Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child Read online

  "Oh, Jimmy, don't you see that everything's going to be hard? I don't know why you would want to marry me. You're only going to suffer along with me. I'm cursed, cursed!"

  "Come on, Dawn. Take it easy. It's not you; it's what that evil old lady did. Well, we'll just see it undone. That guy's stupid and asking for trouble."

  "I can't blame these people, Jimmy. He wasn't all wrong. And did you see the expression on that woman's face? She finally got a baby she could call her own, and we're here to take it away," I moaned.

  "But you want to, don't you? You want Christie back?" Jimmy asked.

  "Yes, of course I do. I just can't stand all this pain and suffering. Why was one old woman given so much power to hurt other people?" I cried.

  "I don't know. She did it, and it's over with. Now we've got to make it right. I guess we'll go to the police first," he said.

  "No, we had better check into a hotel someplace close by and call Mr. Updike. The police can't help us. Sanford Compton is right—it's going to be a legal battle."

  I looked back at the house once, trying to imagine which room Christie was in. I was sure they had bought her the finest crib and the most expensive baby clothes. Just a baby, she didn't know where she was or what had happened to her. She was probably as content as she could possibly be. In a short while I would disturb that contentment; but I had to believe that even an infant as young as Christie would sense her own mother when she was finally placed in my arms, and that would give her a deeper, more complete sense of security and love. Armed with that faith, I hurried off with Jimmy to begin our battle for custody of my own child.

  We checked into a small hotel just outside of Richmond. It was a restored old mansion, and the rooms were quiet, large and comfortable, but we were not able to enjoy anything. Our time here was to be filled with waiting for phone calls and preparation for a hearing.

  When I phoned Mr. Updike I was surprised at his reaction.

  "Maybe it would be wiser just to leave things be," he suggested. "The baby's in a very good home and will be very well taken care of. Sanford Compton is wealthy and powerful in his community."

  "I don't care how wealthy he is, Mr. Updike. Christie is my baby, and I want her back," I said sharply. "I thought you had explained it all to the Comptons," I continued, not disguising my annoyance. If he intended to continue as the family's attorney, he would have to satisfy me now that I was the majority owner of the hotel and property.

  "I didn't get into the nitty-gritty details with them," he confessed. "I was just trying to protect the Cutler name. You can imagine what a field day the newspaper people would have with such a story, and that might very well reflect on the hotel."

  "Mr. Updike," I said, speaking through clenched teeth, "if I don't get Christie back and get her back soon, I will feed the story to the newspapers myself!" I flared.

  "I see," he said. "I just want you to understand what will be exposed—your affair with this older man, your pregnancy out of wedlock, your—"

  "I know what I've done, and I know what has happened, Mr. Updike. My baby is more important to me than any of that. If you can't help me and help me quickly, I will see another attorney," I said, no longer veiling any threat or anger.

  He cleared his throat.

  "Oh, I'll help you. I just wanted you to understand all the aspects of this," he quickly explained.

  "What do we do next?" I demanded.

  "Well, I know some people there. I'll get right on it. Maybe we can settle this in a closed hearing in front of a judge with just the attorneys and parties present. I'll work toward that, and hopefully—"

  "Then Jimmy and I will remain here and await your making the arrangements quickly," I emphasized.

  "Okay. I'll call you. Where are you?"

  I gave him the place and the number and repeated my desire to have the problem solved as quickly as possible. He promised to get right on it.

  The day after I had first phoned Mr. Updike he finally called to say he had managed to get the Comptons and their attorney to agree to a hearing in front of a Supreme Court judge, Judge Powell, who was both a friend of the Comptons and an acquaintance of Mr. Updike.

  "If Mr. Compton is so powerful around here and this judge is his friend, will he be fair?" I asked with concern.

  "Well, this is sort of an off-the-record hearing, a favor the judge is doing for both of us," Mr. Updike explained. "We can always turn to formal legal remedies afterward if we're not satisfied with the outcome. The Comptons aren't happy about the prospect of a public hearing either."

  He gave me the address and time to be at the judge's chambers and told us he would meet us there an hour earlier. It was an afternoon meeting. I was so nervous about it, I couldn't eat a thing for lunch.

  "It's going to be okay," Jimmy continued to assure me. "Once everyone understands the truth of what happened, it will be settled simply and quickly."

  "Oh, Jimmy, I'm not as confident as you are. Mr. Updike keeps emphasizing just how powerful Sanford Compton is, a man of great influence with politicians and lawyers alike, and he's forever reminding me about the sordid details of my background."

  "I don't care about any of that," Jimmy insisted. "The truth is the truth, and Christie is your baby," he said with a firmness that helped me to revive some of my own confidence.

  "I'm so glad you're with me, Jimmy. I couldn't do any of this without you," I told him. He reached across the table in the restaurant where we were having our lunch and put his hand over mine.

  "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but at your side, Dawn. Now and forever."

  I wanted to kiss him there and then, but we were surrounded by people, all well-dressed and sophisticated-looking. It was a fancy restaurant, too, and I was sensitive about doing anything that might attract attention and gossip. Jimmy said events were making me paranoid, but I couldn't help it. He laughed but made me promise to kiss him twice as much when we were alone.

  The afternoon of the hearing was gray and even a bit chilly. Fall was creeping in like a wolf on the prowl around a chicken coop. It cast its shadow first. Birds seemed more restless around us, their biological clocks ticking closer and closer to that hour when they would be nudged to go off and seek warmer climates. Clouds looked darker and more ominous, and the wind was stronger. Leaves weakened by age snapped off branches and began their slow singsong descents to the ground, while other leaves had begun to take on tints of orange and yellow and brown.

  Mr. Updike met us in the lobby. Although he was an elderly man, easily in his early seventies, he carried himself with an air of strength and authority characteristic of men much younger. His cap of white hair still had a slight wave in front, and he stood firm with broad shoulders and a bit of a barrel chest. The sight of him and the sound of his deep, resonant voice restored some faith and confidence in me. He shook hands with Jimmy firmly and described quickly how he wanted to conduct the meeting.

  "Just let me do all the talking until Judge Powell asks you questions."

  I nodded. Just then we saw Sanford and Patricia Compton enter the building with their attorney. Mr. Compton was holding Mrs. Compton at the elbow as if she had to be guided along. She had her lace handkerchief closed in her small left fist. I saw the terror and fear in her face when she glanced our way. It sent shivers of ice through my heart.

  The Comptons' attorney was a shorter man with a much slimmer build but a surprisingly beautiful speaking voice. As a musician and singer, I couldn't help but notice. His name was Felix Humbrick, and the moment he began to talk I knew we were in for a time of it.

  We all gathered in the judge's chambers, a large office on the second floor. It had marble floors, and both walls were lined with shelves containing volumes and volumes of law books. On the wall behind the judge's large, dark oak desk were framed pictures of Judge Powell shaking hands with politicians, even one showing him with the president. All of it gave the office a magisterial air of authenticity and officialdom. There was a feeling we should w
hisper when we spoke.

  The Comptons and their attorney took one side of the room, and we took the other, with both attorneys sitting in the leather chairs closest to the desk. Mr. Compton refused to look our way, but every once in a while Patricia Compton gazed at me, her eyes glassy.

  Judge Powell was an intense man, focusing sharply on whoever spoke as if he could see into the speaker's face, behind his words. Of course, I studied his face for some hint as to what he was feeling, but when he began to conduct the hearing his face became a mask—his lips unmoving, his eyes simply reflecting what he saw and not reacting. Not even his eyebrows lifted. He was as still as the statue of Justice herself.

  "I would like it understood at the start," the judge began, "that this is an informal hearing requested and agreed to by both sides concerned, and therefore I have not asked for a stenographer to take down any notes or record the proceedings. Also, any recommendations I might make at the conclusion of this informal hearing are not binding on either party, nor can they be used as evidence or testimony in any formal hearing that might result. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Mr. Updike said quickly.

  "Quite clear, Your Honor," Felix Humbrick said.

  "As agreed to beforehand, then, we will begin with Mr. Humbrick," the judge said, and he turned his swivel chair slightly so that he was looking directly at Felix Humbrick. Jimmy took my hand and squeezed it gently.

  "Thank you, Your Honor. As you know, my clients, Sanford and Patricia Compton, were interested in adopting a newborn infant. Naturally, they were concerned about the child's background and were very happy to learn from a friend of theirs that the birth of a baby whose background was clearly known was imminent. This friend, who has asked that his name not be brought into the matter unless absolutely necessary, was a close friend of Lillian Cutler, the owner and operator of Cutler's Cove Hotel.

  "Mrs. Cutler had passed on the information that her granddaughter had had an illicit affair. In short, she was seduced by an older man while she was away at school in New York City. As a result she became pregnant.

  "Mrs. Cutler and her granddaughter, for obvious reasons, wanted the matter kept confidential, so Mrs. Cutler arranged for her granddaughter to leave school and reside at Mrs. Cutler's sister's home until such time as the baby was born. Mrs. Cutler's sister is an experienced midwife.

  "Faced with the prospect of having a child at such a young age, and a child out of wedlock at that, and hoping to continue her own musical career, Mrs. Cutler's granddaughter agreed to have her child placed for adoption. She signed documents to this effect, willingly giving her child to Mr. and Mrs. Compton immediately after the baby's birth.

  "The events followed suit as outlined. The Comptons accepted the infant in their home, proceeded to take all necessary medical steps to insure the baby's well-being and quickly developed an emotional tie to the infant. They have even named the baby after Mr. Compton's deceased mother.

  "Now, as you know, Mrs. Cutler's granddaughter wishes the child to be returned. We feel her request is unreasonable, arbitrary, a violation of a contract entered into in good faith. In point of fact, the contract was drawn up by the Cutler family counsel himself, and none of the covenants were challenged. One of these covenants reads, 'Mr. and Mrs. Sanford Compton of 12 Hardy Drive accept full responsibility for the health and welfare of said infant from the date of delivery and agree not to make any additional demands on the Cutler family concerning the said infant, to wit the life and limb of said infant will from this day forward remain their sole responsibility.'

  "I emphasize 'sole responsibility,' Your Honor, a stipulation to which they wholeheartedly agreed and which they undertook, for which Dawn Cutler and the Cutler family then agreed to make no other demands or inquiries concerning the said infant.

  "This is all signed, sealed and delivered," he concluded, sliding the document onto the judge's desk. Judge Powell looked at it quickly, turning to the page for signatures, and then nodded without expression. He swung his swivel chair in our direction.

  "Mr. Updike, your presentation?"

  "We don't contest the contract, Your Honor. We are here today, however, to present some new facts, the main fact being that Dawn Cutler did not agree to this, nor was she aware of it."

  "Not aware of it?"

  "No, Your Honor," Mr. Updike said. I couldn't see the expression on his face, but I could feel his embarrassment.

  "You drew this up without speaking with the mother?"

  "I . . . yes. I had been assured by my client that the mother agreed to all of it. Dawn was some distance away, living under the circumstances described. Mrs. Cutler assured me that the decision to give up the infant was one she, Dawn's mother and father, and Dawn herself thought best for all concerned."

  "And the signature on this document?" the judge asked. Mr. Updike seemed uncomfortable in his seat now. He shifted, cleared his throat and spoke.

  "Apparently it is forged."

  "Forged?" The judge finally reacted to something. His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You didn't bother to compare it with samples, I assume?"

  "I had no reason to be suspicious, Your Honor. I have been the Cutler family's attorney for quite a number of years row, and my experience has always been that Mrs. Cutler, especially, conducted her affairs with the utmost honesty and business acumen."

  "Your Honor?" Felix Humbrick interrupted.

  "Yes?"

  "We have other samples of Dawn Cutler's signature here, and they match perfectly. It is our contention that it is not forged." He submitted the documents. The judge looked at them.

  "Mr. Updike, I'm not a handwriting expert, but these do look quite similar." He handed the documents to our lawyer. Mr. Updike gazed at them and then took off his glasses, folded them and placed them in his upper pocket.

  "Your Honor, I don't know how the forgery was committed, but I have no doubt that it was," he said.

  "I see," Judge Powell replied. "Can you share your reasoning with us?"

  Mr. Updike turned to look my way. He saw in my face that I wanted him to go on and do and say whatever was necessary for me to get Christie back.

  "Your Honor, Mrs. Cutler recently passed away, at which time wills and other documents were unsealed. It was learned—painfully learned—that Dawn Cutler is not Mrs. Cutler's granddaughter."

  Patricia Compton, who had been staring down throughout all this, lifted her head sharply and looked across the office at me with new interest.

  "I see. Go on;" Judge Powell said.

  "Apparently Dawn Cutler was Lillian Cutler's husband's child."

  "You mean she is her daughter?"

  "No, Your Honor."

  "I see," Judge Powell said quickly. "You don't have to go into those details any further."

  "I don't understand," Sanford Compton said angrily. "What does this base behavior have to do with anything?"

  "Mr. Updike is suggesting another possible motive for the actions Mrs. Cutler took. There is a clear history of subterfuge and deception here. Miss Cutler," the judge said, turning to me. The moment he did, I felt my heart jump and the heat rise in my neck and face. "Do you deny signing this contract?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What did you intend to do when your baby was born?" he asked softly.

  "I don't know, Your Honor. I wanted my baby very much and was shocked to discover she had been given away."

  "Mrs. Cutler didn't threaten you or advise you of the difficulties that lay ahead and as a result convince you to sign this document?"

  "No, sir. I never saw Grandmother Cutler after I left New York to go to The Meadows."

  "The Meadows?" He looked at Mr. Updike.

  "Mrs. Cutler's sister's home."

  "I see. So until you returned you had no knowledge of Mr. and Mrs. Compton?"

  "That's correct, Your Honor."

  "Why did you agree to have your baby in secret if you had no intention of giving her away?" the judge asked.

  "Your Honor, I wasn't in
any position to disagree with anything Grandmother Cutler demanded or suggested at the time, but I never knew what her full intentions were. Of course, now I understand why she hated me and why she wouldn't have wanted any child of mine in her presence."

  "I see." Judge Powell turned away and sat back a moment. Then he lifted his eyes toward the Comptons.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Compton, the information Mr. Updike has presented does create some definite gray areas. While it is true you do have an apparently legal contract, there is some reason for it to be challenged. Any formal court hearing will obviously bring all this new information to bear, and I suspect that Mr. Updike has only scratched the surface of it here today.

  "In short, unfortunate as it might be for you, you should take into consideration the ugly atmosphere in which this case will be argued. It doesn't bode well for the future of the child even if your position should prevail." He leaned forward. "It could very well become a media circus."

  Mrs. Compton began to sob. Sanford Compton nodded and then embraced her.

  "We had no idea about all these other circumstances," he said angrily.

  "Of course not," the judge said in a soothing voice. He sat back. "Mr. Humbrick, I recommend—informally recommend—that you advise your clients to return the infant to its mother forthwith."

  "We will take your advice under serious consideration, Your Honor," Felix Humbrick replied. "Sanford," he said softly.

  "Thank you, Judge," Sanford Compton said. He helped his wife to her feet, and they started out of the judge's chambers, Mrs. Compton's sobbing growing harder. Felix Humbrick rose and turned to Mr. Updike.

  "Are you staying anywhere in town?"

  "I wasn't intending on it. Why don't I phone your office? How long do you want?"

  "Give me two hours," Mr. Humbrick replied. They shook hands, and he followed the Comptons out.

  The judge stood up and gazed down at Jimmy and me. My legs felt so weak and wobbly, I was afraid to stand.

  "Well," Judge Powell said, "something like this is very unpleasant. You have a great deal to overcome, young lady, some of it not your fault, but some of the blame rests with you."