Crossings (42 page)

She followed the news over the course of the next two months, and still Johnny had not been found, and the news was grim everywhere.

During this time, in a moment of madness, Hess, one of Hitler's chief commanders, had made a solo flight into Britain to try to get them to give up. Instead, he crashed, and was arrested on the spot, and Hitler declared him mad. But he wasn't as mad as all that. By the end of June it was apparent what he had tried to do. He had wanted the British to give up, so Hitler wouldn't open what the Germans called the Western Front. On June 22, Hitler invaded Russia, nullifying their mutual nonaggression pact and crossing their borders at all points, costing an incredible number of lives, much to everyone's horror. And within eleven days the Germans had occupied an area larger than France. The only good to come out of it was that on July 25, Roosevelt's right-hand man, Harry Hopkins, flew to Moscow to suggest a Lend-Lease program to the Russians. But they refused it and it became clear that the only good Hopkins had done was to arrange a conference between Churchill and Roosevelt on August 9, which took place in Argentia Bay, in Newfoundland, and the Atlantic Charter was born there. It was the first meeting between Churchill and Roosevelt, and each arrived on board ship, Churchill on the
Prince of Wales
, and Roosevelt on the
Augusta
. They moved back and forth between the two ships, both vessels in full wartime camouflage. Both men were extremely pleased with the results, and Britain was to receive further aid. And still Johnny Burnham had not been found by his father.

The court date had long since been postponed, and in the four months since Johnny had disappeared, Nick Burnham had lost thirty pounds. A fleet of investigators and bodyguards had combed the States, ventured into Canada, and looked everywhere. But the boy was simply nowhere. For once Hillary had really outsmarted him. He only hoped the child was safe. And then, miraculously, and out of nowhere, Nick got a call on August 18. A child who looked much like John had been spotted in South Carolina, near an antiquated, once-fashionable watering hole. He was with his parents though, and his mother was blond. Nick had chartered a plane and flown down himself with three bodyguards, and a dozen others met him there, and there they were—Johnny, Philip Markham, and Hillary, with dyed blond hair. They had rented a little antebellum house, and were living there with two black maids and an ancient butler. Markham had sworn to his mother that the scandal would end, and he thought it would, but the kidnapping had only made things worse. She was terrified now that her son would go to jail. It was she who was financing their secret lair until the fuss died down. But she wanted them to return the boy. And finally, in desperation and out of decency to Nick, it turned out that it was Mrs. Markham who had called him.

When Markham first heard the megaphones as the bodyguards surrounded the place, his first inclination was to run. But it was much too late. He was faced by two men with guns pointed at him.

“Oh, for chrissake …” He tried to bluff his way out. “Take the kid.” The two men did, but Nick advanced on Philip with a murderous look in his eyes.

“If you ever come near us again, you son of a bitch, I'll kill you myself. Do you understand?” He grabbed his throat, and the armed guards watched as Hillary ran up to Nick and Philip and yanked hard on Nick's arms.

“For God's sake, let him go.”

“God has nothing to do with this.” And then he turned to Hillary and struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand. Philip grabbed him then and punched him in the jaw. There was a grinding sound in Nick's head and he lurched toward the ground, but he stood up again and punched Markham back as Hillary screamed.

“Stop …
stop!”
But Nick was already out of control and he grabbed Markham's head and slammed it into the ground, and then he stood up and left him there, bleeding profusely from a cut over his eye and groaning softly in the dirt. Hillary flew at Nick then and scratched his face, but he pushed her away from him and walked steadily toward his son.

“Come on, tiger. Let's go home.” The jaw ached horribly but he felt no pain when he took Johnny's hand and walked him to a waiting car as the bodyguards covered them. But there was no fight here. There was only Hillary, and Markham, lying on the ground, and two black maids watching from the front porch of the little house. And Nick pulled his son close to him in the car, and then without shame he kissed the boy's face and let the tears come. It had been four months as close to hell as he had been, and he hoped to never come that close again.

“Oh, Dad.” Johnny held him tight. He had just turned ten, and he looked as though he'd grown a foot. “I wanted to let you know that I was all right, but they wouldn't let me call you.”

“Did they hurt you, son?” Nick wiped his eyes, but Johnny shook his head.

“No. They were all right. Mom said that Mr. Markham wanted to be my father now. But when his mother came to visit us, she said he had to give me back, or at least let you know that I was okay.” And then suddenly Nick knew how he'd gotten the call. He vowed to thank her himself when they got back. “She said that she'd never give him any money, ever again, and that he'd probably wind up in jail.” But Nick already knew that wasn't true. He wished it were. “She was always very nice to me, and asked how I was. But Mom says she's an old bitch.” The guards and Nick smiled. Johnny had a lot to say on the way home, but all that Nick could glean was that the plan had got out of hand, and they'd had no idea what to do with him once they'd kidnapped him. “Will we still have to go to court against Mom?”

“As soon as we can.” He looked crestfallen at that bit of news, but safe at home in his own bed that night, John held his father's hand and smiled. And Nick sat watching over him until he fell asleep, and then he walked slowly to his own room, wondering when it would all end.

But at least the next day in San Francisco Liane read the good news, JOHNNY BURNHAM FOUND. And a week after that the court date was set again. The trial was to begin on the first of October, and when it did, it was eclipsed in the news by the conferences in Moscow between Averell Harriman, Lord Beaverbrook, and Molotov, Stalin's foreign minister. They resulted in a signed protocol that the United States and Britain would send supplies to Russia, and Harriman had made a Lend-Lease agreement with the Soviets for up to a billion dollars worth of aid. Stalin had wanted the United States to enter the war, but on Roosevelt's instructions, Harriman had refused. Russia had to be satisfied with supplies and arms, and they were. And by the time the news of that had died down a little bit, Liane read that the Burnham-Markham trial in New York was in full swing.

illary walked into court in a dark-gray suit, a white hat, her hair its natural color once again, in the company of both senior partners of the law firm representing her. And as she sat down in a chair between them, she looked extremely demure. And on his side of the court, Nick sat with Ben Greer, who had to remind him not to look so ferocious as he frowned in Hillary's direction.

The issue was set before the court—the matter of the custody of their ten-year-old son, John—and each side was given a chance to explain. Ben Greer depicted an image of Hillary as a woman who had never wanted a child, had rarely seen her son, went on extended trips without taking him along, and was allegedly promiscuous in the extreme while married to Nick Burnham.

Messrs. Fulton and Matthews, on the other hand, explained that she had a passion for her son, and had been rendered hysterical and distraught at her husband's refusal to let her take her child with her when she left him. Mr. Markham was depicted as a man who adored children and wished to assist his wife now in providing a home for Johnny. But, they continued—Nick Burnham was so consumed with jealousy and was such a violent man that he had threatened his wife and had done everything to undermine her relationship with the boy, all because he couldn't bear the feet that his wife had wanted to divorce him. The story went on and on. The issue of the kidnapping was one they handled with great care. Totally destroyed by the loss of her child, and helpless in the face of Nick's threats, Hillary had taken John, hoping to wait until they would all go to court. And then the matter had got out of hand. She was too afraid of Nick to return … she was afraid that Nick might hurt the child. … As Nick sat in court and listened to the yarn they spun, it was all he could do not to stand up and scream. And worse yet, he recognized how respectable a troop they were. Fulton and Matthews were the best, and although Ben Greer was good, Nick was beginning to fear that he was no match for them.

The trial was due to go on for two or three weeks, and Johnny himself was to be a key witness at the end. But in the third week of the trial he came down with the mumps, and the judge granted a continuance. The trial was due to resume on November 14. And in the end Nick and his attorney felt that the interruption did them good. It allowed them time to regroup and dig up additional witnesses, although Nick was disappointed at how few would testify. People didn't want to get involved. No one knew for sure … it had been a while … even Mrs. Markham wouldn't testify for him. She had done what she could in letting him know where the child was, the rest was up to him. In her eyes the damage had already been done. His name and theirs had been dragged through the papers for too long, and she didn't thank him any more than she thanked her son for that. Who got the boy now was of no importance to her, and she wished them all in hell. All that Nick could get was a handful of maids who had hated Hillary, but had never seen her actually neglect the child, they said. At the end of the second day back in court Nick threw up his hands when the Markhams left and he and Ben Greer went to confer.

“Jesus Christ, why is she doing this, Ben? She doesn't even want the child.”

“She can't back down now. She's gone too far. Most court proceedings are that way. By the time you reach the end, no one wants to be there. But the machinery of justice is difficult to turn back.”

In desperation the next day, he tried to buy her off, and for a brief moment he thought the battle was won. He saw the glimmer of interest in Markham's eye as they met in the halls of the court, but there was no interest in Hillary's eyes. And when Nick had walked away in despair, Philip grabbed her arm.

“Why the hell did you turn him down? How do you think we're going to live for the next few years? You can't get your hands on your trust, and you know what my mother said.”

“I don't give a damn. I wouldn't take a dime from him.”

“You fool.” He grabbed her arm again and she shook him off.

“To hell with you both. I want my son.”

“Why? You don't even like kids.”

“He's mine.” Like a fur coat or a jewel or a war trophy she didn't want but would reclaim. “Why should I give anything to Nick?”

“Take the money, for chrissake.”

“I don't need the money.” She stared at him in icy hauteur.

“Oh, yes, you do. We both need it.”

“Your mother will come around.” It was a possibility he was counting on too. But if she didn't, there was a struggle ahead he wasn't looking forward to. He might even have to go to work, something he didn't intend to do. And he knew Hillary never would. But she had thought of something that had escaped him. “Haven't you ever heard of child support?” She smiled sweetly up at him. “Nick is going to want to make sure Johnny has everything he wants. And so will we.
Voilà
.” She curtsied to him and he grinned.

“You're awfully smart for a pretty girl.” He kissed her on the cheek and they walked back into court, and the battle raged on. The judge had estimated that they would be finished by Thanksgiving Day, and Nick tensed at the thought. What if he lost? What would he do? It was inconceivable to think of a life without his son. He dared not even think of that. And then suddenly they'd reached the end, and the attorneys were making their closing statements. Johnny had already taken the stand, but he sounded childlike and confused, torn between both his parents, a father he adored, and a mother who sobbed loudly in open court, and whom he clearly felt sorry for.