The Judge Who Stole Christmas (5 page)

“First, Mr. Hammond is not a lawyer and shouldn't have to answer legal questions about what is or isn't proper under the establishment clause. Second, if he were a lawyer, he'd probably point out that the phrase ‘separation of church and state' is not found in the Constitution and is a poor metaphor for what the Founders actually intended to prevent—an officially sanctioned state religious denomination.” Ichabod scowled at Jasmine, but it was too late for Jasmine to turn back now. “Third, and most important, Your Honor's question appears to ignore the fact that the U.S. Supreme Court previously ruled, in
Lynch v. Donnelly
, that the display of a crèche on a public square is constitutionally permissible.”

When Jasmine stopped, she didn't like the fire she saw in Ichabod's eyes. “That's quite an objection, Counsel.” The judge sneered. “Some might even call that a closing argument. But it's overruled for a few fundamental reasons.”

Ichabod waved a document in her right hand. “This is the case of
Lynch v. Donnelly
. In that case a crèche was displayed on the town square with a number of other items, including a Santa Claus house, reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh, candy-striped poles, a Christmas tree, carolers, cutout figures representing a clown, an elephant, and a teddy bear, as well as a large banner that read, ‘Season's Greetings.' Notice any differences so far?”

Before Jasmine could answer, Ichabod turned toward Thomas and continued her monologue. “Plus, the city in that case had a secular purpose for the decorations—depicting the historical origins of a national holiday. Now, Mr. Hammond, is the purpose of this live manger scene—of which you are a part—a secular purpose or does this live manger scene have a very religious purpose . . . insofar as you are concerned?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“There's nothin' secular about the manger scene,” Thomas stated. “The whole Christmas season ought to be spiritual, but this part certainly is.”

Ichabod turned with glee back to Jasmine. “That, Ms. Woodfaulk, is one more reason your objection is overruled. I don't know what they teach in ethics classes these days, but back when I went to law school, they taught that you should never make a legal argument inconsistent with the testimony of your client.”

“Mr. Hammond is not an official of the town,” Jasmine shot back. The nerves had been replaced by competitive fire. “He doesn't speak for the town.”

“And neither do you,” Ichabod said. “So why don't you sit down and let the attorney for the town make his own objections. He's been practicing law long enough to know when they are proper.”

Instead of sitting, Jasmine stood in defiance, staring at Ichabod for a few seconds—long enough to show she could not be intimidated, short enough so she could not be held in contempt. After she made her point, she took her seat.

“Thank you,” Ichabod said. “Mr. Hammond, you may step down.”

Following four full hours of testimony and the uninspired closing arguments of Harrod and Ottmeyer, Ichabod announced that she was ready to rule from the bench.

“The court is mindful that its ruling today will probably be misinterpreted and vilified by those on the religious Right—” Jasmine could swear that Ichabod looked right at Thomas and her—“but a judge has to do what's right, not what's popular. And this case is not even a close call.

“The court finds that the live manger scene displayed by the Town of Possum violates the separation of church and state required by our Constitution. Though the Supreme Court has previously upheld the right of a city to display a manger scene in its town square—that case did not involve sponsorship of a live manger scene with characters who go to the same church as the town mayor and see it as their Christian duty to proselytize visitors. The manger scene in
Lynch v. Donnelly
was one small part of a larger secular display. Though the Town of Possum has a few token secular symbols on its town square, the manger scene at issue here, like the one held unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in
Allegheny County v. ACLU
, is essentially a stand-alone display. As such, it smacks of a religious purpose and sends the message to any objective observer that the town government endorses orthodox Christianity.”

Ichabod surveyed the courtroom audience and released an enormous sigh. “For the record, I personally enjoy the holiday season and celebrate the season in my own house with all the traditional Christmas displays—including a manger scene comprised of glass figurines that sits on my fireplace mantel. So this is no ‘bah-humbug' ruling. But when the town uses public property to do the same thing, it violates the First Amendment of our Constitution and cannot be permitted. Accordingly, the injunction is granted.”

Ichabod banged her gavel, gathered her papers, and stood.

“All rise,” the clerk cried out.

“Unreal,” Thomas mumbled. Jasmine instinctively put a hand on his arm and then, to her horror, watched as Judge Baker-Kline stopped in her tracks and spun to face him.

“Did you say something, Mr. Hammond?”

The tension nearly crackled as Thomas hesitated.

“No,” Jasmine whispered. But she noticed Thomas take a deep breath and thrust out his jaw.

“I just can't believe that in the United States of America we can't even celebrate Christmas anymore.”

The vein pulsed on Ichabod's neck as she considered her response. It seemed the entire courtroom—with everyone still standing—had sucked in a breath and didn't dare exhale. Jasmine thought her next step might be to contact a bail bondsman for her recalcitrant client.

“Mr. Hammond, one of the things that makes our country great is our religious freedom—the fact that our government can't tell you or me what god to worship. Now I realize that this ruling might disappoint you, and I believe that you're a sincere man in your firmly held beliefs. But, Mr. Hammond, you are sincerely wrong about this case . . .”

Jasmine could sense her client bristle next to her and half expected him to interrupt the judge.

“And what
I
can't believe,” Ichabod continued, “is that in the United States of America, a town and a church would so blatantly disregard our cherished constitutional principles. Happy holidays, Mr. Hammond.” Ichabod turned and left.

Jasmine's stomach rumbled. The look of determination on her client's face warned her that she probably hadn't seen the last of this showdown between the stubborn man who played Joseph and the grinch in the black robe.

WEDNESDAY EVENING, DECEMBER 6

As Jasmine drove, her headlights barely pierced the fog. She had left her law school apartment thirty minutes earlier, headed south on Centerville, crossed the Intercoastal Waterway, then headed southwest on Mount Pleasant Road and ultimately Indian River Road. The road snaked through swampland with cypress trees and thick underbrush on both sides, crossing the North Landing River twice, and finally emerging into the cornfields and soybean farms just outside Possum.

Jasmine took a deep breath as she approached the spot of
the accident
—the place where the entire school had erected an impromptu memorial for her dad three years ago. Students had placed flowers, pictures, and crosses on the side of the road. Virtually every player he ever coached placed an old pair of sneakers there. He had died instantly, according to the paramedics, crushed when he fell asleep and drifted over the center line, straight into the path of an 18-wheeler.

How many times had she driven past this spot? Sometimes it would conjure up emotions so real she could almost touch him. Other times she could force herself not to think about it. But tonight, in the loneliness of the fog, she didn't have a chance.

When she was little, she believed she would marry him. As a teenager she played ball for him, the smartest coach she ever had. In college, she would call him and listen to that baritone voice assure her that everything would be all right. Two torn ACLs, but still he said it would all work out. The funny thing is—she believed him.

And now he was gone, though his words stayed with her, motivating her still.

Stand up for what you believe in. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right.

It was one of the reasons she found herself going to this meeting even though she had finals this week. Her dad would have been here if he were still alive.

She passed the curve in front of the paper mill and accelerated her little Neon, anxious to leave the pain behind. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

A few minutes later Jasmine pulled into the packed gravel parking lot of Freewill Baptist and smiled at the small marquee sign out front that announced tonight's meeting along with a thinly disguised message for Ichabod:
Your heart is an inn—do you have room for Jesus?
Freewill was an ultraconservative congregation, a flock of true believers who had not yet embraced the contemporary worship styles and casual dress of their less-serious Christian brethren. Jasmine's family had always attended church on the other side of town, at the only African American church within ten miles, a small group of rowdy adherents who believed in marathon services and multiple offerings taken up by stern women wearing white gloves. But Jasmine's parents had shown her how to cross cultural barriers with ease—no small feat for a six-two African American woman who didn't exactly blend in with the crowd.

Jasmine found a parking spot, pulled on her long brown overcoat, and hustled toward the small box-shaped building with white siding where the faithful had gathered. She dodged the kids darting around the foyer and slipped into the small sanctuary with its stained-glass windows, dim lighting, and rows of wooden pews with cushions covered in red velvet. She didn't see any empty seats in the last few pews, so she found a spot against the back wall. Mayor Frumpkin was standing in front of the stage, pacing back and forth, talking excitedly. He waved around a copy of yesterday's
Virginian-Pilot
, with a headline that read “Possum Manger Scene Must Go—Town to Appeal.”

“Arnold Ottmeyer says an appeal could take a year to get resolved,” His Honor said.

This elicited a few groans from the audience. Jasmine heard someone toward the back mutter, “Lawyers” as if it were a curse word.

“If we rely on an appeal, we might as well kiss this Christmas good-bye and maybe the next one as well.”

Though it didn't appear to Jasmine that the mayor was open to questions, a hand shot up anyway. He couldn't really ignore the man, so the mayor nodded in his direction. “Pete?”

A tall balding man in the second pew stood and turned so he could face the audience. Jasmine recognized the guy as a rabid fan from her high school basketball days. His face would turn beet red as he yelled at the refs, telling them they were missing a good game.

“Judicial tyranny,” he said. “That's what this is.”

Jasmine grinned to herself.