Milicent Le Sueur

by Margaret Moseley

  “I only need a minute or two of your time, Milicent,” the man said. He kept turning his head while he searched the dark seats.

  Uncomfortable and with a gnawing sense of dread, I got up and moved to another seat. I knew them like the back of my hand having spent several nights last winter counting each seat. I crept from seat number 104 to 215. Quietly. Then I asked, “Pardon me? Do I know you?”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes.” He laughed as he moved toward the sound of my voice, swinging that bat back and forth like a scythe as he walked. It made a threatening swoosh-swoosh sound as it cut back and forth.

  I didn’t like this game.

  He stopped by one of the two entrances into the lobby. The light from that area weakly illuminated his face.

  Long gone. Long gone.

  “You grew a beard,” I declared as I put the voice and the face together. I moved from 215 to 139.

  He laughed that eerie laugh I was beginning to hate and said, “Oh, yes. Not much else to do when you have no place to go. No life to live.” He continued to stalk toward me, still swinging the bat, swoosh-swoosh. “Milicent, want to hear the best joke? I have become like you—a homeless person.”

  “How did you find me, Mr. Titus Moore?”

  “Your friend Jim told me where you were. After I gave him the last ten bucks I have in the world.”

  “Jean Valjean is no friend of mine,” I said. I was so mad I forgot to move seats, and Mr. Titus Moore headed right to me.

  “Jean Valjean? Milicent, you are as crazy as ever.”

  “What do you want from me, Mr. Titus Moore? I don’t have any money.” I scooted silently to the end of one of the rows of seats and began to creep up the wide aisle between sections. I hunkered down behind 245 and gripped the back of the seat with ice-cold hands.

  Mr. Titus Moore started coming toward the seats, sliding his feet along to find the uneven steps in the dark. “Well, that puts us on an even par, Milicent. We’re both homeless and broke. But to one of us, it won’t matter in the morning.” He swung the aluminum bat against the seat that held Harold’s coat. In the dark, he must have thought the dark coat was me. I heard the bat crack the armrest on the chair…seat 182. Mr. Titus Moore wanted to hurt me.

  “Does that mean one of us is going to win the lottery?” I guessed, too paralyzed with fear to remember to move my position again.

  Mr. Titus Moore laughed that awful laugh again. “Good one, Milicent. Means one of us is going to have a permanent home tomorrow. In a pine box.”

  Well, I didn’t like the sound of that or the sounds of him coming on up the steps. I took a chance and darted across the aisle while he kept on talking, stumbling over the cord that led to the light box. “I won’t wake up tomorrow a millionaire, but I’ll wake up happy, knowing you are dead,” he growled as he caught sight of me at the top of the steps and brandished the bat as he charged after me.

  I stumbled and fell into seat 126 while Mr. Titus Moore played out his finale.

  His last swing of the bat caught Harold’s light box square in the middle, and the box protested through a spectacular display of sparks and electrical charges. I don’t know if the metal bat Mr. Titus Moore was carrying shocked him or not, I just know that he fell backward down the steps, toward the ladder that Harold had said time and time again, “Don’t touch.”

  With good reason.

  Mr. Titus Moore not only touched the tall ladder that sat at the edge of the stage, he slam banged into it. The ladder struck the loose spotlight from behind, propelling the light toward the seats.

  This is why you don’t use the name of Jesus in vain and save it for special times.

  As Mr. Titus Moore struggled to his feet, I jumped up from where I was crouched behind my seat and yelled, “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” and I made the sign of the cross with my fingers.

  It was then that I saw that spotlight was headed directly to seat 126 and right slap dab toward my face if Mr. Titus Moore hadn’t raised up just in time to intercept it. I could hear the crunch of Mr. Titus Moore’s neck all the way to my seat.

  The UCLT has great acoustics.

  FORTY-ONE

  We were all in our places with sunshiny faces when the hearing convened.

  I had even gotten a new haircut.

  “Three inches all over,” I had told the beauty operator at the unisex salon. Three seemed a good number for me today. And I was right.

  “You look different, Milicent,” said Wade Tate.

  “Good different or bad different?”

  “Good, I guess. I’ve never seen you with short hair,” he muttered.

  “Good different is better than indifferent,” I said.

  Gypsy put his arm around me and declared, “I think she looks fantastic.”

  And I didn’t think I had ever seen this person before. Gypsy was a real guy this morning with a suit, tie—the whole shebang.

  Miss Vinnie Ledbetter patted my head. “I didn’t know you had natural curl in your hair, Milicent. And it will be so cool for summer.”

  We were nervousing around the hall in the courthouse, waiting for Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s name to be called. I was glad I had cut my hair as it seemed to give us all something to focus on. Not that I didn’t wear my sneakers with the Day-Glo shoestrings. You always have to be prepared to focus.

  We were very much aware that somewhere in the courthouse, Claire had our Harriet. How we did in the hearing would decide whether we left with the baby or left the baby. This was serious stuff.

  It superseded the action that occurred when I called Tate Wade on the green bag telephone after Mr. Titus Moore wound up on the UCLT center stage wearing an unfiltered spotlight as a necklace.

  Wade Tate had shown up at the Upston Police Station in no time flat. He talked to a few men there, and we were off to the hospital—just like that.

  “Lord, Millie, what if that light had missed Titus and hit you?”

  “Or his bat. Don’t forget his bat.”

  “I don’t even want to think of that,” he said. “I was so sure Titus was on the other side of the country. Or out of the country. I should have kept Stuart on duty watching you.”

  He loved me. He loved me! He really, really loved me!

  Mr. Titus Moore was in surgery for hours. The head of the team of doctors reported to Wade Tate when they finished. “It’s a toss-up, Chief Tate. That light crushed some major vertebrae in his neck. He’s lucky to be alive, but it will be weeks before we know if he’s permanently paralyzed or not.”

  “Think he can ever stand trial?” Tate Wade asked.

  “I don’t think he will ever stand again,” said the surgeon. “But, yeah, we’ll get him to court one way or another.”

  Although it hardly seemed necessary, Wade Tate and the Upston Police Chief agreed to keep a twenty-four-hour guard on Mr. Titus Moore, who was wanted for two counts of murder—and now for one count of attempted murder, too.

  Mine.

  Seems I was going to be spending a lot more time in courtrooms in the future. Maybe I would take up law.

  Gypsy hugged me again, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “You’re not dwelling on Titus, are you, Milicent? Close that chapter.”

  FORTY-TWO

  “This is an informal hearing. I like to hear family cases that way. This kind anyway.” Judge Madeline was talking to all of us in her office, which I think they call Chambers. I made a note that when I took up law, I would have flowers in my Chambers and maybe a dog. And definitely ten chairs.

  Although the ultimate decision rested on whether Miss Vinnie Ledbetter would be given custody of Harriet, she wanted all of us to be there. And Judge Madeline agreed. So we sat there, me and Wade Tate and Gypsy with Miss Vinnie Ledbetter and her attorney Buddy Hoffenmeir, who maybe wasn’t quite as stupid as I’d thought. Claire and a court-appointed attorney represented H
arriet. The baby sat in Claire’s lap, but I knew her baby-blue eyes were focused on me. There’s more trust in a baby’s eyes than in a hungry puppy’s while it waits for you to finish your KFC lunch.

  “I’ve talked to Milicent Le Sueur about how she found the baby, and I’ve looked over all the depositions she gave on the matter. I have very ambivalent thoughts about what she did.” Judge Madeline turned to look at me. “It was a good thing you did, Milicent, saving that baby’s life, but the way you did it presents some problems. What I wish you had done next was to take her to the authorities. We might have been able to track down the baby’s birth mother. Now the trail is cold, and we have no way of finding out the identity. We might have been able to help the girl. The court is always concerned with helping both the mother and the child.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I did worry about the mother, though. I went back to the Dumpster time and again—I even left yellow Post-it notes on the Dumpster saying I’d help—but it never occurred to me to get help. I’m used to doing things on my own.” I looked directly at the judge and said, “I will take the next baby I find right in to the police. I promise.”

  Judge Madeline smiled. “Again, Milicent, let me assure you that we are proud of you for saving Harriet’s life. Not to mention the wonderful care you gave her. She is very healthy and quite a charmer.”

  Still looking at me, Judge Madeline continued, “The reason we are here today is to determine if Ms. Ledbetter should be given custody of Harriet. I have all the reports from many sources—character references, financial statements, health records. I think everyone agrees that Ms. Ledbetter would make a wonderful mother and give Harriet a good home. But I have a question for you, Milicent.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I know you are good friends with Ms. Ledbetter. Tell me. Do you think she really wants Harriet, or is she doing this for you? To give you a baby?”

  I laughed.

  Suddenly I felt more relaxed than I had all morning. I ran my fingers through my short curls, focused my thoughts, and said, “Lord love a goose. What an idea. No disrespect intended, Judge Madeline, but Miss Vinnie Ledbetter and I have often talked about babies and how much she would like to have one. Well, so would I, I agree. But,” and I stumbled then for words. “But it’s like this. When Mr. Titus Moore came after me yesterday, and when he knocked that ladder into the light, some things came clear to me. You know how they say when you’re going to die, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes?”

  I waited for them to all nod. “When that spotlight was headed straight toward me, before it connected with Mr. Titus Moore, that’s what happened to me. I saw Ricky and Fred and Ethel just as clear as day. I haven’t always been a bag lady, but besides the red climbing roses, I don’t remember much else. It’s like I’ve told Tate Wade and all the doctors at the state hospital. I don’t know who I was. Don’t remember where I came from. But I know this.

  “I like my life. I like the freedom of the sky and the feel of grass beneath my feet. I like having all my stuff in ten bags. I like yelling at people and telling them what I think. I wouldn’t steal a dime, but I wouldn’t pass up one given to me if I needed it. Which I mostly don’t, because I have the rock. I winter with my friend Miss Vinnie Ledbetter because Wade Tate says I have to or go back to the state hospital. But all I can think about, all winter, is getting back out there. Back out to the streets and my place and the left tree and the right tree.

  “I love Harriet Diamond Peace more than I can tell you. But I ask you, what kind of a mother would I make? No, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter has the right mother stuff in her, not me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be part of her life. I can’t wait to show her the ants in the backyard or how the grass smells when you’re lying in it. How clouds hurry and make you dizzy when you lie on your back and look up. I want to show her how you can tell good people from bad. I want to go to her birthday parties and bring the biggest balloon. I want to share Christmas with her and help Miss Vinnie Ledbetter pick out her Santa doll.

  “But as for full-time mothering? No. I don’t think so. I want to be part of her family, but not her mother. Families come in all shapes and sizes,” I reminded Judge Madeline and hastened to add, “but if you’re thinking in that direction, I wouldn’t say no either. I’d rather have her living in a tent with me at my place than in an institution.”

  Judge Madeline nodded. “No fear there, Milicent. I just wondered what part you would play in Harriet’s life.”

  “The same part Wade Tate and Claire and Stuart will play,” I responded. “All of us will give something to Harriet that is especially ours to give. But mostly love.”

  Like a rusty screen door, we heard a voice speak into the silence. “Uh, and Millie can teach her to count. She’s very good with numbers,” said my Tate Wade.

  “And colors,” added Gypsy. “Milicent knows her colors.”

  Judge Madeline looked at me a long time before saying anything. She shuffled some papers on her desk, turned to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, and sat back in her chair with hands folded. In a very official, very different voice, she said, “This session is now on record. Ms. Ledbetter, as Milicent has indirectly pointed out, families are not what they once were. Children have stepmothers and stepfathers, half siblings and assorted ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ in their lives. This can be a positive or negative situation. All the court wants for Harriet is a stable home where she can be happy and grow up to be a productive citizen of society. I’ve awarded custody of children to single parents before, but frankly, never one as old as you.”

  I stared down at my shoelaces. I didn’t like how this was sounding. Maybe I would have to put in an emergency call to Greta. Or maybe I should mention the parrot I was getting for Harriet.

  “However,” Judge Madeline went on, “the court makes its decisions based on the best interest of the child, and for that reason I am going to make an exception with Harriet. As of this morning, I am awarding the custody of the baby girl known as Harriet Diamond Peace—who is now a ward of the court—to you with the proviso that the court monitors her progress consistently in the next six months. If at the end of that time I continue to feel that this is a good placement, we will allow adoption proceedings to begin. Are you in agreement?”

  We left the courthouse with Tate Wade carrying our Harriet, her red hair creating a beneficial halo of light as she bobbled on his shoulder. Miss Vinnie Ledbetter followed with tears in her eyes. Claire and Gypsy and Buddy Hoffenmeir were all but doing a jig all the way out the door and down the forty-two courthouse steps.

  I led the way, yelling at people who got in our path.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at? Whatcha lookin’ at? Get a life. Haven’t you ever seen a family before?”

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Margaret Moseley has been making her living as a writer since she was eighteen, beginning on the original Fort Worth Press in Fort Worth, Texas, and continuing with work for ad agencies, television, and major corporations. Her stunningly original first book, Bonita Faye, was a finalist in the Edgar Award for Best New Novel and earned her wide, and richly deserved, acclaim.

  Moseley was born in Durant, Oklahoma, raised in Fort Worth, Texas, and for twenty years lived in Fort Smith, Arkansas. During her time in Arkansas, she was a personal friend of the Clintons and campaigned for them as an Arkansas Traveler at the time of the 1992 election.

  She is the author of four additional mystery novels: Milicent LeSueur, The Fourth Steven, Grinning in His Mashed Potatoes, and A Little Traveling Music Please, all of which are being republished by Brash Books.

  Moseley is married to computer guru and novelist Ron Burris. They live in Euless, Texas, with their rescued beagles Miss Sadie and Miss (The Terror) Matilda.

 

 

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