Fortune's Rocks (50 page)
“And what date was this?”
“Twenty-three April
1900
.”
1900
.”
“And you signed the documents I showed you earlier.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And tell me about how you felt that day.”
“When I am seeing the boy, he is so tiny, I have love in my heart at once. And, Telesphore, he does, too, I can see this. And we take the boy home and we make a bed for him, and we are loving him all the hours of the day.”
Tucker glances at Olympia.
“Was the boy healthy?”
“Yes, he is healthy. He grows.”
“But, Mrs. Bolduc, how did you go back to work once you had the infant in your care?”
“Telesphore and I, we are going to overseer and are asking to work different shifts to take care of baby. And we are good workers, so he is saying yes to us.”
“Where is the boy now?”
“He is with my mother.”
“Your Honor,” says Sears, “I have here an affidavit from Sister Thérèse Bracq, a visiting nurse with the Orphanage of Saint Andre, who cannot be in court due to a long-term chronic illness, attesting to the fact that repeated visitations to the Bolduc household have shown that the boy is being well cared for and that he is almost always with one of his parents. She adds that various members of Albertine Bolduc’s extended family have helped as well to raise the boy.”
Sears hands the document to the judge, who briefly peruses it.
“Now, Mrs. Bolduc,” Sears continues, “tell me how you felt when you heard last fall that Olympia Biddeford, the natural mother of the boy, was seeking custody of the child.”
There is a cry of
“Non!”
from the back of the courtroom. Littlefield immediately bangs his gavel. “Bailiff,” he says, “eject that gentleman.” They wait while the spectator, a man with a sign and a blue scarf, is removed from the courtroom.
“Non!”
from the back of the courtroom. Littlefield immediately bangs his gavel. “Bailiff,” he says, “eject that gentleman.” They wait while the spectator, a man with a sign and a blue scarf, is removed from the courtroom.
Albertine glances over at Olympia, and it is the first time since they entered the courtroom yesterday that the two have looked each other in the eye.
“I am not believing this,” she says, as if directly to Olympia. “I am not believing this. The boy is ours. He cannot be taken away, I am saying to Telesphore. And he is shouting and being very angry. And I am telling him to be quiet for the boy. And I am holding the boy and I am telling him I will never leave him. And then someone is telling us of you, who sometimes take the cases of the poor.”
“Yes, thank you. What does the boy call you?” Sears asks quickly, seemingly wishing to change the subject. And not from any modesty, Olympia guesses, but because he does not wish the court to linger on the word
poor,
an attribute no lawyer in a custody suit wants to emphasize in his client.
poor,
an attribute no lawyer in a custody suit wants to emphasize in his client.
“He is calling me Maman, of course.”
“And your husband?”
“Papa.”
“The boy knows no other parents, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Mrs. Bolduc, why have you not adopted the boy legally?”
“The father is not being found. But we are wishing to. And the sisters are telling us that after five years we can do this.”
“And when will you enroll the boy in school?”
“At six years.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bolduc, that will be all.”
Olympia watches as Sears returns to his table, lifts the tails of his frock coat, and takes his seat. In the witness box, Albertine removes a handkerchief from her purse and wipes her upper lip.
“Your Honor,” says Tucker, rising to his feet. “I have some questions to put to Albertine Bolduc.”
The judge makes notes and does not respond for a moment. In an impulsive gesture of encouragement, Olympia reaches over and touches Tucker’s hand. He looks down at her hand and then at her face.
“Yes, proceed,” says Littlefield.
Tucker, reluctant to withdraw his hand, slowly rises to his feet and approaches Albertine Bolduc. He studies her for a time before he speaks. Albertine, uncomfortable with the silence, begins to fidget.
“Mrs. Bolduc,” says Tucker finally. “I wish to ask you some questions about your background.”
“Yes?”
“You are an American citizen?”
“Yes.”
“You were born here? In this country?”
“Oh yes.”
“In Ely Falls?”
“Yes, my mother is working in the mill forty-seven years now.”
“Forty-seven years?” Tucker says with seeming surprise. “That is quite a lot of years, Mrs. Bolduc.”
“Yes,” she says. “And she is having seven children.”
“Did she? That strikes me as extraordinary.”
“Oh no,” says Albertine. “Is not. Is many Franco families who are working many years in the mill with many children. Is common.”
“Can you give me another example?”
“My sister is working for twenty-four years and she is having four children and one who is dying.” Albertine crosses herself.
“And she is how old now? Your sister?”
“Thirty-two years.”
“That would mean she entered the mill when she was . . . eight years old?”
“Yes, this is true.”
Sears struggles to his feet. “Your Honor, I do not understand the relevance of this line of questioning.”
“Mr. Tucker?”
“Your Honor, I wish to establish the cultural context in which this boy will be raised. I think these questions are quite relevant.”
“Very well, proceed.”
“And how about you, Mrs. Bolduc? When did you enter the mill?”
“I am going in at eight years, like my sister.”
“I see. And did you go to school?”
Sears, having just sat, is on his feet again. “Really, Your Honor, I do not think Mrs. Bolduc’s schooling or lack of it is at all relevant to her ability to properly mother a child.”
“Your Honor,” says Tucker, moving slightly toward Judge Littlefield. “Once again, I wish to establish the context in which the boy will be raised. I think this is highly relevant, for no man or woman can be a parent in a vacuum. A boy is not just raised by the parents, but is raised into a community. The court cannot make an adequate judgment about the custody of the child without a full understanding of the composition of this community.”
The judge ponders Tucker’s point and studies the tall young lawyer. A long silence ensues and even the spectators are quiet, awaiting a judgment from Littlefield. “Very well, Mr. Tucker,” he says finally. “Mr. Sears, you will, for the moment, allow Mr. Tucker to pursue this line of questioning without further interruptions.”
Tucker walks back to Albertine and moves so close to her that he could rest his arm on the witness box. “Mrs. Bolduc,” he asks, repeating his question. “Did you attend school?”
Albertine looks into her lap. “No,” she says. “I did not. My mother is not having the money for the school.”
“And this is because she would have sent you to a Catholic school, and Catholic schools cost money?”
“Yes. The school of Saint Andre.”
“Is that where you will send your foster son?”
“Oh yes.”
“And at this school, your foster son will speak French and have his lessons in French. Is that correct?”
Shouts of
“La langue”
and
“Je me souviens!”
erupt from the back of the courtroom. Littlefield bangs his gavel, visibly seething at this continued defiance of his orders. “Baliff, eject the persons who have just spoken out. And if I hear one more sound from any of the spectators, I will remove not only the speaker but this entire audience. Is this clear? Mrs. Bolduc, you may answer the question.”
“La langue”
and
“Je me souviens!”
erupt from the back of the courtroom. Littlefield bangs his gavel, visibly seething at this continued defiance of his orders. “Baliff, eject the persons who have just spoken out. And if I hear one more sound from any of the spectators, I will remove not only the speaker but this entire audience. Is this clear? Mrs. Bolduc, you may answer the question.”
Albertine, clutching her purse, blinks at Tucker. “Yes, is important to me,” she says. “We are all believing in
la langue
.”
la langue
.”
“Tell me why this is so.”
“If we are giving up the
français
and speaking only the English, we are losing our life . . . our . . .” — she searches for the word —
“‘La culture.’”
français
and speaking only the English, we are losing our life . . . our . . .” — she searches for the word —
“‘La culture.’”
“I see. So you attend Saint Andre Church?”
“Oh yes.”
“How often do you go there?”
“Every Sunday.”
Olympia wonders why Tucker is asking Albertine these questions, for they seem designed to emphasize her fitness as a parent. Is not the practice of religion a point Olympia’s own lawyer might not want to bring up again?
“Mrs. Bolduc, what do you do in the mill?” Tucker asks.
“I am carding. I comb the cotton.”
“And you work how many hours a day?”
“I am working ten and a half hours.”
“And your pay is?”
“I am making more than three hundred dollars a year.”
Tucker smiles at Albertine. “Would it be correct to say that you have some pride in your work, Mrs. Bolduc?”
“Oh yes, I am having the pride. I am good worker and am supervising many other women.”
“In general, do you believe that a child should be taught the work ethic?”
She seems puzzled. “I am not understanding you.”
“Should a child be taught that work is a good thing?”
“But yes,” she says, confused. “Everyone must work.”
“Exactly,” says Tucker. “And what other values would you want to teach Pierre?”
“Honesty, yes? And kindness to others. Obedience, yes?”
“Of course. So let me be clear about this,” says Tucker. “You would hope that your foster son would be raised as a French speaker. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“You would hope that your foster son would be raised as a Roman Catholic.”
“Mais oui,”
she says quickly.
she says quickly.
“You would promote the moral values of honesty and obedience and kindness to others.”
“Of course.”
“And you would promote the work ethic which is so dear to the Franco-American community.”
“Yes, I must.”
“But you would not have Pierre go into the mills at age eight, as you had to do.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head.
“You would wait until he was ten.”
She seems to think a moment. “Ten, yes,” she says.
Tucker pauses.
“Ten, definitely?” Tucker asks.
“Ten, yes, I think so. Definitely.”
There is a moment of silence. Then Sears, galvanized, rises to his feet and begins to speak, but even Olympia can see that it is too late. She watches as bewilderment and then comprehension pass across the features of Albertine Bolduc. At the respondents’ table, Telesphore puts his head in his hands.
“Mr. Sears, sit down,” says Judge Littlefield.
“But, Your Honor,” Sears says.
“Sit down, Mr. Sears.”
The courtroom is preternaturally quiet, as though something large and ponderous has settled upon it.
“I have no further questions, Your Honor,” says Tucker into the silence.
“You have no further witnesses?”
“No, I do not. But I should like permission to address the court.”
“Your Honor,” says Sears, now alarmingly pink in the face. “This is highly unusual. Mr. Tucker cannot address the court at this point.”
“The petitioner’s suit is completed,” says Tucker.
Littlefield thinks a moment. “This may be somewhat unusual, Mr. Sears, but it is not unprecedented. Mr. Tucker may perhaps jeopardize the petitioner’s own suit by making his address now, before he has heard the respondents’ other evidence. But if he chooses to do so, he may.”
“I do choose to do so,” says Tucker.
“Your Honor, this is highly irregular.”
“Yes, Mr. Sears. I understand that. But, I repeat, not unprecedented. Mr. Tucker, you may proceed.”
Sears, shaking his head, sits reluctantly. Albertine, clearly stunned by the abrupt ending to her interview as well as the potential damage she has done to herself, remains motionless in the witness box. Judge Littlefield, glancing in her direction, asks her politely to step down. But Albertine is deeply shaken and, in a bitter moment of irony, is forced to take Tucker’s hand so that he may help her back to her seat. Sears, furious, rises at once to take her from Tucker.
Tucker returns to his desk and removes another set of notes from his briefcase. He looks at Olympia as if he would speak, though he does not. She watches as he walks slowly to the lectern. Her future, her entire future, is in the hands of this young man, barely out of law school, a man who perhaps has never argued a case before.
“Your Honor,” he begins, “my address to the court, while not incendiary in intent, may be seen as being so by members of the Franco-American community, and as this court is not a forum for political debate, and as I should not like to be interrupted in my summation by shouts and catcalls from the gallery, I request that the court be cleared for this part of the hearing.”
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