South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [80]
It was a woman whose ex was behind on child support. She was a tiny person with long brown hair, wearing a dress that looked like it had come from the free box at a thrift store. She tipped her head so that her hair hid her face. The judge was gentler with her. How long since her husband had paid, how regular was he, how many children were there? She gave low, monosyllabic answers. The judge remained patient and Madeline wondered how he did it. He started asking harder questions, and it dawned on Madeline that he thought the guy was beating her Up and he wanted her to bring charges. He did all this in an almost kindly way that surprised her—kindly didn’t seem to be his nature, exactly—but the woman refused to say, and finally he swore out a bench warrant for nonpayment and slammed his gavel.
It went on like this. Gladys didn’t belong here. Madeline wished more than ever that she’d ignored Gladys’s feelings and Used her hoarded money to pay off the bill.
At last the clerk announced, “Benson’s SuperValu versus Gladys Hansen in the matter of nonpayment of accounts.” Gladys took a quick deep breath. The judge read aloud from a sheet of paper he had in front of him, describing the case. In short, one Gladys Hansen had run Up a bill at the grocery store that she now refused to pay. “Mr. and Mrs. Benson, is that accurate?” he asked.
Terry Benson nodded, her face already red with emotion. “Yes. She hasn’t paid a cent since—” The judge made a shushing motion.
“I Understand. Mrs. Hansen, do you feel this is accurate?”
Gladys rose from the bench, still clutching her purse. She stood very straight. “Almost. Not quite. May I say something?”
The judge motioned her forward. She felt very small standing on the floor below him, and he had to lean over to see her. “Come Up here,” he said. She climbed into the witness box. “You can sit down.”
“No thank you. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to stand.”
The judge made a face and shrugged. Gladys cleared her throat and began. “According to my figures, I owe the Bensons five hundred and thirteen dollars and seventy-two cents. They claim I owe seventy-five thirteen more than that, but I returned that last batch of groceries within two hours of getting them, and I will not agree to pay for those. There wasn’t one thing missing from that bag, and not one thing opened, and not one thing harmed, I’ll swear to that.”
“Returned them.”
“Yes.”
“And why did you return them?”
“Well. I stopped at Mabel Brink’s on my way home and she told me that the Bensons had cut off people’s credit. They cut them off without so much as a how-do-you-do or a five-minute warning, and there was no call for it. They were brand-new to town, they hadn’t even been there a year yet, and they cut off people who—” Gladys was as angry now as she’d been that afternoon, and she had to stop talking. She pressed her lips hard together and shook her head. The judge leaned toward her.
“They cut off people who have had credit at that store for as long as they’ve been alive,” she finally went on. “And it wasn’t right. I meant to let them know it wasn’t. They can’t just move in from away and change everything. There was just no call to cut off Randi Hopkins, with that child to take care of and she’s just a child herself—”
“Randi Hopkins has got money to eat out any time she pleases,” Terry Benson burst out, “but never a dime to put down on her grocery bill! I have had to hound every payment I ever got out of her, and I’m tired of it. She can drink and party and go out, but she can’t pay for her milk and cereal? I do not feel sorry for Randi Hopkins.”
Gladys saw Randi’s cheeks