Morning Glory (50 page)

“Mr. Parker is innocent, of course,” Miss Beasley stated unequivocally.

“Of course. But that woman came to the library chasin’ him, didn’t she? That’s gonna look bad for him.”

“Hmph! I got a thing or two to tell your lawyer about that!”

“Which lawyer we gettin’?”

“There
is
only one if you want to win. Robert Collins. He has a reputation for winning, and has had since the spring he was nineteen and brought in the wild turkey with the biggest spear and the longest beard taken that season. He hung them on the contest board at Haverty’s drugstore beside two dozen others entered by the oldest and most experienced hunters in Whitney. As I recall, they’d given Robert short shrift, smiling out the sides of their mouths at the idea that a mere boy could outdo any one of them—big talkers, those turkey hunters, always practicing their disgusting gobbles when a girl walked by on the street, then laughing when she jumped half out of her skin. Well, Robert won that year—the prize, as I recall, being a twelve-gauge shotgun donated by the local merchants—and he’s been winning ever since. At Dartmouth where he graduated top in his class. Two years later when he took on an unpopular case and won restitution for a young black boy who lost his legs when he was pushed into the paddlewheel of a gristmill where he worked, by the owner of the mill. The owner was white, and needless to say, an unbiased jury was hard to find. But Robert found one, and made a name for himself. After that he prosecuted a woman from Red Bud who killed her own son with a garden hoe to keep
him from marrying a girl who wasn’t Baptist. Of course, Robert had every Baptist in the county writing him poison pen letters declaring that he was maligning the entire religious sect. The church deacons were on his back, even his own minister—Robert is Baptist himself—because as it turned out, the murderess was a fervent churchgoer who’d almost single-handedly bulldozed the community into scraping up funds for a new stone church after a tornado blew the clapboard one down. A
do-goodah
,” Miss Beasley added disparagingly. “You know the type.” She paused for a brief breath and continued intoning, “In any event, Robert prosecuted her case and won, and ever since, he’s been known as a man who won’t knuckle under to social pressures, a defender of underdogs. An honorable man, Robert Collins.”

Elly recognized him immediately. He was the one who’d come out of chambers in intense conversation with Judge Murdoch on Elly’s wedding day. But she had little opportunity to nurse the memory before becoming distracted by the surprising opening exchange between the lawyer and Miss Beasley.

“Beasley, my secretary said, and I asked myself could it be Gladys Beasley?” He crossed the crowded, cluttered anteroom in an unhurried shuffle, extending a skinny hand.

“It could be and is. Hello, Robert.”

Clasping her hand in both of his, he chuckled, showing yellowed teeth edged with gold in a wrinkled elf’s face surrounded by springy hair the color of old cobwebs. “Forever formal, aren’t you? The only girl in school who called me Robert instead of Bob. Are you still stamping books at the Carnegie Library?”

“I am. Are you still shooting turkeys on the Red Bone Ridge?”

Again he laughed, tipping back, still clasping her hand. “I am. Bagged a twenty-one-pound torn my last time out.”

“With an eleven-inch beard, no doubt, and an inch-long spur, which you hung on the drugstore wall to put the old-timers in their places.”

Once more his laughter punctuated their exchange. “With a memory like that you’d have made a good lawyer.”

“I left that to you though, didn’t I, because girls were not encouraged to take up law in those days.”

“Now, Gladys, don’t tell me you still hold a grudge because I was asked to give the valedictory speech?”

“Not at all. The best man won.” Abruptly she grew serious. “Enough byplay, Robert. I’ve brought you a client, vastly in need of your expert services. I should take it as a personal favor if you’d help her, or more precisely, her husband. This is Eleanor Parker. Eleanor, meet Robert Collins.”

Meeting his handshake with one of her own, Elly inquired, “You got a wife, Mr. Collins?”

“No, I don’t, not anymore. She died a few years back.”

“Oh. Well, then this is for you.”

“For me,” he repeated, pleased, accepting the quart of honey, holding it high.

“And there’s more where that came from, plus milk and pork and chickens and eggs for the duration of this war and without rationing coupons, to go along with whatever money you need to clear Will’s name.”

He laughed again, examining the honey. “Might this be construed as bribery, do you think, Gladys?”

“Construe it any way you like, but try it on a bran muffin. It’s indescribable.”

He turned, carrying the honey into his messy office, inviting, “Come in, both of you, and close the door so we can talk. Mizz Parker, as for my fee, we’ll get to that later after I decide whether or not I can take the case.”

Seated in his office, Elly quickly assured Robert Collins, “Oh, I got money, Mr. Collins, never fear. And I know where I can get more.”

“From me,” put in Miss Beasley.

Elly’s head snapped around. “From you!” she repeated, surprised.

“We’re digressing, Eleanor, on Robert’s valuable time,” returned Miss Beasley didactically. “We’ll discuss it later. Alone.”

It didn’t take fifteen minutes for Robert Collins to ascertain the few facts known by the women and inform them that he’d
be at the jail as soon as possible to talk to Will and make his decision about defending him.

Before that hour was up, Elly herself was standing in Sheriff Goodloe’s office with another jar of honey in her hand. He was deep in conversation with his deputy but looked up as she entered. Straightening, he began, “Now, Elly, I told you at your house you can’t see him till you got a lawyer.”

She set the jar of honey on his desk. “I came to apologize.” She looked him soberly in the eyes. “About an hour ago I called you a piss-ant when actually I’ve always had a fair deal of respect for you. I always meant to thank you for gettin’ me out of that house I grew up in, but this’s the first chance I got.” She gestured toward the honey. “That’s for that. It’s got nothin’ to do with Will, but I want to see him.”

“Elly, I told you—”

“I know what you told me, but I thought about what kind of laws they are that let you lock up a person without letting him explain to people what really happened. I know all about being locked up like that. It ain’t fair, Mr. Goodloe, and you know it. You’re a fair man. You were the only person ever stood up for me when they kept me in that house and let the whole town think I was crazy because of it. Well, I ain’t. The crazy ones are the ones who make laws that keep a wife from seeing her husband when he’s in the pit of despair, which is what my Will is right now. I’m not askin’ you to open his door or put us in a private room. I’m not even askin’ you to leave us alone. All I’m askin’ is what’s fair.”

Goodloe glanced from her to the honey. He plopped tiredly into his chair and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Now, dang it, Elly, I got regulations—”

“Aw, let her talk to him,” the deputy interrupted, fixing a slight smile on Elly. “What’s it gonna hurt?” Sheriff Goodloe swung a glance at the younger man, who shrugged and added, “She’s right and you know it. It’s not fair.” Then, to Elly’s surprise, the younger man came forward, extending a hand. “Remember me? Jimmy Ray Hess. We were in fifth grade together. Speaking of fair, I’m one of those who used to call you names, and if you can apologize, so can I.”

Astounded, she shook his hand.

“Jimmy Ray Hess,” she repeated in wonder. “Well, I’ll be.”

“That’s right.” He proudly thumbed the star on his shirt. “Deputy sheriff of Gordon County now.” In friendly fashion he swung back to his superior. “What d’you say, Reece—can she see him?”

Reece Goodloe succumbed and flapped a hand. “Aw, hell, sometimes I wonder who’s the boss around here. All right, take her in.”

The deputy beamed and led the way from the office. “Come along, Elly, I’ll show you the way.”

Walking along beside Jimmy Ray, Elly felt her faith in mankind restored. She counted those who’d helped her today—Lydia, Miss Beasley, Robert Collins, and now Jimmy Ray Hess.

“Why are you doing this, Jimmy Ray?” she asked.

“Your husband—he was a Marine, wasn’t he?”

“That’s right—First Raiders.”

Jimmy Ray flashed her a crooked grin oozing with latent pride. “Gunnery Sergeant Jimmy Ray Hess, Charlie Company, First Marines, at your service, ma’am.” Giving her a smart salute, he opened the last door leading into the jail. “Third on the left,” he advised, then closed the door, leaving her alone in the corridor fronting a long row of cells.

She had never been in a jail before. It was dank and dismal. It echoed and smelled bad. It dampened the spirits momentarily lifted by Jimmy Ray Hess.

Even before she reached Will her heart hurt. When she saw him, curled on his cot with his back to the bars, it was like looking at herself on her knees in that place, praying forgiveness for something she didn’t do.

“Hello, Will,” she said quietly.

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder, carefully schooling all reaction, then faced the wall again. “I thought they weren’t gonna let you in here.”

Elly felt as if her heart would break. “That what you wanted?” When he refused to answer, she added, “Reckon I know why.”

Will swallowed and stared at the wall, feeling a clot of
emotion fill his throat. “Go on, get out of here. I don’t want you to see me in here.”

“Neither do I, but now that I have, I got some questions need asking.”

Coldly he said to the wall, “Yeah, like did I kill that bitch. Was I carrying on with her.” He laughed mirthlessly, then threw over his shoulder: “Well, you can just go on wondering, because if that’s all the faith you have in me, I don’t need your kind of wife.”

Remorse spread its hot charges through Elly. With it came sudden, stinging tears. “Why didn’t you tell me about her, Will, back when it happened, when she came to the library? If you had, it wouldn’t’ve been such a surprise to me today.”

Abruptly he swung to his feet and confronted her with fists balled and veins standing out sharply on his throat. “I shouldn’t have to tell you I
didn’t
do things! You should know by what I
do do
what kind of man I am! But all you had to hear was one word from that sheriff to think I was guilty, didn’t you? I saw it in your eyes, Elly, so don’t deny it.”

“I won’t,” she whispered, ashamed, while he took up a frenzied pacing, driving a hand through his streaked yellow hair.

“Christ, you’re my wife! Do you know what it did to me when you looked at me that way, like I was some—some murderer?”

She had never seen him angry before, nor so desolate. More than anything she wanted to touch him, reassure him, but he paced back and forth between the side walls like a penned animal, well out of reach. She closed her hand over a black iron bar. “Will, I’m sorry. But I’m human, ain’t I? I make mistakes like anybody else. But I came here to unmake ‘em and to tell you I’m sorry it crossed my mind you coulda done it ‘cause it didn’t take me three minutes after they took you away to realize you couldn’t of. Not you—not my Will.”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Will pinned her with damning brown eyes. His hair stood disheveled. His fists were still knotted as he and Elly faced off, doing silent battle while he fought the urge to rush across the cell and touch her, crush
her hands beneath his on the iron bars, draw from her the sustenance he needed to face the night, and tomorrow, and whatever fight lay ahead. But the hurt within him was still too engulfing. So he returned in a cold, bitter voice, “Yeah, well, you were three minutes too late, Elly, cause I don’t care what you think anymore.” It was a lie which hurt him as badly as it hurt her. He saw the shock riffle across her face and steeled himself against rushing to her with an apology, taking her face between his hands and kissing her between the bars that separated them.

“You don’t mean that, Will,” she whispered through trembling lips.

“Don’t I?” he shot back, telling himself to disregard the tears that made her wide green eyes look bright as dew-kissed grass. “I’ll leave you to go home and wonder, just like I laid here and wondered if
you
meant it!”

For several inescapable seconds, while their hearts thundered, they stared at each other, hurting, loving, fearful. Then she swallowed and dropped her hand from the bar, stepped back and spoke levelly. “All right, Will, I’ll leave if that’s what you want. But first just answer me one question. Who do you think killed her?”

“I don’t know.” He stood like a ramrod, too stubborn to take the one step necessary to end this self-imposed hell.
Don’t go, I didn’t mean it, I don’t know why I said it.
..
oh, God, Elly, I love you so much.

“If you wanna see me, tell Jimmy Ray Hess. He’ll get word to me.”

Only when she was gone did he relent. Tears came as he spun to the wall, pressing fists and forearms high against it, burying his thumb knuckles hard in his eyesockets.
Elly, Elly
—
don’t believe me! I care so much what you think of me that I’d rather be dead than have you see me in this place.

Miss Beasley had obligingly waited in the car. Returning to it, Elly looked pale and shaken.

“What is it, Eleanor?”

Elly stared woodenly out the windshield. “I did Will wrong,” she answered dully.

“Did him wrong? Why, whatever are you talking about?”

“When the sheriff came out to our place and said Lula Peak was dead. You see, it crossed my mind for just a minute that Will might have done it. I didn’t say so, but I didn’t have to. Will saw it in my face, and now he won’t talk to me.” Elly tightened her lips to keep her chin from shaking.

“Won’t talk to you, but—”

“Oh, he yelled some, got it off his chest how much I hurt him. But he stayed clear across the cell and wouldn’t take my hand or smile or anything. He said it didn’t matter to him anymore what I th-think.” She covered her eyes and dropped her head.