Chapter 35
Mom and I sit on the hard wooden bench outside the courtroom door. Dad and Andrew have already gone inside, and I’m surprised that Amelia isn’t out here waiting—surely she’s testifying too. My fingers fiddle with the fringe on my new vest, twisting the strands between my fingers. The clock on the wall ticks loudly; tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. “How much longer?” I whisper.
“Not long.” Mom slips her hand into mine and squeezes. “You’re doing a good thing. Just be yourself.”
A bailiff cracks open the door and peeks out. “They’re ready for witnesses to come inside.”
The room smells like Papa and Nina’s house—lemon with a little bit of spice. Probably because it’s old. It’s pretty, but somehow also intimidating. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, making a pattern on the floor like a chessboard. Checkmate starts now.
Our footsteps echo as we make our way down the aisle.
“Psst, Darcie.” Stuart waves and gives me two thumbs up. Beside him Ms. Kendrick and Mr. Farnswiddle do the same. It’s a good feeling, knowing they’re here.
Mom guides me to the second row on the left; it squeaks loudly when we lower ourselves to sit. Dad and Andrew are waiting for us.
Andrew bounces on Dad’s lap. “Did you see Gro-ber?”
“Not yet, buddy. He’ll be here soon.” I give his shoe a squeeze. “You have to sit quietly though, okay?”
“Okay, Ozzie.” He covers his mouth with his fingers and giggles.
At the front, the color of the judge’s bench and witness stand is much darker than the rest of the space, so they really stand out—like twin gatekeepers deciding who’s gonna walk free and who’s not. I straighten my back and take a huge breath. Has it only been an hour since we walked through the crowd outside? I picture all those seventh graders waving their signs in protest. Just knowing they came—that they support me—makes me braver.
Mom drops her head, “Your friend Amelia is two rows back on the right. Don’t—”
But I turn to look, anyway. Amelia faces straight ahead. I’m sure she knows I’m watching her, and I will her to look my way, but her eyes never move.
Beside her, with puckered lips, her grandmother glares at me. Her stare is like the steepest mountain, daring me to climb it. But this time, I’m not flinching. She’s not going to steal my confidence, so I hold her gaze until she’s the one who looks away.
“I’m not letting her grandmother intimidate me,” I whisper, straightening my vest like it really is the superhero cape from those stupid memes. “I will not let Grover down again, no matter what.”
Near the front of the courtroom, two lawyers shuffle papers, speaking in low voices. Suddenly, the side door opens.
Grover shuffles to the table. His hair is cut short, and the beard is gone. A brown tweed sports coat and a red tie replace his signature animal hides. I hardly recognize him except for those bright blue eyes. He glances my way and I smile, but he ducks his head. Two lawyers follow him in. One is a woman with short grey hair and glasses. She reminds me of my preschool teacher, Miss Christy, as she smiles at the prosecutor and removes a stack of papers from her briefcase. The other lawyer whispers to Grover.
Suddenly, Andrew spots him, his little voice calling out, “Hey, Gro-ber!”
Everyone turns to look, and a ripple of giggles floats through the space. Grover turns too, bobbing his head toward Andrew.
“Gro-ber’s my friend,” says Andrew, and Dad scolds him to stay quiet.
“All rise.” An official-looking man stands at the front of the courtroom. His voice booms loud and serious and the flutter of laughter stops suddenly. The judge enters the room. When we wrote our letters, we all assumed that Judge Jordan Maddison was a man, but this is no man. Her skin is dark, and her tightly cropped hair shows off her high cheekbones. Long dangling earrings catch the light as she flicks back her robe and settles onto the bench.
My fingers relax and I sit back in my seat.
She glances down at the papers in front of her, and her eyebrows raise. Then she looks around, first at Grover, then at me, and finally at Amelia and her grandmother.
Clearing her throat, she says, “Good morning. We are here today in the matter of State vs. Daniels concerning charges of kidnaping.”
There’s a rustle in the courtroom, but it dies down quickly as the judge raises one finger.
Judge Maddison turns toward me. “I understand there are strong feelings about this case. Some have asked the court to show leniency, and I will take their statements into consideration. However, kidnapping is a serious offense, and this court must follow the law and consider all facts carefully.”
I meet her gaze, nodding my understanding. Then she shifts her attention to the right side of the room.
“I also want to make it clear that personal influence, social status, or outside opinions will not affect this court’s decision.”
Mom gives my hand a squeeze. She sounds fair. Grover is not going to get away with just a scolding, but she’s going to listen to the facts and decide. I’m good with that.
“Counselors, are we ready to proceed?”
State Attorney Michael Wayne stands, adjusting his tie and buttoning his suit coat, then moves to the center, between the two tables at the front. “Your Honor, the defendant, William Glenn Daniels, aka Grover, is charged with false imprisonment of three children and kidnapping a three-year-old boy from a cabin inside the Bitterroot forest.”
“That’s me!”
I hold my fingers over my lips, and Mom hangs her head, smiling.
The judge taps her gavel, settling the chuckles in the courtroom. “Alright,” she says, glancing toward my dad. “I’ll need everyone to keep interruptions to a minimum so we can proceed properly. Understood?”
“Yes, Judge. Understood.” Dad’s voice is clipped.
The prosecutor continues, “And while the state acknowledges the unusual circumstances surrounding the incident, as well as the public outcry on the behalf of the defendant, the law is clear that he removed the victims unlawfully.” He ducks his head, turning to glare at Dad, then takes his seat.
Next, the defense attorney walks forward. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks down at her notes. “Good morning, your Honor.”
The judge gives a small nod.
“I understand these are serious charges. But the defense asks the court to look at the entire story. There are important details about what happened that matter here.” She turns a page in her folder.
“We will show that there are reasons behind what the defendant did. And we will hear from witnesses during this case.” She pauses. “I also have statements from some of the people involved who say they were not hurt, and they do not want the defendant to be punished harshly.”
There’s a loud clearing of the throat from the right side of the room, and the prosecutor stands quickly. “Your Honor,” he says, “I’d like to point out that not all the victims in this crime hold this view.”
I glance back at Amelia, but her head remains pointed to the front.
“Noted.” Judge Maddison raises her eyes toward the audience. “And let’s avoid interruptions from the gallery, please. If anyone needs to step out for a moment, please do so quietly.”
Amelia’s grandmother stiffens, lips pressed into a thin line. She nods once and the judge continues. “Mr. Wayne, please call your first witness.”