Jacob's Way (28 page)

“I'm sorry for the way my husband answered you. If it were up to me, I would do anything—but he's my husband. You must believe he's an honorable man, but he has a blindness about Ben. I've been praying for years that he would open his arms and take our son back. And I believe that he will yet.”

Reisa warmed to Mrs. Driver. “I hope so. Ben's a fine man.”

“Now let me tell you what you must do,” Marianne said, her voice low. “It's possible that we can help Ben, but I must not be involved. There's a man in town called Colonel Randolph Fisher. He's a lawyer, and he was Ben's commanding officer in the war. He's always had a great heart for men that served under him. He's helped many of them. I want you to go to Colonel Fisher and tell him that he must defend Ben. Tell him I will pay his fees, but he must get Ben free. Can you do that?”

Hope came to Reisa then, and she smiled. “Ben has a good mother,” she said simply. “I lost my own mother when I was very young, but I'm glad that Ben has you.”

Tears came to Mrs. Driver's face. To Reisa's amazement, the older woman suddenly reached out and embraced her. “Help my son all you can, Reisa,” she whispered. “Help him.”

“There's a young woman to see you, Colonel Fisher.”

Colonel Randolph Fisher looked up from the papers he was examining. His clerk, William Dokes, stood just inside his library entryway.

“A young woman?” Fisher barked. “What's her name? What does she want?”

“She's a foreigner, Colonel. She speaks with an accent. Her name is Dimitri. Rita Dimitri, I think. She wouldn't say what she wanted.”

Colonel Fisher straightened his already military-straight back. At the age of sixty-three, he was vigorous and put in longer hours than most men half his age. He shook his head. “Well, I don't have time for her.”

The clerk hesitated. “I think you might want to see her,” he said cautiously.

“Why do you think that, Dokes?” Fisher stroked his neatly clipped beard.

“Well, she's very demanding for one thing, and she's dressed like a foreigner with a handkerchief over her head, but she's a good-looking woman. I can't imagine what she wants, but whatever it is, I think it would be interesting.”

Fisher leaned back at his desk and smiled. “Good-looking, you say?”

“Very attractive, Colonel.”

“Well, send her in. I'm tired of looking at your ugly face.”

Dokes smiled. “Yes, sir. I'll send her right in.”

Getting up from his chair, Fisher moved around the desk. And when the young woman was ushered in by Dokes, he thought,
Well, Dokes was right for once.
He advanced, saying, “My name is Randolph Fisher. I believe your name is Dimitri.”

“Yes. Reisa Dimitri, Colonel.”

“Not a colonel any longer. Sit down, Miss Dimitri, and tell me what this is all about.”

Ten minutes later Fisher had the entire story. He was an expert at extracting information, and he found out very quickly that it was Marianne Driver who had sent the girl and offered to pay his fees. He did not ask about John Driver, for the two were friends. He knew that Driver had a blind spot about his son. It was a matter that Fisher had once spoken to Driver about and had been rebuffed rather harshly.

“And so,” Reisa said, “Mrs. Driver said you could help. I wish you would, sir.”

“Your name is Rita Dimitri?”

“No, sir. Reisa. R-E-I-S-A.”

“Is that Russian?”

“Oh, no. That's Yiddish. It means ‘rose.'”

“Well, that's a well-chosen name. Now, Miss Dimitri, I want you to go to Ben and tell him that I'll be handling his case in court. Try to encourage him all you can. Tell him I'll be by to see him late this afternoon.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Fisher!” Reisa stood at once and came over, offering her hand as a man would. Her eyes danced, and her lips were caught up in a smile. She was, indeed, a beautiful young woman, and unusual to say the least. “I'll go now and tell Ben.”

Fisher watched her run out of the room leaving the door wide open, then turned to the window. He waited until she came rushing out of the building holding her skirts and running directly toward the location of the jail.

“Well, was she interesting, Colonel?” Dokes spoke from behind him.

Fisher turned and nodded at his clerk. “Very interesting. I'm taking Ben Driver's case.”

“Not much money in that,” Dokes remarked.

“No. But a great deal of enjoyment. They're trying to do one of my boys in, Dokes. I won't stand for it!”

“No. I don't think you will, Colonel. Do you want me to get all the facts?”

“Yes. Turn over all the rocks you can and see what falls out.”

“Yes, Colonel. I'll see to it.”

Fisher suddenly laughed aloud. “I was going to take Ben's case anyway. I've been waiting for his father to come to me, but apparently he won't do that. It's good to know, though, that his mother still believes in him.”

Ben had been lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, and when he heard the outer door unlock he did not move. It was not time for a meal, and he was not hungry anyway. But when he heard a voice say “Ben,” at once he swung his feet over the bunk and came to his feet.

“Reisa!” he said, going over to the cell door. He grasped the bars. Staring at her, he said, “What are you doing here?”

“I've been to see your old commander, Colonel Fisher. He's going to defend you, Ben.”

Driver blinked with surprise. “Why, I don't have the money to pay him! He's a high-priced lawyer.”

“That's all taken care of.”

“You can't use your money for this. I'm going to be convicted anyway.”

“No, you're not. Colonel Fisher says he's going to get you off, and I believe he's a man who does what he says he will do.”

“You're right about that,” Ben murmured. “But you can't spend your money. You've got to make a living.”

“It's not my money. Your mother agreed to pay for it.”

Driver's jaw dropped. “How did she happen to do that?”

“Don't be angry with me, Ben, but—I went to see them.”

“You went to my parents' house?”

“Yes. I've been so worried about you. So I talked to your mother—”

“And did you talk to my father? You didn't get a welcome there, I don't guess.”

Reisa tried to think of some gentle way of putting it, but nothing came to her. “No, he wasn't willing. But your mother was,” she said quickly. “She sent me to see Colonel Fisher and to tell him she would take care of his fee, and I did.”

Ben had been severely depressed, knowing he would likely end up back at the penitentiary. Now he could not speak for a moment. Finally he reached out and put his hand on Reisa's cheek. It was smooth and warm, and at his touch he saw her eyes suddenly grow large. “Thanks, Reisa,” he whispered huskily.

Reisa did not move. Instead, she reached up and put her hand over his, holding it tightly against her face. “It'll be all right, Ben. You'll see. Everything will be all right!”

A week later, Ben's trial was held in the Richmond Township courthouse. The courtroom itself was large, its high ceiling painted white. Every one of the oak benches was packed, for Ben Driver had been well known in the county.

“Third Federal District Court, Richmond Township, Judge Marion Bell presiding. All rise!”

Reisa quickly got to her feet and glanced at the judge who had come in from a door behind the platform at the front of the courtroom. She searched his face anxiously and saw nothing there to reassure her. He was a cold-eyed man of some fifty years, and the black robe that he wore made him look even more sinister.

“That there's a hangin' judge,” Sam whispered as he stood beside her. “But we ain't gonna worry.”

“Be seated!”

As they settled themselves into their seats, Reisa felt the pressure of Marianne Driver's arm touching hers. She turned and gave the woman a smile and thought again how very much she liked Ben's mother.

Glancing to her right, Reisa saw Ben sitting at a table with Colonel Fisher. He turned his head suddenly, and their eyes met. She smiled reassuringly and nodded. He returned the nod.

The judge said, “The case of the State against Benjamin Driver. Assault with a deadly weapon. Is the prosecution ready?”

A small man wearing a buff suit, a white shirt, and a string tie leaped to his feet. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Then you may proceed. I want this case over with as quickly as possible, Mr. Danvers.”

The district attorney, Tyler Danvers, reminded Reisa of a small feisty dog. He was no more than five feet six inches tall and smallboned. He moved, however, very quickly, and seemingly every nerve in his body was connected with his vocal organs. Whenever he spoke he had to be moving and twitching in some area—his legs, his feet, his torso, or his head. Now he went quickly to stand before the jury and said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is a simple case. It will not occupy a great deal of your time. The facts are very simple. Benjamin Driver, a former convict—”

“Objection!”

“Objection overruled, Mr. Fisher.”

Danvers smiled at Fisher. “My worthy opponent would like for you to ignore the fact that the defendant, Ben Driver, is a convict. He would also like you to ignore the fact that he was sent to prison for armed robbery. So we have here a man who is capable of violence. The State will prove, therefore, that Ben Driver maliciously and without cause struck Mr. Alfred DeSpain, causing serious injury. Such a man as this is unfit to have his freedom. We will ask that you convict the defendant of this charge and have him returned to the state penitentiary.”

Reisa knew absolutely nothing about courts of law. There was something frightening about the courtroom scene—as if a giant machine were in operation and nothing could stop it. From time to time she would look for reassurance to Marianne Driver or towards Sam, but she knew that Ben's fate lay in the hands of Colonel Fisher—and Judge Bell.

The prosecution called its first witness, Mr. Honey Fears.

“Mr. Honey Fears, will you please take the stand.”

Fears, dressed neatly for once in a blue shirt and a pair of wool trousers, rose and took the stand. He put his hand gingerly on the Bible that the officer of the court held, took his oath to tell the truth, and then sat down.

“Mr. Fears, will you tell the court where you were on the afternoon of September the twenty-nine. That's last Thursday.”

“I was at the doin's at the festival,” Fears said. He had slicked his hair back with some kind of grease and shaved his beard, but still he was a brutal-looking man.

“And, Mr. Fears, after the shooting contest—will you describe what you saw for the jury?”

“I seen him, Ben Driver, hit Alf DeSpain with a rifle. Like to have killed him, he did.”

“And what provocation did he have?”

“What's that mean?”

“Why did Ben Driver hit Alfred DeSpain?”