Date: Sat, 22 May 2004 22:15:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Graschels of Guenther Street - Chapter 4

Pertinent information is listed at the beginning of
this series.  Comments are welcome at
quasito_cat@hotmail.com or quasito_cat@yahoo.com

The Grashels of Guenther Street

M.C. Gordon

Chapter Four

     Deet moaned and pulled his pillow over his head
the next morning, determined to ignore the noisy cell
phone on the nearby table.  He managed to open one eye
and glance at the alarm clock.  It was only six in the
morning.  He didn't want to answer the phone because
he knew he wanted to kill whoever had the bright idea
of calling at this hour on a Sunday morning.

     He was almost successful -- until the noise
disturbed another member of his household and a double
handful of bubbly puppy bounded into his room,
skidding slightly on the hardwood floor, and barked.

     Deet gave in and answered the phone, if only to
keep Puppy from waking up the boys.  "Yeah!" he
growled.

     "Did one of us wake up on the wrong side of the
bed this morning?" Manuel's voice cheerfully
questioned.

     "Your wife is going to be a rich widow before
noon," Deet hissed.

     "No problemo, amigo," Manuel said.  "I've already
told her that you'll be the death of me one day.  We
agreed that instead of having you prosecuted she's
going to give you all the kids.  That's a worse
sentence than lethal injection."  He gave an evil
chuckle.

     "Bastard."

     "Closet case."

     "Ass."

     "Repressed queen.  We can keep this up all day
but I want you to put on a pot of coffee and wake the
boys.  I'll be there in half an hour to pick you up.
Poor Eric's going to meet the Fuentes women sooner
than he thought.  Consuela's treating your son to one
of her fabulous breakfasts while you and I, compadre,
join Herbert Milhauser at University Hospital for a
visit with that little girl.  Herbert insists, and
I've just got this tiny law firm and can't fight the
power of Freeman, Freeman, and Birch."

     "You're enjoying this too much, you sadistic
perv," Deet said as he threw the covers back and eased
his feet to the floor.  He was about to slide his feet
into his slippers when one of them disappeared,
absconded by a puppy whose life span, in Deet's
opinion, was limited.  "That's not funny, you little
shit!" he yelled, forgetting that he was still on his
cell.

     "It's not funny at all," Manuel replied.
"Herbert won't even consider a petition for adoption
until he sees how his client reacts to you."

     "I wasn't talking to you," Deet said, "I was
talking to the damn dog that just ran off with one of
my slippers."

     "See you in thirty," Manuel laughed and ended the
conversation.

     Deet padded into the kitchen, sans slippers, and
started a pot of coffee; made a fast beeline to the
bathroom to take care of business; and set out to wake
Eric and Jorge.

     They weren't in the room they'd slept in the
night Eric had his nightmare so Deet checked out the
rest of the rooms on the second floor.  He couldn't
locate the boys and felt a moment of panic until he
remembered Eric's fascination with his room on the
third floor.  Sure enough, he found them asleep in his
old bed, back to back.  Wolfgang thumped his tail on
the floor when Deet entered the room and Deet squatted
down to pet his old friend.

     "Did you sleep here all night?" he asked as he
scratched Wolf's ears.  Sorrowful brown eyes gazed
back at him and he muttered, "Eric can't sleep up
here.  You just can't make it up two flights of
stairs, old boy.  I'll explain things to him and I
think he'll understand."

     He watched Eric and Jorge for a few minute while
they slept.  Both were handsome young kids with their
whole lives ahead of them.  Eric had the right to be
as innocent as Jorge, but he wasn't.  He'd lost one
mother to death, another to alcohol and drugs, and his
body had been abused.  He'd been uprooted and plunged
into a new town with a father he'd never known.

     Deet wiped the tears from his eyes and smacked
both boys on the butt.  "Time to get up!" he shouted.
"Rise and shine.  The best breakfast in the world
awaits!"

     It took a few minutes for the teenagers to work
their way back to total awareness.  They yawned,
stretched, scrunched their eyes, and tried to ignore
the command to wake.  Deet watched and knew his only
recourse was a devilish plan.  He went in search of
the puppy. Said miscreant was found, soggy and
completely demolished slipper between front paws, and
Deet scooped him up, depositing him in the middle of
the bed on the third floor.

     Even a teenage boy cannot avoid the insistent
demand of a bouncing pup alternating between barks and
total face washings.  The boys were completely awake
and giggling as puppy's tongue found its way into
their ears and hair.  Tiny paws danced across their
faces and Jorge finally gave up when he tried to yawn
and found a foot in his mouth.

     "Why so early, Uncle Deet?" Jorge asked.

     "Because your dad called," Deet replied.  "Your
mom's making breakfast.  She probably expects you to
attend Mass this morning.  The only time she ever
missed Mass was when she was in the hospital having
babies."

     "Do I hafta go to church?" Eric asked.

     "I don't think it would hurt if you went," Deet
answered, "but I won't insist on it.  Manuel and I
will busy, though, so you might consider going today.
Jorge and his oldest sister, Concepcion, always attend
Christmas midnight services with me at the Lutheran
church I attend."

     "Are you going to church today?" Eric asked.

     "Not today, son," Deet replied.  "I have some
very important business to take care of, something
involving another child who was hurt and needs help."

     Eric's eyes became wide and had a haunted look.
"Was she chained, too?" he whispered as the painful
memory swept over him.

     Deet sat down and looked Eric in the eyes.  "We
don't know yet," he acknowledged and wished he could
take his child into a comforting embrace but the look
in Eric's eyes dissuaded him.  "We only know that she
was hurt and she's in the hospital.  Manuel and I are
trying to keep her out of foster care.  Mr. Milhauser
is now her attorney, just like he's yours.  He's going
to take care of her interests and he doesn't want her
in foster care either."

     "How come Dad's not their lawyer?" Jorge asked as
he sat down next to Deet.

     "Because he's mine," Deet answered honestly.  "He
can't represent them because it would be a conflict of
interest and no judge would allow it.  And your dad's
too conscientious to do anything wrong, even if it
would benefit someone else.  He trusts Mr. Milhauser
and I think Eric does, don't you?" he asked.

     "I guess so," Eric replied.

     "Then you two get dressed.  It's a little cool
this morning so wear something warm.  I'm going to see
if I can find a pair of slippers and get a cup of
coffee or three before Manuel gets here."

     "Daddy?" Eric asked before Deet could leave,
"could that little girl stay here?  This is a big
house and then I'd have a sister."

     "We'll see, son," Deet answered, "we'll see."  He
wiped unshed tears from his eyes as he headed for his
bedroom.

 . . .

     A nerve-wracking, disconnected knock at the front
door announced Manuel's arrival.  "How many cups of
coffee have you had?" he asked Deet when he saw that
his friend's face looked tired.

     "Three," Deet answered.

     "Then have another," Manuel replied.  "Go.  Sit.
I'll take care of it.  I can use some myself."  He
poured two cups of coffee, added a little sugar and
cream to each, and turned off the coffee pot.

     "Did the boys keep you up last night?" he asked
as he handed Deet a cup and took a seat on an
overstuffed chair.

     "No," Deet answered.  "We got back later than I
expected.  John invited us to go riding after the
auction.  I haven't been on a horse in months so my
ass is sore and my thighs hurt.  Those two," he said
indicating the teenagers who were sipping hot cocoa in
front of the television, "don't seem any the worse for
wear.  God, I must be getting old.  Then John and
Danielle insisted we stay for supper.  The boys went
to bed right after we got back and I had the privilege
of taking the new puppy outside to do his business.  I
couldn't get to sleep thinking about our court visit
Monday, and then some damn fool woke me up at six this
morning.  My favorite old ratty slippers are now a
chew toy.  Wolf thought it was his Constitutional duty
to drag himself up to the third floor and sleep near
the boys.  I need to convince Eric to pick a bedroom
on the second floor, and he wants a sister.  My cousin
Gretchen called about five minutes ago and wants to
set me up on a blind date with some guy she met at
work.  And you're too damn cheerful for this early in
the morning."

     Manuel laughed.  "Ah, the tribulations of
parenthood," he said.  "Welcome to my world and wait
until Eric is in school and you're expected to attend
every school function and sports event.  You'll be
driving him to piano lessons or Scouts, tennis or
karate lessons.  You'll bite your nails to the nub if
he wants to try out for football and suggest he
consider golf instead because it's safer and then
curse yourself when he gets bopped on the head with a
golf ball.  You'll live in fear of the day he
discovers girls, or boys, and lay awake at night
listening for the tell-tale sign of him sneaking out
of the house to meet his amour of the moment.  You'll
lecture him on safe sex and buy him condoms.  You'll
consider putting bars on the doors and windows and
hiring security guards to make sure he doesn't succeed
in sneaking out until he's thirty-five years old.
You'll ..."

     "Manuel," Deet quietly said, "I wasn't thinking
about any of those things, and neither of the boys are
old enough yet for part of that scenario."

     "They will be," Manuel replied, "and I worry
about my kids all the time."

     "I'll trade you the new puppy for Jorge," Deet
offered with a smile.

     "I'll take you up on that offer when he turns
sixteen," Manuel said then rose and clapped his hands
together one time.  "Time to go, boys," he said.
"Food is waiting for us."

 . . .

     Eric pushed himself back from the table.  "Thank
you, Ma'am," he told Consuela, "it was the best
breakfast I've ever had."

     Consuela Martinez Fuentes was one of those
Mexican-American mothers who rose before dawn each day
to make her own flour tortillas.  She taught high
school Physics at an inner-city school and cared for
her students almost as much as her own children.  She
knew most of her students came from broken homes and
were struggling to stay away from gangs and drugs.
Children, all children, were the most important thing
in her world and she spent a great deal of her time
working with the underprivileged.  Her husband never
figured out how she managed to counsel pregnant
teenagers, mentor students with special abilities,
work with the city conservation society, and still
find the time to take their daughters to dance and
music lessons, monitor homework, tend to scraped
knees, and greet him with love when he returned home.

     "Please don't call me Ma'am," she told Eric.  "It
makes me feel like a grandmother.  My children call
your father uncle so why don't you just call me Tia
Consuela.  It means auntie.  And my husband is Tio
Manuel, uncle."

     Eric flashed a smile at the warmth in her voice
and tried the names.  "Tia and Tio.  I like it," he
said.

     "Muchas gracias," Consuela replied and shooed the
men away from the table.  "Go with your padre and tio,
mijo.  The girls will clear the table."

     As overwhelming as Consuela was, Eric had no idea
what to think of the Fuentes girls.  Concepcion, known
as Connie, and Esperanza, called Hope, were the oldest
of the girls.  Maria and Rosa followed a year apart.
Eric had never seen girls like them before, with their
black hair, brown eyes, and Mediterranian complexions.
 Granted, he'd never seen a boy who looked like Jorge
either, and he looked like his sisters except that his
hair didn't hang to his waist.  Eric and Deet looked
like two sore thumbs with their blonde hair and blue
eyes. Eric had a couple of African-American friends at
his school in Indiana so he knew that not everyone was
white, but he never imagined the variety of people in
the world.  And he didn't care at all right now
because Jorge was the link that helped him make it
through each night and Consuela's obvious love -- not
to mention the finest flour tortillas and huevos
rancheros in the entire world -- made him feel like he
really could make it in this new town.  He knew he
loved his father but they hadn't established a real
closeness yet.  He had a new puppy, a bicycle, his own
computer with lots of neat games, more clothes than he
would ever wear, lived in a beautiful house, and had
his very own lawyer.  He knew his dad was worried
about him and that one day he would tell his dad
everything that had happened to him.

     "Mijo," Consuela said when the dishes had been
washed and put away, "your padre and tio have
something they need to do.  You can come to Mass with
the rest of us if you want to.  But you don't have to
and Mrs. Flores next door said you can stay with her.
She's too old to go to Mass now and the priest visits
her instead.  She doesn't speak English but she makes
wonderful cookies."

     "If it's alright with you, I think I'd like to go
to Mass," Eric said.  "My suit's out in the car."

     Deet left his son in Consuela's care.  He knew
that Jorge would guide the boy through the maze of
sisters and stop Concepcion from her obvious desire to
sneak a kiss.

     "So, did you buy a horse?" Manuel asked as he
maneuvered his car toward the University Hospital
location downtown.

     "No," Deet said.  "I didn't see any I liked.
Most of them were quarter horses or Arabians.  They
were beautiful but too high spirited.  I'm looking for
more of a riding horse, maybe a Morgan."

     "Talk to Carlos," Manuel said.  "One of his
clients is a guy from New York who raises Morgans.  He
just relocated to a ranch outside Fredericksburg.  I
don't know his name but he might have what you're
looking for."

     "Thanks, I'll call Carlos and ask him to put me
in touch."

     The rest of the drive was quiet as the two men
considered their meeting with Herbert Milhauser and
the little girl lying in a hospital bed.

     Manuel parked his car, easily done on a Sunday
when University Hospital was quiet in the morning,
before the emergency room was inundated.  Manuel
showed his card to the bored volunteer at the
reception desk and was informed that Herbert Milhauser
was waiting for them in the cafeteria.

     "I have to lay a few ground rules," Milhauser
told Deet and Manuel.  "Because she's a minor, neither
of you can talk to her unless I'm present.  Her name
is still confidential so you can only call her Jane
Doe, which is not her real name.  If she begins to
panic at any time during this visit, you must both
leave immediately.  Mr. Graschel, I understand your
concern for her and the reason you're seeking custody.
 The fact that you requested I represent her goes a
long way with me, added to the fact that you've been
extremely cooperative where your son is concerned.
But you have to realize that since she is now my
client, my primary concern is for her health and
wellbeing.  Is this acceptable?"

     "Completely," Deet said before Manuel had a
chance to open his mouth.

     "Mr. Graschel," Milhauser said, "I suggest that
you allow your attorney to speak for you both with
myself and the judge until this possible petition is
resolved."

     "It's a legal thing," Manuel said.

     Deet nodded his head in acknowledgment.

     "Now that we have that settled, are you ready to
meet Jane?"  Milhauser asked.  "I spoke with her
earlier and explained your visit.  She's very old for
a child and wise beyond her years.  She's lost her
entire childhood.  She has no reason to trust men, and
less reason to trust women.  She understands that I'm
her attorney because she's familiar with `Judging Amy'
from television.  She's also extremely vulnerable
right now.  One wrong word or gesture and I'll inform
Judge Solari that I won't be presenting a petition for
custody and potential adoption.  Are there any
questions?"

     "None," Manuel said.

     "Good," Milhauser replied, "because, off the
record, I think the best place in the world for this
child is in that charming old house."

     Moments later the three men entered a third floor
ward of University Hospital and Dieter found himself
looking at a pathetically thin little girl.  She sat
in the bed, leaning back against her pillow, her black
hair neatly braided by one of the nurses.  Her knees
were pulled up against her chest and she was clenching
the sheet tightly.  Brown eyes so dark they were
nearly black glanced at him and quickly shifted down.
His heart broke and he realized that he would allow
the two attorneys to move heaven and earth, in
whatever legal manner they desired, to give him this
child.