Morning Glory

Chapter 23

Elly didn’t come back again. But she sent a brand-new Calcutta cloth suit and a striped tie and white shirt with cuff links and Will’s military dress shoes all spit-polished for him to wear the day of his trial. And a note: We’re gonna win Will. Love, Elly.

He dressed early, taking great care with his hair, wishing it were shorter above the ears, returning to the mirror time and again to run his fingertips over his shaved jaw, to tighten the knot in his tie, adjust his cuffs, unbutton and rebutton his jacket. At the thought of seeing her again a wedge of expectation tightened deep within him. He paced, cracked his knuckles, checked his reflection once more. Again he ran his knuckles over the hair above his ears, worried that it didn’t look trim enough-not for a jury, but for her.

Staring at his own eyes, he thought of hers. Hang on, green eyes, don’t give up on me yet. I’m not the horse’s ass I’ve been acting like lately. After we’ve won this thing I’ll show you.

Elly, too, had taken great care dressing. Yellow. It had to be yellow, her color of affirmation. The color of sunlight and freedom. She’d made a tailored suit in gabardine as pale as whipped butter, its shoulders built up, its pocket flaps buttoned down. She, too, returned apprehensively to check her reflection in the mirror: she’d had her hair sheared so that when she appeared in public Will would have no cause to feel ashamed. Staring at her shaped eyebrows and coral lips, she saw a woman as sleek and modish as the pictures on the coffee table at Erma’s Beauty Nook. Just wait, Will, when this is over we’re gonna be the happiest two people on the face of the earth.

Sitting in the courtroom waiting, she kept her eyes fixed on the door by which she knew he’d enter.

When he did their eyes met and their hearts leaped. She had never seen him in a civilian suit before. He looked stunning, his hair combed with hair oil that made it appear darker than usual, his tie crisp, his dark face a sharp contrast to the white shirt collar.

He lifted his eyes as he entered and his collar felt suddenly tight. He knew she’d wear yellow. He knew it! As if to point it out, the nine A.M. sun had seen fit to slash through a high window and fall directly across her. God, how he loved her, wanted to be free for her, with her. As he moved across the varnished floor their gazes remained locked. Her hair, what had she done to her hair? She’d had most of it cut off! It was sheared up high on the neck and above the ears, with a side part and a fluffy top. It brought her cheekbones into prominence in a wholly attractive way. He wanted to go to her, tell her how pretty she looked, thank her for the suit and the note and tell her he loved her, too. But Jimmy Ray Hess was at his side, so he could only walk and gawk. She smiled and discreetly waggled two fingers. The sun seemed to turn its warming rays on him. He felt a great rush much like that he’d experienced in the Augusta train station when he’d seen her approaching through the crowd. He smiled in reply.

The woman to Elly’s left nudged her and leaned over to say something. For the first time he noticed it was Lydia Marsh. And on Elly’s right sat Miss Beasley, stern-faced and sober as ever. Her eyes caught Will’s and he nodded, his heart in his throat.

She gave a barely perceptible nod and a tight moue, releasing him to breathe again.

Friends. True friends. Gratitude swamped him but again he had no way to convey it but to nod to Lydia, too, and cast a last lingering gaze over Elly as he reached the defense table and turned his back on them.

Collins was already there, dressed like a dotty museum curator in crinkled puce wool, smelly yellowed cotton, and a silk tie decorated with…pink flamingos! When the handcuffs were removed, Collins rose and shook Will’s hand.

"Things are looking good. I see you’ve got a cheering section."

"I don’t want my wife on the stand, Collins, remember that."

"Only if necessary, I told you."

"No! They’ll tear her apart. They’ll dredge up all that stuff about her being crazy. You can put me on but not her."

"That won’t be necessary. You’ll see."

"Where were you yesterday? I sent word I wanted to see you."

"Pipe down and have a chair, Parker. I’ve been out saving your hide, chasing down witnesses your wife dug up."

"You mean it’s true? She’s been-"

"All rise, please," the bailiff called dryly. "The Gordon County Court is now in session, the honorable Aldon P. Murdoch presiding."

Will gaped as Murdoch entered, garbed in black, but he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to see Elly’s reaction. Murdoch’s eyes scanned the courtroom, paused on Will and moved on. Though his expression was inscrutable, Will had one thought: by whatever miracle, he’d been delivered into the hands of a fair man. The conviction stemmed from the picture of two little boys in a swivel chair sharing a cigar box of jelly beans.

"All be seated, please," ordered Murdoch.

Seating himself, Will leaned toward Collins and whispered, "She didn’t really bribe him, did she?"

A pair of half-glasses hung on Collins’ porous nose. He peered over them at the papers he was withdrawing from a scuffed briefcase. "Are you kidding? He’s unimpressible. He’d’ve had charges brought against her so fast it would’ve spun her honey."

The trial began.

Opening statements were given by both attorneys. Collins’ was delivered in a slow drawl that gave the impression he hadn’t had enough sleep the previous night.

Solicitor General Edward Slocum’s was delivered with fire and flourish.

He was half Collins’ age and nearly twice his height. In a neat blue serge suit, freshly laundered shirt and crisp tie, he made Bob Collins look dowdy by comparison. With his ringing baritone voice and upright stature, he made Collins look ready for the boneyard. Slocum’s eyes were black, intense, direct, and the wave standing along the top of his dark head gave the appearance of a cocky rooster who dared anyone in his roost to cluck without his approval. Vocally eloquent and physically imposing, Slocum promised, through undisputable evidence, to show the jury beyond a glimmer of a doubt that Will Parker had cold-bloodedly, and with malice aforethought, murdered Lula Peak.

Listening to the two men, Will couldn’t help but think that if he were a member of the jury, he’d believe anything Slocum said and would wonder if the attorney for the defense was as senile as he appeared.

"The prosecution calls Sheriff Reece Goodloe."

While questioning his witness, Slocum stood foursquare to him, often with his feet widespread, knees locked. He knew how to use his eyes, to pierce the witness as if each answer were a fulcrum on which the outcome of the trial hinged, then to pass them over the jury at the appropriate moment to inculcate upon them the most incriminating portions of the testimony.

From Sheriff Goodloe the jury learned of Will’s criminal record, the existence of the torn dustcloth and a note bearing the accused’s initials, and his own admission that he often read the Atlanta Constitution.

When Bob Collins shuffled to his feet, half the people in the courtroom suppressed a grunt of help. He spent so much time pondering each question that the jury shifted restlessly. When he finally drew it forth, their shoulders seemed to sag with relief. His eyes avoided everything in the room except the floor and the toes of his scuffed brown oxfords. His mouth wore a half-smile, as if he knew an amusing secret which he would, in his own good time, share with them.

His cross-examination of Sheriff Goodloe revealed that Will Parker had served his time in prison, been a model prisoner and been released with a full parole. It also revealed that Sheriff Goodloe himself read the Atlanta Constitution daily.

From a gaunt, bespectacled woman named Barbara Murphy, who identified herself as a typesetter for the Atlanta Constitution, came unassailable verification that the note was cut from a copy or copies of that newspaper. Upon cross-examination Miss Murphy revealed that the circulation of the newspaper was 143,261 and that it was conceivable that since Calhoun was one of 158 counties in the state, roughly nine hundred copies of the Atlanta Constitution flooded into it daily.

From a tired-looking elderly county coroner named Elliot Mobridge the jury learned the time and cause of death and that Lula Peak was carrying a four-month-old fetus when she died. Cross-examination established that there was no way to determine who had sired a four-month-old fetus of a dead woman.

From a brusque female medical examiner who identified herself as Leslie McCooms came the fact that remnants of dust and lemon oil matching those on the torn dustcloth had been found on Lula Peak’s neck, along with bruises caused by human hands-probably a man’s.

Defense counsel released the witness without questions, reserving the right to cross-examine her later.

From Gladys Beasley, long-standing lioness of estimable repute, came the concession that the dustcloth and lemon oil (exhibit A) could possibly have come from the Carnegie Municipal Library of Whitney, where Will Parker was employed and on duty the night of Lula Peak’s murder. Miss Beasley admitted, too, that the library did indeed carry two subscriptions to the Atlanta Constitution and she had given Will Parker permission to take home one of the two copies when it was three days old or more.

It was all testimony that Will had expected, yet he felt shaken at how incriminating it sounded when stated by witnesses under oath, from a hard wooden chair on a raised platform beside the judge’s dais.

But the tide subtly turned when Robert Collins cross-examined Miss Beasley.

"Did Lula Peak ever visit the library when Will Parker was there?"

"She most certainly did."

"And did she speak to Mr. Parker?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I could hear their conversation plainly from the checkout desk. The library is U-shaped, with the desk situated in the crossbar so that I can see and often hear everything that’s going on. The ceilings are high and everything echoes."

"When did you hear the first such conversation between Peak and Parker?"

"On September Second, 1941."

"How can you be sure of that date?"

"Because Mr. Parker asked for a borrower’s card and I began to fill one out before realizing he had not established residency in Whitney. The card was filled out in ink, thus I couldn’t erase and reuse it for another patron. Abiding by the motto, Waste not, want not, I filed Mr. Parker’s card in a separate place to reuse when he came back in with proof of residency, as I was sure he would. He still uses that original card, with the date of September second crossed off."

Miss Beasley presented Will’s borrower’s card, which was entered as exhibit B.

"So," Collins went on, "on the day of September second, you overheard a conversation between Lula Peak and William Parker. Would you repeat that conversation, to the best of your recollection?"

Miss Beasley, prim and well-packed and indubitably accurate, repeated verbatim what she had overheard that first day when Lula sat down across from Will and stuck her foot between his thighs, when she trapped him between the shelves and attempted to seduce him, when she vindictively accused his wife of being crazy from the time Elly was a child, a time when Miss Beasley herself remembered Eleanor See as a bright, inquisitive student with a talent for drawing. She told of Will’s polite but hasty exit on that day and others when Lula followed him into the library under the pretext of "bettering herself" with books which she never bothered to check out.

Listening to her testimony, Will sat tense. After the dressing down she’d given him he’d feared her antipathy on the witness stand. He should have known better. He had no better friend than Gladys Beasley. When she was excused she marched past his chair with her typical drill sergeant bearing, without a glance in his direction, but he knew beyond a doubt that her faith in him was unassailable.

Miss Beasley was the prosecution’s last witness. Then it was Collins’ turn.

He spent thirty seconds boosting himself from his chair, sixty gazing out over the gallery and fifteen removing his glasses. He chuckled, nodded at his toes and called, "Defense calls Mrs. Lydia Marsh."

Lydia Marsh, looking pretty as a madonna with her coal black hair and pale blue dress spoke her oath and stated that she was a housewife and mother of two whose husband was fighting "somewhere in Italy." A careful observer might have seen the almost imperceptible approval in the softening of the jurors’ mouths and the relaxing of their hands over their stomachs. Certainly Robert Collins saw and set out to capitalize on the sense of patriotism running rife through every American in that jurors’ box.

"How long have you known Will Parker, Mrs. Marsh?"

The questions were routine until Collins asked Lydia to relate a story about what happened the day Will Parker left for Parris Island to be inducted into the United States Marines.

"He came by the house," Lydia recalled, "and called from down by the gate. He acted slightly nervous and maybe a little embarrassed-"

"Objection, your honor. Witness is drawing a conclusion."

"Sustained."

When Lydia Marsh continued it was with the avid determination to paint things accurately. "Mr. Parker refused to meet my eyes at first, and he wiped his hands nervously on his thighs. When I went down to wish him goodbye, he gave me a green towel and a fruit jar full of honey. He told me he’d stolen them from me nearly a year and a half before, when he was down and out and had no money. At the time he stole the fruit jar it had been filled with buttermilk-he’d taken it from our well. And the green towel he’d taken from the clothesline along with a set of my husband’s clothes, which had, of course, been worn out long before that day. He apologized and said it had bothered him all that time, stealing from us, and before he went off to war, he wanted to make it right. So he was bringing me the honey, which was all he had to repay us with."

"Because he thought he might not get the chance again? He feared he might die in the war?"

"He didn’t say that-no. He wasn’t that kind. He was the kind who knew he had to fight and went to do it without complaint, just like my own husband did."

"And more recently, Mrs. Marsh, since William Parker’s return from the Pacific, have you been aware of any marital discord between him and his wife?"

"Quite the opposite. They’re extremely happy. I believe I would have known if he’d had any reason to seek the company of a woman like Lula Peak."

"And what makes you believe he didn’t?"

Lydia’s eyes swerved to Elly’s and took on a glow. "Because Elly-Mrs. Parker, that is-recently confided in me that she’s expecting their first baby."

The shock hit Will as if he’d been poleaxed. He twisted around in his chair and his eyes collided with Elly’s. He half-rose, but his attorney pressed him down gently. A rush of joy warmed his face as his glance swept down to his wife’s stomach, then lifted once more to her blushing cheeks. Is it true, Elly? The words went unsaid but everyone in the courtroom sensed them with their hearts instead of their ears. And every person present saw Elly’s answering smile and the merest nod of her head. They watched Will’s dazzling, jubilant hosanna of a smile. And twelve out of twelve in the jury who were mothers and fathers felt their heartstrings tugged.

A murmur spread through the gallery and was silenced only when Collins excused the witness and announced the reading by the bailiff of Will Parker’s military record into evidence. The bailiff, a small, effeminate man with a high voice, read from a file with eyebrows raised in approval. The records of the United States Marine Corps characterized William L. Parker as a tough recruit who knew how to follow orders and command men, thus earning him the honor of being named squad leader in basic training and in combat, and promotion to the rank of corporal before his medical discharge in May of 1943. Also on record was a citation from Colonel Merrit A. Edson, Commander of the First Marine Raiders, commending Will’s bravery in battle and delineating the courageous acts that had won him the Purple Heart in what by now the war correspondents had dubbed "the bloodiest battle of the Coral Sea, the Battle of Bloody Ridge."

The courtroom was respectfully silent when the bailiff closed his file. Collins had the jury in his hand and he knew it. He’d gotten them with respectability, honesty and military valor. Now he’d get them with a bit of levity.

"Defense calls Nat MacReady to the stand."

Nat left his place beside Norris and hustled forward. Though his shoulders were stooped, he walked with amazing agility for one of his age. Nat looked spiffy, dressed in the woolen blouse of his World War I army uniform with its tarnished gold stars and lieutenant’s stripes. It was obvious at a glance that Nat was proud to be called upon to help justice prevail. When asked if he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, he replied, "You bet your boots, sonny."

Judge Murdoch scowled but allowed the chuckles from the gallery as Nat, eager-eyed, seated himself on the edge of his chair.

"State your name."

"Nathaniel MacReady."

"And your occupation."

"I’m a retired businessman. Ran the icehouse out south of town since I was twenty-six, along with my brother, Norris."

"What town is that?"

"Why, Whitney, of course."

"You’ve lived there all your life, have you?"

"I most certainly have. All except for them fourteen months back in ’17 and ’18 when Uncle Sam give me a free trip to Europe."

Titters of appreciation sounded. Collins stood back and let the uniform speak for itself; not a soul in the place could mistake Nat’s pride in wearing it again.

"So you’ve been retired now for how many years?"

"Fifteen years."

"Fifteen years…" Collins scratched his head and studied the floor. "You must get a little bored after fifteen years of doing nothing."

"Doing nothing! Why, sonny, I’ll have you know my brother and I organized the Civilian Guard, and we’re out there every night enforcing the curfew and watching for Japanese planes, aren’t we, Norris?"

"We sure are," Norris answered from the gallery to another ripple of laughter that had to be silenced by Murdoch’s gavel.

"Defense counsel will instruct his witness to direct his responses to the court and not the gallery," Murdoch ordered.

"Yes, your honor," replied Collins meekly before scratching his head again and waiting for the room to still. "Now before we get into your duties as a volunteer guard, I wonder if you’d take a look at something for me." From his baggy pocket Collins withdrew a small wooden carving and handed it to Nat. "Did you make this?"

Nat took it, replying, "Looks like mine." Turning it bottom-side up, he examined it myopically and added, "Yup, it is. Got my initials on the bottom."

"Tell the court what it is."

"It’s a wood carving of a wild turkey. Where’d you get it?"

"At the drugstore in Whitney. Paid twenty-nine cents for it off their souvenir counter."

"Did you tell Haverty to mark it in his books so I get credit?"

The judge rapped his gavel.

"I certainly did, Mr. MacReady," Collins answered to the accompaniment of soft laughter from the spectators, then rushed on before drawing further wrath from the sober-faced Murdoch. "And where did you make it?"

"In the square."

"What square?"

"Why, the Town Square in Whitney. That’s where me and my brother spend most days, on the bench under the magnolia tree."

"Whittling?"

"Naturally, whittling. Show me an old man with idle hands and I’ll show you the subject of next year’s obituary."

"And while you whittle, you see a lot of what goes on around the square, is that right?"

Nat scratched his temple. "Well, I guess you could say we don’t miss much, do we, Norris?" He chuckled, raising a matching sound from those in the room who knew precisely how little the pair missed.

This time Norris smiled and restrained himself from replying.

Collins took out a pocket knife and began cleaning his nails as if the following question were of little consequence. "Have you ever seen Lula Peak coming and going around the square?"

"Pret’near every day. She was a waitress at Vickery’s, you know, and our bench sets right there where we got a clear shot of it and the library and pretty much everything that moves around that square."

"So over the years you saw a lot of Lula Peak’s comings and goings?"

"You bet."

"Did you ever see her coming and going with any men?"

Nat burst out laughing and slapped his knee. "Hoo! Hoo! That’s a good one, isn’t it, Norris!" The whole courtroom burst into laughter.

The judge interjected, "Answer the question, Mr. MacReady."

"She come and go with more men than the Pacific fleet!"

Laughter burst forth and Murdoch had to sound his gavel again.

"Tell us about some you saw her with," Collins prompted.

"How far back?"

"As far back as you can remember."

"Well…" Nat scratched his chin, dropped his gaze to the tip of his brown high-top shoe. "Let’s see now, that goes back quite a ways. She always did like the men. Guess I can’t rightly say which one I saw her with first, but somewhere along when she was just barely old enough to grow body hair there was that dusky-skinned carnie who ran the ferris wheel during Whitney Days. Might’ve been back in ’24-"

"Twenty-five," Norris interrupted from the floor.

Slocum leaped to his feet-"Objection!" just as the judge rapped his gavel. "Lula Peak is not on trial here!" put in the Solicitor General. "William Parker is!"

Collins pointed out calmly, "Your honor, the reputation of the deceased is of utmost importance here. My intent is to establish that because of her promiscuity, Lula Peak might have gotten pregnant by any one of a dozen men she’s been known to have consorted with."

"By implying her fetus was sired in 1925?" retorted Slocum irately. "Your honor, this line of questioning is ludicrous!"

"I’m attempting to show a sexual pattern in the deceased’s life, your honor, if you’ll allow me."

The objection was overruled, but with a warning to Collins to control his witness’s penchant for speaking to the gallery and soliciting answers from them.

"Did you ever see Lula Peak coming and going with Will Parker?"

"I seen her try. Whoo-ee, that little gal sure did try, starting with the first day he come into town and went in there where she was workin’."

"In there, meaning in Vickery’s Cafe."

"Yessir. And every day after that when she saw him come to town and cross the square, she’d make sure she was out front sweeping, and when he didn’t pay her any mind, she’d follow him wherever he went."

"Such as…" encouraged Collins.

"Well, such as the library when he came in to borrow books or to sell milk and eggs to Miss Beasley. It wouldn’t take Lula two minutes before she took off her apron and hotfooted it after young Parker. I’m an old man, Mr. Collins, but I’m not too old to recognize a woman in heat, nor one that’s been refused by a man-"

"Objection!"

"-and when Lula came spittin’ out of that library-"

"Objection!"

"-she didn’t have no matted fur that I could see-"

"Objection!"

It took a full minute for the din to die down. Though the judge ordered Nat’s opinions stricken from the record, Collins knew they could not be stricken from the minds of the jury. Lula Peak was a slut and before he was done they’d all recognize the fact and indict her instead of Will Parker.

"Mr. MacReady," Collins explained quietly, "you understand we have to deal with facts here, only facts, not opinions."

"Sure-sure enough."

"Facts, Mr. MacReady. Now, do you know for a fact that Lula Peak had licentious affairs with more than one man around Whitney?"

"Yes, sir. At least if Orlan Nettles can be believed. He told me once he nabbed her underneath the grandstand at the ballpark during the seventh-inning stretch of the game between the Whitney Hornets and the Grove City Tigers."

"Nabbed her. Could you be more specific?"

"Well, I could except there’s ladies present."

"Was nabbed the word Orlan himself used?"

"No, sir."

"What word did he use?"

Nat blushed and turned to the judge. "Do I have to say it, your honor?"

"You’re under oath, Mr. MacReady."

"All right, then-screwed, your honor. Orlan said he screwed Lula Peak underneath the grandstand at Skeets Hollow Park during the seventh-inning stretch of a game between the Whitney Hornets and the Grove City Tigers."

In the rear gallery a gasp was heard from Alma Nettles, Orlan’s wife. Collins noted the eyes of the jurors swerve her way and waited until he’d regained their full attention.

"How long ago did he claim to do this?"

"It was the night the Hornets won seven to six in the top of the ninth when Willie Pounds caught a grounder stretched out on his belly and threw a scorcher into home for the last out. Norris and me never miss a game, and we keep the scorecards, don’t we, Norris?" Norris nodded as Nat handed Collins a scrap of white paper. "Here it is, last summer, July eleventh, though I don’t know why it was necessary to bring this. Half the men in Whitney know the date ’cause Orlan he told a whole bunch of us about it, didn’t he, Norris?"

"Strike that last question," Judge Murdoch ordered as the weeping Alma was escorted from the room in the arms of a solicitous matron.

Above the murmurs from the gallery, Collins inquired of Nat, "Did you ever see Lula Peak with a man, under… shall we say, a compromising position?"

"Yessir, there was an engineer on the L and N Railroad who used to lay over at Miss Bernadette Werm’s boardinghouse. I’m not sure of his name, but he had a bushy red beard and a tattoo of a serpent on his arm-Miss Werm would remember his name. Anyway, I caught ’em one day, in the act you might say, down by Oak Creek where I was fishin’. Naked as jaybirds they were, and when I come upon ’em, Lula she throws back her head and laughs and says to me, "Don’t look so shocked, Mr. MacReady. Why don’t y’all come and join us?’"

From the gallery came a chorus of shocked female ohhs.

"Just for clarification, Mr. MacReady, when you say they were in the act, you mean in the act of copulation?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

Collins took an inordinate amount of time extracting a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket, blowing his nose, letting the last bit of testimony sink into every brain that mattered and many that didn’t. Finally he pocketed his hanky and approached the witness again.

"Now, let’s go back again, if we may, to your very important job as a member of the Civilian Patrol. When you’ve been on patrol at night during recent months and weeks, is it true that you’ve repeatedly seen one particular car parked behind Lula Peak’s house?"

"Yessir."

"Do you know whose car it is?"

"Yessir, it’s Harley Overmire’s. Black Ford licence number PV628. He parks it behind the juniper bushes in the alley. I’ve seen it there a lot, couple nights a week anyway, during the past year. Also seen Harley goin’ to Lula Peak’s house sometimes in the middle of the day when she ain’t workin’. Parks his car on the square, goes in the restaurant as if he’s havin’ lunch and hits out the back door and takes the alley to her house, which is just around the corner."

"And you’ve seen Lula Peak with someone else lately."

"Yessir, I have, and truth to tell, I hate to say it in public. Nobody wants to hurt a boy that age, but he’s probably too young to realize-"

"Just tell us what you’ve seen, Mr. MacReady," Collins interrupted.

"Harley’s young son, Ned."

"That’s Harley Overmire’s son, Ned Overmire?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell us how old you’d guess Ned Overmire is."

"Oh, I’d say fourteen or so. Not over fifteen, that’s for sure. He’s in the ninth grade anyway, I know that ’cause my niece, Delwyn Jean Potts is his teacher this year."

"And have you seen Lula Peak with Ned Overmire?"

"Yessir. Right in front of Vickery’s. She was sweepin’ again-she always sweeps when she wants to… well… you know… latch herself a man, you might say. Anyhow, young Ned comes along the sidewalk one day a couple weeks ago and she stops him like I’ve seen her stop dozens of others, stickin’ that long fingernail of hers into his shirtfront and tickling his chest. She said it was hot, he should come on inside and she’d give him some free ice cream. I could hear it plain as day-heck, I think she wanted me to hear it. She always sort of taunted me, too, after that time I found her with that railroad man. Ice cream-humph!"

"And did the boy follow her inside?"

"He did. Thank heavens he came out again in just a couple minutes with a strawberry ice cream cone and Lula follows him to the door and calls after him, "Come back now, hear?’"

"And did he?"

"Not that I saw, no."

"Well, thank the lord for that," muttered Collins, drawing a rap from the gavel but the approval of the jury for his reaction.

"But you’re sure about Lula having sexual encounters with these others you’ve named."

"Yessir."

"And to the best of your knowledge, did Lula Peak ever succeed in drawing the attention of Will Parker?"

"No, sir, she never did, not that I knew about, no."

"Your witness."

Slocum’s attempt to discredit Nat MacReady as senile, hard of hearing or short of sight proved futile. MacReady had an intimidating memory, and embellished his recollections with anecdotes that were so obviously real that his cross-examination proved more advantageous for the defense than for the prosecution.

When Nat stepped down from the witness stand, Collins stood to announce, "Defense calls Norris MacReady."

Norris stepped up, wearing, like his brother, his scratchy World War I uniform with the collar fitting loosely around his wrinkled throat. His high forehead shone from a recent scrubbing, setting off the liver spots like brown polka dots. Slocum squeezed his lips and cursed beneath his hand, then ran a hand through his hair, wrecking his rooster comb.

"State your name."

"Norris MacReady."

"Occupation?"

"I retired from the icehouse the same year as Nat."

There followed a series of questions regarding the establishment of the Whitney Civilian Town Guard and its function before Collins got down to the meatier inquiries.

"On the night of August 17, 1943, while making a curfew check, did you overhear a conversation at the back door of the Carnegie Municipal Library of Whitney?"

"I did."

"Would you tell us about it, please."

Norris’s eyes widened and he glanced from the attorney to the judge. "Do you think I ought to repeat it just like Lula said it?"

The judge answered, "Exactly as you heard it, yes."

"Well, all right, judge… but the ladies in the courtroom ain’t gonna like it."

"You’re under oath, Mr. MacReady."

"Very well…" As a gentleman of the old order, Norris hesitated. Then he asked another question, "You think it’d be okay if I read it instead?"

Slocum leaped to his feet, spouting objections.

"Allow me, your honor, to establish the allowability of the reading material," Collins interjected quickly.

"Objection overruled, but establish it with a single question, is that understood, Mr. Collins?"

"It is." Collins turned to Norris. "From what would you like to read?"

"Why, from our log. Nat and me, we keep a log faithfully, don’t we, Nat?"

"We sure do," answered Nat from the gallery.

Nobody raised an objection this time. The place was as still as outer space.

"You keep a log while you’re on patrol?" Collins prompted.

"Oh, we got to. The government says. Got to record every plane sighting and every person who breaks curfew. This war is different than the Great War. In that one we never had to worry about spies in our own backyard like we have to this time, that’s why we got to keep such close records."

"You may read your entry for August seventeenth, Mr. MacReady."

From an inside pocket of his uniform Norris withdrew a green-covered book with worn edges. He settled a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles over his nose, taking long moments to hook the springy bows behind his ears. Then he tipped back his head, licked a finger and turned pages so slowly that titters began in the room before he finally found the correct spot.

"’August 17, 1943,’" he began in a crackly voice, then cleared his throat. "’Nat and me went on patrol at nine. All quiet except for Carl and Julie Draith returning from bridge game at the Nelsons’ house next door. Ten o’clock-coming up along Comfort Street heard someone entering back door of library. I stayed at the edge of the building while Norris reconnoitered behind the hedge to see who it was. Norris signaled me over and we waited. Less than 5 minutes later the door flew open and a high-heeled shoe came flying out and hit Nat on the shoulder causing a purple lump to form later. Big fight going on between Will Parker and Lula Peak. Parker pushes her out the back door of library and yells, "If you’re in heat Lula go yowl beneath somebody else’s window." He slams the door in her face and she bangs it with her fist a few times and calls him a goddamn peckerhead and an asshole and a toad-sucking Marine. Then she screams (loud enough to wake the dead) "Your dick probably wouldn’t fill my left ear anyway." Such language for a woman.’"

Norris blushed. Nat blushed. Will blushed. Elly blushed. Collins politely took the MacReadys’ logbook and entered it as exhibit C before turning his witness over for cross-examination.

This time Slocum used his head and excused Norris without further questions. Throughout the courtroom a restlessness had begun. Murmurs sounded continuously from the gallery and spectators edged forward on their seats as Collins called his next witness.

"Defense calls Dr. Justin Kendall."

Kendall strode down the center aisle, an imposing man of well over six feet, wearing a sharply tailored suit of brown serge, his receding hairline framing a polished forehead that looked as if he’d just scrubbed it with a surgical brush, and his frameless glasses giving him the appearance of a scholar. His fingers were long and clean as they pointed toward heaven while he repeated the oath. Collins was already firing questions as Kendall tugged at his trouser creases and took the witness chair.

"State your name and occupation, please."

"Justin Ferris Kendall, medical doctor."

"You practice medicine here in Calhoun, is that correct?"

"It is."

"And did you recently examine the deceased, Lula Peak?"

"Yessir, on October twentieth last year."

"And did you at the time confirm that she was approximately two months pregnant?"

"I did."

"Two months after Will Parker was heard telling her that if she was in heat she should go yowl beneath somebody else’s window, you diagnosed her as two months pregnant?"

"Yessir."

"And do you employ a registered nurse named Miriam Gaultier who also acts as your receptionist?"

"I do."

"Thank you. Your witness."

Slocum obviously couldn’t divine a reason for this line of questioning and glanced around, confused by the abrupt turnover of the defense’s witness.

He half-rose from his chair and replied, "No questions, your honor."

"Defense calls Miriam Gaultier to the stand."

Heads turned as a thin gray wisp of a woman passed through the spindled gate, smiling hello to Dr. Kendall, who held it open for her.

"State your name and occupation, please."

"Miriam Gaultier. I’m a nurse and receptionist for Dr. Justin Kendall."

"You’ve just heard Dr. Kendall testify that he was visited by the deceased, Lula Peak, on October twentieth last year. Were you working at the doctor’s office that day?"

"Yes, I was."

"And did you talk with Lula Peak?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what was the gist of that conversation?"

"I asked Miss Peak for her mailing address for billing purposes."

"Did she give it to you?"

"No, sir, she didn’t."

"Why not?"

"Because she advised me to send the bill to Harley Overmire, of Whitney, Georgia."

Nobody heard Collins turn the witness over to Solicitor General Slocum, but they could hear the sweat ooze from Harley Overmire’s pores as the prosecution cross-examined Miriam Gaultier in the silent room.

"Was Miss Peak’s bill ever paid, Mrs. Gaultier?"

"Yes, it was."

"Can you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, state that it was not paid by Miss Peak herself?"

"Well…"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Mrs. Gaultier," Slocum reiterated, skewering her with his dark eyes.

"It was paid in cash."

"In person?"

"No, it was mailed in."

"Thank you, you may step down."

"But it was sent in an envelope from-"

"You may step down, Mrs. Gaultier!"

"-the electric company, as if whoever sent it-"

Clakk! Clakk! Murdoch rapped his gavel. "That will be all, Mrs. Gaultier!"

Things were going even better than Collins had hoped for. He hurriedly called his next witness while the tide was rolling in the right direction.

"Defense recalls Leslie McCooms."

The medical examiner was reminded that she was still under oath and Collins made his point without histrionics.

"When you examined the body of Lula Peak you found that her death had not been caused by the dustrag as first believed, but by human hands, probably a man’s. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, Miss McCooms, how many fingerprints were found on Lula Peak’s neck?"

"Nine."

"And which fingerprint was missing?"

"The one from the index finger of the right hand."

"Thank you-your witness."

Will felt hope swell his chest, climb his arms and infuse his head. With one hand balled around the other, he pressed his thumb knuckles to his lips and warned himself, it’s not through yet. But he couldn’t resist turning to glimpse Elly over his shoulder. Her face was pink with excitement. She made a fist and thumped it against her heart, causing his own to bang with intensified hope.

Slocum took his turn, overtly agitated.

"Is it true, Miss McCooms, that it’s possible for a victim to be strangled by someone with ten good fingers, leaving less than ten fingerprints?"

"Yes, it is."

"Thank you. You’re excused."

Will’s brief hope extinguished but he had little time to grow despondent. The surprising Collins kept a brisk pace, recognizing the value of concentrated shock.

"Defense calls Harley Overmire."

Overmire, looking like a scared, hairy ape, puffed up the center aisle, stuffed into a light blue suit with sleeves six inches too long for his stubby arms, sleeves that nearly concealed his hands.

The bailiff held out his Bible and ordered, "Raise your right hand, please."

Harley’s face was pale as a full moon. Beads of sweat stood out on his upper lip and two discs of dampness darkened the armpits of his suit.

"Raise your right hand, please," the bailiff repeated.

Harley had no choice but to do as ordered. Haltingly he lifted his arm, and as he did so his sleeve slipped down. Every eye in the room fixed upon that meaty hand, silhouetted against the white plastered wall of the courtroom, with its index finger missing.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Harley’s voice sounded like the squeak of a mouse when the trap trips.

"I do."

The bailiff droned his questions while Collins scanned the eyes of the jurors, finding every one fixed upon Overmire’s trembling, four-fingered hand.

"State your name and occupation, please."

"Harley Overmire, superintendent at the Whitney Sawmill."

"You may be seated."

Collins pretended to read over his notes for a full thirty seconds while Harley quickly sat and hid his right hand at his side. The air felt electric, charged with opinion. Collins let the voltage build while glancing pointedly over the tops of his half-glasses at Harley’s hidden hand, the infamous hand that had already gained him a countywide reputation as a military shirker. Collins removed his glasses, stretched to his feet as if his rheumatism was acting up and approached the witness stand. Putting a finger to his chin, he paused thoughtfully, then turned back toward his table as if he’d forgotten something. Halfway there, he did an about-face and stood silently studying Overmire. The courtroom was so silent a spider could have been heard spinning its web. Collins scanned every face in the jury before resting his gaze on its chairman. In a voice rich with innuendo, he said, "No questions."

It was four-twenty P.M. Stomachs were rumbling but not a person thought about supper. Neither did Judge Murdoch check his watch. Instead, he called for closing summations.

They were, to Collins’ delight, anticlimactic. Exactly as he would have it. A hungry jury, a judge and gallery in thrall, and a witness sweating on the sidelines.

The jury filed out leaving behind something unheard of: motionlessness.

As if everyone in the room knew the wait would be brief, they all stayed. Including Judge Murdoch. Reverently silent, too warm, hungry, but unwilling to miss the sound of the first returning footstep.

It came in exactly seven minutes.

Twelve pairs of shoes clattered across the raised wooden platform where twelve chairs waited. When the shuffle of bodies stilled, a question vaulted from the high ceiling.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your verdict?"

"We have, your honor."

"Would you give it to the bailiff, please?"

The bailiff accepted it, handed it to Murdoch, who opened the small white paper, silently read it, then handed it back to the jury chairman.

"You may read your verdict to the court."

Elly’s hands clutched those of Lydia and Miss Beasley. Will stopped breathing.

"We, the jury, find the defendant, William Lee Parker, not guilty."

Pandemonium broke loose. Will spun. Elly clapped her hands over her mouth and started crying. Miss Beasley and Lydia tried to hug her. Collins tried to congratulate him. But they had a single thought: to reach each other. Through the crowd they lunged while hands patted their shoulders but went unheeded. Voices offered congratulations but went unheard. Smiles followed but they saw only each other… Will… and Elly. In the middle of the throng they collided and clung. They kissed, hard and hasty. They buried their faces in the coves of one another, harboring, holding.

"Elly… oh, God…"

"Will… my darling Will…"

He heard her sob.

She heard him swallow.

With eyes sealed tightly, they rocked, smelled each other, felt each other, shutting out all else.

"I love you," he managed with his mouth pressed against her ear. "I never stopped."

"I know that." She kissed his jaw.

"And I’m so damn sorry."

"I know that, too." She laughed but the sound was broken by a sob.

People bumped against them. A reporter called Will’s name. Witnesses waited to congratulate them.

"Don’t go away," Will’s voice boomed at Elly’s ear before he tucked her securely beneath his arm. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed close while he performed the rituals expected of him.

He shook Collins’ hand and got a firm clap on the back.

"Well, young fellow, it’s been a pleasure all the way."

Will laughed. "Maybe for you."

"There was never a doubt in my mind that you’d win."

"We’d win, you mean."

Collins put his free hand on Elly’s shoulder, including her. "Yes, I guess you’re right. We." He chuckled and added, "Anytime you want a job, young woman, I know a good half dozen lawyers who’d pay you handsome money to ply your wiles on behalf of their clients. You’ve got a nose and a knack."

Elly laughed and lifted her cheek from Will’s lapel long enough to look up into his happy brown eyes.

"Sorry, Mr. Collins, but I got a job, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world."

Will kissed her nose and the three of them shared a hearty pileup of hands that passed for a shake until it was interrupted by Lydia Marsh, who caught Elly around the neck. "Oh, Elly, I’m so happy for you." They pressed cheeks. "You, too, Will." On tiptoe she reached up to offer him an impetuous hug.

His heart felt full to bursting. "I don’t know how to thank you, Mrs. Marsh."

She shook her head, battling tears, unable to express her fondness in any way but to touch his cheek, then kiss Elly and promise, "I’ll see you both soon," before she slipped away.

A second reporter called, "Mr. Parker, may I have a minute?" But there were Nat and Norris MacReady, smiling like liver-spotted bookends, standing proud in their military uniforms which smelled of mothballs.

"Nat… Norris…" Will gave them each a hand-pump and a bluff squeeze on the neck. "Was I glad to have you two on my side! What can I say? Without you it might’ve gone the other way."

"Anything for a veteran," Nat replied.

"Say you’ll keep a supply of that honey comin’," Norris put in.

While they laughed Mrs. Gaultier and Dr. Kendall brushed past, touching Will’s shoulders, smiling.

"Congratulations, Mr. Parker."

The reporter snapped a picture while Will shook their hands and thanked them.

Feeling as if he was caught in a millrace, Will was forced to give himself over to strangers and friends alike while the reporters continued firing questions.

"Mr. Parker, is it true that you were once fired from the mill by Harley Overmire?"

"Yes."

"Because of your prison record?"

"Yes."

"Is it true he cut his finger off to avoid the draft?"

"I really couldn’t speculate on that. Listen, it’s been a long day and-"

He tried to ease toward the door but the well-meaning crowd swarmed like gnats around a damp brow.

"Mr. Parker…"

"Congratulations, Will…"

"Eleanor, you too…"

"Congratulations, young man, you don’t know me but I’m-"

"Hey, Mr. Parker, can I have your autograph?" (This from a youth in a baseball cap.)

"Nice goin’, Will…"

"Elly, we’re so happy for you both."

"Congratulations, Parker, you and the missus come by the cafe and have a free meal on me…"

Will had no wish to be the center act of a three-ring circus, but these were his fellow townspeople, welcoming him and Elly into their fold at last. He accepted their handshakes, returned their smiles and acted duly appreciative. Until he simply had to escape and be alone with Elly. In response to someone’s humorous banter he squeezed Elly tighter, tipped her till one of her feet left the ground and pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, "Let’s get out of here." She hugged his waist as they turned toward the door.

And there stood Miss Beasley, patiently waiting her turn.

The reporter hounded Will and Elly as they moved toward the librarian. "Mr. Parker, Mrs. Parker, could either of you make a comment on the arrest of Harley Overmire?"

They ignored the question.

Miss Beasley was dressed in drab bile green and held her purse handle over the wrists crossed militantly beneath her superfluous breasts. Will propelled Elly forward until the two of them stood within two feet of Miss Beasley. Only then did he release his wife.

A male voice intruded. "Mr. Parker, I’m from the Atlanta Constitution. Could you-"

Elly ran interference for him. "He’s busy right now. Why don’t you wait outside?"

Yes, Will was busy. Fighting a losing battle against deep, swamping emotions as he stepped close to Gladys Beasley and folded her in his arms, hooked his chin on her tight blue curls and held her firmly, choking in the scent of carnations but loving every second of it.

Unbelievably, she returned the caress, planting her palms on his back.

"You gave me one hell of a scare, you know that?" Will’s voice was gruff with emotion.

"You needed it, you stubborn thing."

"I know. But I thought I’d lost you and Elly too."

"Oh, bosh, Mr. Parker. You’ll have to do more than act like a complete fool to lose either one of us."

He chuckled, the sound reluctantly escaping his taut throat. They rocked for several seconds.

"Thank you," he whispered and kissed her ear.

She patted his hard back, her purse rapping his hip, then blinked forcefully, pulled away and donned her didactic façade again. "I’ll expect you back at work next Monday, as usual."

With his hands resting on her shoulders, Will’s attractive brown eyes fell to her face. A crooked smile lifted a corner of his mouth. "Yes, ma’am," he drawled.

Collins interrupted.

"You gonna hold that woman all day or let somebody else have a crack at her?"

Surprised, Will stepped back. "She’s all yours."

"Well, good, because I thought I might take her over to my house and feed her a little brandy-see what develops. What do you say, Gladys?" Miss Beasley was already blushing as Collins commandeered her. "You know, when we were in high school I always wanted to ask you on a date, but you were so smart you scared the hell out of me. Do you remember when-"

His voice faded as he marshaled her toward the door. Elly slipped her arm through Will’s and together they watched the pair leave.

"Looks like Miss Beasley’s got herself an admirer at last."

"Two of them." Elly grinned up at him.

He covered her hand, squeezed it tightly against his arm and let his eyes linger in hers. "Three."

"Mr. Parker, I’m from the Atlanta Constitution-"

On tiptoe, Elly whispered in Will’s ear, "Answer him, please, so we can get rid of him. I’ll wait in the car."

"No, you don’t!" He tightened his hold. "You’re staying right here with me."

They weathered the questions together, begrudging every moment that kept them from privacy but learning that a warrant had already been issued for the arrest of Harley Overmire and he was already in custody. When asked to comment, Will only replied, "He’ll need a good lawyer and I know a damned fine one I could recommend."

It was nearing dusk when Elly and Will escaped to their car at last. The sun glowed low along the rough stone building they left behind, lighting it to a pale copper. On the grounds of the courthouse the camellias were in full bloom, though the branches of the ash trees were bare, casting long thin shadows along the hood of their ramshackle automobile which sported a wrinkled front bumper and one blue fender on a black body.

When Elly headed for the passenger side, Will tugged her in the opposite direction. "You drive," he ordered.

"Me!"

"I hear you learned how."

"I don’t know if Miss Beasley would agree with that."

He glanced at the bumper and the fender. "Banged ’er up a little, did you?"

"A little."

"Who put the new fender on?"

"Me’n Donald Wade."

Will regarded his wife with glowing eyes. "You’re some woman, you know that, Mrs. Parker?"

A glow kindled deep within Elly. "Since I met you," she answered quietly.

They let their eyes linger for another devout moment before he ordered, "Get in. Show me what you learned."

He clambered in the passenger side and left her no choice. When the engine was revved she clutched the wheel, manhandled the stubborn shift, took a deep breath-"Okay… here goes"-and promptly drove onto the sidewalk, hitting the brakes in a panic, jouncing them till their heads hit the roof and rebounded toward the windshield.

"Dammit, Will, I’m scared to death of this thing!" She socked the steering wheel. "It never goes where I want it to!"

He laughed, rubbing the crown of his head. "It brought you to Calhoun to hire a lawyer, didn’t it?"

She felt herself blush, wanting to appear competent and prove how worldly she’d become in his absence. "Don’t tease me, Will, not when this-this piece of junk is acting up."

His voice softened and lost its teasing note. "And it brought you to Calhoun to visit your husband."

Their eyes met-sober, yearning eyes. His hand took hers from the wheel, his thumb rubbed her knuckles.

"Elly-is it true? Are you pregnant?"

She nodded, a trembling smile tilting her lips. "We’re gonna have us a baby, Will. Yours and mine this time."

Words eluded him. Emotion clotted his throat. He reached for the back of her neck and her belly, placing a hand on each, drawing her across the seat to rest his lips against her forehead. She closed her eyes and put both hands over his widespread right hand, covering the life within her body.

"A baby," he breathed at last. "Imagine that."

She pulled away to see his eyes. For infinite seconds they gazed, then suddenly both laughed.

"A baby!" he cheered.

"Yes, a baby!" She took his head in both hands and ruffled his hair. "With shaggy blond hair and big brown eyes and a beautiful mouth like yours." She kissed it and his lips opened to taste her, possess her, gratify her. His hand moved on her stomach, slid lower and made her shiver.

Against her lips he said, "When this one’s born you’ll have a doctor."

"All right, Will," she answered meekly.

He deepened his kiss and his caress until she was forced to remind him, "Will, there are still people going by."

Drawing a tortured breath he released her and said, "Maybe I’d better drive after all. We’ll get there faster." The door slammed behind him and he jogged around the hood while she slid over. As he put the car in reverse he warned, "Hang on to that young one. We don’t want to shake her loose." He backed down the curb, bouncing them a second time, while Elly clutched her stomach and they both laughed.

They drove around the courthouse square and out onto Highway 53, headed southeast. Behind them the sun sank lower. Before them the road climbed out of the valley, lifting them through rolling woodland that soon would burgeon with green. Will rolled down the window and breathed deep of the fresh winter air. He locked his elbows, caught the wheel with his thumbs and thrust his wrists forward, tasting freedom, drinking it like one parched.

Free. And loved. And soon to be a father. And befriended. And accepted-even admired-by a town that sprang to his defense. And all because of one woman.

It overwhelmed Will. She overwhelmed him.

Abruptly he pulled off the highway, bumped along a field access and pulled up behind a clump of leafless willows. In one motion he killed the engine and turned to his wife.

"Come here, green eyes," he whispered, loosening the knot of his tie. Like heat lightning she moved into his embrace. Their lips and breasts met and their tongues, cautious no longer, made reckless sweeps. Crushed together, they healed.

He broke away to hold her head and gaze into her eyes. "I missed you so damn much."

"Not as much as I missed you."

"You cut your hair." He scraped it back with both hands, freeing her face for his adoring gaze.

"So I’d look up-to-date for you."

He scanned her countenance, hairline to chin, and wondered aloud, "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Don’t thank me, Will, I-"

He cut her off with a kiss. As it lengthened they grew breathless, feeling the bond strengthen between them. At last he freed his mouth. "I know everything you did. I know about the honey, and the ads, and the witnesses you found, and the car you had to learn to drive and the town you had to face. But the house, Elly. My God, you faced that house, didn’t you?"

"What else could I do, Will? I had to prove to you that it wasn’t true what you saw on my face the day you were arrested. I never meant it, Will… I…" She began crying. He caught her tears with his lips, moving across her face as if taking sustenance.

"You didn’t have to prove anything to me. I was scared and stubborn and I acted like a fool, just like Miss Beasley said. When you came to visit me the first time I was hurt, and I-I wanted to hurt you back. But I didn’t mean what I said, Elly, honest I didn’t." He kissed her eyes, murmuring softly, "I didn’t mean it, Elly, I’m sorry."

"I know, Will, I know."

Again he held her face, searching her pale eyes. "And when you came the second time, I kept telling myself to apologize but Hess was there listening, so I talked about stupid things instead. Men can be such fools."

"It doesn’t matter now, Will, it doesn’t-"

"I love you." He held her possessively.

"I love you, too."

When they’d held each other a while he said, "Let’s go home."

Home. They pictured it, felt it beckon.

He took a lock of her short brown hair between his fingers, rubbing it. "To the kids, and our own house, and our own bed. I’ve missed it."

She touched his throat and said, "Let’s go."

They drove on home through the purple twilight, through the brown Georgia hills, past cataracts and piney woods and through a quiet town with a library and a magnolia tree and a square where an empty bench awaited two old men and the sunshine. Past a house whose picket fence and morning glories and green shades were gone, replaced by a mowed yard, scraped siding and gleaming windows reflecting a newly risen moon. As they passed it, Elly snuggled close to Will, an arm around his shoulders, her free hand on his thigh.

He turned his head to watch her eyes follow the place as the car pulled abreast of it, then past.

She felt his gaze and lifted her smile to him.

You all right? his eyes asked.

I’m all right, hers answered.

He kissed her nose and linked his fingers with those hanging over his left shoulder.

Content, they continued through the night, to a steep, rocky road that led them past a sourwood tree, into a clearing where blue flowers would soon tap against a skewed white house. Where three children slept-soon to be four. Where a bed waited… and forever waited… and the bees would soon make the honey run again.