She braked sharply and slowed to cross the railroad tracks. “He doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me,” she said.
We parked just off the square, in a lot reserved for court employees. Walking the steep trail of steps to the courthouse entrance, we ran into Mrs. Covington, who works at the library.
“Martha, what are you doing here?” she asked pleasantly.
I stopped and tried to think what to say.
“Martha’s got business,” said Mrs. O’Brien, lightly pushing me forward.
We entered the courthouse, crossed the black-and-white checkered stone floor of the big, echoing lobby, and walked down a corridor decorated with yellowing pictures of judges. At the far end, people were gathered around two closed doors. A sign standing on an iron stick said JUVENILE COURT IN SESSION—QUIET. Mrs. O’Brien walked over to a bench where two hoods were slouched, their legs stretched into the corridor. “Excuse me,” she said, “could you two gentlemen possibly make room for two ladies to sit down?” The hoods stared at her in disbelief. Finally, one of them stood up and lit a cigarette. Mrs. O’Brien sat on the spot he’d vacated. She patted the bench beside her. “Here, Martha,” she said. I squeezed in and the other hood hopped up. The two of them glared at us. Mrs. O’Brien ignored them.
“I hope your mother gets here soon,” she said. “I told her ten.” A clock on the wall indicated that Bunny had five minutes.
I didn’t recognize any of the people standing around. Besides the two hoods, there was a girl about my age, with red eyes and stringy hair, and a younger boy in a pair of overalls with dried mud around the cuffs. Older people, probably parents, stood morosely by. After a few minutes, one of the courtroom doors opened, and a lady with short, gray hair came out. She saw Mrs. O’Brien and walked over. “You’re next, Peggy,” she said.
“Hi, Josephine,” said the social worker. Then she shook her head. “Awful about the accident.”
“Awful,” said Josephine. “And the family lost an older brother in Korea. Two sons gone.”
“Awful.”
“I lost a pork roast, you know. The electricity was out for eight hours, and in this heat the thing just spoiled on me. I was going to make it for dinner tonight.”
“These times,” said Mrs. O’Brien. She happened to glance at me. “Why, Martha, your jaw looks frozen solid.”
“I’m a little nervous,” I said softly.
“Nervous of what? The court? There’s no need to be frightened.” She put her hand on my knee. “I go to these hearings all the time. This is just preliminary. Judge Horner will ask the police a few questions, and he’ll want to know if you’re being well cared for. You are getting along with the Vernons, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Yes, I thought so. Judge Horner might ask you. And he’ll set a date for a full hearing. That’s it. The whole thing won’t take more than about ten minutes.”
“Can I go home with Bunny then?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. These things have to go in stages.” She paused, studying me, and then adjusted the bow on the front of my blouse. “Now, don’t you look nice,” she said. “Is the blouse new?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s a smart outfit. You’re lucky—you’re tall, and you can wear smart things. Doesn’t she look nice, Josephine?”
“Yes,” said Josephine. “Dressed for court.”
By 10:15, Bunny still hadn’t arrived. She always had trouble getting out of bed on mornings after she’s worked. Mrs. O’Brien began to look past me, searching down the corridor toward the lobby. “We can’t keep the judge waiting,” she murmured ominously.
Five minutes later, a young boy and his father pounded out of Judge Horner’s courtroom. The boy’s name was Louie. I’d seen him around town. He couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve, but he was notorious in a way—he had an unusual, piercing voice, like a dentist’s drill. Rather than keeping quiet, so as not to draw attention to the problem, he spent most of his time talking loudly, using his voice as if it were some kind of weapon with which to assault people.
Now, however, Louie was quiet. His head hung over his chest while his father—a big man, in work clothes and boots—guided him roughly down the corridor. I wondered what the boy had done.
“Hey! Lou-eee!” called out one of the hoods. But Louie’s eyes never left the floor.
Soon Josephine came to the courtroom door and waved us in. “What about Bunny?” I asked Mrs. O’Brien.
“I warned her,” she said. “We’ll manage.”
The courtroom looked far too big. At home, I’d heard Bunny and Tom talk of the “juvenile court,” and the words had always suggested something small and homey—something, in fact, on a scale with juveniles. But behind the heavy wood door, Judge Horner’s court spread out in vastness. Thin, dirt-speckled windows stretched far up the high walls. Two propeller-like ceiling fans turned slowly above our heads. Rows of empty seating, like pews, lined the floor, and at the front, the judge’s bench sat on a raised platform, backed by an American flag and a flag of Illinois. The Great Seal of Katydid County—a cow sniffing a corn tassle—hung from the wall. It frightened me to feel so dwarfed by the place, to have all that space devoted to me.
Down front, Sergeant Tony was sitting at a table. He looked up blankly as Mrs. O’Brien and I took seats at a table across from his. A few seconds later, a man in a suit and tie came in and sat beside Sergeant Tony. The man nodded a greeting to Mrs. O’Brien.
“Hello, Mr. Moon,” she said. Francis X. Moon is the prosecutor.
We sat for a few minutes, and then Josephine came out of a door in front and asked if we were ready. Mrs. O’Brien said Bunny wasn’t there yet. Josephine frowned and disappeared behind the door again. Sergeant Tony and Francis X. Moon whispered quietly together. Mrs. O’Brien just sat there, her hands folded on the table. I didn’t move at all. If only they had let me stay with Bunny, I thought, I could have got her here on time.
Finally, Josephine came out again. She stood on the platform in front and arched her back. “All rise,” she yelled, and we stood up. In marched the judge, a middle-aged man wearing a checkered sports jacket. He sat down and nodded at Mrs. O’Brien, without seeming to notice me. Then he turned to the two men.
“Heard anything yet?” he asked.
“They’re running tests,” said Mr. Moon. He spoke in a quick, eager voice. I’d been expecting something deeper. “They found some glass in the back seat, maybe from a bottle. But then, there was glass all over.”
“Did we have him?” the judge asked. “I think I remember the name.”
Mr. Moon looked at Sergeant Tony. “No, your honor,” the officer said. “I don’t believe I ever picked him up. You may be thinking of his cousin, Kurt Cooper.”
“Yes, Kurt Cooper,” said the judge. “Setting fires?”
“Stealing batteries.”
“Little guy? Father was chewing a toothpick.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Oh, yeah,” Judge Horner said. “Cooper.”
“We can’t quite figure out how it happened,” said Mr. Moon.
“Drag racing?” asked the judge.
“Not likely. They drag race out on that flat stretch on Thompson Road, near the old McIntyre farm. This happened along that big curve, just before the Stewart place.”
“Oh, I know where you mean. There’s a line of trees there on the right.”
“That’s what’s strange. The utility pole is off the road. Cooper managed to fly through the trees without hitting one. You and I couldn’t push a wheelbarrow through there without bumping a tree, and yet this kid tears right through, missing every tree, and then hits the pole head on.”
“Incredible,” said the judge, shaking his head.
The men went on talking about the accident. Separately, each had driven past Kuhn’s Garage to inspect the wreck, and Sergeant Tony had gone out to Willow Road to measure skid marks. Listening to their conversation, I thought of the c
ampfire scenes from the old war movies that Tom loved to watch. The three of them seemed to take the accident personally, as if these were perilous times we lived in, and they were all slightly heroic for having survived as long as they did.
In the midst of their conversation, the courtroom door banged open, and I heard a familiar click-clicking coming down the aisle. It was Bunny, in high heels. She slid into a chair beside me. “Why don’t they put something down on these floors?” she asked in a loud whisper. “I nearly broke my neck sliding around.” Still ignoring Mrs. O’Brien, Bunny straightened up and stared at the judge. She looked wonderful, bright and sleek in her candy-stripe red dress.
“Hello, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner.
“Hello, Judge.”
“Here we are again.” He smiled weakly.
Bunny stayed stonily silent.
“How’s your boy?” he asked.
“You know.”
“He graduated from this court some time ago.”
“He didn’t get a fair chance.”
“I’m sorry to hear you feel that way,” said the judge. He turned away, but his eyes seemed to trail behind, as if reluctant to leave Bunny. “Well, let’s get on with it, Frank,” he said to the prosecutor. “What have we got?”
Mr. Moon stood and handed a sheaf of papers to the judge. Then he stepped over and gave one sheet to Bunny. At the top, it said, In re: M.C. Before I could read it, Bunny folded the paper into a small square and put it in her pocketbook.
Mr. Moon started to explain what the case was about, but Judge Horner waved him silent. The judge put on a pair of glasses and examined the papers. Bunny leaned over and put her mouth close to my ear. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s gonna be all right.”
“How do you know?” I whispered.
“I can feel.”
Judge Horner finished, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I don’t quite understand, Frank. She’s found there in the bedroom with the boy, right? That’s not a crime. I mean, we don’t encourage boys and girls to get undressed in front of each other, but that doesn’t mean we need to take up the time of the juvenile court with it.”
Mr. Moon bounced up. “Your honor, the boy was nine years old. She was his babysitter.”
“Nine? Does it say that in here?” The judge looked over the documents again.
“I believe so, your honor, on the first page—”
“Yeah. ‘Butcher Benedict, nine years old.’ Hmmm. I missed that.” The judge moved his arm to scratch his head and the sleeve of his jacket scattered the papers on his desk. “Still, there’s got to be some underlying crime,” he said. “Unless you’re saying she’s a truant, or in need of supervision, which I don’t see here, you need a crime for a delinquency petition. You can’t just run her in for playing doctor.”
Bunny couldn’t restrain herself. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along. There’s no crime. It’s all made up.”
“Please, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner. Mrs. O’Brien reached over me to pat Bunny on the leg, but Bunny pushed her hand away.
“Lewd and lascivious conduct,” said Sergeant Tony. “That’s the underlying crime.”
“Does that statute still exist?” asked the judge.
“It’s got to be public conduct for lewd and lascivious,” said Mr. Moon.
Sergeant Tony glared at the prosecutor. “It was public,” Sergeant Tony said. “It was in front of someone.”
“A bedroom’s not public,” said the judge.
“Your honor,” said Mr. Moon, “I’ve already got a call from Father Wennington on this case. He’s upset.”
“So?” said the judge. The two men stared at each other.
“Well, contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” said Mr. Moon. “That’s the crime.”
Judge Horner sat back. “But she’s a minor, too, isn’t she? At least for some purposes.”
“Doesn’t make any difference. Under the statute—”
“Do you have the statute?”
“Not in front of me.”
Judge Horner turned to Josephine. “Get the code book,” he said. She hurried out of the courtroom. “This is very interesting, gentlemen,” said the judge, smiling. “We may have a case of first impression here.”
While we waited for Josephine to come back, Sergeant Tony started whispering to Mr. Moon again. The prosecutor’s brown suit hung lifelessly on his small shoulders, and strands of his thinning, black hair were combed over a bald spot on the top of his head. Sergeant Tony, making a point, jabbed a finger at him. Mr. Moon nodded. “Can we approach the bench?” he asked the judge.
Judge Horner said yes and the two men walked up, draping their arms over the front of the desk. The three of them talked quietly. Only an occasional hiss from Mr. Moon, who has a slight lisp, rose above the low murmuring.
“Why does everyone have to whisper?” Bunny asked in a loud voice.
I put my finger to my lips, and she groaned.
Josephine returned with the book. The three men looked at it, then sent her out again. Soon she returned with another. They studied that one. After a while, they called Mrs. O’Brien up to the bench. For a time, the four of them talked in whispers. Josephine stood silently to the side, listening. Occasionally, she’d look over at Bunny and me. Once, our eyes met, and she turned casually back to the group.
I remembered one time, years ago, when Tom came back from a court date, and I asked him what had happened. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “How could you not know?” I demanded. “You’re not supposed to know,” he said. Later, that became a kind of joke for him. I’d ask what’s for dinner. “You’re not supposed to know,” he’d say.
Finally, an agreement was reached. They all came back to their seats. Mrs. O’Brien sat down without looking at me, but, beneath the table, I felt her hand tapping my knee—a sign, I took, that things were all right.
Judge Horner continued to study the code book for a few seconds. Above his head, a ceiling fan spun listlessly, moving the air just enough to ripple the pages. He seemed to be looking over the book the way you sometimes read an encyclopedia—dipping in after a particular entry, but then hopping around, testing other subjects that happen to catch your eye. He apparently didn’t care that all of us were waiting, and he certainly didn’t seem about to pronounce anything serious.
Finally, he closed the book and put it aside. “Well, here we are,” he said, glancing down at the documents on his desk. “This is J56–129, In re: M.C. I’m satisfied, after careful consideration, that there are grounds for the county to get involved here. I can’t imagine that this incident with the Benedict boy would have happened if the girl had been properly brought up at home. I’m not saying that I’m convinced yet that she’s not getting adequate supervision—or, should I say, the right kind of supervision. But I’m satisfied that Mr. Moon has made the preliminary case. We’ll have a full hearing in two weeks and just see what’s here. In the meantime, I think everyone will benefit—particularly you, Mrs. Calhoun—if Martha continues her residence with the foster family, the Vernon family. It will be useful just to get everyone apart to study this thing carefully, and a foster family is certainly less severe than the Home. Of course, Mrs. Calhoun, you’ll have unlimited visiting rights, provided you don’t make a nuisance of yourself. Mrs. O’Brien, you’ll work up a psychological evaluation of the respondent. And do a social history of the family, if you would.” He picked up a small pack of papers and flapped them in the air. “I’ve got one here, but it’s four years old. The girl only gets one sentence.” He dropped the papers. “I suppose the father is still out of the picture?”
Mrs. O’Brien looked at Bunny. Bunny’s head was sunk in her shoulders, and her eyes were glassy; she wasn’t looking at anything.
“He’s long gone,” said Sergeant Tony.
“Well, all right,” said the judge. “Anyway, you’ll work that stuff up, Mrs. O’Brien, and Frank, you’ll amend the petition in accorda
nce with our discussions.” He paused. “Now, I understand there was a problem interviewing the girl, that Mrs. Calhoun wouldn’t cooperate.”
“I think that’s all cleared up now,” said Mrs. O’Brien.
“Good.”
The room was silent. The judge’s voice was echoing around inside my head. I understood what he’d said, but the words he was using—words like “social history,” “evaluation,” “respondent”—didn’t seem as if they could possibly apply to me. They were from another world, and I was still only a child, I was Bunny’s little girl. Sitting there in that stiff, wood, courtroom chair, I felt tiny and innocent, the way I used to feel when I’d have a sore throat, or a stomachache, and Bunny would take me to Dr. Baker’s office and put me up on the cold, leathery sofa in the waiting room, my legs sticking out high above the floor. There were medical magazines on a low, corner table, and Bunny and I would look through them together, studying the illustrations of the diseases. Some of the pictures were hideous, but they were never frightening. They were from another world, and snuggled up under Bunny’s arm, I felt perfect and safe in the world I knew.
“Have you ever been to juvenile court before?” Judge Horner asked me.
“No.”
“Never came down with your brother?”
“No.”
“He ever tell you about it?”
I shook my head.
“And your mother—”
I interrupted him by shaking my head again.
He frowned and looked down, overacting to convey his seriousness. “Let me say a few words, then.” He started giving a little speech about the history and purpose of the juvenile court. “We offer you a second chance,” he kept repeating. He sounded bored, spinning off the neat, practiced sentences with no enthusiasm and little energy. As he spoke, he arranged the papers in front of him into a careful pile. He was talking to me, so I kept my eyes on him, but, beside me, I sensed Bunny starting to fidget. Finally, the judge noticed. “What is it, Mrs. Calhoun?” he asked.
“Can I say something?” she said.
“Of course. What is it?”
“I can explain all this.” She waved her hand, as if to indicate Mrs. O’Brien, Mr. Moon, the whole courtroom.
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