by Selena Kitt
Leah looked around the courtroom, searching for Grace—there were lots of babies and children in the room, more than she’d expected—but the lawyer had reminded her of their tactics. Donald told them they would likely try to stall and give reasons, even if the judge deemed her a fit parent, why Grace couldn’t be handed over right away.
“They aren’t above lying,” they lawyer had assured them. “We will just have to be persistent. So don’t expect to take your baby home from the courtroom tomorrow.”
When she didn’t see her baby anywhere, Leah rested her head on Rob’s shoulder, watching things unfold, cases called. Some adoptions were being finalized, and adoptive parents cried and hugged their new family members when the judge brought his gavel down, giving them forever-rights to their adoptive child, and every time, Leah winced. She couldn’t help but wonder about the baby’s mother. Had she really wanted to give her baby away, she wondered? Had she been too scared to speak up? Had she been told, like Leah had, that she didn’t have anything to offer a child?
Had she been tricked, lied to, treated like dirt? Less than dirt, really, more like an object, a baby machine, useless once its job was complete. And the irony was, it was all legal. The lawyer had explained, the church couldn’t ask adoptive parents for money directly in exchange for a baby according to the law, but they really didn’t have to. They just had to make the suggestion that the “standard donation” was $20,000, and desperate, infertile parents would pay it. More, upwards of $50,000 depending on their requests—if, for example, they wanted a boy, or a specific hair or eye color, or a mother whose hobbies included playing the piano or singing or whose parents were doctors or lawyers or other professions.
That was the reason they had all been asked to fill out those endless questionnaires, why the ghoul had kept asking and asking and asking, “Who is your baby’s father? What does he do? What do his parents do?” The more information they had, the more valuable the baby became, the more money they could ask for in “donations.”
“Leah, it’s you,” Rob whispered, giving her a gentle nudge, and she looked up, seeing Donald waiting expectantly near the witness box.
She stood and made her way down the row, past her mother and Erica and Clay, who smiled encouragingly at her. Donald Highbrow waved her into the witness seat and Leah approached on shaky legs, grateful to take a seat, even if it meant she was right next to the judge, who was a stern looking man with gray hair and half-moon glasses that he peered over to look at her.
Leah put her hand on a Bible and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, and that’s exactly what she did. Donald smiled a lot, putting her at ease, and she found it effortless to answer his questions, letting him build his case, layer by layer. Yes, she had been a resident at Magdalene House because she was an unwed mother at the time. Yes, she had intended to give her baby up for adoption because she felt she had no other choice, but after the baby was born, she changed her mind and wanted to keep her.
Once that had been established, Donald painted a picture with a deft lawyer’s brush, and with simple strokes, he showed her as bright, competent, talented young woman, getting her to mention her invitation to audition for the American School of Ballet. He clearly made the point that she was now a married woman, in fact married to the father of her child, who was a very successful and well-known photographer. He established that they had a stable environment in which to raise the child and a network of support in the community, including a solid relationship with the Catholic Church.
The judge nodded, writing things down and even smiling at her occasionally when she dared to look his way. It seemed to be going so perfectly, Leah couldn’t believe it. She tried to remind herself, Donald had warned her not to get too excited, not to anticipate what might happen, but after her lawyer’s questioning had gone so well, she couldn’t help it.
Then the lawyer for the state got up to cross-examine her.
Leah took a deep breath, looking at the kindly man who approached the bench. He was an older man, probably in his fifties, maybe sixties, and he introduced himself to her as Frank Talley, “But you can call me Frank,” he assured her with a wink. He wore a brown suit and a yellow tie, and when he smiled at her, his teeth matched his tie. He wore glasses that made his eyes appear much larger, making Leah think of a fish. How bad could this be, she mused, watching him look at his notes on the legal pad in his hand.
His questions weren’t any harder than Donald’s. He wasn’t mean, he didn’t badger her like her lawyer had during their practice. His questions were asked in a non-threatening way. In fact, he seemed to sympathize with her when she told him about her breakdown, how much she missed her baby, how she woke up at night sometimes, thinking she heard her cry.
“Does that still happen, dear?” Frank asked kindly, leaning on the edge of the witness box.
Leah nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “Sometimes.”
He seemed very interested when she told him she felt as if she was being followed around all the time, like there was a shadow behind her she couldn’t quite catch, a ghost-baby in the house.
Whenever she looked away from him—up to the judge or over to where her family was sitting, or to where Donald sat in front of them—Frank would redirect her, smiling and dropping a wink, saying, “I’m right here, Dear. Can you focus on me? Good girl. There we go. Hi there! Are you back? There you are!”
It made Leah laugh, the way he did that, and then he would continue his questions. He had a lot of them written down on that yellow legal pad.
Even when he asked her about the altercation at Hudson’s, he didn’t get angry or confrontational. He was very interested when she told him that “everything went black” when the argument started, and that she couldn’t remember much about the actual argument itself.
“But I’m very sorry,” Leah interjected before he could ask anything else. “I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just wanted to know where my baby is, that’s all.”
“I understand, Dear.” Frank even patted her hand where she was clutching the railing in front of her.
When she sat back down next to Rob, she smiled up at him and whispered, “That was easier than I thought it would be.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded, putting his arm around her shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. She couldn’t understand why they all looked the way they did, her mother and Erica and even Clay—like someone had died and they were attending a funeral.
Then Frank asked the ghoul to take the stand and Leah watched her world crumble around her ears. She thought they’d been playing the game perfectly, but the ghoul, with Frank’s help, created a sudden tornado that knocked down their house of cards.
The Frank who had cross-examined Leah disappeared. That kindly, sympathetic old gentlemen became a direct, confident lawyer, asking the ghoul questions about her experience of Leah at Magdalene House—“rebellious, defiant, clearly sexually deviant”—and after Grace’s birth—“depressed, belligerent, anxious.” He asked her matter-of-factly about the assault—that’s what he called it, “the assault,” and he kept calling it that, saying it so many times Leah lost count—detailing her injury, asking her about the diagnosis and treatment, whether or not the doctor said she would be permanently disfigured.
Donald objected—“Hearsay, your honor!”—and that was sustained, so Frank started asking the ghoul, in her “professional opinion,” what kind of person assaults an elderly woman in such a way? Donald objected to that too, but the judge allowed it, saying the witness was, after all, a professional and it spoke to the point. So Leah had to sit there and listen to the ghoul throw out diagnosis after diagnosis—neurosis, borderline, depression—doing just what Donald said they would do, proving to everyone that Leah was unfit to be Grace’s mother, she was unfit to be anyone’s mother, and the more they talked, the more she started to believe them herself. Frank asked the ghoul if she believed a psychological evaluation was warranted, and of
course the ghoul recommended one be done immediately, because Leah just wasn’t a danger to herself and others she knew, she was a much bigger danger to “society at large.”
Leah looked at the judge, who had been smiling before, but not anymore. By the time Donald got up to cross-examine the ghoul, Leah felt so small she was sure she was invisible next to her husband, whose jaw was working again. She could hear his teeth grinding. But of course there was nothing they could but sit there, sit there and wait for them to nail the coffin shut and seal her in.
It didn’t seem to matter what Donald asked, the woman was as slippery as a fish.
“Mrs. Goulden, I didn’t ask you your opinion of Mrs. Nolan’s mental state, I asked you where her baby had been placed.”
“As you know, that information is confidential.”
The ghoul looked bored, Leah thought. No, not quite bored—she looked like she had better things to be doing than being cross-examined by Donald Highbrow.
“It’s only confidential after the adoption has been finalized.” Donald corrected her with a wag of his finger. “Until the mother has signed over her rights, she is allowed visitation. Was Mrs. Nolan informed of her rights to visit her child?”
“In my opinion, Mrs. Nolan isn’t fit to visit her child.” The ghoul sneered, emphasizing the Mrs. in Mrs. Nolan as if Leah was misrepresenting herself as a married woman. “She’s a danger to herself and others. I have the scars under here to prove it.”
The ghoul tore off her bandage and, as if on cue, the whole courtroom gasped. It felt so staged and dramatic to Leah, she wondered if the ghoul and Frank had planned it somehow. Not that it mattered. Leah sank down further in her seat, feeling everyone’s eyes on her.
“She could have blinded me, you know!” the ghoul snapped, tossing the bandage aside.
“Again, I didn’t ask your opinion of Mrs. Nolan’s mental state.” Donald ignored the woman’s drama, not looking at her but at the judge. “Can you please direct the witness to answer the question, Judge Solomon?”
The judge frowned at the ghoul, leaning over and asking, “Mrs. Goulden, where is the baby now?”
The ghoul touched her cheek, which was healing, Leah saw, just in the two days since their altercation. Erica said there was a lot of blood and there were gouges on the woman’s face—she made it sound like mincemeat—but from where Leah was sitting, it didn’t look that bad. Like surface scratches made from fingernails maybe.
The ghoul sighed and relented, looking up at the judge. “We placed her in foster care at our facility on the other side of the state. She needed special care, Your Honor. We believe she’s exhibiting signs of her mother having some sort of drug habit. The doctor’s aren’t sure.”
Leah had had enough. She sat bolt upright, protesting out loud, “That’s not true!”
Judge Solomon frowned, glancing in her direction. “Mrs. Nolan, please be seated.”
Leah leaned forward, feeling Rob’s hand on her shoulder. “Your honor I’ve never even smoked a cigarette!”
“Enough!” The judge banged his gavel, making her jump. “So help me, you will be held in contempt! Do you understand?”
She nodded, too afraid to speak, shrinking down against her husband’s side.
“Mrs. Nolan—do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Leah croaked, clearing her throat and repeating it. “Yes, Judge. I’m sorry.”
Donald gave her a stern look too and Leah felt her mother’s hand in hers, squeezing, reassuring, as the questioning resumed.
“Did you or did you not inform Mrs. Nolan of her rights.”
“All the girls at Magdalene House are informed,” the ghoul snapped. “They sign a statement of rights upon their admission. It’s kept in their file.”
“Did you read Mrs. Nolan those rights?”
The ghoul looked directly at Leah. “It would be Mrs. Nolan’s responsibility to do so.”
“So you don’t know if Mrs. Nolan read the statement of rights?”
The ghoul threw up her hands. “She signed a statement of rights. It’s in her file. Would you like to see it?”
“No, thank you, I’ve seen it. Mr. Talley was kind enough to send me a copy.” Donald leaned against the railing of the witness box, like they were just having a conversation, asking, “Did you tell Mrs. Nolan that she had six months to change her mind?”
The ghoul rebuffed him. “That information is in the statement of rights.”
“Did you inform Mrs. Nolan that her baby had already been promised to an adoptive couple?”
“No I did not.”
Leah gaped at her. Now she wasn’t just avoiding his questions. That was a flat out lie. She felt her mother squeeze her hand again, a warning, and she looked down at her lap, trying to keep from jumping out of her seat again.
“Did you tell Mrs. Nolan that she would be responsible for the hospital bills, and that she would have to pay them before she would be allowed to leave with her baby?”
“Of course not.”
Another lie.
“Did you tell Mrs. Nolan that there was social assistance available to her if she wanted to keep her baby?”
“That information is in the statement of rights.”
“Of course, you said that.” Donald gave a nod, turning as if he was done, and then turning back again. “Did you happen to give a copy of those rights to Mrs. Nolan?”
“They’re in her file.”
“So you said, but did she get a copy?” Donald asked. “She’s an adult, she can sign a legally binding contract. Did you give her a copy of that contract?”
“I’m sure I did.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Donald nodded. “Was Mrs. Nolan offered independent legal counsel to explain the legal document to her and protect her rights? Was she informed of the legal ramifications of what she was signing?”
The ghoul blinked at him. “Mrs. Nolan is an adult, as you said, Mr. Highbrow.”
“Being an adult doesn’t exclude you from having the right to legal counsel.”
“We don’t provide legal counsel,” the ghoul replied. “It would be up to Mrs. Nolan to retain legal counsel, if she wanted it.”
“Was legal counsel present when Mrs. Nolan signed the adoption agreement?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else present? Any witnesses?”
“No.”
“Did you inform Mrs. Nolan of what she was signing?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t tell her she was signing hospital discharge papers?”
“No, of course not.”
Donald nodding, satisfied. “Thank you, Mrs. Goulden. You may step down.”
When the ghoul passed them, smirking and triumphant, Leah squeezed her mother’s hand so hard she left crescent shaped marks on her poor palm from her nails.
“I’d like to call Rebecca Daley to the stand, your honor.”
Leah looked at Rob, her brows drawn together. She had no idea who that was, and from the confused look on his face, he didn’t either. Why hadn’t the lawyer told them about her?
Someone passed them on the left, approaching the witness stand, and Leah watched the girl walk, something familiar about her, but she wasn’t sure what. When Rebecca took the stand, sitting in the witness box and putting her hand on the Bible, Leah’s jaw dropped, looking over at Erica, and her sister grinned, giving her a thumbs-up.
Elizabeth.
They were all assigned fake names at Magdalene House, and the nuns reused everything, including their names, so there was always a new Jean or a new Lily moving in. After little Lizzie—Carolyn—had given birth, a new Elizabeth had arrived, a haughty girl that no one liked with dark, short bobbed hair and a scandalous rose tattoo on her thigh.
It was that rose tattoo that had allowed Leah to identify her at the Mary Magdalene ritual, strapped on the cross beside Erica, dressed in red instead of white, her belly huge. She was due right around the same time as Le
ah, and had given birth after the ritual, she remembered, maybe a day or two before Leah had gone into labor with Grace.
But what in the world could she contribute here, to Donald’s case? Leah had no idea, and she watched, they all did, as Donald questioned his new witness, establishing her history, that she lived in Ann Arbor and attended catholic school there, she was the daughter of a prominent local politician, and she had been at Magdalene House with Leah, sharing a room with her at the house for a brief time.
“You shared another room with Mrs. Nolan, didn’t you, Rebecca?”
“Only for a few hours,” she said. “I was supposed to go home, but I spiked a fever and the doctors wouldn’t release me. They’d already filled my private room, so they put me in one of the other rooms until they could get me a new one.”
“So you were in the same room as Mrs. Nolan?”
“Yes. There were lots of other girls too. I think they had ten of us crowded in there. It was… deplorable.” Rebecca wrinkled her nose in distaste and Leah remembered why they hadn’t liked the “new Elizabeth” much when she arrived. She always got special treatment, but now that Leah knew who her father was, it made much more sense.
“So where were you, in relation to Mrs. Nolan?”
“I was in the bed next to her.”
Leah blinked in disbelief. It must have only been a few hours—she didn’t remember Elizabeth—Rebecca—being there at all. But she did remember the curtain next to her being closed. She assumed the girl next to her just wanted privacy to feed her baby.
“Did you know Mrs. Nolan?” Donald asked.
“Only as Lily. And I was Elizabeth. They gave us fake names.” She wrinkled her pretty, pert nose at that too. “But I knew who she was. We stayed in the same room at Magdalene House.”