“But why an island? You could have stayed in the mill, remarried, and had a good life in Massachusetts.”
Barbara was annoyed. She knew the other lawyer had instigated that question. “Why do I have to get married?” she countered and could see the judge as well as several of the other men were surprised at her question.
“Just answer the question,” the man from the state said, flushed and annoyed that she would question him.
“No, really. Why do I have to get married to live a good life? I’m living a good life on the island. I love it there. We build things with our own hands. I’m free to do what I want, when I want, and my son and my best friend’s children are prospering. Why do I have to be married to have that?”
He didn’t know how to answer her, so he switched questions. “Whose idea was it to buy the island?”
“Both of ours.”
“One of you didn’t encourage the other to buy it?”
Barbara shook her head. She didn’t remember either of them wanting it more than the other.
“Who originally saw the ad?”
“I don’t recall,” she admitted. She knew they wanted her to say she had influenced Marion in this decision, and she wasn’t going to do that.
“One of you had to have seen the paper first,” he tried again.
“I don’t recall.”
“Who put the money down on the island?”
“We both did. We entered into this together.”
“Is your relationship with Mrs. Whiting more than a friendship?”
She’d wondered if they would ask such an impertinent question. She was prepared for it. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, having prepared the tone in her head many times.
“Do you share more than the finances on the island?”
She thought for a moment, giving him just enough time to think he had gotten to her. “Yes,” she nodded. “We do.” She heard the gasps of Marion’s in-laws, shocked that she would admit to such a thing. She also saw in her peripheral vision that several other people had tensed up in the courtroom, including Mr. Polaski. “We share in teaching and raising our children, we share the work, and we share anything else that needs doing.” She sounded very innocent as she answered but was hard-pressed not to start laughing. She knew what they were getting at without saying it outright.
He didn’t seem as amused. “Is there anything more?” he pressed, and the judge looked at him angrily. He was also catching on to what the man was implying, and he wasn’t pleased.
“Like what?” she asked, blinking innocently and cocking her head slightly.
He stared for a moment, hoping to intimidate her. When he failed, he turned away and sat back in his chair. The other attorney whispered furiously in his ear.
“Mr. Hathaway, are you asking the questions or is this other attorney asking the questions?” the judge asked, exasperated. “Are you done with Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Just a moment, your Honor...” he began and then realized his mistake.
“Mr. Polaski, do you have any questions for Mrs. Jenkins?”
He did. He asked many of the same questions but in a different way and managed to introduce a lot more information the judge needed to hear to make his final decision.
“So, you would chop down the trees, then the two of you would haul them to the sites?”
“Yes, I’m bigger and have more strength, but Marion learned how to put things together, so we combined our efforts to build our home. It isn’t perfect, but it’s warm, it’s watertight, and we are proud of it,” Barbara said, and she did sound proud. Marion exchanged a smile with her.
“Tell me, Mrs. Jenkins, do you smoke?”
Surprised by the question, she shook her head. “I used to, we both did, but we quit last spring.”
“Why did you quit?”
“It’s a nasty habit, we realized it was very expensive, and we didn’t want the children to think it was okay.” She didn’t add that they had to quit because they could ill afford the expense when they couldn’t get the loan. She also didn’t mention that they hadn’t been able to get into town to buy more cigarettes with the rough water coming down from Canada. It had simply been too dangerous to motor across, so they’d been island bound much of the time.
He asked a few more questions, then Barbara’s mother and brother were brought forward to tell what they had observed during their visit.
Finally, they questioned Marion. They couldn’t get anything more out of her about the relationship. She admitted they were like sisters, truly best friends, and while they tried to shake her testimony, it was positive testimony. The insinuation was there, but Mr. Polaski objected to it.
“Your Honor, as you can see by the testimony of my client, this is nothing more than concerned grandparents attempting to gain custody from a mother, who is doing something different than they deem fit. Mrs. Whiting has proven this by her testimony, the testimony of her friends and family, and even the testimony of townspeople. We’ve shown with her bank records that she is providing for her children. I don’t think this issue should continue.” He continued with legal jargon, but his point was made. The Whitings, while trying to do good, were out of bounds on this issue. Marion was doing right by her children.
The judge heard Mr. Hathaway’s arguments to counter Mr. Polaski’s statement. He cited how dangerous it was to live on the isolated island and so far from help. He pointed out if they were cut off from the mainland they could very well starve. He went on for a while, and then the judge called a fifteen-minute recess while he consulted with the children again. He had further questions after listening to the lawyer’s arguments. This time, he allowed Richard to stay and this made Barbara nervous. If they took the Whiting children from Marion, could the State of Maine take her son from her?
“Relax, this is just procedure, although I had originally thought this was merely a hearing,” Mr. Polaski tried to reassure Marion. He glanced at Barbara, wondering at the true nature of their relationship. He didn’t think they had lied. He hoped to God they hadn’t lied or his reputation in town might be ruined. But whatever the true nature of their relationship, it seemed to work. If it was platonic, and he suspected it might be, they were doing a good job raising their three children as siblings. He thought perhaps the island was a fantastic idea, now that he had seen the brochures and heard them explain the concept.
Marion and her side of the court were very quiet as they waited on the judge to return. The Whitings were whispering hurriedly with their lawyer, and Mr. Hathaway was included in the conversation. Their furtive glances towards Marion and the others gave away exactly who and what they were talking about. The blonde studiously ignored them as she glanced at Barbara, wanting to be taken in the large woman’s arms and comforted. Instead, she looked worried. Marion glanced at the people who had testified on her behalf and remained in the room. She smiled at them each in turn, giving them a mute acknowledgement of her thanks.
“All rise,” the officer called as the judge returned, waving them back to their seats immediately.
“Okay, I’ve made my decision,” he announced as they all settled back in their seats. Each seemed to stiffen with this statement. “The Whiting children seem amazingly well-adjusted. The state has proven that the children are doing even better than they did back in Massachusetts,” he said, referring to their academic achievements. “Talking with them, they are really proud of their mother and their honorary aunt,” he smiled at Marion and Barbara as he talked to them. “I am ruling there is no reason to remove the Whiting children from their mother’s custody. Case dismissed.” He used the gavel on the wooden table, rose, and hurried out another door.
The room exploded into conversation as they exclaimed over the ruling. Marion was reaching up to hug Barbara when she looked over the woman’s shoulder and saw her in-laws both glaring at her with hatred. She was surprised at that. Her father-in-law had always been an easy-going man and kept her mother-in-law in check. This h
ad gone too far, and she wondered if it would tarnish their relationship forever. She shouldn’t care, but for the sake of her children, she did.
“Congratulations,” she heard again and again. Finally, the clerk let the children back into the room, and they added their noise to the celebration.
“What was that about, Mommy?” Brenda asked, looking worried.
“Why did that man ask us so many questions?” Brian III asked her at the same time.
“Later, honey,” Marion answered, giving them both a hug. “Go give your grandparents a hug and a kiss. They traveled all the way up here to see you. You can invite them to the island if they would like to see where you live,” she offered generously, exchanging a surprised glance with Barbara and Mr. Polaski, who nodded imperceptibly.
“Grandma! Grandpa!” the children called as they crossed the aisle separating them and jumped into their welcoming arms. They hugged both grandparents enthusiastically, possibly a bit more enthusiastically than the two older people were used to. Their startled glances met Marion’s cool glance as the children invited them to come see where they lived. Brian Whiting Sr. nodded imperceptibly to his daughter-in-law, confirming their acceptance.
* * * * *
The atmosphere on the ride across to the islands was a bit frosty. The only ones talking were the children as they pointed out things to the Whitings and their attorney, who had also decided to come along. Mr. Polaski had come too, ostensibly to see what the two women had accomplished, but more to protect his client in case the other attorney tried anything. He might be small-town, but he could sense the high-powered Boston attorney’s disdain for their proceedings. He didn’t doubt that given the chance the man would do something else to sue his client for custody. He may have lost the first round with the State of Maine handling things, but he wouldn’t lose again if it was just him against Mr. Polaski and his client, of that the man was sure. Polaski could see it in the man’s arrogant eyes. He had nothing but contempt for him and his small-town lawyer abilities.
The parked truck and trailer were looked at with disdain, as though they were going to jump out at the couple. The Boston lawyer distinctly took a step away from the dirty vehicle. The white of the dock caused raised eyebrows. They looked at the sleek-looking boat with an equal measure of surprise as the children talked about sanding and varnishing it.
The Whitings got into the boat as though afraid they might catch something, Mrs. Whiting sitting down gingerly on the upholstered seats as though it was going to dirty her clothes. Her grandchildren were clueless to her disdain and plopped down on either side of her, their grandfather at Brian’s side. Marion knew she was getting too much pleasure out of seeing her mother-in-law’s perfectly coiffed hair come apart in the breeze. She exchanged a glance with Barbara who had noticed it too. She perhaps sped up a little to make the slapping of the boat on the waves a little harder than it needed to be.
Marion let the children show their grandparents and guests around the island. They took them first to the bottom of the steps and explained how they would be putting up a store eventually, but for now it would house their rowboats, canoe, and supplies. Then, they explained how they had helped to dig the box steps and place the wood, how they had torn apart the pallets, learned to hammer a straight nail, and pounded in the gravel that now lined the stepped path.
“Did you know you can’t just hammer through some woods, Grandpa?” Brian III told his grandfather. “It’s best, especially with wood like this, to drill a hole first. That way, you can guide the nail through for the best fit. and it won’t split.”
Marion smiled. She knew she had taught her children a lot but hadn’t realized how much until she heard them explaining what they had helped with—from spreading the gravel and wood chips, to collecting the wood to build their own cabin.
Barbara watched her girlfriend. She could see the worry in her stance, in her face, and in her demeanor as she said very little but listened avidly to the children. Their island wasn’t meant to be hiked with heels and fine outfits, but the Whitings were doing fine, and she and Marion kept up as the children showed them the meadow, the sheep, the chickens and guineas, and kept up a running explanation. Richard was included as the lawyers observed along with the grandparents. Barbara kept back, only contributing when the children asked for clarification of some point they were making.
The cabin looked beautiful in the late summer sunshine that had decided to grace the grandparents’ visit. The wood looked rich and shiny as they had left their home clean. The dogs, while not welcomed by the older couple, greeted them anyway. They looked in the small cabin, the screened-in porch, the living room that also had a kitchen attached, and the three bedrooms, taking note particularly of the two beds in the women’s room.
“You hooked all this up yourself?” Mr. Whiting marveled as the boys went on and on about the plumbing and other necessities.
“Oh, yes. Aunt Barbara and Mom read up on it with all these books,” Brian III told his grandfather, pointing at the books that lined the shelves, which were now overflowing. “We are going to have to build more bookshelves this winter. That’s a good project over the winter months rather than in the summer, and we chose some good wood to work with,” he said authoritatively as though he was an expert. Marion grinned. They’d found some good planks to use but also had some marvelous new ideas they were going to try.
“And what about you, Brenda? Are you learning to cook?” her grandmother asked her the leading question.
“Yes, and so are Brian and Richard. Mom says that boys as well as girls should learn to cook. Barbara is a marvelous cook,” the little girl enthused. Then she leaned in to confide to her grandmother, “She burned my birthday cake in the oven, but it was new, and we were still learning how to keep the heat constant.”
Surprised at her granddaughter’s words, she couldn’t help but smile. She was impressed with how earnest the little girl was and how ingenious. The lawyers exchanged looks with each other at the little girl’s addition to the narrative. The boys had been very forthcoming, and everyone was surprised at how well-built the small cabin was. It was well-stocked from what they could see of the cupboards, and they noticed supplies tucked away in every nook and cranny waiting to be used.
“We’re gonna bank,” Brian was saying to his audience, pointing at the edges of the cabin. “That way it will help keep the heat in,” he glanced back up at his mother to confirm, and she nodded to encourage him. “Barbara suggested we use hay, so it will rot over the winter, and we can use it on the garden next spring. Fortunately, we don’t have to do that on the summer cottages because they are much thinner. Maybe you and Grandpa could come and stay in one? Richard’s grandma and Uncle Brent came and stayed a while last month.”
They finished their tour with a visit to one of the summer cottages, but not before the children managed to brag about how they had hauled the rocks, how Barbara and Marion had gotten the trees there, and how they had all learned to build together.
“Seems the children did a lot of work,” Mrs. Whiting murmured to their lawyer.
“And are not the worse for wear,” he agreed, not giving her the opening he knew she was hinting at. The work was done and the children were fine. He didn’t buy that they would be better off with his clients. Still, if they were willing to proceed with a lawsuit, he would do the work and bill them accordingly. Personally, he hoped they’d drop it. The children were flourishing in this environment. everyone could see that as they excitedly told about all they had done. There was their obvious pride of achievement, and the younger Mrs. Whiting wasn’t trying to stop them from talking about it, so she had nothing to hide. That Mrs. Jenkins, who he had initially thought was the instigator of the relationship, wasn’t what he had expected. She may have done the manual labor, but it was obvious it was Mrs. Whiting who had the knowledge on building and had encouraged them to pursue this idea. It was wonderful, and he hoped the elder Mrs. Whiting would see that. He could see Mr. Whiting was
impressed.
“Thank you for the tour,” Mrs. Whiting told her grandson fondly as they all carefully boarded the Runabout at the dock. The waves were making it a little unsteady, and she held her husband’s hand tightly as she got in the boat. Marion was already behind the wheel, and the two lawyers were both standing to help her if she was unsteady. Mr. Whiting followed his wife onto the boat after hugging both his grandchildren. Marion had suggested they stay on the island with Barbara and Richard as she drove their guests back to the mainland.
“I’ll write,” Brian III promised his grandmother. “and I’ll have Mom check my spelling.” He was so pleased to have been able to show off what they had done. Both Marion and Barbara had discouraged the children from talking about the island to people on the mainland, but these were his grandparents, and they hadn’t stopped them this time.
Marion secretly smiled as she made sure her passengers each had a life vest. Whether they chose to wear it was their decision, but she was wearing hers. She gently started the engine and pulled away from the dock after Barbara untied the boat, exchanging a look with her girlfriend that said, ‘Drive carefully.’ They would have said it had the other adults not been watching. She wasn’t going to like the ride back alone, possibly in the dark, and she was going to have to fill up on gas before she left Franklin. Fortunately, it gave her an excuse to cut short any farewells with her in-laws.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“I’m glad that is behind us,” Marion said tiredly as she came home to a welcome meal of baked chicken and fresh vegetables. She relished the peace and quiet of their island. The chicken and vegetables they had raised and grown themselves, and she was proud of that. Barbara had had to set traps to keep weasels or mink or other predators out of their chicken coop. She had both a weasel and a mink, but she kept the dead animals well away from the children and Marion, who got squeamish. Barbara didn’t let on that she vomited while trying to skin the mink because their pelts could be valuable. Marion knew though, and it was something she was grateful that her girlfriend had taken care of for her...for them all. She had also wrung this chicken’s neck, plucked it, and cooked it for dinner, all without the children realizing it was one of theirs.
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