Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote

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      Ty walked into the stark, whitewashed courtroom with its polished oak floors as the bailiff declared, “All rise. Judge Tyrone Hawkins presiding.” Ty settled himself on the high platform in the judge’s seat and looked out over the sparsely filled courtroom. And there she was.

      The woman with blue eyes he’d seen arrive in town the day before whose purse had been stolen was sitting on one of the spectator’s benches. A tingle of recognition coursed through him. Hadn’t anyone told her that she need not suffer coming to court? He never liked to see ladies in court. It was such a rough setting and often the defendants used coarse language.

      No doubt she’d come out of a sense of duty. He tried not to stare in her direction, but she kept drawing his tired, gritty eyes. In this stark setting, she glowed, the only appealing face present.

      The first dreary case began and then another, and another. Finally, the boy who’d snatched the newcomer’s purse was ready to be heard, making his plea. The boy was marched into the room by Hogan, the arresting officer. Ty wondered if there was any hope for this lawless child. He hated this part of adjudicating the law. He could not believe that children should be treated as adults by the courts. But what was he to do? The law was the law.

      One of the prominent lawyers in town, John Remington, with his silver hair and imposing presence, rose and approached the bench. “I am defending young Tucker Stout.”

      The young, already portly prosecuting attorney looked back and forth between the defendant and Remington, his mouth open in disbelief. Ty felt himself goggling at Remington. Surprise crashed through him, making him even more aware of his bone-deep fatigue. Months of little sleep was wearing him down, making him vulnerable. “Did I hear you right?”

      “Yes, I am defending Tucker Stout.” The elder lawyer continued in his distinctive, deep voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Miss Felicity Gabriel has hired me to act as his counsel.”

      Still unsettled, Ty looked to the woman. She responded with a half smile. Even her subdued smile had the power to dazzle him.

      The prosecuting attorney blurted out what Ty was thinking, “But she’s the plaintiff. Hers was the purse stolen.”

      Remington nodded. “She is aware of that. But she is anxious, in light of the defendant’s tender age, that his rights be protected.” Remington paused and then added as if in explanation of such odd behavior, “She’s a Quaker.”

      Ty sat back and studied the woman, who sat so deceptively prim in his courtroom. A Quaker. Well, that explained the situation somewhat. He’d met a few Quakers. They spoke strangely and didn’t fight in war. Peculiar people.

      Loose jowled, Hogan snorted where he sat on the prosecution side of the courtroom. Ty drew himself up. He’d lost control at home—he wouldn’t also lose control of his courtroom. “Very well. Bailiff, please read the charges against the defendant.”

      The bailiff did and Ty asked, “How does your client plead, Mr. Remington?”

      “We plead not guilty.”

      “And you realize that I witnessed the purse-snatching myself?” Ty responded dryly. Was this woman trying to play him and the other men in this room for fools?

      “Yes, but Miss Gabriel believes that the boy is too young to be held to adult legal standards of behavior.”

      “What Miss Gabriel believes may be true, but not in the sight of the laws of Illinois,” Ty retorted, antagonized at having to defend what he did not believe.

      The lady suddenly rose. “God does not hold children accountable for their sins until they reach the age of reason. Are the laws of Illinois higher than God’s?”

      The question silenced the courtroom. Every eye turned to the woman who looked completely at ease under the intense scrutiny. Ty chewed the inside of his cheek. Does she expect special treatment because she is a woman?

      “Females,” Hogan grunted, breaking the silence.

      “Miss,” Ty said curtly, “you are not allowed to speak in court without permission. You must let your counsel do the talking.”

      She nodded and sat down without dispute, giving him an apologetic little smile. He found he had no defenses against her smiles. They beckoned him to sit beside her and be at ease.

      “Your Honor,” Remington spoke up, “Miss Gabriel has asked me if I might have a word with you in your chamber during a short recess.”

      “What is this?” the prosecutor asked, rearing up.

      “You’ll be included, of course.” Remington bowed to the man whose face had reddened.

      Ty passed a hand over his forehead. After falling asleep last night, Camie had cried out with nightmares twice more, keeping the whole house up. He closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened them. He couldn’t let the situation at home interfere with his work. Though the headache was making his right eyelid jump, he forced himself to act with magisterial calm. “Very well. The court stands adjourned while I meet with counsel in my chambers.”

      He rose and so did everyone else. His black judge’s robe swirling out behind him, he strode into his paneled chambers just behind the courtroom and sat behind his oak desk, waiting for the attorneys to knock. The bailiff let them in and the two men sat down facing him. “Remington, what’s this all about?” Ty asked without СКАЧАТЬ