“Dr. Gile, would you recommend Etna Van Tassel to any of your colleagues at other hospitals?”
Dr. Gile bends forward as if to make his point better heard. “I would recommend Mrs. Van Tassel to any colleague anywhere, indeed to any employer anywhere. She has been a gift to Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital, and we hope she will remain with us for a long time.”
“Thank you, Dr. Gile.”
“Mr. Bates, do you have any questions for this witness?” asks the judge.
“Not at this time, Your Honor.”
“Very well, Dr. Gile, you may step down.”
Counsel for the Relator calls Alice Beaumont to the stand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Beaumont,” Mr. Hastings says pleasantly.
“Good morning.”
“You are Mrs. Van Tassel’s landlady, are you not?”
“I have a house in Grantham. After my husband passed away fifteen months ago, I found the place too big for one person. And so I advertised for a woman of good deportment.”
“That would be the woman you see behind me.”
“Yes.”
“What sort of tenant, if you don’t mind my using the word, is Mrs. Van Tassel?”
“Well, the best sort, really. The rent is always on time, if that’s what you mean.”
“Does she ever mention her children to you, Mrs. Beaumont?”
“Mention them? I should say so. I have met them both.”
“Objection,” Mr. Bates says, standing. “Were these supervised visits?”
The judge addresses Mr. Hastings. “Were they supervised?”
“No, Your Honor, because there has never been any need for supervision. Both children visit willingly.”
“Does Mr. Van Tassel know of these visits?”
“I cannot answer that question. Clara comes when she can, though the geographical distance between mother and daughter is very great. As for Nicky, I believe Mrs. Van Tassel makes arrangements with the headmaster of the Hackett School.”
Etna remains completely still. She has been told by Mr. Hastings that by bringing the custody suit, she risks being banned from ever seeing Nicky again. Van Tassel can, and doubtless will, if he wins, forbid meetings between Etna and her son. At best, all she can hope for in that case would be supervised meetings. For a week after she was told this fact, Etna barely slept, going over the pros and cons endlessly as she sketched and drove and walked. She does not believe that Nicky should remain in boarding school any longer. He needs a mother’s close supervision, and for that, she must have custody. On the other hand, if she had done nothing, she might have been able to continue seeing her son when he was free, as she has been doing.
The judge asks Mr. Bates if he has any questions, and again Mr. Bates says he does not.
“Very well,” says the judge. “You may step down, Mrs. Beaumont.”
Counsel for the Relator asks to read aloud a letter from Captain Richardson of the Royal Army Medical Corps.
“May I have a copy of this letter?” the judge asks.
“And I,” Mr. Bates insists. “Your Honor, I object to the reading of letters from people not willing to show themselves in court.”
“Mr. Hastings?” asks the judge.
“This is from a captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps who works as a surgeon at Camiers hospital number four in France, and I think even the court would agree that it would be impossible at this time to request Captain Richardson’s presence in this hearing room.”
“Objection overruled.”
Mr. Hastings distributes copies of the letter. Etna is once again surprised by her lawyer’s enterprise. Though she gave him the names of the institutions in which she had served, she did not know that Mr. Hastings had done such detective work.
“The date of the letter is April thirtieth, 1918. I shall begin.
“Dear Mr. Hastings,
“I was much surprised to receive your letter. The woman you wrote of was known to us as Etna Bliss. I am sorry to hear that she is involved in a custody dispute. I know firsthand that she wanted more than anything when she was with us at Camiers to return to her children. I recall specifically a morning quite early in her stay with us when she came to me asking to be dismissed from her position so that she could return to America to see them. I must say I did not take kindly to this request. I pointed out to her that she had signed a contract for one year of service in return for her training, and that all of us had children we would dearly love to see again. I was, I think now, a bit harsh with her. But the point was that we simply could not spare her.
“I will not distress you with a description of life in hospital camps in France, but I can tell you that Etna Bliss was a most valuable asset to our work, ready to step in at a moment’s notice when needed. In those months, it was not uncommon for personnel to be asked to undertake tasks they had little training for. In Miss Bliss’s case, I recall asking her if it was true she could drive a large car (she had written this on her original application), and when she said yes, I asked her to drive an ambulance for us, since driver attrition at that time was dreadful. I think I may have told her that. If I did, I am now doubly impressed by how ready and willing she was to take on this role. There was an occasion in January of 1916 when she demonstrated exceptional bravery by leaving the designated route back to camp with an ambulance full of wounded during an unexpected bombardment. I regret that I did not on that occasion applaud her actions publicly, though if you have gotten to know the woman at all well, you will understand that she would not have wanted that sort of attention.
“We were surprised and alarmed when it became clear that she was no longer with us in March of 1916. I was thus happy to hear from one Dr. August Bridge that Etna Bliss was now well and living in America.
“I should like to express at this time the gratitude of an entire nation to the United States for its considerable contribution to our war effort.
“I wish Etna Bliss and you well in this legal matter, and I hope for a swift and happy conclusion.
“Yours sincerely,
“Captain Angus Richardson”
Counsel for the Relator asks to read a letter from Sister Luke of the Sisters of Our Lady Convent, Abyssinia, Africa.
“Mr. Hastings, you may proceed,” says the judge.
“The letter is dated April tenth, 1918.
“Dear Mr. Hastings,
“Yes, I do remember Stella Bain quite well. As she must have told you, she was, when she arrived at our hospital camp, injured in her feet and in her head, and she had as well lost her memory. She called herself Stella Bain, but I understood the name to be a made-up one, since she certainly did not know who she was. She had, by the way, been left at our door during the night of March 14, 1916, by a man hauling a cart with her in it. She was unconscious for three days before she woke in our tent.
“Once she recovered from her injuries, I found Stella Bain to be an industrious nurse’s aide, even though her French was poor. She was a quick learner and shortly absorbed the necessary hospital French to do her duties. A quiet woman, hardly talkative, she was older than most of the nursing sisters there. She asked, or rather begged, to drive an ambulance, and after an initial trial, proved adept at that task as well. I hope she has told you that we did not see her again after a scheduled leave to Paris. We had no word of her for some time. I understand now that she was under severe mental distress during her time in both Marne and London, for I had a letter from a Dr. August Bridge letting me know that she had returned to America. It was then that I learned her true name, Etna Bliss Van Tassel. I was astonished to discover that she had gone back to see her children. I had not known she had children in America, and I am not sure that she did, either.
“I should not like to see Mrs. Van Tassel come to any further harm. I would give her the highest reference to any employers who might want them.
“Yours in Christ,
“Sister Luke”
The men in the courtroom observe an unasked-for moment
of silence, as if in respect for the Catholic sister toiling in Africa.
Counsel for the Relator calls Etna Van Tassel to the stand.
“Mrs. Van Tassel, how are you this morning?”
“I am well, thank you.”
“Can you tell the court why you are in this hearing room today?”
“Yes, I can. I wish to gain custody of my son, Nicodemus Van Tassel. Mr. Hastings, may I refer to him as Nicky during these proceedings?”
“Your Honor?” Mr. Hastings asks.
“Yes, very well.”
Etna is aware of the judge’s intense scrutiny, as though she were of a slightly different species. He displays his thoughts and emotions via black bushy eyebrows that have marvelous flexibility.
“You are currently living at One seventeen High Street in Grantham, New Hampshire?” Mr. Hastings asks.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why have you chosen that address?”
“It is close to Croydon, where Nicky is at school. And it is not too far from Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital, where I work.”
“How do you get to work?”
“I drive a car, a Ford T.”
“Is it true that you drove a Red Cross ambulance during the war abroad?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Were you ever under bombardment while acting as a VAD?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Were you ever under bombardment while serving as an ambulance driver?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Can you tell the assembled why you went to France?”
Etna takes a long breath. Of all the questions Hastings is likely to ask her, this is by far the most difficult. It is also the most crucial. “This will be a long answer, Mr. Hastings.”
“Proceed.”
“In the early summer of 1915, my husband and I had grown apart. I was living with our daughter, Clara, then fourteen, in a cottage I had purchased in Drury, New Hampshire. Nicky, then six, was living with his father. In order to bring Clara and me back to the house, my husband convinced our daughter, Clara, to tell an outrageous lie. She said that my husband’s rival for the post of dean of Thrupp College, a Mr. Phillip Asher, a man I had known when he was a boy and more recently as an acquaintance, had touched her inappropriately.”
“Did you believe your daughter?”
“At first, no. I could not believe that Phillip Asher, who seemed to have an unblemished character, would do such a thing. But then my daughter made a gesture that was so appalling, so personal, that I thought her incapable of making this up. I was horrified, but I was compelled to accept my daughter’s accusation. She was a child. I didn’t even know she knew such things were possible. That she should demonstrate the gesture seemed damning in itself.”
“So you returned to your husband’s home.”
“Yes, I did. I felt that Clara needed both parents to support her.”
“And then what happened?”
“My husband sent a letter to the chief of police in Thrupp and to the board of corporators at Thrupp College with the charge. Phillip Asher, who had won the post of dean, was immediately fired by the college and interrogated by the police. He left Thrupp in disgrace, his academic reputation destroyed. Later in the summer, my husband told me that Phillip Asher had gone to France as a pacifist and was serving as an ambulance driver with the British Red Cross.”
“How did you feel when your husband told you this?”
“I was deeply shaken. I felt that we had sent a man to his likely death. I was afraid my daughter would not forgive herself for having spoken up about this matter, and yet I believed she had done the right thing in bringing the matter to our attention. Mostly, I felt ill in both body and soul.”
“Then what happened?”
“Shortly after her father said that Phillip Asher was in France, Clara called out to her father and asked if she could tell now. My husband tried to hush her, but I was instantly alert to something amiss. I pressed my daughter as to what she meant and learned that what she had said about Phillip Asher was a lie. She had been coached by her father to tell this lie so that I, her mother, would return to the family home, which I had done, and also so that Mr. Phillip Asher’s reputation would be ruined.”
“This was on August seventeenth, 1915.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I was enraged. I went up to the guest room. I needed time to think. I tried to write to Phillip Asher, but I could find no words to convey my deep apology for what my family had done to him. I hated my husband then and would not admit him to the guest room, where I was staying.”
“And what about your daughter, Clara?”
“I knew that Abigail, our housekeeper, would keep an eye on both Clara and Nicky, who was too young to understand what was going on. It was my intention to go to Clara in the morning and talk about the incident with her. But I knew I needed to calm down first.”
“And then what happened?”
“It was a stifling night. It had been humid and hot for weeks, and I had the window open and the door ajar to get any kind of a breeze that might be blowing. I had fallen asleep without thinking to lock the door. At some point, I do not know precisely when, my husband entered the room. He had been drinking.”
Etna is silent. She cannot tell this next part. Not to the men assembled in the room. It feels prurient and disgusting. She tries to gather herself together.
“Mrs. Van Tassel, I know this is difficult for you,” her lawyer says encouragingly.
“Watching a man die is difficult for me, Mr. Hastings. I can answer your question. My husband assaulted me. He tore my clothes and hurt me.”
“Would it be fair to say that he raped you?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Objection.” Mr. Bates rises, nearly spitting. Perhaps he has been wanting to spit during Etna’s entire testimony. “Your Honor, no husband can be prosecuted for rape in this state.”
“Your Honor,” Mr. Hastings counters. “We have no intention of trying to prosecute Nicholas Van Tassel at this time. This testimony is intended to reveal why my client felt she needed to flee the house.”
“The testimony will be allowed,” the judge says.
“Mrs. Van Tassel, can you tell us what happened after the assault?”
“I felt that if I did not run from the house, my husband would kill me. The situation he had created was intolerable. I waited until he had fallen asleep, and then I ran. Well, not literally. I took my motorcar and drove away.”
“And where did you go?”
“I drove to White River Junction, where I caught the first train to Boston. I was afraid my husband would follow me. At the same time, I believed it was urgently necessary to find Mr. Asher in France and make amends to him for what our family had done to him. I know this doesn’t sound logical now, but I was not in my right mind. I believe no woman is after she has been raped.”
“Objection,” says Mr. Bates, rising. “Mrs. Van Tassel is in no position to know how all women feel after they have been assaulted, if that is indeed what happened. I further object to such crude language being used in this court.”
“Mr. Bates, this is a hearing room, and a fact is a fact, crude or not. Please sit down.”
“Mrs. Van Tassel,” asks Mr. Hastings, “can you continue with your answer?”
“When I arrived in Boston, I saw a poster at the train station advertising the need for young women to sign up for passage on a Red Cross hospital ship. Under the auspices of Massachusetts General Hospital and Harvard Medical School, it was scheduled to cross the Atlantic to tend to the wounded in France. Training for nurse’s aides would take place aboard ship, at Southampton, and in France. As it happened, the training stopped the very second we set foot on French soil. The true nursing began then.”
“Mrs. Van Tassel, at what point would you say that you regained your wits?”
“That is a hard question to answer, since it was difficult to keep whatever wits o
ne had to begin with under those terrible conditions. But I believe it must have been around October of 1915, as Captain Richardson suggested in his letter.”
“To reiterate, you asked to have your contract broken so that you could return to your children.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Objection,” shouts Mr. Bates. “Your Honor, is it necessary to have this testimony repeated? I believe we all understood it when it was read out.”
“Objection sustained. Mr. Hastings, would you please move on to your next question?”
Mr. Bates sits with a satisfied expression on his face. A point to him.
“What happened to you in regard to your desire to return to your children after that?”
“Common sense told me I could not just slip away from the camp and go AWOL. I might make it as far as a hospital ship going to the coast of England or even to London, but then what would I do? I did not have the means to travel back to America and would not have until I had fulfilled at least a year of my contract.”
“And that was it?”
“Yes, until I spoke with Phillip Asher. He suggested I look up his brother, Samuel Asher, whom I had once known in Exeter, at the Admiralty in London. Phillip thought his brother could help me.”
“And how did you find Phillip Asher?”
“He found me. He had heard I was looking for him.” Etna squeezes the fingers of her right hand. “A few months later, after a bombardment, he was terribly wounded in the face. He was brought into our hospital camp,” she says in a quiet voice. “His face was shattered.”
“What happened when you saw Mr. Asher’s face?”
“There are no words, Mr. Hastings, to express how I felt.”
“I am sure there are not.”
“I tried to comfort him and to follow him into surgery. I was certain that he would die. I was prevented from remaining near the surgical tent. I ran out of the tent and fell to my knees. Then I ran into a field. That is all I remember.”
Hastings moves to the other side of Etna. “You remember nothing about what happened to you after you ran into the field?”