Tessa (From Fear to Faith) (22 page)

46

T
wo weeks after Walter’s arrest, Mom returned from another late-night visit to the neighbors with the news that she’d raised the money for Walter’s bail.

I was surprised. “You mean Tom agreed to pay it?” I asked.

“More or less. With a few stipulations and things.”

“Interesting.” I couldn’t imagine Tom caving in to her demands. There had to be more to the story.

“They also agreed to let you stay with them again,” she continued. “I hope you’re okay with that. You’ll be moving this weekend.”

I stared at her a second. “Great. I don’t get any say in it, do I?” I whirled and stomped out of the room. Why should my whole life be uprooted for the benefit of Walter? But I should’ve known. Mom always did what was most convenient for her. What I wanted didn’t matter.

Mom followed me to my bedroom. “I thought you’d like staying with Heather again,” she apologized. “But if you really don’t want to, we’ll think of something else.”

I kept my back to her as I pretended to busy myself digging in my top drawer. Since Walter had gone to jail, Mom had started spending time with me. Last weekend, we’d stayed up past midnight, playing Scrabble and Chinese checkers. Mom had assured me we’d do it again soon. Was that just an empty promise? And what about the seeds that had arrived in the mail yesterday? If I wasn’t home, how would I ever plant them?

“Why don’t you sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow,” Mom said.

But morning came, and I still didn’t know what to say. The week I’d spent with Heather had been enjoyable, but I also remembered how difficult it had been to leave. If it hurt that much to leave after only a week, what would it feel like after several months?

Of course, the circumstances were different this time. Life at home wasn’t unbearable, and when I did have to leave, it would be with the promise of seeing them again every Sunday. Maybe it would be all right. They might even have room for me to plant my garden seeds if I stayed into the summer.

Once I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t wait to go. Early Saturday morning, Heather came over and helped me pack my clothes and other belongings into a couple of large cardboard boxes. Then Mom drove us and my stuff over to Heather’s house and said goodbye.

Patty had already made up my bed in the back room, complete with several hand-crocheted pillows. There was even a mirror and an old dresser for me to use. Once I was settled in, Tom and Patty sat down with me and explained the situation.

“We don’t want you to spend the next several months wondering whether we really invited you, or Julie pushed us into this,” Tom began. “The truth is, God placed a love and concern for you in our hearts, and that’s why we agreed to help in this way. You are as welcome here as any of our grandchildren.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Something else you should know,” he continued. “We’re putting up about half the money to bail Walter out. Our pastor offered to provide the rest. I’ll be driving into town this afternoon to post the money and pick Walter up.”

So those are the stipulations,
I thought. It made sense, considering the amount of money involved. But I could only imagine Mom’s embarrassment over not being trusted to handle it herself.

Aloud, I said, “That’s awful nice of the pastor. Does Mom know?”

“She was over there with us, talking to him the other night.”

“You’re kidding.” Mom hated preachers almost as much as cops. How had she ever agreed to this?

“You won’t believe what Roger had to say about Walter,” Tom went on. “Last Monday he went over to the jail to talk with the guys like he does every week. He says typically he’ll get one or two of them to pray for salvation, but last week there were about ten. Walter’s been preaching to everybody, including the guards, and creating quite a stir.”

I snickered. Only Walter would try preaching to the guards. Did he really think they’d listen to him?

That first day at Heather’s passed much like usual. I’d spent so many Saturdays visiting that I felt right at home helping out with the chores, playing fetch with Sadie, and watching movies with Heather. After supper, the four of us worked on a puzzle until bedtime.

The next morning, I awoke to the tantalizing aroma of fried sausage. I pulled on my clothes and rapped at Heather’s door. “Hey, sleepyhead, I’m gonna beat you to breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled.

Out in the kitchen, Patty was pouring the last of the pancake batter onto the griddle. Tom sat at the table with his laptop, trying to connect to the internet.

“Morning,” he greeted me, then added, “Say, do you know what this ‘no contact’ thing Walter has with you means?”

I frowned. “Not exactly. Why?”

“Because Walter called to ask us to take him to church. He thinks it’s okay, but Julie says it’s illegal because you’re going too.”

The internet page finally loaded. Tom typed the term into a search. “All right, here we go.”

“Well?” I asked, as he scrolled down the page of some lawyer’s website.

“I think it’s iffy,” he concluded. “It seems they’re trying to prevent communication. Sitting in the same room with you is probably not allowed. I guess I’ll have to tell him no.”

Fair enough,
I thought. Walter would be disappointed, but it was his own fault for getting into so much trouble. Still, pity tightened my throat as I imagined the ridicule Mom was heaping on him for wanting to go to church.

“I could stay here,” I suggested.

“Yes, I suppose you could,” Tom said. “But do you really want to?”

I nodded. “Sure.” It wasn’t often I got the chance to turn the tables on Mom.

“I’ll keep you company,” Patty offered.

So it was settled. Tom called Walter back, and after explaining the plan to Mom’s satisfaction, he set a time to pick him up.

“I don’t think Julie’s happy about it,” Tom commented afterwards. “But Walter is as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. I hope he’s not disappointed.”

Just then Heather padded into the kitchen barefoot, carrying her socks. She perched on the kitchen stool and yawned. “Did I miss something?”

“You sure did,” I told her. “You’ve been assigned to take Walter to church.”

A look of mock fright crossed her face. “Oh no you don’t.”

“Not even with a chaperone?” Tom teased her.

She shook her head, laughing. “No thanks. I’ll stay here.”

“I guess it’ll be just you two guys,” Patty said. “I think that’s more appropriate anyway.”

After breakfast, Patty tuned up her guitar and sang with us for a while. Later, we peeled potatoes while she seared the meat for a pot of beef stroganoff. By the time Tom returned around twelve thirty, dinner was ready.

“Well, how did Walter like church?” Patty asked, as she dished up plates.

“He enjoyed it. He’d says he’d like to go back sometime,” Tom said. “But I was disturbed how some of the men treated him. You could tell they were only shaking his hand out of duty.”

“Did they know who he was?” I asked.

“Most of them did. The story has gotten around. But Walter took everything with a good attitude. He did surprise me after the service though. He wanted to know if Pat was there. I guess he knows her. I pointed her out, and he hobbled all the way across the sanctuary just to apologize for being unkind to her in the past. I don’t suppose Pat has that happen very often. She held out her hand, and Walter took it, like he couldn’t believe it. He even thanked her. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Picturing the scene, I felt tears prick my eyes. This was not the Walter I used to know. Not even close. If only I could have been there to witness it for myself.

***

As the days and weeks passed, good reports about Walter continued to filter back to me. Most of them came from Tom, who visited him every few nights. Mom rarely mentioned him, at least around me, but she couldn’t hide the spark in her eyes. At stores she picked up his favorite snacks, and when she drove me up to the park one Sunday to see the spring wildflowers, she brought along her old film camera and snapped pictures of them so he could see them too.

I puzzled how Mom could overlook all the contempt and ill-treatment Walter had given her. Maybe the change in him had affected her more than I realized. Still, her growing fondness for him provoked distrust and even resentment in me. If she really cared about me, like she claimed, how could she ignore all the terrible things he’d done to me? Didn’t they upset her even a little?

It helped I knew Walter’s time at home was limited. Around the third week of April, I received a letter from the district attorney’s office encouraging me to stop by and talk to a victim/witness coordinator about the case. Patty drove me to the courthouse after school the next day and helped me find the right office.

The lady I talked with was very kind. Her name was Brenda. She helped me fill out some forms and explained how the court system worked and what was going to happen next. Brenda told me I had the right to be present at Walter’s court dates, and, if I wanted, I would have a chance to speak before the sentencing occurred. Then she gave me her card and told me to call her if I had any more questions or concerns.

I thanked her, then went home with Patty and did my best to forget the whole mess. Every time I thought of Walter standing trial, I felt a vague guilt. I knew he’d done terrible things and deserved to be punished, yet at the same time it felt so wrong to demand he pay for everything he’d done to me. He was my father, after all. And he had said he was sorry. Was I evil to want to see him punished?

Patty told me I didn’t have to attend the court sessions unless I wanted to, which made me feel better. But then I remembered what Brenda had said, that I had every right to be there, and the guilt returned. It was Mom who finally set me straight on it.

“You need to be there,” she said in her no-nonsense way. “I dare say it’ll do you more good than that drug abuse program they want me to put you in. Besides, some of his crimes were against you. Do you really want to hear the outcome of this secondhand?”

I had to admit I didn’t. Right then, I promised I’d attend. But I dreaded the date.

47

T
he twenty-sixth day of May dawned clear and bright. Outside my windows, a robin chirped to his mate in the apple tree. Yellow dandelions strewed the yard, and against the shed pink tulips bloomed. But I scarcely noticed the beauty before me as I stood combing the tangles from my hair. If Walter was sent to prison, would I spend the rest of my life crushed under the guilt that I’d helped send him there?

With a heavy heart, I turned from the window. The other day, I had called Brenda and told her I wanted to speak in court. I had even written out a statement. But now, thinking about it made me feel worse. How could I stand up and accuse my father of hurting me, when I had supposedly forgiven him way back at Christmas time? Maybe I should tell Brenda I had changed my mind. Then no one could say it was my fault if Walter did end up in prison.

Or could they? My heart sank even lower as I remembered the hour and a half I’d spent talking to the police detective. No doubt he’d used my story to further incriminate Walter. Chris had assured me that my anger over Walter’s mistreatment of me was normal and healthy. I wished I could believe that. I wished I could somehow silence the voice in my head that kept screaming I was a terrible person because of my “extreme” reactions to Walter’s supposedly “reasonable” behavior.

Tom had taken the day off so he could accompany Patty and me to court. After a rather solemn breakfast, Heather left for school. The rest of us finished the chores and piled into the SUV for the drive to town.

At the courthouse, we took the elevator to the second floor. Brenda met us and escorted us to the courtroom at the end of the hall. Half a dozen people I didn’t know were sitting on the rows of wooden benches at the back of the room. Mom was there as well, sitting in the far back next to Walter. She glanced up when we entered and gave me a weak smile.

Brenda guided us to an empty bench and then sat down at one of the tables ahead of us. I huddled on the hard bench next to Patty and glanced around. I’d never been inside a courtroom before.

The judge and the other court officials were already in their places, discussing via microphones whether or not a certain man would make a good replacement judge. Talking softly, Patty pointed out the various officials to me, including the clerk, the court reporter, and the district attorney, who was sitting next to Brenda.

A heavyset man in a suit and tie walked in and sat down at the other table. Patty whispered that he was a lawyer, probably the public defender. The judge ended his conversation, adjusted his glasses, and stated that court would commence.

The public defender began calling cases. One by one, his clients walked up to sit with him at the table while their case was being heard. When it was finished, they left, and the next case was called.

At last the lawyer announced, “State vs. Walter Miner,” and it was Walter’s turn to walk up and sit at the table. The district attorney handed him some papers, and the judge proceeded to read the charges.

Patty slid an arm around me as the reading continued. I counted ten charges, all of them felonies. For the first time, I glimpsed the enormity of Walter’s wrongdoing. The crimes seemed much more shameful when they were read aloud in public.

“Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” asked the judge.

I held my breath.

“Guilty, sir.” Walter’s voice was low, but clear.

“Mr. Miner, have you made this plea of your own free will?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You do realize these charges carry a maximum penalty of eighty-two years in prison, and I could sentence you to that if I feel the offenses warrant it?”

My heart lurched.
Eighty-two years?
That would be like a life sentence.

For a long moment, Walter hesitated. Then, in a strained voice, he said, “Yes, sir. I’ve thought about that.”

“Have you actually committed all the crimes you are being charged with today?”

“I did.”

“Walter Miner, if you are not a citizen of the United States, you are advised that a plea of guilty or no contest for the offenses with which you are charged may result in deportation or denial of naturalization, under federal law. Do you still wish to make this plea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The court will accept the plea. You may now proceed with your defense.”

Walter’s lawyer spoke up. “Thank you. Your Honor, my client deeply regrets his misdeeds and has proven it by his voluntary confession and cooperation with law enforcement. Mr. Miner has led a very difficult life. His father physically abused him as a child. He had little schooling and has only recently learned to read. Under the pressure of trying to earn a living with no education, he made some poor choices which landed him where he is today.

“Mr. Miner is determined to put his evil past behind him and start fresh, beginning with a decent education. I believe he can do this, especially in light of the spiritual awakening he has experienced. Therefore, I request leniency from the court. Although a short period of confinement seems fitting due to the nature of these charges, I believe a harsher punishment will only dampen Mr. Miner’s resolve and further alienate him from the society he desperately needs to integrate with. I recommend that counseling and community service requirements be combined with probation to finish out what I would consider an adequate sentence of six or seven years.”

The lawyer paused. “Your Honor, my client would like to speak in his own defense.”

“He may do so.”

After a brief consultation with his lawyer, Walter stood to his feet, steadying himself on the table. Though he still wore his traditional oversized jeans, he had tucked in his flannel shirt and cut his hair. He looked almost respectable.

“I want to explain that I became a Christian about five months ago. I confessed to these things because I saw it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t stand them sitting on my conscience anymore. I know I have to pay for what I did, and I’m sure not trying to make excuses or say it wasn’t wrong. I want you to know I’m sorry for everything. I’m ashamed, and I wish I hadn’t done it. God changed me, and I’m not the same man. I don’t even smoke. I hate what I did, and I’m not gonna do any of it again. That’s all.”

As Walter settled into his chair, his lawyer spoke again. “Your Honor, I would like to call character witnesses for my client.”

“You may call them.”

“Tom Erickson?” The lawyer craned his neck, scanning the benches on our side of the room.

“Please come up to the clerk and be sworn in. Give your full name and your relation to the defendant, then you may proceed with your statement,” the judge instructed.

Tom crossed the room and took the stand with a confidence that suggested he had done such things before.

“I’m Thomas Erickson. I’m a master plumber with P&B Plumbing here in Northford. I’ve known Walter for the last five months. Being a Christian, I don’t generally hang out with people of his sort. It was only through a series of unusual circumstances that I met him.

“It started last December when his teenage daughter showed up at my door, shivering, without a coat, saying her parents were fighting. She ended up staying with us for a week. During that time, Walter was in a bad car accident. Later, while he was at home recuperating, we got a call from his wife asking if we’d come over and keep an eye on him so she could go shopping. She said he was hard to manage, and she didn’t want to leave him alone with her daughter.

“This was the first time I’d ever met Walter. When we got there, he was so full of hate and anger toward us that I think he would’ve thrown us bodily out of the house if he could. Since he was in a wheelchair and couldn’t, I sat in his living room and witnessed to him of the saving power of Christ. He didn’t like that either, but as I continued talking to him, he saw the truth of the gospel. When he received Jesus, his violent temper and all that hate and anger vanished. It was a miracle.

“Since then, I’ve visited him at least twice a week, and I know him as a kind and humble man. I trust him enough that I contributed $3,000 of my own money toward his bail.”

When Tom finished speaking, the judge asked the district attorney if he wished to cross-examine him.

“Yes, sir.” The lawyer rose and positioned himself facing Tom.

“Mr. Erickson, you say Mr. Miner suddenly changed during your talk with him that day.”

Tom nodded. “Yes. When he prayed.”

“You also imply that you’ve never seen him angry or hateful since then. I find that hard to believe.”

“Sir, I didn’t say that. I have seen him angry on a number of occasions. But I believe it has gotten less frequent in the last few months, and he deals with it nonviolently.”

“Mr. Erickson, you said you’ve only known Mr. Miner five months. That’s not very long.”

“No,” Tom admitted.

“And you only see him during brief, scheduled visits, correct?”

“Yes. About twice a week.”

“Don’t you think there could be aspects of his character that you haven’t seen during those brief visits?”

“There could be, although I doubt it.”

“No further questions,” said the lawyer.

The judge nodded to Tom. “Thank you, sir. You may step down.”

“Julie Miner?” Walter’s lawyer again scanned the nearly empty benches. “Did you want to speak?”

Mom trembled as she walked to the front. “I’m Julie Miner. I’m Walter’s wife. We’ve been married for twenty-four years. And most of that time, it’s been hell. He’d get mad over any little thing. He drank and used drugs, and he was really mean. Most people who knew him were afraid of him. He mistreated me a lot, especially last fall when it got really bad. He’d hit me with his fists or a heavy object. I know he mistreated my daughter too. I never turned him in for domestic abuse, but I should’ve. He was so horrible to live with that I was seriously looking at divorce. I just couldn’t afford it.

“But the day Tom came over, something strange and wonderful happened to him. He says God saved him. I don’t know; all I can say is ever since then, he won’t get mad even if I yell at him. I haven’t seen him drinking or smoking at all in the last couple months. I’ve actually started to enjoy spending time with him. He’s like a new person. I don’t see what good would come of sending him to prison.”

When she finished, the judge again asked the district attorney whether he wished to cross-examine.

“I’ll pass on that. I would like instead to proceed with the victim’s statement and my sentencing recommendations.”

The judge nodded to Mom. “You may step down.” To the attorney, he said, “Go ahead.”

“First I would like to give the victim, Tessa Miner, an opportunity to speak,” said the lawyer.

My heart began thudding so hard I thought I’d have a heart attack. Brenda turned and smiled at me, nodding for me to go ahead. I tugged the paper containing my statement from my pocket and unfolded it, but I was too nervous to speak. After one or two false starts, I gave up and handed the sweaty, tattered page over to Brenda. She read it aloud.

“I want you to know that my father made my life very miserable for a long time, and it’s not like I can just forget it all and it’s gone. I still feel I’m a terrible person because of the bad things he made me do. Sometimes I have horrible nightmares. I’m not mad at him, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

There. It was out. I ducked my head, my face burning as if I had done something very inappropriate. A swarm of accusing thoughts hurled themselves at my mind.
You evil, wicked person! Can’t you be more forgiving? You know very well that he’s changed!

Patty reached over and put an arm around me again. “Good job,” she whispered, and smiled. “I’m proud of you.” I began to breathe easier.

The district attorney took his time detailing the seriousness of Walter’s crimes, particularly the ones relating to me. He pointed out that Walter had been convicted of burglary in another state some eighteen years before, and finished by reviewing his more recent rash of convictions for drunken driving, possession, and disorderly conduct.

“Mr. Miner is a chronic criminal and troublemaker,” the lawyer concluded. “As you see, he couldn’t even keep the conditions of his probation last summer. He is walking with a cane today because six months ago he crashed into a dump truck while high on his own methamphetamine. If it had been any other kind of vehicle, we’d likely have a homicide case on our hands.

“Despite the seemingly positive testimony we heard here today, I believe it’s a mistake to think men like Mr. Miner really change. They merely get more skilled at manipulation and deceit. Notice that he didn’t turn himself in until the last minute, when law enforcement was already closing in on him. That’s not remorse; it’s a desperate man’s attempt to get off easy. I dare say we’d see a much different attitude in the defendant were he not in the clutches of the law.

“Therefore, in keeping with the severity of these crimes, and for the safety of his daughter and of our entire community, I recommend Mr. Miner be locked up for a considerable length of time. Twenty-five years is the sentence I would like to see him given, and I think that’s generous.”

As the attorney finished speaking, the room went silent. Then, to my surprise, the judge called a fifteen-minute recess.

“What’s happening?” I asked Mom, as we walked out into the hall in search of the restrooms.

“Don’t ask me.” Mom looked at least as nervous as I felt. “I told him not to plead guilty. It’s just plain stupid. But he insisted.”