Tessa (From Fear to Faith)

by Melissa Wiltrout

  I held my breath.

  “Guilty, sir.” Walter’s voice was low, but clear.

  “Mr. Miner, have you made this plea of your own free will?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do realize these charges carry a maximum penalty of eighty-two years in prison, and I could sentence you to that if I feel the offenses warrant it?”

  My heart lurched. Eighty-two years? That would be like a life sentence.

  For a long moment, Walter hesitated. Then, in a strained voice, he said, “Yes, sir. I’ve thought about that.”

  “Have you actually committed all the crimes you are being charged with today?”

  “I did.”

  “Walter Miner, if you are not a citizen of the United States, you are advised that a plea of guilty or no contest for the offenses with which you are charged may result in deportation or denial of naturalization, under federal law. Do you still wish to make this plea?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The court will accept the plea. You may now proceed with your defense.”

  Walter’s lawyer spoke up. “Thank you. Your Honor, my client deeply regrets his misdeeds and has proven it by his voluntary confession and cooperation with law enforcement. Mr. Miner has led a very difficult life. His father physically abused him as a child. He had little schooling and has only recently learned to read. Under the pressure of trying to earn a living with no education, he made some poor choices which landed him where he is today.

  “Mr. Miner is determined to put his evil past behind him and start fresh, beginning with a decent education. I believe he can do this, especially in light of the spiritual awakening he has experienced. Therefore, I request leniency from the court. Although a short period of confinement seems fitting due to the nature of these charges, I believe a harsher punishment will only dampen Mr. Miner’s resolve and further alienate him from the society he desperately needs to integrate with. I recommend that counseling and community service requirements be combined with probation to finish out what I would consider an adequate sentence of six or seven years.”

  The lawyer paused. “Your Honor, my client would like to speak in his own defense.”

  “He may do so.”

  After a brief consultation with his lawyer, Walter stood to his feet, steadying himself on the table. Though he still wore his traditional oversized jeans, he had tucked in his flannel shirt and cut his hair. He looked almost respectable.

  “I want to explain that I became a Christian about five months ago. I confessed to these things because I saw it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t stand them sitting on my conscience anymore. I know I have to pay for what I did, and I’m sure not trying to make excuses or say it wasn’t wrong. I want you to know I’m sorry for everything. I’m ashamed, and I wish I hadn’t done it. God changed me, and I’m not the same man. I don’t even smoke. I hate what I did, and I’m not gonna do any of it again. That’s all.”

  As Walter settled into his chair, his lawyer spoke again. “Your Honor, I would like to call character witnesses for my client.”

  “You may call them.”

  “Tom Erickson?” The lawyer craned his neck, scanning the benches on our side of the room.

  “Please come up to the clerk and be sworn in. Give your full name and your relation to the defendant, then you may proceed with your statement,” the judge instructed.

  Tom crossed the room and took the stand with a confidence that suggested he had done such things before.

  “I’m Thomas Erickson. I’m a master plumber with P&B Plumbing here in Northford. I’ve known Walter for the last five months. Being a Christian, I don’t generally hang out with people of his sort. It was only through a series of unusual circumstances that I met him.

  “It started last December when his teenage daughter showed up at my door, shivering, without a coat, saying her parents were fighting. She ended up staying with us for a week. During that time, Walter was in a bad car accident. Later, while he was at home recuperating, we got a call from his wife asking if we’d come over and keep an eye on him so she could go shopping. She said he was hard to manage, and she didn’t want to leave him alone with her daughter.

  “This was the first time I’d ever met Walter. When we got there, he was so full of hate and anger toward us that I think he would’ve thrown us bodily out of the house if he could. Since he was in a wheelchair and couldn’t, I sat in his living room and witnessed to him of the saving power of Christ. He didn’t like that either, but as I continued talking to him, he saw the truth of the gospel. When he received Jesus, his violent temper and all that hate and anger vanished. It was a miracle.

  “Since then, I’ve visited him at least twice a week, and I know him as a kind and humble man. I trust him enough that I contributed $3,000 of my own money toward his bail.”

  When Tom finished speaking, the judge asked the district attorney if he wished to cross-examine him.

  “Yes, sir.” The lawyer rose and positioned himself facing Tom.

  “Mr. Erickson, you say Mr. Miner suddenly changed during your talk with him that day.”

  Tom nodded. “Yes. When he prayed.”

  “You also imply that you’ve never seen him angry or hateful since then. I find that hard to believe.”

  “Sir, I didn’t say that. I have seen him angry on a number of occasions. But I believe it has gotten less frequent in the last few months, and he deals with it nonviolently.”

  “Mr. Erickson, you said you’ve only known Mr. Miner five months. That’s not very long.”

  “No,” Tom admitted.

  “And you only see him during brief, scheduled visits, correct?”

  “Yes. About twice a week.”

  “Don’t you think there could be aspects of his character that you haven’t seen during those brief visits?”

  “There could be, although I doubt it.”

  “No further questions,” said the lawyer.

  The judge nodded to Tom. “Thank you, sir. You may step down.”

  “Julie Miner?” Walter’s lawyer again scanned the nearly empty benches. “Did you want to speak?”

  Mom trembled as she walked to the front. “I’m Julie Miner. I’m Walter’s wife. We’ve been married for twenty-four years. And most of that time, it’s been hell. He’d get mad over any little thing. He drank and used drugs, and he was really mean. Most people who knew him were afraid of him. He mistreated me a lot, especially last fall when it got really bad. He’d hit me with his fists or a heavy object. I know he mistreated my daughter too. I never turned him in for domestic abuse, but I should’ve. He was so horrible to live with that I was seriously looking at divorce. I just couldn’t afford it.

  “But the day Tom came over, something strange and wonderful happened to him. He says God saved him. I don’t know; all I can say is ever since then, he won’t get mad even if I yell at him. I haven’t seen him drinking or smoking at all in the last couple months. I’ve actually started to enjoy spending time with him. He’s like a new person. I don’t see what good would come of sending him to prison.”

  When she finished, the judge again asked the district attorney whether he wished to cross-examine.

  “I’ll pass on that. I would like instead to proceed with the victim’s statement and my sentencing recommendations.”

  The judge nodded to Mom. “You may step down.” To the attorney, he said, “Go ahead.”

  “First I would like to give the victim, Tessa Miner, an opportunity to speak,” said the lawyer.

  My heart began thudding so hard I thought I’d have a heart attack. Brenda turned and smiled at me, nodding for me to go ahead. I tugged the paper containing my statement from my pocket and unfolded it, but I was too nervous to speak. After one or two false starts, I gave up and handed the sweaty, tatte
red page over to Brenda. She read it aloud.

  “I want you to know that my father made my life very miserable for a long time, and it’s not like I can just forget it all and it’s gone. I still feel I’m a terrible person because of the bad things he made me do. Sometimes I have horrible nightmares. I’m not mad at him, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

  There. It was out. I ducked my head, my face burning as if I had done something very inappropriate. A swarm of accusing thoughts hurled themselves at my mind. You evil, wicked person! Can’t you be more forgiving? You know very well that he’s changed!

  Patty reached over and put an arm around me again. “Good job,” she whispered, and smiled. “I’m proud of you.” I began to breathe easier.

  The district attorney took his time detailing the seriousness of Walter’s crimes, particularly the ones relating to me. He pointed out that Walter had been convicted of burglary in another state some eighteen years before, and finished by reviewing his more recent rash of convictions for drunken driving, possession, and disorderly conduct.

  “Mr. Miner is a chronic criminal and troublemaker,” the lawyer concluded. “As you see, he couldn’t even keep the conditions of his probation last summer. He is walking with a cane today because six months ago he crashed into a dump truck while high on his own methamphetamine. If it had been any other kind of vehicle, we’d likely have a homicide case on our hands.

  “Despite the seemingly positive testimony we heard here today, I believe it’s a mistake to think men like Mr. Miner really change. They merely get more skilled at manipulation and deceit. Notice that he didn’t turn himself in until the last minute, when law enforcement was already closing in on him. That’s not remorse; it’s a desperate man’s attempt to get off easy. I dare say we’d see a much different attitude in the defendant were he not in the clutches of the law.

  “Therefore, in keeping with the severity of these crimes, and for the safety of his daughter and of our entire community, I recommend Mr. Miner be locked up for a considerable length of time. Twenty-five years is the sentence I would like to see him given, and I think that’s generous.”

  As the attorney finished speaking, the room went silent. Then, to my surprise, the judge called a fifteen-minute recess.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Mom, as we walked out into the hall in search of the restrooms.

  “Don’t ask me.” Mom looked at least as nervous as I felt. “I told him not to plead guilty. It’s just plain stupid. But he insisted.”

  48

  Back in the courtroom again, the tension was unbearable. Tom and Walter sat together on the front bench. Mom hunched next to me, her head down. Patty had her eyes closed as if praying. None of us said anything.

  When the judge returned, he ordered Walter to stand. “This court cannot pass lightly over such serious crimes,” he said. “Mr. Miner, you have done untold damage not only to your daughter, but to many others in the community through your illicit drug business. I concur with the sentencing recommendations of our prosecuting attorney, which I feel are very appropriate for your case. However, in view of the apparent change in your life, Mr. Miner, I have decided to reduce your sentence somewhat.”

  He paused.

  “You are hereby sentenced to five years in the state prisons and eight years of extended supervision. That is a total of thirteen years. You are also ordered to pay a fine of $35,000.”

  A weight I didn’t even know I was carrying lifted from my chest. For the first time in days, I could draw a full breath. I had been vindicated.

  Beside me, Mom was fighting back tears. Walter came and gave her a hug. “Hey, Julie, it’s over. All done. Could have been worse, hey?”

  “You’re crazy,” she said, sniffing. “You always were.” She tried to smile, but it only made her cry harder.

  A short time later, I followed Mom down a flight of stairs and out the front doors of the courthouse, leaving Walter behind. Tom and Patty had taken the elevator. We met again on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks for coming,” Mom said to them. “I appreciate it. And thanks for looking after Tessa all this time.”

  “Would you two accept an invitation to supper at our place?” Tom asked. “Maybe Tessa could get her things then.”

  “What time?”

  “How about five o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  The drive home was somber. Mom and I were silent, each occupied with our own thoughts. Personally, I felt satisfied with the outcome. Walter was being punished, but not beyond measure. Hearing the district attorney’s viewpoint on the charges cemented things for me, as I grasped for the first time that the way Walter had treated me wasn’t just mean, it was a terrible crime. The guilt that had plagued me for months was dissipating like fog on a sunny morning.

  At home, Mom sought comfort in cigarettes and soap operas. I went outside and lay down on the grass in the sun. Exhausted from the events of the morning, I fell asleep.

  Supper at Tom and Patty’s house that evening was uncomfortably quiet. Whatever Mom was thinking, she wasn’t telling anyone. After the meal, Tom drew me aside.

  “How are you doing? Are you okay with what happened today?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s unhappy, but I think it’s fair, what he got.”

  “Good.”

  “I didn’t know you were gonna testify for him.”

  Tom smiled. “I didn’t either, until last week. When he said he was going to plead guilty against his lawyer’s recommendations, I knew he needed help.”

  Out in the kitchen, a drawer slammed, and I heard Mom’s voice raised in anger. Her words drifted into the living room where we sat.

  “He’s not, huh? Yeah, I know. God loves me and all that. I’ve heard it all before. Well, then where was God when they took my kids away?”

  Electricity ran through me. She means my sisters. Tom half rose, then sat down again.

  Patty’s reply was soft. “You’re carrying a lot of anger. Can I ask what happened?”

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Then Mom came into the living room and said it was time to leave.

  49

  I heard no more about my sisters for some time. I couldn’t stop wondering about them, though. Who had taken them away, and why? But I didn’t dare ask Mom, and trying to piece together the facts I’d heard over the years yielded no sensible answers. I would have to wait until the subject came up again.

  Even so, that summer was the happiest I had known. The first weekend in June, we turned over the soil in Walter’s garden and planted my seeds. Everything came up within a week. I liked working in the garden, and as the plants grew, I spent hours pulling weeds and watering

  Afternoons often found me over at Patty’s, playing with Sadie and helping Patty in her new flowerbeds. She had a gift for growing things and was happy to share her knowledge with me. As the summer progressed, she also began teaching me to cook and play guitar. I missed Heather, who had moved back home with her parents, but we kept in touch by writing. Once in a while she even called me.

  Pleasant as my life was, however, there were shadows that friendships and sun-drenched days couldn’t dispel. Painful memories resurfaced, eclipsing my joy. Patty encouraged me to talk them out, but I didn’t like to. I wanted to forget the past and move on with my life.

  The trouble was, I couldn’t. I’d have one good day, but then something would trip the switch and plunge me back into the old feelings of guilt and worthlessness. Over and over, Patty reassured me that God loved me and would heal and restore my broken life if I’d give it to him.

  I desperately wanted that healing. But entrusting my broken self to God proved incredibly difficult. I hung on, afraid I would lose who I was if I let God take charge.

  Patty spent many hours with me, praying, reading Psalms, and teaching me wha
t God was like and what he said about me. As the weeks passed, my guilt and fear gave way to a cautious but growing trust in God. Often when I prayed, he would reassure me of his love. The despair that had threatened to swallow me retreated.

  Mom seemed pleased Patty was spending time with me, though I was careful not to let on how much I confided in her. Over supper, I’d recount the latest things I’d learned about growing fuchsias or making white sauce. Mom would listen and ask what we were planning to do the next day. She laughed when she heard I was learning to play guitar.

  “It figures. I always said stuff like that was genetic.”

  “What do you mean, it’s genetic? You don’t play.”

  “Want to bet?” Mom laughed again, then got up and disappeared into the bedroom. I could hear her shuffling through the boxes in her closet. When she returned, she laid a small photo album on the table. “Take a look. I don’t believe you’ve seen these before.”

  Pushing back my now-empty plate, I took the album and eagerly opened it.

  The first picture was of a very ancient car. The thing might have been black at one time, but years of rust had rendered it a mottled brown. Light shone through fist-sized holes under the doors. Plastic sheeting and duct tape covered the rear side window. But what captured my attention was the curly-haired teenager leaning against the driver’s door. That crooked half grin looked familiar.

  I bent for a closer look. Yes, that was Walter. But with his black T-shirt, greasy jeans, long hair, and backwards baseball cap, he looked every bit as disreputable as his car. What had Mom seen in him?

  “Pretty, ain’t it?” Mom commented from behind me.

  It took me a minute to realize she meant the car. “Uh, I don’t know about pretty,” I said. “Interesting, maybe.”

  “It’s too bad Walter isn’t here to scold you,” she teased. “That car was his pride and joy for years. The transmission finally died on the thing; otherwise we’d still have it.”