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“Well, if you’re looking for the overall picture, what about this town?” Reverend Vaughn said sharply. “The major employer is closing down. Hundreds of people are going to be out of work. And all anyone is worried about is this sixteen-year-old girl.”
“What’s he talking about?” said Mr. Moon.
“About opening your eyes,” snapped the minister.
The prosecutor was on his feet. “Your honor, this is more of that stuff,” he shouted.
“What stuff?” said the minister.
“Hold it,” said the judge. “Hold it both of you.” He cleared his throat. “Reverend Vaughn, the KTD isn’t relevant in this proceeding. It’s just not relevant. If you want to talk about it, you’ll have to find another forum.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Do you have anything else to say?”
The minister glared at the prosecutor. “I’d like to be able to say it without being interrupted.” Mr. Moon smiled pleasantly and sat down.
“Go on,” said the judge.
Reverend Vaughn reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He scanned it for a moment, then put it back. “Your honor,” he said, “I’m sure that sitting in juvenile court day after day, you see some disturbing things. The relation of parent to child is not an easy one—I’d even venture to guess that the pathologies of that relationship account for almost all the cases that you get. But most of those pathologies, I’d bet, are rooted in some failure of love, some blockage in the pipeline of love between the parent and child.”
Mr. Moon rolled his eyes and dropped his pencil on the table. It made a clattery noise that stopped Reverend Vaughn for a moment.
“When that love isn’t flowing,” the minister went on, “then it’s your job—the county’s job—to move in and repair the situation. That’s when the authorities need to act. But what we’ve got here is a different situation entirely. There’s love here between Martha and her mother such as I’ve hardly ever seen before. Martha is devoted to her mother. If anything, she’s an idealization of what a loving child should be. Maybe that’s too much. Maybe she should get out more, as Mrs. O’Brien says. I don’t know. But to suggest that there’s some failure on the part of Mrs. Calhoun, some unfitness that would justify taking Martha away—”
“He’s getting into disposition, your honor,” barked Mr. Moon.
“We’re here for a fact-finding, Reverend,” said the judge. “What you are saying may be more relevant to deciding what to do with the girl afterward.”
“But the girl’s relationship to her mother is relevant to the fact finding. We’re talking about Mrs. Calhoun’s fitness as a mother, and, by the measure of love, Mrs. Calhoun is very fit, wonderfully fit.”
“What about seducing little boys?” snapped the lawyer. “Maybe she learned that from her mother, too.”
“That’s obscene!”
“You said it.”
“All right, all right,” said the judge. “Mr. Moon, I expect you to set a better example in here.”
“I’m sorry, your honor, but I just don’t like to let these things pass unnoted.”
“Reverend, do you have anything else you’d like to say?”
Reverend Vaughn looked around the court. I remembered how flustered he’d become that time when Tom started speaking out during a sermon, how helpless he’d been when the polite world of the church was cracked in even that silly way. Now his eyes met mine, and for an instant we looked at each other like two burglars who’d been caught.
“Judge Horner, I think you’d be making a mistake if you took Martha away from her mother,” he said simply.
“Thank you,” said the judge.
Mr. Moon hopped to his feet. “Your honor, can I ask Reverend Vaughn a few questions?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Reverend,” the lawyer said, stepping out between the tables to get a more direct line at the minister. “How long have you known Martha Calhoun?”
“Personally?”
“Yes, personally.”
