The Cottage in the Woods (39 page)

We tried to carry on with some semblance of normalcy. The window was quickly replaced, and the scorched carpet was rolled up and taken away. But nothing could take away the wounded look in Teddy’s eyes. It seemed that his innocence had been dealt another blow, and I feared that his faith in the world of adults had been sadly shaken. For Goldilocks, who had lost hers long ago, it was but one more reason to be mistrustful. What made it worse was the knowledge that we were running out of time, and the Vaughns must now explain to them about the trial.

On the eve of the trial date, as I joined the Vaughns in the parlor for our last “party,” all pretense of gaiety was dropped. The sweetmeats and pastries went untasted, the cards and other games untouched. Even Mrs. Vaughn seemed caught up in the whirlpool of her own sadness. When Goldilocks, sensing her melancholy, climbed onto her lap and put her arms around her neck, Mrs. Vaughn looked as if she might cry. Mr. Vaughn
moved to her side on the divan, and, pulling Teddy onto his own lap and putting a bracing arm about his wife’s shoulder, said to her, “It’s time. We mustn’t leave them unprepared. Do you want me to tell them?”

She nodded, holding Goldilocks tightly as Mr. Vaughn began. “You see, children, we’ve received something called a summons. A summons means that someone has a problem with us, and a person called a judge must use the laws to help us solve it.”

“But who?” Teddy asked innocently. “Who could have a problem with us?”

The children watched Mr. Vaughn’s face intently, as if sensing from his serious demeanor that some blow was about to fall.

“It’s Mother Shoe. She says Goldilocks belongs to her, not to us, and she says she wants her back.”

Goldilocks emitted a desperate wail and hid her face against Mrs. Vaughn’s shoulder.

“This means there has to be a trial. A trial is where Mother Shoe and your mother and I each tell our sides of the story. We have people called lawyers to help us, and they will ask all sorts of questions, trying to find out the truth. We hope to prove that Mother Shoe is a terrible mother, and that she shouldn’t have Goldilocks back, and that we can give her a better home. The judge will listen to everybody and decide where Goldilocks must live. If the judge decides against us, she may have to go back to Mother Shoe—”

Goldilocks caught the full import first. Hearing the words, she collapsed in a full swoon, sagging against Mrs. Vaughn. Teddy gave a little scream and, jumping down from his father’s lap and bending over Goldilocks’s prostrate form, called her
name repeatedly. Receiving no response, he whispered a long message in her ear, as he so often did to cheer her up, but there was no answering smile. The rest of us gathered around the desperate little scene, our tears flowing freely, and Mrs. Vaughn called for her smelling salts. The administration of these brought the child’s eyes open, then the pallid little face crumpled and she began to sob. Mrs. Vaughn clutched the golden head to her bosom, rocking back and forth as if in agony.

“Listen, dear, listen! That won’t be the end of it!” she said, in a desperate effort to reassure her. “If this judge takes you away from us, we’ll go to a higher judge! We’ll try and try until we get you back!”

“Oh, Mama, Papa, don’t let them take her,” cried Teddy, and then he too dissolved into tears. Mr. Vaughn picked him up and held him close while Mrs. Vaughn attempted to comfort the weeping Goldilocks. We stayed in our protective circle for some time, until the little ones had cried themselves out, and our own handkerchiefs were thoroughly damp. At last the Vaughns carried the exhausted children off to bed and the evening was over.

That night, I felt submerged in a witches’ brew of trouble and foreboding. Though I had agreed without reservation to testify on the Vaughns’ behalf, now that the time had come, I was filled with dread. What if I failed to make clear how much Goldilocks loved and needed them? How would I live with myself if my failure resulted in the child being taken away from them? Papa had always told me that my best was all anyone could expect of me, but never before in my life had there been so much at stake. I must do better than my best tomorrow. Throughout that whole long night, my mind continued to spin, rehearsing over and over everything I wanted to say.

When the first morning light appeared over the horizon, I gave up on sleep and made myself presentable, anxious to see how the children were faring. As I entered the nursery, I passed Mrs. Vaughn, who was just leaving, barely containing her emotions. The children sat solemnly together on the floor, hand in paw, enervated by grief. Goldilocks’s little face was red and swollen from crying. Nurse sat up dizzily and groaned, holding her head with both paws, suffering no doubt from the ill effects of her indulgences the night before.

Sitting down on the floor next to them, I pulled Goldilocks onto my lap, but she was unresponsive. I asked Teddy then to try to whisper to her, as he often did to cheer her up.

He leaned over to her ear, and this time I could hear his whispered message. “I won’t let them take you, no matter what!” Brave little Teddy! I thought of the way he had shielded Goldilocks with his own body that day in the forest, and I did not doubt that he would do anything he could to save her. But he was just a cub, I thought, and as helpless as the rest of us in this matter.

As the Vaughns and I met at the front door for the trip to town, I felt uneasy about leaving the children, and so I pointed out to Mrs. Vaughn that Nurse was indisposed. She called for Betsy and gave her instructions to look in on the nursery from time to time and see if she could be of any help. The other household servants were gathering round tearfully to wish the master and mistress success.

Our little company set off for the courthouse, picking up additions along the way, some who had agreed to testify for the Vaughns, and others who tagged along out of loyalty or simple curiosity, so that as we approached our destination, we became quite a crowd. A much larger crowd awaited us when we neared
the courthouse; from as far away as the hotel halfway down the street we could see them, some humans, some Enchanted, many of both descriptions carrying signs with slogans like “Blood is thicker than water!” or “Stick to your own kind!” or, conversely, “Home is where the heart is!” I also saw a number of placards with insulting epithets aimed either at the Vaughns or at Mother Shoe. A surly murmuring emanated from the mob, and our little group formed a protective circle around me and Mrs. Vaughn while we moved in toward the door. I experienced a thrill of fear as we pressed our way through.

Inside, things were chaotic, with characters of every kind milling around, jockeying for the few available seats. Mrs. Vaughn had warned me the courtroom was a small, shabby space that received very little use, since, in days past, the populace prided itself on working out its own disagreements amicably. Our solicitors led us to a roped-off area with our own uncomfortable benches. As we settled ourselves, Mr. Vaughn assumed his most impressive attitude of respectability and authority, and Mrs. Vaughn maintained flawless deportment. I sat next to her, craning my neck and looking nervously around.

Reverend Wright appeared directly, and shyly offered me his best wishes, which I accepted with good grace. I had tried to be sensitive to the bear’s mood and manner since the day I turned down his proposal, but I was pleased to note no stiffness between us, only a slight diffidence on his part. He and Reverend Snover were moving about among the assembly, speaking earnestly to both humans and the Enchanted, trying, I was sure, to promote peace even now. I recognized some of my acquaintances there—among them, Lavinia Hubbard, on the arm of the Little Crooked Man; Wallace, Zeke, Tallulah, and Ernest of the
Bremen Town Musicians; the Pumpkin-Eaters; Edgar Pig; and many other familiar faces from the men’s choir. There were also a great many humans with angry, self-important looks; most of them were gathered about the table of solicitors for the opposing side. I recognized Mr. Babcock, the one who published all the incendiary articles in the
Town Crier
. He was sitting directly behind the opposition’s lawyers, looking smug and even amused. I had not seen him in church since the day Reverend Snover had given his epic sermon about the curfew.

Suddenly the crowd parted at the doorway, and Mother Shoe made her entrance. Someone had tried very hard to make her over into a staid, respectable matron, but human though she was, all I could think of when I saw her was the great predator that had appeared to me when I first beheld her. Now the predator was back again, corseted and buttoned to the chin, with a cinched-up bosom and a crinoline, and fitted sleeves around the powerful arms. She was all in mauve, with a touch of lace at her throat, a masterpiece of taste and decorum. Above the bloodthirsty jaws and terrible eyes of my vision was a frilly bonnet of matching color, with ruched lining and a posy of flowers. The pitiful baby, and the cigar, she had apparently left at home.

It seemed clear that someone had provided the funds, and the conservative taste, for this dramatic overhaul, for it certainly was not of Mother Shoe’s own means, or choosing. Probably the same person, or organization, that had paid for her team of clever lawyers. The question remained: Did she really want Goldilocks so badly? Was it to keep the girl from incriminating her? If, as the child had indicated, she was not related to Mother Shoe at all, the woman might face charges of kidnapping, perhaps with some of the other children as well, not to mention
using them as her own private ring of thieves. Goldilocks must have quite a story to tell, if she ever found the courage to speak. I thought of the day she had spoken up to Gabriel. Would that brave little voice ever be heard again? Then I looked around. Where was Gabriel? Shouldn’t he be here? And if he wasn’t here, where was he?

Judge Slugby was announced. A sudden hush fell over the courtroom, and he made his entrance, pompous and smug as only the truly inadequate can be. This, then, was the man who held the fragile child’s future in his hands. A great barrel-chested human in the requisite black robe and white curled wig, he might have been impressive except that his eyes seemed always to be looking shiftily off to one side, and he had a small, mean mouth above a gelatinous double chin.

“Well, well, what have we here, Mr. Cheater?” Judge Slugby drawled expansively while thumbing through the papers before him. I quickly ascertained that “Cheater” was the actual surname of the opposition’s barrister, a fact that did nothing to reassure me. A tall, suave human in a pinstripe suit, Mr. Cheater responded with an oily smile, and, rubbing his hands together, said, “A little matter of child custody, Your Worship. Cut-and-dried, really.”

“I object!” thundered Mr. Armstrong, the small but
charismatic weasel who was the Vaughns’ barrister. “Mr. Cheater has appointed himself judge, and has passed the verdict before the proceedings have even begun! Extraordinary!”

Judge Slugby slammed down the gavel, and turned furiously on Mr. Armstrong. “It is not. Your. Turn. To. Speak!” he pronounced. “Mr. Cheater, please continue.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” Mr. Cheater effused. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we have here a case of a family broken apart, a mother whose own daughter has been kept from her and so alienated from her that the child refuses to acknowledge her as her parent, or even speak to her. This tears at the very fabric of our society and the sacredness of the family bond. My client looks to the court to correct this grave injustice, and restore this child to her bereft mother.”

“Aha!” Judge Slugby exclaimed. “And what do you have to say to
that
, Mr. Armstrong? Speak up!”

Mr. Armstrong, calm in the face of the judge’s bullying, answered, “I have a great deal to say, if it please the court. Firstly, my client avers that the child he knows as Goldilocks does not acknowledge the plaintiff as her mother because the plaintiff is not, in fact, the child’s mother. Furthermore, he states that the child in question was found abandoned in his own house, hungry, uncared for, little better than a savage. We will show that the child’s refusal to speak was in fact the direct result of the most terrifying threats from this woman’s son to keep her silent. We will demonstrate that my client has provided for her every need, aiding her transformation into a happy, healthy little girl who is loved and cared for as one of the family, and returns that affection. We will prove that the plaintiff tried to extort a huge sum of money from my client in exchange for giving up her alleged
parental rights. Finally, we offer evidence that the plaintiff is an unfit guardian for any—”