Hope's Daughter

by Joani Ascher

  “You’ve said that before,” said Prescott, looking very tired.

  “I want to be sure you understand.”

  “I do. I just want this to be over with.”

  “We have a way to go,” said the attorney, picking up his hat. “And court will reconvene soon. Let’s go.”

  Anne, wearing a pale gray suit with a light blue flowered scarf around her throat, looked poised, calm, and like a million dollars on the stand. “I met Jane in 1940, when she worked for Mr. Weaver. She took over his business when he went overseas, so that he wouldn’t have to give it up. She was always very competent.”

  “Did you become friends?”

  “Not then. But we became good friends a few years later, around 1948. She is a wonderful woman, loyal, caring, and considerate. She is also a wonderful mother.”

  “Did you know Martin at the time of his wife’s death, Mrs. Lewis?”

  “I did. He was not much of a father. And I knew, after Olivia, uh, died, that he had abandoned his child again.”

  “No more questions.”

  The prosecutor got eagerly to his feet. Jane saw Anne sit up a little straighter as if preparing herself.

  “You said you knew Miss Baldwin when she worked for Mr. Weaver. Was that when you and your first husband had business at his office?”

  “Yes.”

  “And later, after you became friends with Miss Baldwin, your husband left you, isn’t that true?”

  Anne looked shocked. In a quietly indignant voice, she said, “It certainly was not Jane’s fault.”

  “But it had to do with her son, correct?”

  “No, it had to do with my—our daughter.”

  “But you knew Miss Baldwin’s son, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there was something wrong with him, wasn’t there?”

  Anne didn’t speak right away. The prosecutor looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry to have to ask you such difficult questions, but it is important. Was there something wrong with little—” He checked the papers in his hand. “Zachary?”

  “Some people might have thought so.”

  “He was a mongoloid idiot, wasn’t he?”

  Anne sat straighter and was obviously gritting her teeth. “He had what is now called Down syndrome.”

  “So he wasn’t normal, correct?”

  “He was a wonderful child,” Anne cried. “He was sweet, thoughtful, and kind.” She gulped. “My daughter was the same way.”

  The faces on the jurors showed pity and in some cases, revulsion. Jane trembled.

  The prosecutor seemed to have no regard for Anne’s feelings. “The little boy passed away, right?” he said, in an accusing tone.

  Anne’s face became pinched, and Jane saw tears in her eyes. “Yes.”

  “So she wanted to replace her baby with Ellen Roche.”

  “No! Certainly not. She wanted to take care of her sister’s child.”

  “Please just answer the questions,” said the prosecutor. “Did her grief over losing her child, and then her sister, lead her to want to adopt Ellen?”

  “You’re twisting everything.”

  “I’m not twisting anything. She wanted a baby and Prescott Weaver bought her one. Isn’t that the truth?”

  “She didn’t know anything about his gift.”

  “Oh, so the baby was a present?”

  “No! You’re changing everything I say to make it sound bad.”

  “Do you think people should be allowed to buy and sell babies?”

  “No. Martin sold his baby, but Jane did not buy her.”

  The prosecutor looked at the jury. “She couldn’t afford to, so Mr. Weaver did it for her.” As Mr. Atherton rose to his feet to object, the prosecutor turned to the judge, a disgusted look on his face. “I have no more questions for this witness.” He went back to the prosecution table and sat down, looking satisfied.

  Mr. Atherton rose for redirect. “Don’t,” said Prescott. “Prove it some other way. Just let her get off that stand.”

  “Nothing at this time, your honor.”

  Anne stood, shaking, and Mr. Atherton helped her off the stand. She did not stop when she passed Jane; she just went out of the courtroom. Jane wanted more than anything to go after her, to tell her it was all right, but she could not leave. Not now, when Mrs. McGill was taking her place on the stand.

  Mr. Atherton strode purposefully to Mrs. McGill. “You have known Mrs. Weaver for a long time, haven’t you?”

  She tugged at the bow at the neck of her polka-dot dress. “She and her sister moved into my building in the late thirties.”

  “And you were close with them?”

  “Yes, I felt I had to watch over them, since they were both so young. But Jane did a wonderful job with Olivia and saw that she was properly cared for.”

  “And you saw how Mr. Roche treated his wife?”

  “I not only saw how he hurt her, I could hear it. All the neighbors could.” She dropped her voice. “At night…”

  Mr. Atherton let the significance of what Mrs. McGill could not say settle on the courtroom. He coughed, then he continued. “Was he around much after the baby was born?”

  “He disappeared when he found out she was a girl, and he didn’t come home for a week.”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.” The judge admonished Mrs. McGill to confine her answers to the questions.

  “Miss Baldwin saw that her sister was ill after the baby was born, correct?”

  “Yes. She was very worried. So was the doctor.”

  “And you tried to help out, correct?”

  “Yes. I knew how sick she was, because I checked on her many times a day.”

  “And when Mrs. Olivia Roche died, Mr. Roche left without saying where he was going?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t surprised. He’s a nogoodnik.”

  “Your witness,” said Atherton.

  The prosecutor approached Mrs. McGill slowly, as if conceding what she had said. “It sounds like you took good care of the Baldwin sisters. They were lucky to have you, weren’t they?”

  Mrs. McGill swelled with pride. “They were good girls.”

  “Would you consider a young lady who got pregnant out of wedlock to be a good girl?”

  Shock at such a question registered on Mrs. McGill’s face. “Jane told me she was married.”

  “But you learned since that it was not true, correct?”

  With an apologetic look at Jane, Mrs. McGill said, “I understand how it happened. She was naive. I met that scoundrel who got her pregnant, and I can understand how she was lured in.”

  “So she wasn’t the paragon of virtue that her lawyer wants us to believe she was, was she?”

  Mrs. McGill fixed him with a withering look. “You are mistaken. She is a wonderful woman. I was close to her for years, taking care of Ellen while she worked, until she married Mr. Weaver, and she never did one single thing wrong.”

  “Oh, so once she got married, she no longer needed your help and she fired you?” The prosecutor looked at the jury as if to invite their understanding of how this poor woman was used and tossed away.

  “No, she did not. Jane didn’t need me to be there for Ellen anymore.”

  “She got married and sent her beloved daughter away to boarding school?” said the prosecutor, sending another knowing look at the jury. “Was she trying to get her out of the picture so she could be alone with her new husband, the one who bought her Ellen in the first place, to replace the child she had lost?”

  Mrs. McGill burst into tears. “You have it all wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.” The prosecutor walked away from the witness box. “I think I understand perfectly.”

  Jane leaned forward and whispered to Mr. Atherton. “I insisted on paying her—she didn’t want the money.”

  Mr. Atherton returned to Mrs. McGill’s side and handed her his handkerchief. “Were you employed by Jane Baldwin?”

  “No, of course not. I he
lped her out. But she insisted on giving me money for taking care of Ellen, because she felt it was such a big favor. I would have done it for free. I love that child as if she were my own granddaughter.”

  “She calls you Grandma, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Atherton turned to stare at the prosecutor. “The state brought up the subject of Miss Baldwin’s son. You knew him?”

  “Yes. And I admired her for her strength, for the way she loved him, despite what was wrong with him. No mother could have been more devoted than Jane to her children. And I mean both of them. Ellen is hers as much as little Z.Z. was.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McGill. No more questions.”

  Mrs. McGill smiled at Jane as she went past. Jane smiled back as best she could, because it was now her turn to take the stand.

  ****

  Jane had never felt so nervous in all her life. She stared out at the gallery, where Anne and Mrs. McGill now sat in front of a row of stone-faced reporters. But the most important people in the room, Ellen and Prescott, gave her reassuring smiles.

  “Mrs. Weaver,” said Mr. Atherton. “A lot has been said in this courtroom today. Would you tell us, in your own words, about the circumstances surrounding your attempts to adopt Ellen?”

  Jane explained as best she could, carefully selecting her words and remembering how Mr. Atherton had said to present it. “Mr. Roche asked me for money. I didn’t have it.”

  “And what did you think when you found out that Mr. Weaver had given the money to Mr. Roche?”

  “It was years before I learned of it. At first I was shocked that he even knew about the circumstances, and then at his generosity. He never told me about it, and certainly he did not expect anything in return. But when I did find out, accidentally, I went to thank him.”

  “Did he ask you for anything at that time?”

  “No. He did not.”

  Mr. Atherton looked at his notes. “Mrs. Weaver, did a physician attend your sister when she was ill?”

  “Yes. Dr. Mann took care of her.”

  “And did he tell you to keep Martin away from his wife while she was recovering, during the time after her hospitalization?”

  “Objection, your honor. That calls for hearsay evidence.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Exception to the rule, please, your honor. Dr. Mann is deceased,” said Mr. Atherton. “He cannot testify.”

  “You will have to make your case another way then,” said the judge.

  Mr. Atherton shook his head. “No more questions of this witness.”

  The prosecutor approached. “Mrs. Weaver, your husband was married to another woman at that time, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you think he owed his loyalty to her?”

  “Of course. He had no relationship with me at that time.”

  “This court has already heard that you were not above having a relationship out of wedlock. Did you expect to have one with Mr. Weaver, for whom you had worked, saving his business for him, once you found out about his payment? Or did you think he bought Ellen for you out of gratitude for your work during the war?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained. Withdrawn.” The prosecutor came over to Jane and apologized. “We’re all tense,” he said. “There is a lot at stake.”

  Jane did not comment.

  “Your reputation is not what is in question here,” the prosecutor continued. “Mr. Weaver’s actions are on trial. Did you think what he did was legal?”

  “I didn’t know about it at first,” Jane reminded the prosecutor. “And he did not buy Ellen. He merely gave Martin the money he requested.”

  “He gave him more than what was asked from you. So that he would leave you alone. What did you think about that?”

  “To be honest, I thought it was a blessing. You do not know what kind of man Martin Roche is.”

  “He is not on trial,” the prosecutor said coldly. “No more questions.”

  ****

  “Mr. Weaver,” said Atherton, when Prescott had taken the stand. “Would you please tell the court, in your own words, what transpired between you and Mr. Roche?”

  Prescott took a deep breath. He had seen how upset his wife and stepdaughter had become over Martin’s testimony. He did not want them to be hurt any further. As carefully as he could, he explained about his meeting with Martin.

  Atherton did not interrupt. When he was finished, he asked, “And why did you offer him the money?”

  “Because I knew Jane couldn’t pay him what he wanted, and even if she could, I thought he would be back for more. That was why I stipulated that if he wanted the money, he would have to stay away from Jane and Ellen.”

  “I understand that, but what I want to know is why did you intervene in the first place?”

  “Because I knew what a terrible situation it was. Jane’s sister had died and Mr. Roche had abandoned the baby a second time—”

  “Did you say a second time?”

  “Yes. When his wife, Olivia, was hospitalized, he took the baby to his mother. But he gave no support and never visited. So when Olivia died, Jane wanted to adopt Ellen and give her a stable home.”

  “Were you having a relationship with Jane at that time?”

  “No. I was married to another woman. I had no contact with Jane at all.”

  “So how did you know about this?”

  “Her friend, Anne Lewis, told me. I kept up with Jane’s welfare through her friend.”

  “You said you were married to someone else at the time. Why did you want to know about Jane?”

  Prescott turned his head away from the attorney. He looked directly at Jane. “Because I loved her. I was only fooling myself when I thought I could marry someone else and forget her. I spent years watching over her, and then Ellen, from afar. I’ve always, only, wanted what was best for them.”

  Jane bit her lip.

  Atherton turned to the judge. “No more questions, your honor.”

  The prosecutor rose and took his place in front of the witness stand. Prescott felt such resentment for the man he wondered how he could contain his temper. But a look at his attorney reminded him of the extreme importance of doing so.

  “Mr. Weaver,” said the prosecutor, “you’ve admitted to this court that you paid Mr. Roche twenty thousand dollars to give up his parental rights.” He held up photostatic copies of the checks Martin had accepted. “And is there a written stipulation on each that he must never see his child again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you realize your threats were against the law?”

  “I never threatened to harm him. It was best for the child. He just wanted the money.”

  Martin stood up and shouted, “He said he’d make it so I could never get a job in this town. It’s no wonder I had to turn to crime.”

  The judge banged his gavel. “Order!”

  Banging his gavel again, the judge admonished the spectators who were noisily talking among themselves to remain quiet. He looked at the prosecutor. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “Nothing further, your honor.”

  Atherton stood at the defense table. “Did Mr. Roche ask you and your wife for more money recently?”

  “Objection, your honor,” said the prosecutor. “Mr. Roche’s behavior is not the issue here.”

  “Your honor,” said Atherton, “the accuser in this case should not be above having his actions questioned.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. He looked at Prescott. “You may respond.”

  “Yes. He told both of us that he would ruin us if we didn’t give it to him. I refused. I will not let him threaten my family.”

  Prescott was dismissed and resumed his seat in front of Jane. “It being four-thirty,” said the judge, “this court is adjourned. I’ll listen to closing statements on Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I’m sorry,” said Mr. Ath
erton, when they met at his office on Saturday morning. “But we may have a problem.”

  Prescott turned a tired face to his attorney. “You think we’re going to lose, don’t you?”

  “I think some of the testimony was damaging. The district attorney made it look like it substantiated at least some of Martin’s claims.”

  “Aren’t there any other witnesses we can bring in to clear up the confusion?” Jane asked.

  “The only other witness on either list was Mrs. Roche. I don’t think it’s likely she’d help our case.”

  Jane looked from one face to another. “What should we do?”

  “I’m going to have to write a terrific closing statement,” said Mr. Atherton. “And I will be meeting with several of my colleagues to get that done. We’ll have the best legal minds in New York working on this.”

  “Let’s go home,” Prescott said, standing. “If this is our last weekend together before I go to jail, I want it to be special.”

  “You go home,” said Jane, once they were outside in the corridor. “I have something I must do.” She put her hand on her beloved husband’s forehead, smoothing his furrowed brow. “I’ll try to get home quickly.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No. Go home to Ellen. She’s isolated herself from all her friends. Talk about what we’ll be doing out on Long Island as soon as this mess is over.” She did not have to say, “If.”

  Prescott put his arms around Jane. “I’m going to miss you so.”

  “If I can help it, you won’t get a chance to.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and disentangled herself. “Let me get going, so I can come home faster.”

  As soon as she was outside, she hailed a cab and had it take her to the Bronx.

  ****

  Mrs. Roche appeared to have shrunk since Jane last saw her, but the nurses gave assurances that she was improving. “It’s good of you to come see me,” the elderly woman said, sitting up in her hospital bed. “But where is Ellen? Is she still at school?”

  “No, she’s home for the summer. She’ll come to see you soon. But I had something I wanted to talk to you about, and I didn’t want her to hear it.”

  “It must be Martin, then. What has he done now?”