Palomino

36

They shared Christmas in peace, and for the first time in Timmie's life he had the kind of Christmas of which children dream. There were presents stacked high in boxes, things to wear, and games, and puzzles, a bright fire engine with a hat for him to wear, and a sweater for his teddy bear, and even some things Sam had made for him. And in the main hall was a huge tree surrounded by presents. There were toys for all the children currently staying at the ranch. And one of the counselors, at her request, had dressed up as Santa, and it reminded Sam and Josh of the year when Tate Jordan had been Santa. The memory of the man she still so loved placing the angel on the Christmas tree came back to her like a knife stab to her heart. Suddenly she was reminded of so many things about Tate and about John, whom she so seldom thought of now. They had had another baby, she knew, and Liz had finally been fired by the network, because she was so tiresome on the air. John Taylor's career was still booming but once in a great while when Sam watched him she found him plastic and empty and too pretty and terribly boring, and she wondered why she had ever cared. It seemed amazing now to watch eleven years of one's life fly out the window and not even care, but she just didn't. It was different when she thought of Tate.

“Sam… can I ask you a crazy question?” Josh asked her as they stood apart in a corner, watching the kids open their gifts.

“Sure. What?” But she already knew.

“Were you in love with Tate Jordan?” She looked into Josh's eyes and nodded her head slowly.

“Yes, I was.”

“Was that why he left?”

“I suppose. He decided not to work things out, I guess. And I had told him I didn't want to play the same game as Caro and Bill. But he didn't think a lady should love a ranch hand. At least not openly.” She looked sad as she spoke. “So he left.”

“I figured it was something like that.”

“And he had some kind of fit when he found out who my ex-husband was… thought he wasn't good enough for me, or something equally dumb…”

“Shit.” Josh looked instantly angry. “He was worth ten of that jerk. Oh-” His face flushed bright red. “I'm sorry, Sam…”

She chuckled. “Don't be. I was just thinking the same thing.”

“And he never wrote you or nothing?”

“No. I think I must have looked for him on every ranch in this country, but I never found him.”

Josh looked sorry again as he glanced at Sam. “It's a damn shame, Sam. He was a good man, and I always thought that he loved you. Maybe he'll turn up someday, just to say hi to Bill or me or Caro, and find you here instead.”

Sam shook her head with a taut expression on her face. “I hope not. He'd be in for one hell of a shock.” She meant her legs, but this time Josh shook his head.

“You think he'd care?”

“It doesn't matter, Josh. I would. That's all over now. I've got the kids instead.”

“At your age, Sam? Don't be crazy. What are you, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”

She grinned at the old man. “Josh, I love you. I'm thirty-three.”

“All sounds the same to me. Try fifty-nine and see how you like the feel of that.”

“On you it looks good.”

“Sweet-talker, but I love it.” He grinned at her, and then his face grew serious again. “You're talking bullshit though, you know, about Tate. And it don't matter if it's Tate or someone else, you're too damn young to treat yourself like an old maid.” And then he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “The truth is, Sam, you're a damn liar. You spend all your time teaching these kids that they don't have to live or think or act like cripples, and then in your heart you think of yourself as one.” He had hit a nerve but she said nothing and kept her eyes on the kids. “It's true, Sam… dammit, it's true. I saw that lawyer from Los Angeles talking to you the other day. He likes you, like a woman, dammit, and do you pay him any mind? No, hell no, you just act like a happy little old lady and give him iced tea.”

“There's nothing wrong with iced tea.” She grinned at him this time.

“No, but there's a lot wrong with pretending you're not a woman anymore at thirty-three.”

“Watch out, Josh,” she said, trying to glare at him, “I may attack you the next time we're alone.” And with that, she blew a kiss in his direction and wheeled herself into the midst of the kids. It was her way of telling him that she didn't want to hear any more. He had come a little too close to home.

It took them all two days to recover from the excitement of Christmas. There weren't even any riding lessons, just some casual groups that rode out over the hills, but neither Timmie nor Sam were among them. They were both spending a lot of time alone, as though they each had a deep need to be together. The hearing was set for December 28.

“You scared?” The night before the hearing, she had put Timmie in her smallest guest room, next door to her own room, and she was just tucking him into bed.

“About tomorrow?” Her face was close to his, and she touched it with one long graceful hand. “A little. Are you?”

“Yeah.” She saw now that the big blue eyes were filled with terror. “A lot. What if she hits me?”

“I won't let her.”

“What if she takes me?”

“She won't.” But what if they let her take him? That was the ghost that haunted Samantha, and she couldn't promise him that that wouldn't happen. She didn't want to lie. She had already told him that if they lost it she would appeal it, if that was what he wanted, and she had also told him that if what he wanted was to be with his mommy then that was okay too. It tore at her heart to give him that option, but she knew she had to. She didn't want to steal him from his own mother. She wanted him to come to her with an open heart. “It'll be all right, sweetheart. You'll see.”

But she didn't look nearly as certain the next day as Josh pushed both their wheelchairs up the ramp at the Los Angeles County Courthouse. She and Timmie were ferociously holding hands, and when they pressed into the elevator in their wheelchairs, they both felt awkward and conspicuous until Josh helped pull them out. Norman Warren was waiting for them just outside the courtroom, in a dark blue suit. He looked eminently respectable, as did Sam. She had worn a pretty pale blue wool dress, which was a remnant of her New York wardrobe, a matching light blue mohair coat, and plain black leather Gucci shoes. She had bought Timmie new clothes especially for the occasion, little navy blue slacks with a matching jacket and a pale blue turtleneck sweater, which accidentally matched Sam's dress. They looked very much like mother and son as they sat there waiting, and Norman once again noticed the striking resemblance of his towhead, her blond hair, and the same enormous blue eyes.

The hearing took place in a small courtroom, and the judge entered, wearing glasses and a quiet smile. He did his best not to intimidate Timmie when he looked at him, and he sat at a desk on a slightly raised platform, which was less impressive than some of the desks he had sat at in other courts. He was a man in his early sixties, and he had been doing child-custody hearings for a great many years. He was admired in Los Angeles for his fairness and his kindness to children-a number of times had saved children from unfortunate adoptions. He had a profound respect for children and natural mothers, and often encouraged the mothers to think over their decisions before they gave away their babies, their faces drenched in tears. Many women had come back to thank him, and it was something he would always carry with him when he retired. And now he looked at Timmie with interest, and at Samantha and her attorney, and a few minutes later at the tiny, fragile-looking young woman who slipped into the courtroom with her attorney. She was wearing a gray skirt and a white blouse and she looked more like a schoolgirl than an addict or a hooker. And Sam learned then for the first time that she was only twenty-two. She had a kind of fragile beauty and looked like the sort of girl who couldn't possibly take care of herself. One wanted instantly to love, cherish, and protect her. It was part of why Timmie had always felt sorry for her after she beat him. Because she looked so hurt and so distraught herself. It always made him forgive her and made him want to help her, instead of expecting her to help him.

The court was called to order, the files were handed to the judge, but unnecessarily, as he had already read all the existing documents the day before. He said at the outset that it was an interesting case because of the aspects introduced by Samantha, a handicapped child, a handicapped adopting mother, but they had to keep in mind, all of them there, that what was being looked for by the court, and should remain everyone's goal, was the ultimate good of the child. The judge offered the option to have the child removed, but Sam and Timmie had already discussed it. He said he wanted to be there, he didn't want to be “taken away by the cops.” She assured him that he could wait outside with Josh, but he insisted that he wanted to be with her. She noticed then that he never let his eyes roam toward his mother, as though he were frightened to acknowledge her presence, or even see her, and he kept his hand in Sam's and his eyes toward the judge.

The opposing attorney called Timmie's mother as his first witness, and as Sam sat staring her full in the face, she realized full well what she was up against. A sweet face, a soft voice, a sob story from beginning to end, and the assurance that this time she had learned a lesson and had done nothing but read psychology books to learn more about herself and how she might help her precious son. Timmie's eyes fell into his lap the whole time her testimony was being heard and he didn't raise them again until she'd left the stand. Sam's attorney put on record that he would cross-examine her later, and the next witnesses were called, a psychiatrist who had examined Timmie's mother for the county, declaring her to be a warm, feeling young woman who had had an unfortunate youth. They felt that she had no intention of hurting her child, but had been under enormous pressure financially, but that now that she was about to go to work in a big hotel downtown everything was looking up. Norman Warren made the psychiatrist look foolish, and the implication was made that she would have ample opportunity in the hotel to start picking up Johns. The comment was stricken from the record, Norman was admonished, and the witness was excused from the stand. There were additionally two counselors called, and then a doctor attesting to the mother's health and to the fact that she was in no way addicted to drugs anymore. And last of all, there was a priest who had known her since she was eleven, in fact he had baptized Timmie. He said that he felt absolutely certain that the child belonged with the mother who loved him, and as he said it Sam felt her stomach flip over in her gut. She held tightly to Timmie's hand through the entire proceeding, and when the priest left the stand, they adjourned for lunch. Norman had cross-examined them all except the mother herself and the priest. He was going to call Timmie's mother to the stand after the lunch break, but he explained to Sam that he had no intention of tackling the Catholic Church on the stand.

“Why not?”

“The judge is Catholic, my dear. Besides, what am I going to do to impeach what the man is saying? We're better off not touching that one.” Nonetheless he had made all the others look slightly shady, and he interrogated them almost with an air of amusement and derision, as though their testimony itself was tainted due to association with the woman herself. But none of what he had done to them even came close to what he did to Timmie's mother, and at a sign from Sam, Josh had firmly wheeled Timmie out of the room, protesting in a hoarse whisper, but he wasn't given any choice by Samantha, who blew him a kiss and turned back to watch what was happening on the stand. The girl was shaking in her seat, and almost before she started talking, she started crying. And it was admittedly difficult to envision this frail child as the villain in the piece. But despite what she looked like it was nevertheless made clear that she had discovered drugs at twelve, heroin at thirteen, had been arrested for prostitution at fifteen, gotten pregnant with Timmie at sixteen, had had five abortions to date, had been in seven drug programs, had been arrested nine times as a juvenile, and three as an adult.

“But,” her attorney insisted as he objected, “the court must keep in mind that this woman is no longer addicted, that she has just been through a very arduous state-run drug program, and if we are to say that this woman is not rehabilitated, then we are in fact saying that our entire system of rehabilitation does not work.” The objection was duly noted and sustained. Her arrest record was stricken from the record as per California law, the rest stayed.

Her testimony took well over an hour, she sobbed throughout and talked remorsefully about “my baby” whenever she had the chance, but every time Sam looked at her, she thought of the shots she hadn't gotten for him, which was why he had contracted polio, she thought of the beatings he had had at her hands, the torment, the loneliness, the terror, and all Sam wanted was to rise out of her wheelchair and scream.

For their side, Norman Warren called the social worker, Martin Pfizer, who was unemotional, matter-of-fact, and not particularly exciting as a witness; there was Sam's own physician; Josh; and there had been a packet of letters from important people, like judges and doctors, about the marvelous work she was doing on the ranch. And then at last there was Sam herself. The fact that she was divorced was brought out, that she was not remarried and had no “prospects,” as the opposing attorney put it, at the present time, the fact that she was indeed irreversibly handicapped. The whole sad, long list was emphasized over and over until Sam almost started to feel sorry for herself. Norman objected and got that line of questioning stopped. In the end she wound up sounding like a kindly, interested do-gooder who wanted to help Timmie, but unlike his half-hysterical mother she did not shout “my baby” and have to be led from the room.

The final witness was the hardest. It was Timmie himself, and his mother was asked if she could possibly quell her tears, or if she would like a recess during which she might compose herself once again. She chose to subdue herself then and there, still sniffing loudly as she listened while Sam watched the look of terror in the child's face. Everything that had previously been brought out was now tested. What his life was like with his mother, what his life was like with Sam, how his mother provided for him, what Sam bought him and gave him, how he felt about the two women, and then suddenly, “Are you afraid of your mother, Timmie?” But the question itself obviously frightened him so much that he shrank back in his wheelchair, holding his teddy, shaking his head violently.

“No… no!”

“Does she ever beat you or hit you?”

There was no answer and then he shook his head and was finally asked to speak up. All they got was a hoarse “No.” Sam closed her eyes in despair. She understood what he was doing. There was no way he could tell the truth with his mother there. It went on for another half hour and then they were all sent home. The judge kindly asked them all to return the following morning. He said that he had all of their phone numbers, and that if, for some reason, he felt that he would not be able to reach a verdict that quickly, he would let them know. But if they did not hear from him that evening, they were to return to the same court the next morning, bringing Timmie-this was a glance at Sam-and the verdict would be returned. He felt that in the interest of the child, and to avoid any additional pain to all parties, it was best to have the verdict returned right away. With that, the judge rose and the bailiff announced that court was adjourned.

On the drive back to the ranch Sam felt her whole body ache with exhaustion and Timmie fell asleep in her arms almost as soon as they left the curb. He had trembled with terror as his mother had begun to approach him, clutched at Sam's hand, and Norman had whisked him from the courtroom as Josh helped Samantha, and they got away as quickly as they could. She realized later as she held him what a brave thing Timmie had done by being willing to try to go through the custody hearings. If his mother won him back, she might do anything to get even, and he had known that better than anyone. But Sam understood it now too as she held him close. How on earth was she going to give him to that woman if she had to? How could she bear it? As she lay in bed that night she knew she couldn't, that it would kill her. For hours she lay there and thought of taking him and running away somewhere. But where and how, and what was the point really? Two people in wheelchairs wouldn't get very far, and then she thought of the secret cabin, which she hadn't visited since she got back to the ranch. But she knew that even there they would find her. It was hopeless. All they could do was believe in justice and hope for the best.