband?” It was a question a lot of the children asked her and she always smiled and said no, and it ended there.
“Nope.”
“Why not? You're pretty.”
“Thank you. I just don't.”
“Do you wanna get married?”
She sighed softly as she looked at the beautiful blond child. He was actually very pretty now that he was clean. “I don't think I do want to get married, Timmie. I lead kind of a special life.”
“So does my mom.” He nodded his understanding, and Sam was at first shocked and then laughed but she couldn't say “Not like that.”
She tried to explain her views to him. “I just think I wouldn't have enough time for a husband with the ranch and you kids here and stuff.”
But he was looking at her intently, and then waved at her chair. “Is it because of that?” What he had just asked her hit her like a punch in the stomach, because it was the truth, but she couldn't admit it, not to anyone, and barely to herself.
“No, it's not because of that.” But she wondered if he knew she was lying, and then, without giving him time to ask her more questions, she ushered him back outside. They visited the stables and the main hall, looked at two cows in a pen, and went to the swimming pool, where she took him for a quick swim before lunch. There were only a few younger children on the ranch at that hour of the day in October. The others were all in school, having been dropped off by the huge adjusted school bus that Sam had bought to get the kids there. But the children who were around greeted Timmie with warmth and interest, and when the others got back at three thirty, he was hardly even shy. He watched them have their riding lessons, swoop down on the pool in their wheelchairs, and chase each other down the wide well-paved walks. He met Josh and solemnly shook his hand, and watched Samantha during all her lessons, and when she was finished, he was still standing by.
“You still here, Timmie? I thought you'd have gone back to your room.” He only shook his head, holding on to his teddy bear with big eyes. “Want to come back to my house before dinner?” He nodded and reached out for her hand, and hand in hand, they wheeled back to the big house where she read him stories until the big old school bell sounded, and it was time to go eat.
“Can I sit with you, Sam?” Once again he looked worried, and she reassured him. But she suspected that by now he was tired after his long first day at the ranch. He sat beside her at dinner, yawning loudly, and before dessert had arrived, she turned to see that his little chin had dropped onto his chest and he was slumped in a corner of the big gray wheelchair. The teddy bear was still clutched in his arms, and she smiled gently and took off her heavy sweater, settled it around him like a blanket, and left the table to take him home. In his room she gently lifted him from the chair to the bed with one powerful smooth gesture, her own arms had gained much strength from the constant use they got. She took off his clothes as he stirred gently, undid his braces, changed his diapers, turned off the light, and ran a gentle hand over the soft blond hair. For a brief moment she was suddenly reminded of Charlie's children, of the sweet faces and the big blue eyes, and she suddenly remembered that fierce longing she had felt when she had first held their last baby, little Samantha, and how she had known then that it was a void that, in her life, would never be filled. And now, as she looked at Timmie, she felt her heart reach out and embrace him as though he had been her child. He stirred gently as she kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Good night, Mommy … I love you.…” Sam felt tears spring to her eyes. They were words she would suddenly have given her life for, and then, with head bowed, she wheeled out of the cabin and closed the door.
By the end of the first month Timmie was riding the pretty little palomino. Her name was Daisy and he loved her the way any little boy would have loved his first horse. But far more than the palomino, he loved Samantha, with a passion that startled everyone with its vehemence and strength. He appeared at the big house every morning, knocked on the door, and waited for her to come and answer it. Sometimes it took her longer than others, because sometimes she was already making coffee and sometimes she was still in bed. But the moment he saw her, his face lit up like a sunburst, and as he wheeled in the chair that she had bought him, he always looked around him, like a puppy who's been kept outdoors all night. They had a comfortable early morning patter. Sometimes he told her what he'd dreamed about, or what one of the kids had done at breakfast, or what the palomino had been doing when Timmie sped past the corral in his chair to bid the gentle horse good morning. And Samantha told him what she would be doing that morning, they'd talk about his riding lesson, and once or twice she inquired if he had changed his mind about school, but he remained adamant on that subject. He wanted to stay on the ranch, not go to school with the others, and Samantha figured that for the first month at least she would let him settle in.
The bruises that his mother had inflicted upon him had long since faded, and the social worker called once a week to see how Timmie was, and when at the end of the month he came out to see them, he looked from Timmie to Samantha and then back again, and he was clearly stunned.
“What in God's name did you do to him?” he asked her when they were finally alone. Prying Timmie from Sam's side wasn't easy, but she had sent him to check on Daisy and tell Josh that they would be riding in a few minutes to show the social worker how well he had done. “He looks like a different child.”
“He is a different child,” Sam said proudly. “He's a child who's been loved and it shows.”
But the social worker only looked at her sadly. “You know how hard you've made it for him?” She thought he was joking and she started to smile but she saw then that he meant it and knit her brows.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what it'll be like for him to go back to an apartment in a tenement with a drug-addict mother who feeds him stale crackers and beer?”
Sam took a deep breath and stared out the window. She wanted to say something to him. But she didn't know if it was the right time. “I wanted to talk to you about that, Mr. Pfizer.” She turned to face him again. “What about the possibilities of not sending him back?”
“And keep him here?” She nodded, but he started to shake his head. “I don't think the judge would buy that. The courts are paying for it right now, but it was just kind of a trial thing, you know.…”
“I don't mean like that.” She took another deep breath and decided to ask him. What could she lose? Nothing. And she might win everything … everything.… For the third time in her life, Sam had fallen in love. And this time not with a man, but a six-year-old boy. She loved him as she had never loved another human being, with a kind of depth and feeling she had never even suspected that she had, as though some sort of well had reached right past her heart into her spirit and now she was able to give him all she had to give. And
there was a lot of loving left over from the men who had left her, a lot that she had left to give. And now it was Timmie's, with all of her heart. “What if I adopt him?”
“I see.” The social worker sat down heavily in a chair and looked at Samantha. He didn't like what he was seeing. He could see that she loved the child. “I don't know, Miss Taylor. I would hate to get your hopes up. His mother may still want him.”
A strange light came into Sam's eyes. “By what right, I might ask, Mr. Pfizer? As I recall, she beat him, not to mention her drug habits—”
“All right, all right… I know.” Oh, Jesus. This he didn't need, not today—not any day, in fact. People only got hurt thinking the way she did. The truth was that his mother could most likely keep him, whether Sam liked that idea or not. “The fact is that she's the boy's natural mother. The courts lean over backward to respect that.”
“How far do they lean?” Her voice was both frightened and cold. It was frightening to have let herself love the child as much as she did now, and to have to face the possibility that he might leave.
The social worker looked at her sadly. “To tell you the truth, they lean pretty far.”
“Couldn't I do something?”
“You could.” He sighed. “You could hire a lawyer and fight her, if she still wants him. But you might lose … you probably will.” And then he thought to ask her about the child. “What about the boy? Have you asked him? That could weigh with the court, even though he's still very young. A natural mother would have a strong case here, no matter how rotten she is. You know, the worst of it is that with the state rehabilitating her, we really can't afford to say now that she's not okay. If we do, then we're admitting that our whole rehabilitation system doesn't work, which it does not. But it's kind of a Catch-22 situation. See what I mean?” Sam nodded vaguely. “What about the boy, have you asked him?” She shook her head. “Why don't you?”
“I will.”
“All right. Then give me a call after that. If he wants to go back to his mother, you should let it go. But if he wants to stay here”—he paused, thinking it over—“I'll go talk to the mother myself. Maybe she won't give you any problem.” And then he bestowed a wintry smile. “I hope for your sake that she makes it easy, the boy would sure be better off here with you.”
It was an understatement but Sam let it pass. The fact was that Timmie would be better off anywhere than with her, and Sam was determined to protect the child with all her will.
They went out to see Timmie ride then, and as happened with parents who saw their children ride for the first time, Martin Pfizer, the hardened, tired, old social worker, had to wipe away a stray tear. It was incredible to see what had happened to Timmie. He was beautiful and blond and clean and happy, he laughed all the time now, looked at Sam with an air of pure adoration, and he was even funny, and the oddest thing of all was that he even looked quite a lot like her.
When Martin Pfizer left at the end of the day, he said something again to Sam in a whisper as he squeezed her arm. “Ask him and call me.” And then, tousling Timmie's hair, he shook Sam's hand and waved a last good-bye as he drove off.
It wasn't until after dinner that night when she took Timmie back to his room that she asked him, while he buttoned his pajamas and she put his braces away.
“Timmie?”
“Yeah?”
She turned to look at him, feeling something tremble inside her. What if he didn't want her? If he wanted to go back to his mother? She wasn't sure if she could stand the rejection, but she had to ask him. And that would only be the beginning. “You know, I was thinking about something today.” With a look of interest he waited. “I was wondering what you would think about sticking around here.…” It was ghastly, she hadn't realized that it would be so hard to ask him. “You know, kind of like forever … I mean—”
“You mean stay here with you?” His eyes grew huge in the little tanned face.
“Yeah, that's what I mean.”
“Oh, wow!” But she knew as he said it that he hadn't understood her. He thought she just meant an extended visit, and she knew that she had to tell him it would mean giving up his mom.
“Timmie …” He had his arms around her now and she pulled him away so she could see his face. “I don't mean just like the other kids here.” He seemed puzzled. “I mean … I mean …” It was like a proposal of marriage. “I want to adopt you, if they'd let me. But you have to want that too. I would never do anything you didn't want.” She was having to fight back tears and he stared at her in amazement.
“You mean you want me?” He seemed astounded.
“Of course I want you, silly.” She hugged him tight again, the tears spilling from her eyes. “You're the best little kid in the whole world.”
“What about my mom?”
“I don't know, Timmie. That would be the hard part.”
“Would she come to see me?”
“I don't know. Maybe we could arrange that, but I think it would be harder for everyone that way.” She was being honest with him, she knew she had to. It was a big step for him to take.
But he looked frightened when she looked down into his face again and she could feel him tremble. “Would she come and beat me?”
“Oh, no.” It was a cry of anguish. “I wouldn't let her do that.”
And then suddenly he started to cry and he told her things that he had never told her, about his mother and what she had done to him. When it was over, he lay in Sam's arms, spent, but he was no longer frightened, and after she pulled the sheets up to his chin, she sat next to him in the dark for over an hour, just watching him sleep and letting her tears flow. The last thing he had said to her as his eyes closed was “I want to be yours, Sam.” And it was all she had wanted to hear.
The next morning Sam called Martin Pfizer and told him what Timmie had said. She also told him some of the other things he had told her, about the beatings and the neglect, things he had kept inside for a long, sad time. Pfizer shook his head.
“I hate to say it, but it doesn't surprise me. All right, I'll see what I can do.”
But by the next day he knew that he could do nothing. He had spent two hours with the woman, tried to reason with her, had talked to her counselor at the facility where she had been incarcerated, but he knew that it was useless to say more. With a heavy heart he called Sam that evening and found her alone in the big house.
“She won't do it, Miss Taylor. I tried everything, reason, threats, everything. She wants him.”
“Why? She doesn't love him.”
“She thinks she does. She spent hours telling me about her father and mother, how her father beat her, her mother whipped her. It's the only thing she knows.”
“But she'll kill him.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But there isn't a damn thing we can do now until she tries.”
“But can I sue for custody?” Sam's hand trembled as she waited.
“Yes. That doesn't mean that you have a chance. She's the natural mother, Miss Taylor. You're a single woman, and a—a handicapped person.” He caught himself quickly. “That won't look well in court.”
“But look what I've done for him already. Look at the life he could have here.”
“I know. That makes sense to you and me, but there's an element of precedent involved, and you'll have to convince the judge. Get yourself a lawyer, Miss Taylor, and give it a try. But you have to be realistic. Treat it as a test case, an experiment. If you lose, you lose, if you win, you get the boy.” Was he crazy? Didn't he understand that she loved Timmie and he loved her?
“Thank you.” Her voice was chilly when she hung up, and she spun around the room half a dozen times, mumbling to herself and thinking, and it drove her nuts that she had to wait until morning before she could call.
But when Timmie turned up the next morning, she gave him several errands to do for her, so that she could call Caroline's old lawyer and see if he could refer her to someone who might take the case.
; “A child-custody suit, Samantha?” He sounded surprised. “I didn't know you had children.”
“I don't.” She smiled grimly into the phone. “Yet.”
“I see.” But of course he didn't. But he gave her two names of lawyers he had heard of in L.A. He knew neither of them personally, but assured her that their reputations were first-rate.
“Thanks.” When she called them, the first lawyer was on vacation in Hawaii, and the other was due back from the East the next day. She left a message for him to call her and spent the next twenty-four hours on pins and needles, waiting for him to call. But he did, as his secretary had promised, at exactly five o'clock in the afternoon.
“Miss Taylor?” The voice was deep and mellifluous, and she couldn't tell if he was young or old. In as little time as she could, she explained the problem, told him what she wanted to do, what Timmie wanted, what the social worker had said, and where Timmie's mother was. “My, my, you do have a problem, don't you?” But he sounded intrigued by what she had told him. “If you don't mind, I'd really like to come out and see the boy.” She had told him that both she and Timmie were bound to wheelchairs, but she had explained to him about the ranch and how well Timmie had done. “I think an important part of your case would hinge on the surroundings, and I should see them if I'm to make any sense. That is, of course, if you decide that you'd like me to represent you.” But so far she had liked what he had said.
“How do you feel about the case, Mr. Warren?”
“Well, why don't we talk about it at greater length tomorrow? On the surface I'm not overly optimistic, but this could be one of those highly emotional situations that get resolved in a most unorthodox way.”
“In other words, I don't have a chance. Is that what you're saying?” Her heart sank.
“Not exactly. But it won't be easy. I think you know that already.”
She nodded. “I suspected that much from what the social worker said. It doesn't make any sense to me though, dammit. If that woman is a junkie and a child abuser, why is she even considered a possibility as Timmie's custodial parent?”
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