"We are now getting very close to the essential point?" Tito asked.
"Yes. To the best of my knowledge, Pat lived with Dennis Stull for well over a year that first time, for several months in Fort Leavenworth and subsequently, until he was sent to Vietnam, in Davenport, Iowa, while he was stationed at the Rock Island Arsenal. Both Kansas and Iowa are states that do recognize common-law marriage. Moreover, the law of Kansas worked on the theory that if it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, and quacked like a duck, it was jolly well a duck, even if thoughts wandering around inside its head might have been to the effect that it intended to be a pheasant. Numerous couples, over time, have been very surprised to discover that after a sojourn in Kansas they were now married. It may be prudent of the court to determine whether or not the plaintiff and defendant in Murphy v. Murphy were ever legally man and wife before issuing a divorce decree."
Maurice Tito's stomach turned a few somersaults, crunched up into knots, and refused to even think about consuming the cold cuts and cheese on rye sandwich he had brought for his lunch.
"Thank you," he said to Riddle. "I dismiss the attorneys to confer with their clients."
"You are quite welcome," the older man said, and left to join his little flock of baby lawyers at the Thuringen Gardens, to which they transported him by wheel chair.
Maurice Tito sat there, looking at his lunch pail. He finally decided to risk eating the apple.
Thinking, as he did so, that given its symbolism, it was a remarkably appropriate fruit for the occasion.
* * *
Johann Georg Hardegg, of the firm of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp (with branches in Saalfeld, Rudolstadt, Jena, and most recently Grantville) had taken the task of representing Francis Xavier Murphy in this divorce suit. Not because he necessarily expected to be paid, given Murphy's reputation, but because it had seemed to be an uncomplicated case that would bring him a little more name recognition, and hopefully a few more clients, as the firm set up its new branch.
After all, he had been assured over and over, the up-time matrimonial law was nowhere near as complex as that of the German states in the 1630s. There were civil licenses to be obtained, a ceremony to be performed by a duly licensed civil or ecclesiastical authority, and the filing of the certificate. It was quite simple and forthright. On one given day, a couple was not married; on the next, after those steps, they were. There were no legally binding betrothals to worry about; none of the difficulties that made practice before an Ehegericht, a consistorial marriage court, so wearisome in the Lutheran principalities.
He was feeling sadly disillusioned as he ate his ample lunch.
* * *
Thomas Price Riddle, upon returning from lunch, was separated from his students by the bailiff, who requested that he speak with the judge again.
* * *
"The court will now come to order," the bailiff intoned solemnly. "All rise."
Maurice Tito entered from his chambers and took his place on the bench.
"I have taken the liberty," he announced, "with the consent of the attorneys representing both parties, to request the presence of Thomas Price Riddle, Esquire, as my associate on the bench in the hearing of this case."
That caused a considerable rustle among those present in the court. Particularly the newspaper reporters, who regarded Murphy v. Murphy as a sufficiently luscious tabloid case even without new and unexpected developments.
Riddle, in robes, joined Tito.
Tito looked at Laura Koudsi and advised her that the court found itself in need of additional information and would wish to swear her client to testify for informational purposes.
Laurie looked at Pat. Pat said, "Okay by me."
"We have no objection, your honor," Laurie said, "although I, um, think that this isn't quite the way things are done usually. That is, I would like to state for the record that this isn't the way things are done usually."
Tito had no wish to be harsh with her. "We grant this is an exception to normal procedure," he stated. "An exception I am making for the reasons that were presented in chambers and will soon become apparent to the court for the record."
* * *
"What happened when I went out to live with Dennis?" Pat asked in some bewilderment. Laurie had tried to explain the legal points to her during the last half hour of the lunch break, but the only thing that had gotten through was that she might not be divorced from Francis today, which had caused an outburst of passionate sobbing. Once her attorney had dried her eyes and had her blow her nose, she had ended up more confused than ever by Laurie's attempts at further explanation.
"Yes, please," Maurice Tito stated. "Just a brief statement, please."
"Well, I left here—left Grantville that is—on my eighteenth birthday. The buses were really slow because of the weather. I missed a couple of transfers, so I didn't get into Leavenworth until New Year's Day. That was three days later. I got off. Dennis was there, waiting for me. He'd been there to meet every bus that came in for thirty-six hours. I couldn't call again and tell him where I was because I didn't have enough money and it wouldn't have done any good if I had because he was at the bus depot waiting for me."
"Continue, please," the judge said.
"I got off. We kissed each other for a while. Then we went to look for my suitcase, but it hadn't come in on the same bus. Before we went to ask about it, Dennis said that he wasn't going to have anyone looking at me crossways. He took a box out of his pocket and it had a wedding and engagement ring in it. Just dime store, but he put them on, and said that we could sort out the rest of it later, but I should wear them. After that, we kissed each other a little more. Then we went to the baggage office."
Maurice Tito's stomach was performing multiple gymnastic stunts. He was seriously wishing that he had not eaten even the apple.
Thomas Price Riddle's face was totally impassive.
"Continue, please," Maurice Tito said.
Pat took a deep breath. "The man at the depot said he would call when my suitcase arrived. Dennis gave his number at the barracks, but a different address, because when I said I was coming, he had subleased a little apartment from a guy who was being transferred out on short notice. Then we went to the car he had borrowed, and stopped at a drug store so I could get a toothbrush and stuff, which he had to pay for because I didn't have any more money, and we went to the apartment. We got out of the car. The apartment was up above a garage. Dennis knocked on the kitchen door of the house and introduced me to the landlady, who gave me a second key. Then he went to return the car to the guy he had borrowed it from while I took a bath."
"How did he introduce you to the landlady," Thomas Price Riddle asked.
"As his wife. Well, I mean, he could hardly have said that I was his squeeze or whatever they called it back then. She was a very respectable-looking woman," Pat said.
"Thank you," Maurice Tito said once more. Then, "How long did you continue living in this apartment?"
"Until July. Dennis was real busy, of course. There wasn't any point in sitting around by myself in the apartment all day, every day. I thought about getting a job, but he said that he was able to cover the rent and it would be better, since I'd left Grantville in the middle of the school year, to go back to high school there and finish up. There were so many military families in Leavenworth that the school system was fairly accommodating. They got my transcripts in a hurry, tested me in for placement, and turned me out in June with a GED high school diploma. That was a whole year faster than I'd have been able to do it here."
Thomas Price Riddle intervened once more. "Do you still have a copy of this diploma?"
Pat nodded.
The court reporter reminded her to reply verbally.
She said, "Yes. It's over at the house, somewhere, I think. I kept it in a safe deposit box for a long time, but since I moved back to Grantville from Fairmont, I haven't bothered to rent one. It's probably in the bottom drawer of the hutch in the breakfast nook, with the ki
ds' birth certificates and report cards and things."
"Do you recall the name in which this diploma was issued?" Thomas Price Riddle asked.
The tone of his voice was very cautious.
"Patricia Fitzgerald Stull. That was how I was enrolled. Dennis and I were supposed to be married, after all."
The two men on the bench looked at one another. Maurice Tito raised an eyebrow. Riddle nodded slightly.
"You say that you lived in Leavenworth, Kansas, until July of 1965?"
"Yes," Pat said.
"What happened in July?"
"Dennis was transferred to the Rock Island Arsenal, so we moved. We knew that he was going to be transferred before I finished school, so I didn't bother to look for a job for such a short time. After that, we lived in Davenport, Iowa, until Dennis was sent to Viet Nam. We had an apartment there, too."
"When was Mr. Stull sent to Viet Nam?"
"August, 1966."
"So you lived in Davenport, Iowa, for thirteen months?"
Pat nodded, and was once more reminded by the clerk to make her responses verbal.
"During this period," Riddle asked, "did you represent yourselves as husband and wife?"
"Oh, yeah. Since we knew it would be more than a year, we signed a regular lease on the apartment. Dennis Stull and Patricia Stull. Dennis was absolutely determined that nobody was going to think that I was a light woman or anything. I mean, we wanted to be married, even though we were stuck over whether to have a Catholic ceremony or not. Then when he shipped out, I came back and got a job in Fairmont and then my parents started driving me absolutely nuts."
This time Thomas Price Riddle raised an eyebrow and Maurice Tito nodded.
"The court declares a recess," he stated. "The court will reconvene at eight o'clock in the morning. The attorneys representing each party to the divorce suit will please appear in the judge's chambers at four o'clock this afternoon."
* * *
"There's no doubt about it," Thomas Price Riddle said. "Oh my yes, under Kansas law in 1965 they absolutely, positively were married. Public representation, living together, and a legal document attesting to it. Done deal. Oh yes. True in Kansas at the date of the Ring of Fire as well. Married. Dennis Stull and Patricia Fitzgerald were solidly, legally, bindingly, 'it takes a divorce court to end it' married."
"And Iowa?" Tito asked.
"Under Iowa law, also, they would need to get a divorce, signed and sealed at court, before either of them could legally marry someone else. That was, and is, a full-fledged common-law marriage. They're married. Dennis and Pat, that is. Not Francis and Pat."
"It isn't something that I'd expected," Tito commented.
* * *
Tito and Riddle broke the news to the two attorneys, under strict orders to make no statements to the press or to speak of the matter to anyone other than their clients.
The attorneys broke the news to their clients. They omitted to warn their clients not to make statements to the press or to others. This level of communication had, unfortunately, slipped the minds of both judges.
Francis Xavier Murphy went back to jail, where he told everyone within hearing, including his son Keenan, who came by to see him fairly regularly.
Keenan went to the 250 Club and got thoroughly drunk, telling everyone there and saying that it only made sense, in a way, considering that everybody in town thought that he himself was a thorough bastard anyway and Noelle was not, that their legal status should be matched up to the way they acted.
Some subsequent comments by various patrons resulted in a police visit to the premises.
Pat went to the telegraph office and sent off a telegraph to Dennis in Erfurt asking him to please come back to Grantville as soon as possible. And explaining why. She dictated it right in the presence of everyone else with business there.
Grantville being Grantville, the news spread rather rapidly. The only people no one phoned, as it circulated, were Maurice Tito and Thomas Price Riddle. They were consequently rather surprised the next morning to observe just how full the courtroom was. Not to mention the corridor, the staircase, and any number of people milling around in the vestibule.
* * *
Maurice Tito stayed up all night writing the statement he read from the bench. He sent Thomas Price Riddle home at nine in the evening on the grounds that his continued health and well-being were of more importance to Grantville's long-term welfare than any one legal case.
He adduced carefully the reasons for the decision he was taking.
He dismissed Murphy v. Murphy on the grounds that Patricia (Fitzgerald) Stull, not being married to Francis Xavier Murphy from the perspective of civil law, had no need to divorce him.
Pat started to smile.
Laurie Koudsi requested that if he was going to dismiss the divorce suit, would he please enter a decree to the effect that the marriage of Francis Murphy and Patricia Fitzgerald was null.
Maurice Tito entered the finding. That the marriage was null on the grounds that it was bigamous.
Francis Murphy made his unhappiness with this finding known. Loudly. His attorney attempted to quiet him.
That was the point at which Dennis Stull arrived from Erfurt and was escorted into the courtroom by the bailiff.
Followed by Pat opening a little box that was suspended around her neck by a chain and bringing out the dime-store rings from 1965, which he promptly put back on the third finger of her left hand.
At which point Francis Xavier Murphy, pushed once more beyond the limits of what he was capable of enduring, jumped up and screeched, "Do you mean that you were wearing that man's rings around your neck all the time we were married, you whore? I thought it was some kind of religious medal."
Things deteriorated from that point. From the perspective of everyone except the reporters, that is.
"All in all," Maurice Tito said to his wife Renee that evening, "it's been an interesting day. Which is not the kind of day a judge wants to have in his courtroom, as a rule."
Part IV: Ehegericht
September, 1634
"All in all," Maurice Tito said to his wife Renee that evening, "it was an interesting day. Which is not the kind of day a judge wants to have in his courtroom, as a rule. It certainly wasn't what I expected when I set out for work yesterday morning, expecting to issue Pat a divorce decree from Francis Murphy. Probably the only ameliorating aspect of the situation is that he is still locked up, awaiting trial for the shooting at Central Funeral Home and related charges. Plus, now, new charges in regard to attempted assault with intent to kill with his bare hands while in a courtroom. Not that I don't have a certain limited amount of personal sympathy for the man, in the sense that it can't be easy to discover that over the years you thought you were married to a woman, during which she bore you four children, she was wearing another man's rings in a little box suspended on a chain around her neck."
"Do you know what Aunt Mildred says?" Renee asked. "Aside from the fact that Pat Fitzgerald was just never the most 'together' girl born in Grantville, West Virginia."
Maurice shook his head.
"She says that at the time, the gossip went . . ."
Maurice shook his head disbelievingly. Not disbelief that Renee's Aunt Mildred knew all the gossip. Mildred Barnes was the ultimate Grantviller, in a way. Her older son Warner was in the USE State Department now, and an officious, pencil-pushing bureaucrat unmatched in the administration. Her younger son Pelton was director of Grantville's Public Works Department. Pelton's wife taught first grade. And Mildred's daughter Amber Lee, now married to Sterling Pridmore, was, to say the least, well placed to have a significant interest in the enthralling soap opera surrounding the three-way matrimonial difficulties of Francis Murphy, Pat Fitzgerald, and Dennis Stull, being currently Dennis' executive assistant at the Erfurt Supply Depot.
Renee wasn't badly placed for picking up gossip herself, being a guidance counselor at the high school. Plus, there was the added dimension that unlike
Mildred and the rest of the Warners, Renee and her sister Janet had ties into St. Mary's parish. Their mother, like Maurice himself, had been from out of town. She had also been Catholic. William and Gail Warner had been left up-time, retired and not yet back from their annual snowbird stint in Florida when the Ring of Fire hit.
Maurice, as an outsider, sometimes worried about the amount of nepotism that Grantville had brought to the administration of Thuringia and Franconia during the years 1631 through 1634. Not to mention to its administration of itself, so to speak. Not that they could have avoided it and still gotten anything done, in a town where families had been intermarrying for generations. Plus, the down-timers regarded it all as perfectly natural, since that was the way seventeenth century Germans did things, too, many of their towns being about the same size and marked by the same kind of multigenerational interrelationships.