Sins of the Mother (38 page)

Jasmine’s heart had pounded so hard then, she had leaned over to take deep breaths to keep the pain away.

But her chest pains continued. Not only because she had to sit in the courtroom every day and listen to a woman who was determined to send her husband to prison, but because she had to leave Jacqueline and Zaya at home.

That had not been her choice. But the attorneys had told her and Reverend Bush that it was important for the jury to see both of them standing by Hosea.

So Jasmine was there, doing what she had to do as the wife. But the moment the gavel dropped every afternoon, she became the mother and, with Hosea, rushed home to be with their children. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were especially busy days because they went home and had just enough time to gather Jacqueline and Zaya and rush to the psychologist’s last appointment. The doctor tried desperately to get Jacqueline to talk about her three weeks away from home.

But Jacqueline never said a word. No matter how the psychologist posed the question, every session she sat mute and still for the entire hour.

After the first week, the psychologist said, “I want to try something else,” and then she asked Jacqueline to draw.

Jacqueline smiled when the doctor gave her a crayon. Her parents held their breath as she slowly sketched a picture—four stick figures: two with hair, two large enough to be adults, two the size of children. But only one child wore a smile. She drew tears on the face of the girl figure.

Watching her child draw, looking at that picture—that was when Jasmine finally knew what it felt like to have her heart broken.

The psychologist said, “She just may not have the words to express what happened. She may not understand.”

“Then why do we keep coming here?” Jasmine had asked. “Isn’t it good that she doesn’t want to . . . or can’t talk about this?”

The doctor had shaken her head. “No, because as the picture shows, she remembers something, whether she can express it or not. It’s in her memory. We don’t want her to repress this. Repressed memories can lead to dangerous behavior later in life.”

The woman had spoken as if she expected Jacqueline to grow up to be a murderer.

To Jasmine, that was ironic, since Jacqueline’s father was being accused of something close to that. According to the district attorney, Hosea Bush had attempted murder (even though those charges had been reduced), and she was going to prove premeditation. She was going to convince twelve people (and two alternates) that Hosea was not society worthy—at least not for the next twenty years.

Gloria Gallagher paraded witness after witness to support her position. First, officers testified that Hosea Bush had planned this assault from the beginning—when he had lain in wait for the prisoner to come from the building straight through to the end when he dropped to the ground before anyone could shoot him.

“To me,” one of the officers said, “it was clearly planned. A good plan, though.”

Detective Cohen said, “I saw no signs of violence from Hosea Bush. He was just a father who snapped.”

Gallagher had said, “But he
did
snap, and that makes him dangerous, wouldn’t you agree?”

The detective never had a chance to respond once Dale had objected and the assistant district attorney withdrew the question.

After the police, Gloria Gallagher brought in the victim’s family. Harvey Jonas’s aunt said that he’d had a rough childhood—that’s why he had kidnapped and raped a five-year-old. Next, his sister, who stated that Harvey was the most loving brother, but that their father had abused them so much, there
was nothing else that her brother could do except kidnap and rape a five-year-old. Then, there was his niece, a practicing psychiatrist who said that even while Harvey had held Jacqueline in captivity, he had been trying to get help.

“He wanted to be well,” she testified. “He didn’t
want
to do any of those horrible things.” That was her professional opinion.

Hosea’s defense had their own witnesses: members of City of Lights, including Brother Hill and Mrs. Whittingham; staff from his television show; and the big surprise—at least for Jasmine—Brian Lewis.

Jasmine had been shocked the day Brian and Alexis had walked into the courthouse. She hadn’t spoken to Brian since she’d called him with the news about Jacqueline, though she knew that he often spoke with Hosea about their daughter’s progress.

Standing in the middle of the hallway, right outside of the courtroom, she had exchanged pleasantries, and then stared at Brian for an extra moment, just to see if she felt anything. But there was nothing there, not a bit of care—certainly nothing that came close to lust or love. She couldn’t believe it—then, just shrugged it off. She’d been sick out of her mind—that’s why she’d turned to Brian. And when Jacqueline had come home, so had her good sense.

“Dale called me to testify,” Brian explained to Jasmine. “And I can’t wait to do it.”

“Wow, you flew all the way here to do this for us. Wow,” she said, looking at Alexis who stood next to Brian, hanging on to his arm and glowing like she’d just won the lottery or something. “So are you headed right back afterward?”

Brian had shaken his head and took Alexis’s hand. “No, we won’t be back in L.A. for a while. We’re going . . . on our honeymoon. We’re on our way to Venice.”

Jasmine figured they weren’t talking about the area in Los Angeles.

Alexis said, “Yup, we got married . . . again,” as if she thought that was something Jasmine would want to know.

The way Alexis giggled like a schoolgirl made Jasmine want to slap her out of it.

But she’d grown so much in the Lord, she just smiled, congratulated the pair, and thanked them for coming. And truth—when Brian got on the stand, he did a bang-up job. Not only did he talk about Hosea’s character, since this was the man to whom he’d surrendered his parental responsibilities for Jacqueline, but in one of the most dramatic moments of the trial, Brian declared, “If I had been in New York, Hosea would have had some competition, because I would have done the same thing.”

The judge, the Honorable Lynn Harris, had had to bang his gavel three times to stop the murmurs that swelled through the courtroom.

But Brian had continued, “God help me, but when I think about the things that man did to my . . . his daughter . . .” He hadn’t been able to finish his statement. And the prosecutor let him walk off the stand without a cross-examination.

But the assistant DA did get her big moment when she faced off with Hosea. His attorneys had told Hosea that he didn’t need to take the stand, but he’d insisted.

“I have a story to tell,” he’d said. “People need to hear what I have to say.”

“That could be dangerous, Hosea,” Nicholas had warned. “You don’t need to speak at all. Remember, they have to prove that you’re guilty; we don’t have to prove that you’re innocent.”

But Hosea had shaken his head. “I’m going to testify. And if that means that I have to go to jail, so be it.”

Jasmine had wanted to slap some sense into him. Had Hosea forgotten that he had a family? But the truth—he
was
considering his family. He always did, and that’s why they were all in this courtroom in the first place.

So on the stand, Hosea told the story of how he’d been sick with grief when his little girl had been abducted, how that had escalated through the weeks, and climaxed when he’d been told that Jacqueline had been raped.

“And not only had she been raped, but she’d been raped repeatedly.” Hosea sniffed. “She’s only five, and I’m her father. Her protector. I was thinking about Jacqueline and the other little girls that man may have gotten his hands on. I wanted to make sure that he never hurt a child again.”

His attorney’s final question was, “So Pastor Bush, were you trying to kill him?”

“No, not at all,” Hosea had said calmly. “I could have, if I’d wanted to. But his death is not in my hands—that’s up to God. All I wanted to do was protect the children. All I did was take away the weapon that man used to hurt little girls.”

There was nothing but silence when Hosea’s attorney sat down. It even took a moment for Gloria Gallagher to raise her head and stand.

“Mr. Bush,” she began, refusing to address Hosea as a pastor, “how long did you drive around before you decided to take the law into your own hands?”

Then the district attorney didn’t even let Hosea answer the question before she flung another one at him.

“Let’s back it up,” she said, looking down at her notes. “When did you purchase the gun that you used to take the law into your own hands?”

“Objection!” Hosea’s attorney shouted.

“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor,” Gallagher said before the judge spoke. She asked, “When did you purchase the gun?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“For what purpose?”

“To protect my family. After my father was shot.”

“Oh!” she said, as if she was surprised. “So, you
planned
to hurt anyone who came after your family?”

Hosea shook his head. “I
planned
to protect my family. I have the gun legally.”

“I see.” The way the assistant district attorney smiled made Jasmine grimace. Hosea didn’t know how to handle a conniving, underhanded woman. He was going to drown in Gloria Gallagher’s hands.

The ADA asked, “Are you a trained marksman?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” she said, glancing at the jury. “So you knew exactly what you were doing when you aimed that gun at Mr. Jonas?”

Jasmine had wanted to stand up and shout her own objection. How could that woman refer to the man who had kidnapped and raped her daughter as Mr.? He didn’t deserve any kind of credibility or respect—especially since, a week after he had been caught, he had pled guilty and was sentenced to a term that would make him 135 years old before he was set free.

“Yes,” Hosea responded. “I knew exactly what I was doing. That’s why he’s not dead.”

Jasmine moaned. She didn’t have to be an attorney to know that wasn’t the right answer. Why couldn’t Hosea just do what she would have done if she was on the stand? Why couldn’t he just lie?

“So I will ask again—when did you decide to take the law into your own hands,
Mr.
Bush?”

Gloria Gallagher continued to shoot question after question at Hosea, snarling at him like a pit bull, dragging him with her teeth into her trap.

“Isn’t it true that you wanted Mr. Jonas dead?” she asked, her voice raised.

“I already told you, but I’ll answer again—no,” he said, not at all intimidated.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Bush. You can’t tell me that you didn’t want the man who kidnapped and raped your daughter to die.”

“Objection! That is not a question.”

Hosea raised his hand. “I know what she means, and I’ll answer that.” He looked at the jury. “It would not bother me one bit if Mr. Jonas was to die. But it was not my intent to take his life, nor was it my intent to harm anyone else. I simply wanted to prevent him from hurting another child, because the fact is, he’s done this before—”

“Your Honor!” Gloria Gallagher shouted, wanting to stop Hosea from talking any more about Harvey Jonas’s past.

But Hosea kept right on, “And Harvey Jonas ran away from his punishment. I just wanted to make sure that if he got away again, he wouldn’t be able to hurt another child.”

Jasmine had wanted to stand up and give her husband an ovation, though when she glanced at the jurors, they sat stone-faced, totally unimpressed.

But with Hosea’s testimony, the defense rested. And then the futures of Hosea and Jasmine and Jacqueline and Zaya were in the hands of twelve people they did not know.

Right after the case had been handed over to the jury, they all gathered at the church to send up passionate prayers. There, Reverend Bush had asked Dale about their chances.

He’d shrugged and said, “The only charge that concerns me—as it did from the beginning—is reckless endangerment. Even if everyone on that jury hates Jonas, Hosea did shoot into a crowd and jeopardize others. But that won’t carry too much time.”

Too. Much. Time.

Jasmine hadn’t been able to think about anything else since Dale had said those words.

Now, after two days, just twelve hours of deliberation, she was going to find out how much time her family would receive, because surely, any time that Hosea got was their punishment also.

Hosea took Jasmine’s hand and lifted her from the couch. He hugged her when they stood, and then together they walked into their bedroom. It was time to face their fate.

J
ASMINE WAS SUFFOCATING
.

From the people—every inch of the courtroom’s perimeter was packed with news reporters and photographers wanting to be the first to deliver the breaking news. From the heat—the bodies generated enough warmth to set New York City on fire. From the pressure—she was choking on the waiting. It was excruciating.

Part of her agony came from the images in her mind. She could already see it—how the jury would declare that her husband was guilty beyond any kind of doubt. And then, they would glare at Hosea—and at her. Especially the five men on the jury, who probably felt sorry for Harvey Jonas. Who probably cried when they heard that a man had been castrated.

Hosea might have received more compassion if he had just killed the man.

“Are you all right?” Malik whispered as he took her hand.

She nodded yes, because what good would telling him the truth do?

She squirmed; it took too much effort to sit still. The bench felt much harder than it had on any other day. She should have been used to it; she’d been sitting here every day for the entire four-week trial. Sitting in the place that reminded her of where she sat on Sundays—the first row, first seat—the seat of honor. What she now knew was the seat of horror.

As they waited, the chatter in the courtroom was deafening, intense. She could feel the heat of probing eyes watching her, reporters waiting to get the money shot of the pastor’s wife breaking down. But though she was on the verge, she wasn’t going to give it to them. No matter what the outcome, she would be strong for Hosea and their children.