Custody Battle, part four

Leta's ex-husband Ralph, who was unemployed and living with his parents, had petitioned the court for custody of their children. When she had confronted him about it, he threatened to inform on her and her beloved husband Albert for their alcohol-making business. In 1925, anything to do with alcohol was a crime, and just like that, Leta’s calm, her tenuous happiness, was ripped apart like a bad seam.

The next several days were murderously slow and agonizing. As much as she tried, it was impossible to contain that much worry and grief. She constantly struggled with grabbing her children and running away. Why not? She asked herself. Her father had run away, her brother had run away and even her eldest sister ran away. They had all, as far as she knew, made good lives for themselves. She was made of the same material; she could do the same. And she would keep her beloved children with her.

She tried to remind herself that every day with her children was precious, and spending time with each and both of them was the best way to hold them to her. On this particular evening, she was guiding Vivian, age 11, to make her own dress. She had just left Vivian for a few moments to check on her son Dale, age 9, who was playing in the back yard, when Vivian, as a child was wont to do, simply blurted out that her father Ralph had been to school that day.

And just like that, Leta’s tenuous peace was shattered.

“What?” she snapped, her voice filling with emotion before she could contain it. “Why?”

Vivian stopped sewing and looked directly at her mother. The room had filled with tension.

“I don’t know. I saw him from a distance,” Vivian answered, her voice starting to crack with emotion. “It looked like he was talking to the principal.”

“The principal?” Leta hissed. She rushed back to her daughter, who had pulled the unfinished dress up defensively. “He was talking to your principal?”

“Yes, I-I-I think so,” Vivian stammered. “He was d-d-down the hall, and-and I was going to recess.”

“But you’re sure it was him?”

“He waved.”

Leta became incredibly calm.

“I think that’s enough sewing for tonight,” she stated coldly. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“But, Ma—“

“—You can read in your room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And, please, take your brother upstairs and put him to bed for me.”

“Okay.”

Leta took the dress from Vivian, who walked past her toward the back door. After only a few steps, when by Leta’s estimation, she reached the doorway between the living room and kitchen, Vivian stopped.

“Are you all right, Ma?”

Leta was holding her breath. She felt that if she even let herself expel the air, it would explode out of her with a fit of wailing that she did not want her daughter to hear. She swallowed hard, nearly choking herself, and then coughed.

“Just do as I say,” she croaked.

Thirty minutes later, the children were in their bedrooms, and Albert held her as she wept. It was obvious to both of them that Ralph had commenced his preparation to move the children. If he won custody, this would include transferring them to the school near where he lived.

The despair of this heavy loss began to weigh heavily on Leta. For the next two days, she struggled to get out of bed, dressed haphazardly, failed to style her hair, wandered through her household duties in a constant state of distraction. One morning after breakfast she put the milk in the oven rather than the icebox, and when she turned on the heat to later in the afternoon to cook supper, the milk bottle exploded. When Vivian and Dale arrived home from school in the afternoon, they found her sitting at the kitchen table with a cold cup of coffee beside her hand. She looked up when they arrived and then quickly turned away. Vivian hurriedly steered her little brother out of the kitchen and onto the front porch, where Albert found them two hours later upon arriving home from work.

On the third day, a Friday, of Leta’s somnambulant existence, her sister Louise appeared at her door early in the morning. As Leta failed to keep her regular Thursday lunch date with her friends, sisters, and sister-in-law Florence, Louise took it upon herself to check up on Leta. She was sitting on the sofa with Vivian’s nearly finished dress on her lap. She was added some lace to the collar, a delicate act that she knew her daughter was not ready to complete yet. It was a dark morning; the air was heavy with moisture, as if the sky would unleash a torrent at any moment. Leta was so lost in her own upcoming loss that she failed to hear her sister or even notice her until the older woman was standing in front of her.

To be continued.