An Angel in the Mail (Oregon Trail 2) - Page 82

Sylvia’s eyebrows shot up at the blatant lie, but she remained silent. Her father gathered Lucy into his arms, and rubbed her back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you did.”

Lucy smiled against her father’s shoulder, and glanced at Sylvia. She hadn’t fooled the older woman, but didn’t care. Her papa would always take care of her.

“Papa, I’m really not well. I’m not used to spirits, and I feel a little sick. May I go back to my room and lie down?”

He released her. “Of course, honey. You go on upstairs and lie down for the rest of the day. You’ll feel much better tomorrow. I’ll have Cook send a tray up for you in a little bit.”

Thank you, Papa, I love you so much.” She gave him a kiss on his cheek. Turning, she walked out of the library, wondering how soon he would leave the room so she could replenish her liquor stock.

Nate and Angel entered Damian Lawton’s unassuming office on Main Street. Angel looked around as they approached his desk.

r /> Although the man must’ve collected healthy fees from Eli’s various businesses over the years, the lawyer apparently didn’t spend the money on his office.

A worn desk sat in the front of two windows. Papers and files were stacked on top of the desk, and on the floor alongside his chair. How did the man find anything? The walls were painted a sickly green color, the wooden floor scratched and worn.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hale,” Damian said, rising from his seat. Although clean and neat about his person, his suit showed wear in various spots.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lawton, can we have a minute of your time?”

“Of course, please, have a seat,” he pointed to two aged wooden chairs in front of his desk.

Nate ushered Angel to a chair, while she shifted Julia-Rose, who slept on, in her arms.

When they were all settled, the lawyer avoided pleasantries and got right to business. “What can I do for you?”

Nate drew the court order from his pocket, and handed it to the attorney. Damian opened it, and read through the entire document, his brows furrowing as he skimmed the paper.

“I don’t understand,” he said to Nate, glancing up.

“Neither do we, Mr. Lawton.” Angel moved the baby and leaned forward on her seat.

“Do you have a lot of contact with,” Damian referred to the paper, “Mr. and Mrs. Belford?”

Nate shook his head. “My deceased wife’s parents have visited our home to see their grandchildren exactly twice. They came right after Matt’s birth, and never again until almost a year ago. My boys didn’t even know them.” Nate’s jaw worked as he finished speaking.

“Well. That’s certainly an interesting fact. I wonder what’s motivating them to seek guardianship?”

“The only thing I can think of is a religious issue.”

Damian raised his eyebrows at his comment.

“Amy’s parents are staunch Catholics. I’m not. Angel and I attend the Methodist church with the children. When the Belfords were out last year for their second visit ever, they were upset to discover that.”

“A difference of opinion on religious upbringing is hardly a reason to seek guardianship.”

“I know, that’s why I can’t figure out where the ‘unfit parent’ thing comes from.”

Damian leaned back in his chair, and tapped his chin with a pen. “Do either one of you have anything in your backgrounds to give these people reason to believe you’re unfit parents?”

Nate shrugged. “No, nothing. I’m as confused by this as you are.”

The lawyer reached for the paper and read it over again. He folded it carefully, and rested his hands on the desk. “I suggest you allow me to attend this hearing with you. The Belfords will have an attorney, and I think it would be wise for you to have one as well.”

“Thank you, we appreciate that.” Angel smiled for the first time since she’d entered the room.

“Should we bring the children with us to court?” Nate asked as he took the baby from Angel’s arms.

“There’s no reason to involve them at this point, unless the judge requests their presence. This is only a preliminary hearing. Leave them home, you two wear your best Sunday clothes, and meet me at the courthouse.” He glanced at the paper again. “On the twenty-fifth.”

Tags: Callie Hutton Oregon Trail Historical
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