Read Online Trouble by Gary D. Schmidt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gary D. Schmidt
Tags: Ages 12 and up
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then we'd say—"
"Oz," Henry finished.
"Oz," Louisa said. "Because everything was okay for now."
"Even though we knew we'd go under the blanket when the Wicked Witch showed up again."
"But we could breathe until that happened," Louisa said.
Henry held his hand out. Louisa looked down and took it. "Tell me when we can say 'Oz,'" she said.
"I'll let you know." And they leaned in toward each other.
This was how Mr. Churchill found them, and he was clearly disappointed—Louisa was not crying. He led them both into the small waiting room, and they sat down across from their parents at a smooth table. "Now," said Mr. Churchill, "to what all of you are required to do." He folded his hands together. "This is a pretrial hearing. That means the judge will be deciding whether there is sufficient evidence to recommend that Chay Chouan be bound over for trial on charges of aggravated assault and leaving the scene of an accident resulting in serious bodily injury. The hearing will probably be brief, since neither party is contesting the facts. It is still important, however, that you as a family present yourselves to the judge in a way that will incline him toward the prosecutor's position. So ..."
Mr. Churchill described how the Smiths ought to present themselves in a way that would incline the judge toward the prosecutor's position. They would be, he said, the Grieving Family.
By the end, Henry wanted to hit his jowled face again.
Mr. Churchill looked at his watch. "Questions? No? Then I suggest we all go in."
And so they did.
The courtroom smelled a little like St. Anne's Episcopal Church without the scent of the beeswax candles. The oiled wood, the slightly worn cushions, the smell of reverence and formality everywhere. Henry settled into his seat as if it were a Sunday morning. Except for one of the Blythbury-by-the-Sea policemen, the reporter from the
Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle,
Dr. Giles—who nodded at them—and Dr. Sheringham—principal of Longfellow Prep and father of Brandon Sheringham, perfect coxswain, and clearly the genetic source of his nose—the courtroom was mostly empty. Again, like St. Anne's.
Then the Chouans came in, walking behind their lawyer.
They sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom. Mrs. Chouan was a tiny woman, and she walked like a wary bird, a short bit at a time, looking down at the floor as if she could pretend that nothing else was around. Mr. Chouan was small, too, but with forearms like posts—which anyone could see because they stuck far out of a jacket that didn't fit him. He walked behind Mrs. Chouan; as he came in, the sight of the policeman made him take his wife's arm.
The Chouans did not look at the Smiths. Henry could not take his eyes away from them.
The Chouans sat—still warily—and then one of the doors at the front of the courtroom opened, and Mrs. Chouan gave a short cry that she stifled into her husband's shoulder. Chay Chouan came into the room with the bailiff and a policeman behind him. He was dressed in an awful orange jumpsuit that was too big for him. His head was down. His hands were manacled.
Henry looked at Louisa, who was about to start bawling out loud. Mr. Churchill will be so pleased, he thought.
Chay Chouan's lawyer left his parents and went to Chay. He walked with him to the defendant's table and they sat down together. Chay held out his hands, and the policeman unlocked the manacles and then went back to the door and stood at attention, one hand on a hefty revolver at his side, ready, Henry figured, for anything desperate. The prosecutor came in, nodded to the Smiths, and spoke briefly with Mr. Churchill. Then he sat and arranged papers around his table.
Chay Chouan rubbed at his wrists.
It looked, Henry thought, like the "Prologue"! People introducing themselves around the court, like Chaucer announcing that he's going to tell the condition of each one of the pilgrims "er that I ferther in this tale pace"—and not giving away that
"Oz," Henry finished.
"Oz," Louisa said. "Because everything was okay for now."
"Even though we knew we'd go under the blanket when the Wicked Witch showed up again."
"But we could breathe until that happened," Louisa said.
Henry held his hand out. Louisa looked down and took it. "Tell me when we can say 'Oz,'" she said.
"I'll let you know." And they leaned in toward each other.
This was how Mr. Churchill found them, and he was clearly disappointed—Louisa was not crying. He led them both into the small waiting room, and they sat down across from their parents at a smooth table. "Now," said Mr. Churchill, "to what all of you are required to do." He folded his hands together. "This is a pretrial hearing. That means the judge will be deciding whether there is sufficient evidence to recommend that Chay Chouan be bound over for trial on charges of aggravated assault and leaving the scene of an accident resulting in serious bodily injury. The hearing will probably be brief, since neither party is contesting the facts. It is still important, however, that you as a family present yourselves to the judge in a way that will incline him toward the prosecutor's position. So ..."
Mr. Churchill described how the Smiths ought to present themselves in a way that would incline the judge toward the prosecutor's position. They would be, he said, the Grieving Family.
By the end, Henry wanted to hit his jowled face again.
Mr. Churchill looked at his watch. "Questions? No? Then I suggest we all go in."
And so they did.
The courtroom smelled a little like St. Anne's Episcopal Church without the scent of the beeswax candles. The oiled wood, the slightly worn cushions, the smell of reverence and formality everywhere. Henry settled into his seat as if it were a Sunday morning. Except for one of the Blythbury-by-the-Sea policemen, the reporter from the
Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle,
Dr. Giles—who nodded at them—and Dr. Sheringham—principal of Longfellow Prep and father of Brandon Sheringham, perfect coxswain, and clearly the genetic source of his nose—the courtroom was mostly empty. Again, like St. Anne's.
Then the Chouans came in, walking behind their lawyer.
They sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom. Mrs. Chouan was a tiny woman, and she walked like a wary bird, a short bit at a time, looking down at the floor as if she could pretend that nothing else was around. Mr. Chouan was small, too, but with forearms like posts—which anyone could see because they stuck far out of a jacket that didn't fit him. He walked behind Mrs. Chouan; as he came in, the sight of the policeman made him take his wife's arm.
The Chouans did not look at the Smiths. Henry could not take his eyes away from them.
The Chouans sat—still warily—and then one of the doors at the front of the courtroom opened, and Mrs. Chouan gave a short cry that she stifled into her husband's shoulder. Chay Chouan came into the room with the bailiff and a policeman behind him. He was dressed in an awful orange jumpsuit that was too big for him. His head was down. His hands were manacled.
Henry looked at Louisa, who was about to start bawling out loud. Mr. Churchill will be so pleased, he thought.
Chay Chouan's lawyer left his parents and went to Chay. He walked with him to the defendant's table and they sat down together. Chay held out his hands, and the policeman unlocked the manacles and then went back to the door and stood at attention, one hand on a hefty revolver at his side, ready, Henry figured, for anything desperate. The prosecutor came in, nodded to the Smiths, and spoke briefly with Mr. Churchill. Then he sat and arranged papers around his table.
Chay Chouan rubbed at his wrists.
It looked, Henry thought, like the "Prologue"! People introducing themselves around the court, like Chaucer announcing that he's going to tell the condition of each one of the pilgrims "er that I ferther in this tale pace"—and not giving away that
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