I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate (48 page)

“No, that’s Wanda, who has a degree in basket weaving or something, but she’s no psychologist. Mrs. Rouelle is from a special HRS intervention program designed for crisis counseling.”

In the file I found Mrs. Rouelle’s report, which stated that she had spent six weeks working in the home to try to resolve family conflicts. At that time both Nicole and Julie had still been at home. The cover sheet for her notes was a checklist that indicated the family was in need of further treatment but no appropriate referral was available. As to the rate of improvement, Mrs. Rouelle had indicated that the Colby family was worse off after her visits than before, and stated that the family was at high risk for emotional and psychological neglect.

After a few tries I reached Mrs. Rouelle on the phone. She gave me many other examples of Lottie Hunt’s barrages against her daughters.

“At one point it was so destructive,” Mrs. Rouelle said in her French accent, “that I refused to leave the house until an HRS worker was summoned for the children’s protection.”

“You mean you called HRS and said the situation was abusive?”

“Absolutely. I knew that if I left the house, Mrs. Hunt would hurt one of the children, or one of the children would have hurt her, or worse.”

“What is the mother’s problem?”

“She’s a very immature, complicated woman. While I did not do private work with her, she is symptomatic of a person with borderline personality disorder. She has a very shaky sense of identity, has frequent violent outbursts—as you and I have both witnessed—is oversensitive to imagined rejections. She keeps blaming the children for not loving her enough.”

“She told me that Julie loved the cat more than her.”

“People with her syndrome often have many intense love affairs, which may explain why Mrs. Hunt has been married so many times in recent years and why she has stayed with men who have been abusive toward her and the children. Has Nicole told you about what she had to endure from Mr. Delancy?”

“She started to.”

“It’s horrifying, isn’t it?”

“Could they live with their father when he gets out?”

“No, he’s too violent. Julie, who stayed with him the shortest time, still believes he might be there for her, but he’s only allowed supervised visitations and that won’t change for a long time.”

As I typed up my extensive notes from the conversation with Mrs. Rouelle, I was pleased to have clinical confirmation for the upcoming hearing.

By the end of my first week on the Colby case, I was able to get an appointment with the eldest sister, Simone, and her “adopted” family, the Baldwins. The Baldwins’ recently built house was by far the nicest of the Colby children’s residences. Carol Baldwin met with me in her husband’s home office. The sliding glass doors opened onto the fairway of a golf course and ducks from a nearby pond waddled across the lawn.

“Although Nicole is fairly stable with the Lambs, I don’t think that is going to last,” I began. “But right now I’m more worried about Julie, who seems miserable, hungry, and her mother is out of control.”

Carol gave me a strained smile. “We’ve made a commitment to Simone, but we can’t include the other girls. Ken adores Julie, too, but we can’t accept another child into our home.”

“I was not asking you to.”

“Well, maybe I was asking myself. Ken has allowed me to buy the three of them school clothes and Christmas presents, but that is the most I can ask, considering we have three of our own. I feel for those children, every one of them. It took a year before Simone trusted us to tell us some of what has gone on in her life, and it is more harrowing than you can believe. If I won the lottery, I’d adopt them in a minute.”

“Do you think someone might step forward who would adopt all three?” I asked as the idea began to form in my mind.

“It could happen, but when I asked Iris about legally adopting Simone, she said that neither parent would relinquish their rights.”

“Even if adoption is out of the question, if some family were to offer the three of them a permanent home, how would you feel about losing Simone?”

“We would always want what is best for her.”

The door to the office opened and Simone arrived with her friend Eliza. After I was introduced, Eliza ducked out.

Simone had large, soft brown eyes that had the look of a young, startled doe and was the only Colby to have curly hair, which cascaded prettily down her back. It was the same corn-silk shade as Julie’s, but the effect was less storybook and more sensual. “When can I see my sisters?” Simone asked, then went on to complain that the Lambs were making it impossible for her to get together with Nicole. “They even listen in on her phone conversations,” she said with exasperation, adding, “if I try to see Julie, I’d have to deal with Mom, so it isn’t worth it.”

“The arts and crafts festival is on this weekend and I could take the three of you.”

Simone gave me a doubtful look. “You think the Lambs or my mother will agree?”

“They won’t have a choice,” I said, and meant it.

My car was filled with exuberant girls. In contrast to the Stevensons, Nicole, Simone, and Julie were delightful companions. As we walked around the fairgrounds, they kept running into friends from school and extended family members. Everyone greeted one another warmly, and I could see how rooted they were in this town. Even more intriguing to me was their curiosity about every artisan’s booth. They studied the sculpture, stained glass, and other pieces, asking what techniques were used and commenting on what they liked and disliked. Simone, in particular, kept saying she would like to try her hand at various crafts. Julie was fascinated by everything having to do with the sea, and Nicole talked about decorating her dream house someday. Nicole was in the school and church chorus and wanted to join the band. Simone already played in the school orchestra. The older sisters kidded each other about boys and mutual friends, while making certain Julie was included. Whenever I bought them a slice of pizza or dish of fresh-churned ice cream, they looked on the treat as something special. I began to fantasize about how they might react if I could have walked into the next stall and arranged an adoptive home where they could all live together again.

Well, why couldn’t I? Wasn’t this in their best interests? Mrs. Lamb and Mrs. Baldwin had agreed the sisters needed one another. The therapist had stated that neither biological parent was suitable. There had to be a family who would welcome these attractive, intelligent, talented, kind, and considerate sisters. I looked around at the passing crowd. This was a small, family-centered community. Surely there was a home for these terrific girls. Somehow, somewhere I would find them a family, I promised myself.

Here is precisely what happened next.

After delivering the Colby sisters to their respective families, I stopped by the home of friends, Darla and Stanley Brandon, who had adopted an infant two years earlier.

“Ready for another kid?” I asked.

“Maybe …,” Darla said slowly as she pondered whether or not I was serious.

“How about three of them?” I went on to explain about the Colby sisters.

“Well,” Darla said, laughing easily, “we were thinking of something a little younger, but I could ask the pastor at church if he knows of anyone else.”

That was Saturday. Keeping her word, Darla stood in line after the service and mentioned to the minister that three sisters were looking for a permanent home. He asked if he could give it some thought and call her back. That Monday I left town on business. Thursday morning, my secretary gave me a message from a Mrs. Slater who “wants to adopt your three children. She requested that you phone her from New York.”

“This is absurd,” I said aloud, but dialed the number in Florida anyway.

After introductions, Jeanne Slater explained that she and her husband had been to Bible study that Wednesday evening and “the pastor had asked for prayers for three separated sisters who need a home together. I glanced up at my husband, Vic, and he looked at me. I can’t explain it, but at that moment we just knew that we were the ones. We’ll take them.”

“Wait a minute, you don’t know their names or ages or background.”

“That’s true, but we’re ready to accept them into our hearts and home.”

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Slater,” I said, thinking I was dealing with some sort of nut. “I’ll be back over the weekend and I’ll call you then.”

“We’d like to meet you. Could you come over on Sunday?”

Deciding I had better clear this with Lillian first, I pushed the appointment until Monday evening. When I hung up the phone, I was shaking my head. “This is incredible. This is so crazy.” I waited, trying to dispel the feeling that something momentous had happened. Instead I was overcome with a calm certainty that somehow in some way this was going to work.

Lillian couldn’t see any harm in a meeting, although she doubted anything would come of it. On the way to the Slaters’, I picked up some snapshots of the sisters I had taken at the craft fair. Vic and Jeanne lived in the Country Farms section of town that bordered rolling pastures. Their three-bedroom ranch house hugged the curve of a cul-de-sac. I was surprised to see two children’s bicycles out front.

Jeanne and Vic Slater were in their late thirties or early forties and both were slim and tan. Vic was wearing emerald golf slacks and a polo shirt with the collar turned up. His wife’s shirt matched his, but she wore a wraparound twill pink and green skirt, pink ankle socks and expensive leather sneakers. Their clothes were color coordinated to the poker-felt green rug, rose and green sofa, and matching shell paintings and decorations. An adorable pug puppy snapped at my feet.

“Hey, Squire, cool it,” Vic said to the dog.

As I pushed the dog off, I realized that although this was not a sharpei, he did have a wrinkled face.

Impossible, I told myself. Don’t get your hopes up because none of this makes any sense.

Mrs. Slater served coffee and homemade lemon squares. I filled the Slaters in on the girls’ first names and general background. “They’ve been subjected to various forms of abuse, but as far as I know, there has been no sexual abuse.” I passed out the pictures.

Vic pointed to Nicole’s and handed it back to me. I looked from the photo to Jeanne and back again. There was no question that the resemblance to his wife was startling, especially since they had the same dark hair and soulful eyes.

“Simone was my grandmother’s name,” Jeanne said softly. “She was French-Canadian, but I grew up in Maine.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Slater?”

“I was born in Ohio, but met Jeanne in Washington, DC. We both had government jobs and took early retirement.” He explained that they had sunk their savings into a sporting goods franchise, sharing the management duties. Vic handled the accounting while Jeanne organized the stock and personnel.

In about an hour I had learned that Jeanne had been married at fifteen and had one grown daughter. Vic had a teenage son, who lived with his mother in Virginia. Both hinted at unfortunate first marriages at a young age but stated that their twelve-year relationship was stable and happy. Jeanne explained that they had temporary guardianship of her two grandsons from Maine, so they knew a bit about taking in other people’s children. It looked as though they might keep them for many years to come due to “a drug problem with their parents.”

“Why would you want these girls too?” I asked.

Vic stroked his Van Gogh beard. “We feel a spiritual calling to take them.”

I passed back a picture of Simone with her arms around the waist of one of the boys she had seen at the fair, the one with whom she had gone to Disney. “They come with boyfriends at this age.”

“I know about that,” Jeanne remarked flatly.

After reviewing the children’s legal situation, I explained that Julie might need a home on an emergency basis. “We’re ready,” Vic replied, “just tell us what we have to do.”

I conferred again with Lillian. She reminded me that the Colby children had a routine court appearance for their six-month case review the following week. “Make sure everything is in your report,” she counseled. “Don’t mince words. Don’t worry about hurting feelings. This document will start the process rolling.”

Because Guardians ad Litem have access to so many files, we can synthesize them in ways that the social services and legal people cannot. While our reports are always centered around the best interests of the children, I made certain that the Colbys’ material also hinted at the direction the case might take even though it was far too early to mention termination of parental rights or adoption. As part of the “information received” introduction I included an outline of the history of the case. Regarding their father I wrote:

Mervyn Colby is currently incarcerated, and even when he is free, is not able to provide an appropriate home for these children. He has had many opportunities to remedy his substance abuse problems, but there does not seem to be any change in this area. Despite his problems and the abuse they suffered, the children speak of him with some affection and wish to remain in touch with him.

About the mother I stated:

Mrs. Lottie Colby Hunt has had custody of her children intermittently. Simone has been out of the home for more than 18 months, living with the Baldwins, who are the parents of a friend. Simone is adamant that she would never wish to live with her mother again and she does not feel that her mother is an appropriate parent for either sibling.

Nicole would not return to her mother or her father and does not feel Julie should remain with her mother because of a risk of psychological abuse in that home.

Julie is currently living with her mother. She was sent to the Holy Family Home in Miami last August; however, the administrator feels this is not a suitable placement because the other students have addictions and other severe problems. When Julie’s mother married Mr. Hunt, it was felt she might do better at home than in an institution. Since then, Julie reports being extremely unhappy and would rather live “anywhere else.” Her choices include being returned to the Holy Family Home where the rules were “strict, but fair” and where they treated her “like a real person, with respect.” She felt loved there.