Chapter XXIX #2
She knew the legal system could be a beautiful and fair thing.
It had helped countless children escape the tyranny of evil situations and vindicated thousands of innocent defendants by following the principles of law.
Now that adulation was tempered by the awareness that every system has its drawbacks.
When the Topeka judge ruled against her—when he chose to sacrifice Simon for the stabilization of the system, she knew in that moment that there would always be a legal way to protect the machine through its own procedural legitimacy.
This confrontation revealed the reality of life in all its magnificence and complexity.
She would make this deal with Foster. She would learn the ins and outs of every angle of the system, so that it would never allow such corruption to occur on her watch.
She had a firm legal background to stand upon, and her eyes had been opened to the prejudgment that she had pressed upon others.
Now that she had been stripped of this veil, she saw the world for what it was and what it could be.
Winona’s face filled her mind’s eye, and Mae couldn’t fault her decision to escape with Lily. She rested her hand on Henry’s stone. She couldn’t leave—not now.
As if she had summoned him with her thoughts, his calm voice came from her right.
“I thought I would eventually see you here.” The frozen tears spread inward and stilled the pumping blood in its tracks.
Her face drained of color, and her hands went slack.
She did not reach for the watch or her bag as it fell from her hand, only to be caught by the strap suspended from her wrist. Any kernel of defiance faded with the realization that her time with Simon was conditional.
She kept her eyes trained on the gray stone in front of her, the coarse indentations shaping the curve of the marker. “What do you want from me?”
“I see that you haven’t applied for any work as of yet.” She should have been stunned by this information, but her body couldn’t muster a response. “That is fortunate, since I have lined up a position for you.”
Her head turned slowly, and her eyes forced themselves up from his freshly buffed shoes, over his gray overcoat, to his burning dark eyes.
His eyes fixed on hers as he waited for a response.
When it was apparent that she had no intention of speaking, he went on.
“There is an opening for an investigator in the Children’s Court.
I have ensured that the position will be yours.
I’m sure you know where to find the offices.
” The jibe landed in her chest as she recalled the last time she had entered those heavy wooden doors.
“Now you want me to investigate?” The irony didn’t elude her.
“Investigation has its place. Your husband filed motions that should never have existed,” Foster said quietly.
“I read every one of them. Records travel faster than people, Mrs. Turner.” He tilted his head to the side as if she were being purposely thick-headed.
“Interesting work. Far more precise than Henry Turner was capable of drafting.” Mae’s eyes widened.
“Speak to Mr. Percival. He will be your contact for the position. He will be awaiting your arrival today at two o’clock.
” Mr. Foster hadn’t moved an inch while giving this instruction.
His voice held the same monotonous tone as always.
As she listened to his specific instructions, she studied his features.
There was nothing unique about him. He could have been her neighbor or the father of one of Simon's friends.
His ordinary, but well-kept appearance would blend in with any man walking down the street. The realization of this was unnerving.
“What is it that you want me to do?” Mae's voice rose as she pressed him.
“The position entails reviewing the homes and writing what is required.” His eyebrows rose slightly, and a sardonic smile touched the corners of his lips.
Then it clicked. Of course. She had used those reports and many of the excerpts to judge her previous clients—Winona included.
That was how the system was being corrupted.
The investigators were filing vague but condemning reports, and the courts were remanding the children into custody and then on through the orphan train system.
Her brows slammed down at the seemingly innocent explanation of her supposed new job.
“Why me?” Mae rasped.
“Your husband was inconvenient,” Foster said.
“He believed in the law. Lawyers talk. Clerks don’t.
” He shook his head as if disgusted. “But you—” he continued softly, “you understand the machinery behind it. The filings. The process. The quiet work that makes decisions permanent. You’ve already stepped outside the law, Mrs. Turner. ”
Mae’s mind stumbled over the word ‘inconvenient.’ What did that mean? Her eyes flashed to Henry’s stone. “Henry—” she sputtered. “What aren’t you telling me about Henry?” Her breathing quickened, and she took a step toward him.
A serpentine smile twisted his lips. “Now, Mae,” he said, his normally even voice drawling into a slower cadence, “I would think by now you could see how far I can reach.”
Mae’s world stopped spinning as her mind went blank. Then, the truth—all his networking, all his tracking, all his threats—descended upon her mind. The full realization of what she was choosing to step into became all the more clear.
He watched the realization land. For a moment he said nothing — the first silence she had heard from him that didn't feel calculated. Then his voice resumed its even cadence. “I’m sure Mr. Percival will explain in detail your new position.” Mr. Foster deflected.
“I will be in touch, Mrs. Turner,” he mused, beginning to turn away from her. “I’m sure you will come to see that our new relationship will benefit us both immensely. Please give my regards to Simon and,” he added, nodding toward the cold, snowy stone, “to Henry.”
At the mention of his name, a hot flush crept up her neck, and she set her jaw. Her previous strength eluded her, and her shoulders sagged like the wilted flowers on Henry’s grave.
“Oh, and Mrs. Turner, don’t be late.” With that, he turned on his freshly polished heel and strode away.
His frame retreated within her line of sight, and she envisioned his polished shoes being swallowed up by the mud.
Her mind threw daggers at his back, and her muscles tensed as if she were about to chase after him.
But her feet stood rooted to the muddy path lining the burial grounds.
She turned over the idea of working for the Children’s Court.
An immediate sour taste rose from her throat and settled on her tongue.
She thought back to the investigation documentation she had found in many of the case files that she had read over the past few years.
All the investigations had been similar.
She’d believed the reports and had used them to bolster her judgmental review of her clients.
How many had been true? How many had been scripted?
They had all been specific enough to convey guilt but vague enough to prevent any substantive material to object to.
She wondered how many of these investigations had been performed by people just like her.
Beholden to the very institution they had tried to change.
She knew that to keep Simon meant she would have to embed herself in the system.
Her eyes were open now. She would choose.
Her signature would have to become the invisible hand that legitimized the removal of children from their mothers.
It would be her name on the reports. Her vague recounting of all of these mothers’ shortcomings.
A breath shuddered through her rounded shoulders as she slumped to her knees in front of Henry’s stone.
The slush seeped through her stockings, and cold wetness spread through her limbs.
Her head fell forward, and tears leaked through her frozen lashes to drip on the freshly turned soil—the soil covering the remembrance of her past life.
A faint church bell drifted to her ears, and her heart seized.
How much time did she have? She reached for her necklace, on which Henry’s watch hung.
Flicking open the lid, the folded paper lay molded to the watch, blocking the time.
She lovingly lifted it to read the time—a quarter to eleven.
The solid pocket watch felt heavy in her hand.
The miniature of her remaining family gazed up at her with an expectant smile. A new determination stole through her.
If it was investigation they wanted from her, investigation they would get. If the reports were the lever, she would learn how to pull them effectively to move the court in the right direction. She had no na?ve illusions about how the system worked anymore.
This was the price.
And she would learn whose children it would cost.