The Judge Who Stole Christmas (22 page)

“Which doesn't magically turn the crèche into a prohibited religious symbol,” Jasmine shot back. She was trying hard not to sound defensive but was not entirely succeeding. “Mrs. Hammond is in that same Sunday school class and tells me that this week they're praying for this court to make the right decision. I prayed with my client before this hearing. Those prayers don't transform this court into an unconstitutionally religious body.”

Williams scowled but apparently couldn't think of an immediate comeback. Jasmine had written him off anyway. A Carter appointee, Williams had never seen a religious symbol he didn't want to expunge from public property.

Jasmine paused long enough to emphasize that she had silenced Williams, then went for another nail in the coffin. “Even if you do find the crèche to be a religious symbol, that doesn't end the inquiry. The U.S. Supreme Court has long upheld symbols of ceremonial deism and religious practices associated with the fabric of our society. It's why we allow government-paid chaplains and religious holidays and In God We Trust on our currency. It's why the Ten Commandments are still displayed as part of a frieze in the U.S. Supreme Court building. We are, after all, a nation steeped in religious tradition, and according to our own Declaration of Independence—”

Jasmine stopped midsentence when Justice Karen Sanders cleared her throat. Here was the swing vote—the elegant lady with the gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses sitting in the middle. “Counsel,” she began, and it seemed the entire courtroom held its breath, “isn't all this talk about the secular or religious nature of the first two displays by the town irrelevant?”

Jasmine's knees trembled. “In what way, Your Honor?”

“Well, Ms. Woodfaulk, unless I'm missing something here, your client's not in jail because he took part in the manger scenes sponsored by the town. He's in jail because he set up his own private manger scene later, without a permit, even after Judge Baker-Kline told him not to. So why are we spending all this time worrying about whether the town's manger scene displays were constitutional or not?”

Jasmine felt her heart pounding in her ears. This was the swing vote! She couldn't fumble this answer.

“The court's order for Mr. Hammond to stay away from the town square was predicated on its prior rulings that the manger scene displays sponsored by the town were unconstitutional. If Judge Baker-Kline had ruled correctly in the first two hearings, there would have been no order barring Mr. Hammond from setting up a crèche in the town square and thus no contempt citation.”

Sanders screwed her face into a skeptical mask, unnerving Jasmine with the uncanny resemblance to Ichabod.

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have a merry Christmas,” Williams said, but Jasmine ignored him.
Go back to sleep, you old codger.

“Let me give you an analogy,” Sanders said. “Let's assume that this is a domestic disturbance case. And let's assume that Mrs. Hammond lied to a police officer to get a restraining order issued against Mr. Hammond. If Mr. Hammond violated that restraining order and attacked Mrs. Hammond, are you going to argue that he shouldn't be held in contempt because the underlying restraining order was predicated on a lie?”

“No, Your Honor. But displaying a crèche on town property is hardly akin to beating your wife.”

Sanders turned her head slightly sideways like she wasn't buying it.

Swing vote,
Jasmine reminded herself. “It's more like ‘fruit of the poisonous tree,'” Jasmine explained. “In a criminal case, if the police improperly obtain a confession and use that confession to obtain a search warrant, all the evidence from the search will be thrown out as ‘fruit of the poisonous tree.' That's what these contempt citations are—fruit of an improper ruling by a district court judge on the constitutionality of Operation Xmas Spirit.”

Sanders jotted some notes as Williams awoke from his half slumber and resumed his hostile questioning, starting with the case of
Allegheny County v. ACLU
, in which the Supreme Court ruled against a county that displayed a stand-alone crèche. When the red light came on nearly twenty minutes later, Jasmine was physically and emotionally drained.

She sat down at counsel table next to Theresa, who had made the trip to Richmond with her. “Good job,” Theresa whispered.

“Thanks,” Jasmine managed. But she was already critiquing herself. She didn't think she had convinced Sanders, and Jasmine knew Williams wasn't going her way. Plus, as she watched the smooth arguments by Harrod and the unflinching way he handled their questions, it didn't exactly buoy her spirits.

When Harrod finally sat down, the clerk reminded Jasmine that she had reserved two minutes for rebuttal. She rose to the podium, feeling a bit like a weary fighter coming off the stool for one last round. She tried to ignore the intimidating stare of Williams.

She had made a few notes during Harrod's argument but didn't take them to the podium. She could feel this hearing slipping away, two of the three judges possibly leaning against her. She needed to do more than bicker about fruit of the poisonous tree and how many Frosty the Snowman displays it took to neutralize one crèche. Her competitive instincts told her it was time to throw down the gauntlet and remind the judges of the big picture, the policy arguments so beautifully laid out in the brief drafted by Scooter McCray and reviewed by Pearson Payne.

This was about the right to celebrate Christmas, pure and simple.

“Merry Christmas, Your Honors. Godspeed. God bless you. So help me God.” She paused, practically daring the justices to fire off a question. “This court is public property. Paid for by taxpayer dollars. Yet I've just invoked the name of the Almighty, heaven forbid, three separate times—four if you count Christ. Does Mr. Harrod believe we've just established a religion?”

Jasmine pulled her cross necklace from under the collar of her blouse for all to see. She was out on a limb now, might as well keep sawing. “I'm wearing this cross necklace. On government property, God forbid! And you're allowing it! Isn't that unconstitutional? And what about that silent prayer I said just before I stood up—should I be thrown in jail for that?” She turned and pointed toward a stunned Theresa. “And perhaps Mrs. Hammond is praying right now, wondering what in the world got into her bombastic lawyer—should
she
be held in contempt?”

Jasmine paused and pretended not to be bothered by the slack-jawed looks of the justices. “Where will it stop? How ironic that a country founded by those seeking religious freedom may now be telling its citizens freedom
from
religion will replace freedom
of
religion in the public square.

“Did the brave men who drafted the Constitution really intend to purge the public square of all things religious? Can anyone seriously argue that Washington, Jefferson, and Adams would have been offended by a crèche? Washington, who proclaimed the first day of national Thanksgiving by saying, ‘It is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God'? Jefferson, who referenced God four times in the Declaration of Independence? Adams, who said, ‘Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other'?”

Though Jasmine was just getting rolling, she noticed the red light pop on.

“Your time is up, Ms. Woodfaulk,” Justice Williams announced.

“God help us,” Jasmine replied.

The reporters scribbled the words with glee. Who could have hoped for a better headline?

Jasmine and Theresa listened to Christmas music on the way home from Richmond, reminding Jasmine of how little Christmas spirit she had. In a few days the season would be over. Never before had Christmas snuck up on her so quickly. So much had happened recently—the implosion of her New York job, law school exams, this case falling apart, and the basketball mess involving Ajori. She had no time for Christmas. How ironic!

Just when she determined that she would get into the Christmas mood if it killed her, the radio started playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and her Christmas resolve evaporated. She could no longer stand this song with its evil chorus demanding figgy pudding. She could picture the mobs going from house to house, demanding their pudding and looting any puddingless homeowners. Though Jasmine hadn't been in court the day Ichabod had taught her little history lesson about Christmas, she had reviewed the transcript in preparation for the appeal. She could imagine the smirk on Ichabod's face as she grilled Mayor Frumpkin about the origins of the song. “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” was turning Jasmine into Scrooge.

She hit a button and changed the station. “'Tis the Season to Be Jolly.”
That's better,
she thought. She even started singing along a little in her mind until . . . “Don we now our gay apparel.”

“You mind if we turn that off?” Jasmine asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Theresa said.

Jasmine thought about how much Christmas had changed for her. Growing up, she had loved the Christmas carols and traditions, the surprises under the tree, the “Merry Christmas” greetings from complete strangers in Possum, and the inevitable Christmas basketball tournaments. She had never understood those who said the Christmas season was one of the most stressful times of the year.

But losing her dad had changed a lot of that. Christmas traditions became searing reminders of the empty place at the table. Christmas tournaments weren't the same without her dad stalking the sidelines. And now, on top of all that, she had a client sitting in jail through Christmas Day unless they pulled out a miracle win at the Fourth Circuit. Jasmine found herself secretly wishing that Christmas was over.

Four more days,
she told herself. Four more days.

When Jasmine arrived home early Thursday evening, she was immediately bombarded with questions from her mom and Ajori. “You were all over TV,” Ajori announced. But Jasmine was tired of the case and all its pressures.

“Can we not talk about it?” she asked.

Bernice and Ajori exchanged a look. “Now you know how I feel after my games,” Ajori said.

“Whatever.”

Jasmine's mom tried to change the subject by talking about Christmas things, but that didn't work either. “I just can't get in the Christmas spirit,” Jasmine confided. Saying it out loud actually sounded weird, like she had just confessed to some heinous crime or perhaps a psychotic delusion. What normal person couldn't get in the Christmas spirit?

Fortunately, Ajori had a solution. “Me neither. We need to get our sorry butts to the mall!”

By Ajori's hasty calculations, they could still get in a few hours of shopping if they left immediately. Since Ajori was now on Christmas vacation, it was a no-brainer. The girls guilt-tripped their mom into handing over her credit card, and they were off.

Jasmine received the call while riffling through the faded jeans in the Old Navy store. “Jasmine, it's Mr. Greenway. I got your cell number from your mom.”

Jasmine shot a glance at Ajori, a few feet away looking at sweaters. Jasmine ducked her head and wandered toward the other side of the store. “Hey,” she said. Though it seemed awkward not to say his name, she wasn't out of earshot of Ajori yet and she was pretty sure she knew why Greenway was calling.

“Have you thought about my offer?” Greenway asked. “Barker tried to resign again after last Friday's fiasco.”

“I really haven't had time to think about much of anything these last few days,” Jasmine confessed. She was trying to casually walk away from Ajori, but her little sister had picked up the scent and was following her. “And that's the problem. I'm just so busy as it is. There's no way I could take on something else.”

Greenway paused long enough to show his disappointment. “Is that a no, then?”