Custody battle, part four

For days after her confrontation with her ex-husband Ralph, Leta was inconsolable.  After being divorced and basically an absentee father for three years, he had filed for custody of their two children, Vivian and Dale. She confronted him, and he responded with a kind of smug confidence that she had never before experienced from him. And he had a strong case; she and her husband Albert were, as he called them, “bootleggers” They made and sold their own corn whiskey. All Ralph had to do was tell the law, and not only would she lose custody of her children, she would most likely go to federal prison. Then she would lose her children completely and permanently.

She tried to maintain a cheerful front for the children and continued to perform her household duties, but several times a day, she would simply collapse into the nearest chair and cry. While she was never very affectionate with Vivian and Dale, her distress at losing them increased her maternal need to keep them as close to her as possible. She also made their favorite meals, baked their favorite cookies, bought them candy and assisted them in every area of life she could, from their homework to dressing and bathing.

“What’s the matter, Ma?” Vivian asked one evening while the two were sewing the girl a new dress. Vivian had recently mastered a blind stitch, so Leta permitted her to sew the hem.

“I’m a little tired is all,” Leta lied. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Is this because of the business?” the girl inquired.

Over the past few months, Leta and Albert had referred to their alcohol making and sales as “the business.” Initially, they did so to conceal their activities from the children, but their perceptive young ones easily adopted the euphemism, even without fully comprehending what “the business” was.

“Indirectly, yes,” Leta answered. “Now, how was school today? Did you finish your arithmetic homework?”

“Oh yes,” the girl responded proudly. “I am very good at arithmetic.”

“That’s what makes you so good at sewing. Your ability to calculate. You know, I was always good at arithmetic, too.”

“You were?” the girl exclaimed and began to beam. “That’s wonderful, Ma.”

“I used to keep the family accounts for your Grandma Scott when she was working many jobs. I was about your age when I started.”

“I know. I remember.”

“Watch your stitch,” Leta cautioned.

For a few moments, Leta once again felt happy with the world. The sun was setting, and she was sitting very close to her daughter who smelled like fresh soap with a splash of lemon from washing the supper dishes. Leta always added a few drops of lemon juice to her dishwater. She believed that the fruit increased the shine and assisted in removing food particles. Plus, she liked the fragrance.

“How’s that?” Vivian asked.

“Perfect,” Leta answered. Vivian’s steady hand continued to stitch, following the designated line. “I am going let you keep sewing while I check on your brother. It’s time I get that boy to bed. Do you think you can manage without me?”

“I think so,” Vivian said confidently.

“If you get stuck, let me know.”

“Yes, Ma.”

Leta was pleased with Vivian’s capability and comfort. She could have easily let her daughter sew the entire hem on her own, but under the circumstances wanted to remain as close as she could for as long as she could. She moved slower than usual, as if this was the last time the two would sit together.

“Oh, Ma?” Vivian called as Leta was walking toward the kitchen and subsequently the back yard where she had left Dale playing.

Leta turned back. “Yes, my darling?”

“I forgot to tell you. Papa came to school today.”

To be continued.