Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  Suddenly, the threat she used to pose seemed ridiculous. Annie’s lips curved into a smile, which widened even more when Catherine hesitantly returned it.

  “Catherine, what’s going on? Why are you here?” Travis asked bluntly.

  “I wanted you to know—” She paused and wet her lips. “Travis, I overheard your mother telling mine that she was going to send someone from the county here, about your little boy.” She glanced down just as Hank raised his head and looked straight at her, then sent her a flirtatious smile. Her eyes lit up and she breathed, “Oh, Travis. He looks so much like you.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Travis beamed. Meeting Annie’s compassionate gaze, he rose from the floor and sat next to Catherine on the sofa. “We know about Mother’s plans. She already sent a social worker, and the woman wasted her time coming here.”

  “Thank goodness she failed. But I don’t see your mother quitting so easily. Do you?” Catherine asked.

  “No, she won’t. We’re driving into Weston to meet with our attorney. Ten minutes later and you wouldn’t have caught us,” Annie explained.

  “Then I’m glad I was on time. I wanted to meet Hank, Annie.” Catherine turned back to her. “And I wanted to tell you myself there has never been anything but friendship between Travis and me. It was all in our mothers’ heads, and there were times when just giving in was easier than fighting either of them.” She took a breath and rushed on, “If there’s anything you need from me, if I can tell your attorney anything that will help you, please let me know.”

  “Do you mean it? You’d help us? Why would you do that?” Annie hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite that impolitely, but Catherine’s friendliness bewildered her. When she glanced at Travis, she saw the same confusion on his face.

  Catherine spread her hands in appeal. “Because our mothers have gone too far, and I’m tired of having my life controlled. I think I finally got through to my mother today, but I know I hurt her in the process.” She stifled a sigh. “I’m going back to New Haven and get a head start on the semester. But if I can be of help to you, I’m happy to do what I can.”

  “Would you be willing to—no, that’s too much to ask. Forget it.” Travis got to his feet and reached down for Hank, swinging him up into his arms, while Annie collected the scattered toys and deposited them in Hank’s toy box.

  “What? Truly, if I can do anything, anything at all. . .” Catherine said earnestly.

  Annie started to speak, glanced at Travis first, and caught his nod of agreement. “Would you come to Weston with us today? We meet with our attorney at ten. Any ammunition we can get is better than none at all.” She aimed a tentative smile at Catherine. “I think what you have to say, maybe your observations, would be a big help.”

  “I can follow you in my car. It won’t delay me much at all.” Catherine extended her hand to Annie.

  Annie took the narrow hand between both of her palms in silent thanks. She met Catherine’s eyes. “We’ll be leaving the attorney’s office about noon, unless there’s a delay. Hank will be hungry by then, and it’s not smart for you to drive all the way to New Haven on an empty stomach. What do you think about joining us at the downtown diner for some greasy, but very good, food?”

  “I think I’d like greasy food. I’ve never had onion rings before. Will they have onion rings?” Catherine asked hopefully.

  “The biggest onion rings you ever saw,” Travis replied. “Hank loves them, don’t you, buddy?”

  “Onwee! Owd, owd, owd!” Hank bounced in Travis’s arms, ready to visit the diner and demolish a plateful of onion rings with the seven baby teeth he possessed.

  Travis escorted them to the front door and called up the stairs. “We’re heading out. Wish us luck.”

  “Good luck!” Two feminine voices floated down the stairs to them. A third, more gruff voice coming from the direction of the kitchen ordered Travis to make sure everyone in the car wore their seat belts and warned him to keep within the speed limit. Annie smothered a laugh at Aunt Nan’s often caustic commands.

  As Catherine walked to her car, she turned and smiled at Annie. “I was just thinking how comfortable you look in your blue jeans. I wish I had a pair.”

  “And I was thinking how classic and lovely you look in that pretty suit,” Annie chuckled. “Maybe we should go shopping together one of these days. I can help you find some nice jeans. Maybe a sweatshirt. And you could give me some advice on dresses and such.” She winked at Catherine.

  Catherine winked back. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter 31

  “I should change into the black dress.” The green print blouse and matching skirt Annie wore looked too girlish for someone who was trying to convince a judge that she was mature enough to take care of a young child. She turned to Susan. “What do you think?”

  “No. You look like the Grim Reaper’s girlfriend in that thing. It drains all the color out of your skin and straightens what curves you have. Leave yourself alone.” Susan fastened small enameled hoops in her ears and fluffed her hair expertly, until it fell down her back in a golden cloud. “Anyway, Mama called us downstairs five minutes ago.”

  “What about my hair?” Annie trailed a hand along the thick length. “Should I put it up on top of my head? Maybe if you cut some of it off—”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not touching it. Your hair is fabulous, so you’re going to leave it alone, too. You’re gorgeous, I’m gorgeous and between the two of us we’ll dazzle the judge silly.” Susan swung back to the mirror and applied yet another layer of mascara.

  Feeling more and more nervous, Annie faced her sister. “Susan, it’s not a joke. This is important. I have to do everything right. I only get one shot at this. We don’t know what Ruth might say in court. For all I know, she’s got a bunch of people agreeing to perjure themselves on the stand against me. Ms. Findley says the judge is fair and will listen objectively, but, well, I don’t seem to have a lot of confidence right about now.”

  “And you can’t help being worried. We all are, Twerp.” Susan rose from the small vanity stool and grasped Annie’s arm, tugged her toward the nearest bed and sat down next to her on the edge of the mattress. She massaged Annie’s shoulder and her voice took on a bracing note. “You’ve got all of the family there, and believe me, Aunt Nan’s ready to do battle. Did you see that glint in her eyes, last night at dinner?”

  Susan nudged at Annie with her elbow until she nodded in agreement. “And the folks at Daddy’s company? A bunch of them, including Daddy’s manager, promised to be there. Martha will be there. And didn’t you say Catherine Cabot’s even coming in from New Haven? That’s a lot of support, don’t you think? It’ll be all right.”

  “Yes. I know. I’m just,” Annie waved her hand in dismissal, “I’m just being paranoid. I’m being a baby. If I go in there with that attitude, then I deserve to get myself stomped on.” She squared her shoulders, stood and brushed a hand down the straight lines of her skirt to bolster herself. “Okay, positive mindset. Self-confidence. I think, no, I know we’re going to win.” Pushing away the doubt and the worry, she set her head at a cocky angle. “Plus, I look damned good. Let’s go kick ass.”

  Susan choked out a laugh as she bounced off the bed and pulled Annie after her. “Potty-mouth. Okay, chin up. Bosom out. Oh, sorry.” She spared a sideways glance toward Annie as they hurried down the stairs. “You don’t have enough bosom for that. Well, fake it.” She snickered at the look Annie sent her.

  “I’ll get you for that, Suze.”

  “Don’t call me Suze.”

  The silly, back and forth bickering was just what Annie needed, she realized, as they rounded the corner and stepped into the living room where the rest of the family gathered. And bless Susan for knowing it.

  Five minutes later, Sissy waved them off. She and Mark volunteered to be the designated babysitters. Annie agonized over leaving Hank, but she didn’t want him anywhere near Ruth. She wouldn’t say that to Travis, though. He might
have few illusions left where his mother was concerned, but Annie didn’t want to make him feel any worse. Their latest session with Muriel Findley, their attorney, had been difficult enough for him.

  His strong voice cracked with emotion several times as he told Muriel what his mother endured at Annie’s grandfather’s hands. But before that, all of them—Travis, Annie, and Catherine, too—described Ruth’s absolute determination to force a marriage between Travis and Catherine. How far she was willing to go in order to take Hank away from Annie and raise him as her own son. They’d told Muriel everything.

  Their attorney sat, nonplussed, while she processed Travis’s words. Then she commented dryly, “No offense, Travis, but your mother is a piece of work.”

  Annie clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in a startled giggle, while Catherine turned her own giggle into a cough as Travis chuckled. Muriel’s small bit of levity helped to lighten the overall mood considerably.

  Muriel asked questions about Annie’s daddy, too, and it was hard for Annie to view her own father objectively. But she’d been as honest as she knew how to be.

  “Nobody could ever ask for a better father. You bring in any of us kids and ask that question and you’ll get the same answer, over and over again. Whatever ugliness was inside Franklin Turner, it never spread any further. And there’s a lot of people, in Thompkin as well as here in Weston, who’d be happy to lay their hand on a Bible and swear to it.” Her response seemed to be exactly what Muriel had hoped for. In turn, she calmed Annie and Travis down a lot.

  But now all those calm butterflies were stirring themselves up again.

  In the back seat of Susan’s car, Annie gripped Travis’s hand when he twined his fingers through hers. “It’ll be all right, Annie. I promise you.” He kissed her cheek and held her close.

  She nodded. Yes, it would. It had to be.

  Travis figured his mother would voluntarily drag out her version of the Turner family history, if it would sway the judge in her favor. She considered Judge Perdue to be in her pocket. He vaguely remembered the man from past Christmas parties at Quincy Hall. He also knew Benson Perdue had been a frat brother of his father’s, graduating two years ahead of Dad. It didn’t surprise Travis to see Perdue’s name on the bench today, but he hoped it was just a coincidence.

  The courtroom was about half filled. Looking through the open door at the people already seated, he whispered to Annie, “Martha’s here.”

  She nodded distractedly. “I’m so nervous, Travis.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, don’t be. It’s going to work out, I know it.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her back against him. Annie leaned into his chest, a hand on his arm to hold it in place around her. In that position they stood, until Muriel Findley, somber yet elegant in a dark gray suit, walked over to them and urged them to sit down. Travis released Annie and they followed Muriel to their seats.

  “Relax. No tears, Annie. Look at me.” Muriel’s quiet, firm voice was close to Annie’s ear and she turned her head, gulped in a breath. Muriel looked from Annie to Travis with warmth and assurance. “I want you to see all the people who came to support both of you. It’s a good sign, trust me.”

  Muriel slipped one arm around Annie’s shoulder and the other around Travis’s waist, briefly linking them all together. “You are both great parents. You have a support system that far exceeds the norm. You have bright futures ahead of you, and nobody can take that away or prove anything to the contrary. Remember that, okay?”

  “We’re starting in five minutes, Mrs. Quincy.” Randolph Louden, one of Ruth’s attorneys, shuffled the papers in front of him. “I’m asking you one final time. Is there anything you’ve left out? Anything more we can use in this case? As I cautioned you before, we haven’t much to go on, here.” His low voice grated in Ruth’s ear and she glared at him. He merely raised his eyebrows and waited.

  Incompetent idiot. Ruth turned to look at the other, older attorney, Walter Sheffield, who sat on her left. Both men, employed by the legal offices of the Quincy Legacy, were reputed to be the best. She’d given them a concise description of the hovel-like interior of the Turner home. She’d detailed the unsavory quality of the neighborhood itself. They had a copy of the report Child Services filed after poor Duncan had been rescued from that wretched place. The condition of his person, the bruises and the abuse he’d suffered was documented. What on earth more could they possibly need?

  “Mrs. Quincy?” Louden brought her regard back to him.

  She kept her expression bland, certain everyone in the courtroom was watching her. “I have explained, Mr. Louden, you have in your possession enough to assure a successful custody victory. The filed report from Child Services is more than adequate—”

  “And both Mr. Sheffield and I have explained to you that your case is thin and needs more evidence. We both cautioned you against a push for this court date. We want to see you get the boy, Mrs. Quincy. But frankly, we haven’t enough at this time to guarantee the judge’s favor. We think we should reschedule.”

  “No. I refuse to wait any longer. Each day my grandson spends in that horrid family’s presence damages him. We have enough evidence. I also have character witnesses. We will go forward.” Ruth gave both of them a narrowed, biting stare. “I expect your litigation to be skillful and successful. Your employment depends on it, gentlemen. Please don’t forget that.”

  Satisfied at the way both men seemed taken aback at her blunt threat, she relaxed in her seat and glanced around the courtroom. When she saw not only Janice Cabot but Catherine as well, seated a few rows behind, she hid a victorious smile. Her dear friend and her darling future daughter-in-law, here to offer support should she need it. How fortunate she was.

  Of course, their testimony would not be required. After all, she was a Quincy. Her word alone was stellar in this state. Her motives, pure as they were, would never be brought into question.

  Ruth nodded to herself in satisfaction. She’d win.

  Annie tried to stay calm, which wasn’t easy. Judge Perdue, large and gruff, resembled a hefty bird-of-prey, sitting behind the massive bench in his black robes. His face held no expression. Of course, impartiality was part of his job. He had thick hair as dark as Travis’s and the blackest eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Annie took several quick, steadying breaths, then held the last one, until the panic fluttering inside her passed somewhat. She curled against Travis and he tightened his arm.

  “All right?” His mouth brushed her ear.

  “I’m okay. I just can’t seem to control my jitters.”

  “I’m nervous too, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon, and we’ll walk out of here and go back home to Hank. Never doubt it.” Travis pressed his lips to her temple and kept them there for a few seconds.

  Muriel caught Annie’s eyes. “I noticed Mrs. Quincy’s attorneys conferring rather urgently with her several times already. I’d venture to say it was to drop this whole mess. It’s what I would have done. Unless she or her boys over there have some last-minute surprises up their sleeves, I predict the judge will most likely toss her case out.”

  “I’m too nervous to think that positively,” Annie confessed, as she gripped Travis’s hand.

  The pound of the gavel made them both jump. “Here we go,” Travis muttered, sitting up straighter in his seat.

  Annie listened as Ruth reiterated the Child Welfare Services report, using her frostiest and most precise tone. Her attorneys waited until she’d finished, then one spoke up. “Mrs. Quincy, do you think perhaps the child’s emotional outburst might have been caused by being forcibly taken from his home by a stranger, and then held in an unfamiliar place until he was brought to you?”

  Fury showed on Ruth’s face, probably because her own attorneys would ask such a question. But she seemed to hold on to her calm. “Certainly not. The boy should have had no reason to be hysterical. He was being rescued, after all. His incessant crying was a direct result of the pain of the bruises. His head injury comp
ounded the residual discomfort of wet diapers.”

  Muriel stood to address her. “Mrs. Quincy, do you understand that Lawrence Bailey, the head of Child Welfare for this county, ordered the return of the child to his biological mother based on lack of evidence of any kind of abuse?”

  “Yes, and it has proven to me the utter incompetence of some county offices. I intend to look into the matter myself, as a representative of the Quincy Legacy.” There was a self-righteous sniff in Ruth’s voice as she answered, a tone Annie had heard in one or another form, for as long as she’d known the woman.

  A few minutes later, Travis’s mother made a grave tactical error. When Muriel mentioned Hank by name, Ruth interrupted emphatically, “His name is Duncan Adams Quincy. Kindly refer to my grandson correctly.”

  The murmur that rippled through the courtroom was loud enough for the judge to tap his gavel and demand order. Perdue asked all three attorneys to approach the bench. It was impossible to hear what was said, but Annie had a healthy imagination. Ruth had made a big mistake.

  When Muriel returned to her questioning, she gently but firmly stated, “Mrs. Quincy, your grandson’s legal name is Henry Travis Turner. Why do you refer to him otherwise?”

  “It’s an inferior, common name. My grandson requires an impressive title. Therefore, his name will be Duncan Adams Quincy, after I have adopted him.”

  “And why do you want to adopt your grandson, Mrs. Quincy? Aside from your allegations of neglect and abuse which my client supposedly perpetrated on her own child?”

  “He is the next Quincy Heir. Under my tutelage and guidance the boy will realize his full potential as befits the family legacy. If left to the devices of his mother and her family, I have no doubt he will grow to be as common and inferior as they all are.” Ruth’s voice rang with superior disdain. Everyone in the courtroom had to have heard it. Annie winced.