When Joy Came to Stay (35 page)

Judge Hutchison had worked as a jurist in that same courthouse for more than twenty years. He knew his peers considered him both brilliant and tough—a judge criminals feared, whose sentences brought a sense of justice to the people of Cincinnati and the surrounding area. But criminals weren’t the only group Hutch detested. There was one other group of citizens he was loathe to waste time on: deadbeat dads.

Therefore, his decision to meet with the man today had nothing to do with any generosity of spirit. If this McFadden
had truly been concerned with the welfare of his daughter, why hadn’t he come forward before now? The possibilities as to what had motivated him—after so many years—to seek custody of the child now were less than encouraging.

So the only reason Judge Hutchison was giving the man five minutes of his time was pure and simple: Hutch loved children. He had five grandchildren of his own and often found himself fighting back tears when the victims in his cases were kids too young to help themselves. Amanda Brownell’s file had made his eyes watery after only the first page.

If there was even a remote chance that this McFadden character really was an upstanding citizen who only recently realized he’d fathered a child and who truly wanted to give this hapless little child a permanent, loving home, Judge Hutchison did not want anything to stand in the way.

He checked his watch. The man should be there by now, sitting in his courtroom waiting the judge’s decision, which could go one of two ways: a temporary grant of custody rights—one day, for instance, so the two could become acquainted—or a refusal until the situation could be further examined.

Judge Hutchison had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and they were telling him that McFadden was almost certainly not the type of father who would give little Amanda a happy, loving home.

The man was in too great a hurry.

No, McFadden was more the kind of man Hutch would subject to intense scrutiny; the kind that might not only be false, but perhaps even dangerous.

He opened the door and walked from his chambers into the courtroom. A dark-haired man with a falsely humble expression rose to his feet. “Your honor, my name is John McFadden, and I’m—”

“Sit down, Mr. McFadden.” Hutch glowered at the man, more certain than ever that something wasn’t right. Something
about the flashy cheap suit and the depth of darkness in McFadden’s eyes made him look more like a Las Vegas pit boss than a loving father who had only recently stumbled onto his long-lost daughter.

Hutch took his seat and sorted through his docket. Several minutes passed before he looked up and rapped his gavel twice. He nodded to a court reporter sitting nearby. “I will now hear the emergency matter of John McFadden regarding his request to be granted custody of his seven-year-old daughter, Amanda Brownell, who is currently a ward of this court.” He peered down and found the man watching him with great expectancy. “You may present your information, Mr. McFadden.”

As he stood, the man glanced behind him, then side to side.
Nervous sort
, Judge Hutch thought. McFadden took a handful of documents and presented them to the judge. “Here. I believe this is everything you need.”

The judge sifted through the papers. A notarized DNA test, a request form asking the judge to check McFadden’s DNA against that of the child’s, a request form for temporary custody, and another request form for a hearing that would give him permanent custody. Everything was in order…but the gnawing feeling that something was wrong remained.

“All right, Mr. McFadden, why don’t you give me your driver’s license, and I’ll go back to my chambers, make a copy of it, and check out the DNA with the child’s birth certificate. It shouldn’t take long to pull up the information on the computer.”

McFadden’s shoulders relaxed and his face seemed to sag with relief. “Thanks, Judge, you don’t know what this means to me. I can’t wait to see her. I mean, after all these years and such, you know how it is. This is really amazing…”

The man was still rambling as Hutch took his identification and slipped back into his chambers. Before he checked the computers for matching DNA; before he contacted Kathy
Garrett, the social worker listed on the girl’s file; before he did anything else for that matter, he was going to run the man’s information by someone else. Just in case.

He picked up the phone and was immediately connected with the court clerk.

“Yes, your honor?”

“Get me the police department, please.”

John McFadden tapped his foot, anxiously awaiting Judge Hutchison’s return. With each passing minute, his heart rate increased. Finally, when the eighth minute passed, John clenched his teeth, cursing under his breath. No DNA match should take this long. That judge must have discovered more than whether or not John was the kid’s father.

He stood and took three quick steps toward the court reporter. “Tell the judge…uh, I had to use the restroom.”

The court reporter looked up briefly. “Sure.”

In three minutes, McFadden was in his gold Acura, pulling out of the courthouse parking lot. He steered into the first alley he saw and dialed Alfie’s cell phone.

“Yah, buddy.” Alfie’s words were muffled; the lug was probably eating again. Alfie was always stuffing his face.

“It’s me.”

“Oh…hey boss, what’s up?”

John gritted his teeth. They’d forced his hand. He had no choice now but to—

“You follow the girl this morning?”

“Sure thing, boss. Walked to a bus stop a block from her house. Waited, oh, maybe five minutes.” He paused. “We didn’t follow the bus. Was we supposed to?”

“Nah, you did good. What was the name on the bus?”

“Wood-something.”

This guy was the limit. “Ask Mike, will ya?” John tried not to get impatient with Alfie, but there were times…

In the background he heard Mike’s voice. “Woodland Elementary, I wrote it down.”

“Hey, boss, he wrote it down. It was—”

“I heard him. Never mind. Do me a favor and put Mike on. I need to know exactly where the bus stop is.”

When John had the directions, he hung up and called the operator. “Yeah, I need the number for Woodland Elementary.”

A minute later he was on the phone to the school secretary. “Hi, my son told me school’s out at 2:15 today, is that right?”

“No, sir, 3:10, like usual.”

“I thought so. I tell ya, that boy has an active imagination. Thanks.”

He looked at his watch as he hung up the phone. 10:15. Smiling, he started the engine and headed for his motel. As he drove he fingered the loaded handgun beside him, running over the plan again in his mind. In less than six hours he would meet his daughter for the first time.

Then he would take care of business his way.

The demons were still taunting her, hissing at her, reminding her of the doubts that had first taken shape in Dr. Camas’s office the day before.

Had Ben really been to blame?

Maggie rolled over, caught in the layer of reality somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

It’s your fault, Maggie. Everything that’s happened. Your fault.
The hissing became louder until it became a ringing that grew more and more persistent.

The alarm clock! Maggie shot up in bed and hit the buzzer on the machine beside her. It was 9:30 in the morning, and though Dr. Camas had honored her request for solitude the day before, he had insisted on today’s early appointment. She had thirty minutes until their meeting, and she flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

Ben must have been to blame, God. Tell me I’m right.

Silence.

I
can’t think about it, won’t.
Then, moving like a woman late for the last bus out of town, Maggie showered, dressed, and ate a blueberry muffin from her breakfast tray. Through the routine, a thought occurred to her.

For the first time since entering Orchards, she had awakened filled with energy. By ten o’clock she was sitting across from Dr. Camas.

“I’ve talked with Dr. Baker. We’re excited for you, Maggie.”

Her heart pounded. How could there be anything exciting about the confusion she was feeling? She was awful, sick in the head, the worst wife anyone could possibly—

“Maggie…you okay?”

She twisted in her chair and struggled to maintain eye contact with the doctor. “I, well…I keep thinking about our talk yesterday.”

“Yes, me too.” He smiled gently and reached out, patting her hand the way her father used to do when she was a little girl. “It’s all right, Maggie. You can finish the story whenever you’re ready. We were talking about what Ben said to you back in your early days together.”

Maggie nodded and forced her fingertips into her temples.
Go back, Maggie…remember it right this time.

Be truthful, Maggie…come into the light. My grace is sufficient for you, daughter.

Maggie felt herself relax. Wherever it went, whatever happened afterward, she had to remember the truth about her past. The truth about Ben.

“I’m trying to remember what he said…” She let her hands drop to her lap, and this time she caught Dr. Camas’s gaze and held it. “And I’m…not sure he ever really demanded that I be—”

She stopped short as Ben’s long-ago words came back in a rush: “I
wanna be pure, Maggie. My wife
—
whoever she is
—
deserves that. I wanna be pure…I wanna be pure
…”

Dear God, was it true?
The reality nearly knocked her to the floor. The idea of purity hadn’t come as a directive from him, but rather a promise. He had wanted to offer himself pure, as a precious gift. The notion that she—in turn—could be nothing less than a virgin had come from—

“No! It can’t be…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper; a piece of her heart felt as though it had been ripped open.

Dr. Camas leaned slightly forward. “Go on, Maggie. What do you remember?”

Sobs welled up in her chest. There had to be other conversations! Times when he had pompously demanded perfection from anyone who might grace his arm down the aisle of a church, anyone who would wear his ring and take his name…

She was weeping now, and still the doctor waited. She knew there was no choice but to tell him what she remembered. “I…I think he said he wanted to…be pure. S-S-some-thing like, h-h-his wife deserved that.” She gulped and her shoulders shook from the sobs that washed over her. She didn’t know how long it took to compose herself enough to speak. “Then I asked him…” She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified she hadn’t remembered things correctly until now. “I asked him if that meant he wouldn’t marry a girl who wasn’t a virgin.”

The only sound in the room was that of Maggie crying as she forced, herself to remember the rest of the conversation. How could she have hung on to a memory that had never existed? How fair had that been?

The questions weighed on her heart as she found her voice. “He told me he thought God had a girl for him, someone like him…someone who loved the Lord and had s-s-saved herself the way he had. H-H-e told me he thought she had hair like mine, and a smile like mine, and a laugh like…”

The memory of her husband and all he’d been back then lay in front of her, like an innocent child about to receive a punishment for something he hadn’t done. Ben hadn’t
demanded perfection from her after all. He had merely been teasing, baring his heart and telling her in his own, shy way that he could picture the two of them marrying one day. Somehow…sometime, she had twisted the truth, convincing herself Ben had started the conversation, that he’d stated his expectations up front: He’d only marry a girl who was as pure and wholesome as he was.

“I convinced myself it was something he demanded, a requirement.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. Trembling from her fingers to her knees, Maggie stared at Dr. Camas, desperate for answers. “Why did I do that?”

The doctor considered her for a long moment. “You tell me.”

The answer danced on the tip of her tongue, but it was so bitter she hated to speak it. Her voice grew quiet, and she felt regret like a millstone around her neck. “So I wouldn’t have to…” She drew two quick breaths and stifled another wave of sobs. “So I’d have someone to blame…someone whose fault it was that I gave my baby away.” Maggie covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

She had been running from the truth all this time, refusing her part in what happened. By blaming Ben every time she thought of her baby, her little girl growing up somewhere else, with some other mother, she had eventually…

She looked up, her sight blurred from the tears. “I taught myself to hate him, didn’t I?”

“What do you think?” Dr. Camas’s tone and gaze were filled with compassion.

“Yes. I did. So I wouldn’t have to blame myself.”

“Maggie, depression often comes from lies we tell ourselves. When we’re willing to lie to those we love—the way you did when you married Ben—then it’s quite normal to lie to ourselves, as well. That’s at least part of why you’re here, wouldn’t you agree?”

Maggie nodded, feeling as though she were falling into a
dark hole.
What have I done, God? Help me, please…help me find a way back out.

“How do you feel, Maggie?” The doctor wasn’t pushing, but his question stabbed at her all the same. How was she feeling? Like she was suffocating under the weight of her bad decisions. Like there would never again be hope for her. Like she was the worst mother, the worst wife in the world…

“Like I made a lot of mistakes.”

“And…”

Suddenly it dawned on her. All she’d ever wanted from God was deep, genuine joy. The kind that would remind her in the darkest days how close and real God was, and that somehow hope was at hand. But every bit of joy she’d ever felt had vanished that terrible day, the morning she gave her daughter up for adoption. She had always thought it was because she’d been forced into it. Backed into an emotional corner.

Now she knew different.

Not only had she walked away from her child, she’d walked away from God as well. Hadn’t she heard His quietly urging voice that day telling her not to let go, to hold tight to her tiny daughter whatever the cost? It had taken every ounce of strength to fight against the screaming inside her soul, her desperate longing to stop the social worker from taking her baby. Back then she’d thought she was fighting against herself, her selfish desires. But the situation was clearer now. She’d gone against the prompting of the Holy Spirit, choosing to take matters into her own hands—and every day since then she’d blamed Ben for having expected perfection from her.