Sleeping Beauty (33 page)

Benjamin Gillette always looked as if he'd just gotten off the boat. This was an image he cultivated because it helped him succeed in business. Gillette was tall and heavyset. He sported a mane of white hair and a constant smile and he ate what pleased him.

Though he wore shirt collars and ties when appropriate, he never felt comfortable in them and tugged constantly to keep the stiff fabric away from his fleshy neck.

Oregon's wealthiest businessman had moved to Portland from California in the early 1850s, starting in the mercantile trade, branching into private banking and real estate, and using his California connections to gain control of most of the shipping on the Columbia and Willamette Rivers. It was railroading that captured his fancy now, and a lawsuit involving land in Phoenix had brought Benjamin to Harry Chambers's inn.

If Benjamin Gillette looked as if he had just gotten off the boat, Caleb Barbour looked as if he owned the vessel. He was six feet three inches tall and well proportioned. His wavy black hair and groomed mustache gave him the look of a music hall hero. Barbour had his stylish clothes hand-tailored, he gambled flamboyantly and whored discreetly, and he lived beyond his means. He had acquired this last vice in Georgia, a state from which he had fled just ahead of his creditors. Barbour had arrived in Oregon in 1856 and had quickly established his professional reputation. He had done well enough handling Benjamin Gillette's legal affairs for Gillette to ignore the rumors that his attorney's methods were often questionable.

“Jed,” Gillette called out when the judge entered the room.

“Won't you join us, Judge?” Barbour asked.

There were only two tables in the room, and one was unoccupied. It would have been impossible for Tyler to turn down the invitation, even if he had wanted to.

“Thank you,” the judge said.

“Have you met Miss Hill?” Gillette asked. “We've only just had the pleasure.”

Tyler nodded to the lady. “I'm afraid I haven't had the honor of an introduction.”

“I'm Sharon Hill, Justice Tyler, and I'm most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

There was a throaty quality to Hill's voice, and the hand she extended was as smooth and delicate.

“Miss Hill has been regaling us with the story of your exploits with the lynch mob,” Barbour said.

“Yes, tell us about the lynching,” Gillette said.

“I hope that Miss Hill hasn't made too much of it,” Tyler answered. “This fellow Lukens is accused of stealing. I simply made certain that his fate would be decided in a court of law.”

“You're far too modest, sir.” Sharon Hill said. “The man would be dead now were it not for you.”

Tyler shrugged. Then he turned to Barbour. “That reminds me. I've asked Matthew Penny to defend Lukens, but I have no one to prosecute. What about you, Caleb?”

“If you think I can be of some help,” Barbour answered. “I've seen no one else,” Tyler answered gruffly.

Barbour reddened briefly before regaining his composure.

“If I'm to prosecute, I'll need to know the names of the witnesses,” he said stiffly.

“Talk to Harry Chambers,” the judge answered. “I know nothing about the case.”

“You might also talk to me,” said Miss Hill, “since I am the victim of that despicable man.”

CHAPTER 4

A
session of court was great entertainment in Phoenix, where nothing much happened most of the year. There were no courthouses in any Oregon county in 1860, so court was held in the interior of Harry Chambers's inn in winter and in the field adjoining it in summer. On the morning of Clyde Lukens's trial, court convened under a bright sun and clear blue sky. A welcome breeze had chased away the sticky heat of the past few days, leaving the spectators, who were sprawled on their blankets in the grass, in a festive mood. Justice Tyler sat in the shade provided by the oak tree at a table that had been carried over from the inn. On Tyler's left was a chair for witnesses. The jurors had been picked from the spectators gathered in the field, and they sat perpendicular to the chair from which the witnesses testified in an improvised jury box composed of two rows of chairs.

Two more tables had been set up in front of the judge. At one of them sat Clyde Lukens and Matthew Penny. At the prosecution table sat the dapper Caleb Barbour, who was continuing his examination of Harry Chambers.

“When did you first learn that Miss Hill had been robbed?” Barbour asked the nervous witness.

“After she ate breakfast. She went up to her room. A few minutes later, she came down all upset and told me that someone had stolen her money.”

“Did she suggest who the culprit might be?” “Him,” Chambers said. “Clyde Lukens.”

An angry murmur passed through the crowd. Tyler was tempted to rap the butt of his pistol on the table to restore order, but he stayed his hand because of the tiny smile of satisfaction that played on the corners of Sharon Hill's lips. The state's star witness was sitting on a chair that the judge had ordered for her. Even in the plain dress she had chosen for her court appearance, she radiated sexuality, and the judge had to fight to keep from looking her way while Chambers was testifying.

“What did you do after speaking to Miss Hill?” Barbour asked. “I brought her and a few men to Lukens's room and told him what Miss Hill had said.” “How did he react?”

“Well, his eyes got real big. Then he turned red and started yelling.”

“What did he yell?”

Chambers looked embarrassed, and he turned to the judge. “Do I have to say the words, Judge? They're sort of rough.”

“We're in court, and we must have the truth, no matter how rough it may be,” Tyler told him.

Chambers took a breath and turned back to Barbour. “He was screaming at Miss Hill. He called her a Jezebel, and, well, he said she was a whore.”

Angry conversations could be heard in the field. Tyler rapped his pistol and ordered the crowd to pipe down.

“Did you have to restrain Mr. Lukens?” Barbour asked.

“Yes, sir, or he would have done Miss Hill harm. He was wild.”

“How did Miss Hill react to this assault?”

“She was as calm as can be.”

“Like someone with a clear conscience?” Barbour asked. “Objection,” Matthew said.

“Sustained,” Tyler ruled.

“What did you do after subduing Mr. Lukens?” Barbour continued.

“We searched his room.”

“And what did you find?”

“The two hundred dollars Miss Hill said was missing. It was rolled up in his socks with seventy-five more dollars.”

“What did Mr. Lukens say to that?”

“He said all the money was his.”

“Really? Did he explain how Miss Hill would know that he had this money concealed in his room?”

Harry looked at Sharon Hill apologetically. She beamed a comforting smile at him.

“Well, Mr. Chambers?” Barbour said.

“He, uh, well, he said he told her about the money the evening before.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Barbour said.

“Your witness, Mr. Penny,” the judge said.

“Where did Mr. Lukens say he told Miss Hill about the money?” Matthew asked.

“In . . . In her room.”

“Did Mr. Lukens give an explanation for his presence in the room of an unmarried woman?”

“Uh, yes, sir, he did.”

“Enlighten us, please.”

Chambers cast an anguished look at Sharon Hill. “He . . . he said, uh, that he'd spent part of the evening there.”

There was angry whispering in the crowd, and Miss Hill's eyes blazed with indignation.

“Objection, Your Honor,” Caleb Barbour shouted.

“Mr. Barbour opened the door to this line of questioning,” Matthew replied.

“Tread softly, Mr. Penny,” the judge warned in a low and threatening voice. “The objection is overruled, but if you sully the reputation of this young woman without cause, I will deal with you and the defendant.”

“I assure the court that there is a valid reason for my inquiry,” Matthew said.

“Mr. Chambers, why did Mr. Lukens claim he was in Miss Hill's room?” Matthew asked the witness.

“He said that she agreed to . . . to, er, be with him for money.”

“To prostitute herself?”

Chambers nodded.

“No further questions,” Matthew said as he reclaimed his seat.

Barbour jumped to his feet with a theatrical flourish. “We will clear up these scandalous allegations quickly. I call Miss Hill.”

Sharon Hill walked to the stand with her head high and her back straight.

“Do you swear by Almighty God that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Justice Tyler asked when she placed her hand on the Bible.

“I do,” she answered forcefully.

“Please take the witness stand, Miss Hill. Mr. Barbour, you may proceed.”

“What is your full name?” Barbour asked.

“Sharon May Hill.”

“And where are you from?”

“San Francisco.”

“Please tell the jury where you're headed.”

“Portland.”

“Were you traveling by coach when you arrived in Phoenix?”

“I was.”

“You told Mr. Chambers that the defendant stole two hundred dollars from you. How did he come to learn that you were carrying this sum of money?”

Sharon Hill turned to the all-male jury. The eyes that had stared at Clyde Lukens with such malevolence were now soft, limpid pools that threatened to overflow with tears.

“I was seated opposite that . . . that man in the coach during the trip to Phoenix. At one point I searched my purse for a comb. We hit a rut. The coach bounced, and I lost my grip on my bag. The contents spilled on the floor, and he handed back my roll of bills.”

“Did he say anything about the money?” Barbour asked.

“No, but he held it longer than necessary, and I thought that he eyed it with evil intent.”

“Objection as to Mr. Lukens's intent and move to strike,” Matthew said.

“Yes, Miss Hill, don't guess at what the defendant may have been thinking,” Tyler said, his tone gentle, as if he were reprimanding a favorite niece for a silly, but minor, infraction.

“I'm sorry, Your Honor.”

“Did anyone at the inn besides the defendant know that you had this money in your possession when you arrived in Phoenix?” Barbour asked.

“Not to my knowledge, and we were the only passengers.”

“When was the last time you saw your money?”

“When I placed it in my chest of drawers on the evening we arrived. I realized it was missing in the morning when I went to my room after breakfast.”

“Did you ever see the defendant in your room, Miss Hill?”

The witness seemed uncertain. “This may appear foolish, and I wish to be fair.”

“Just tell the unvarnished truth,” Barbour prodded gently. “Well, I believe I saw Mr. Lukens in my room, but . . . This is confusing.”

“Take your time,” Justice Tyler said protectively.

“Thank you, Your Honor. I was exhausted by the long coach ride, and I fell into a deep sleep after dinner. At one point I had what I believed to be a dream. In that dream I saw Mr. Lukens closing the door to my room. I now believe that I actually saw him leaving my room, but was so tired that I fell back asleep and thought I'd dreamed it.”

Barbour pointed at Clyde Lukens with contempt. “This
gentleman
has claimed that he was in your room for—and I beg your pardon for asking this—immoral purposes. Is that true?”

“Certainly not!”

“Except for his possible nighttime incursion, was Mr. Lukens ever in your room to your knowledge?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Hill. I have no further questions, Your Honor.” Matthew walked to the witness stand and stood inches from Sharon Hill.

“You concede that Mr. Lukens's intrusion into your room may simply have been a dream?” he asked.

“Well, yes, Mr. Penny.” Hill paused and furrowed her brow as if genuinely perplexed. “But how then did he come by my money?”

“Honestly, if it was his own,” Matthew responded.

“Objection,” Barbour called out. “Mr. Penny is testifying, and he's implying that Miss Hill is a liar.”

“Sustained,” Tyler snapped.

Matthew knew that Hill had gotten the best of him. Even worse, a quick scan of the jurors' faces showed quite clearly where their sympathies lay. Matthew decided to change his tactics.

“Miss Hill, why are you going to Portland?”

Hill seemed flustered for a moment, but she recovered quickly.

“I'm looking into business opportunities.”

“What type of business?”

“Whatever presents itself. I'm keeping an open mind. A shop, perhaps.”

“And you planned to finance the business with the two hundred dollars?”

“It's all I have in the world.”

“Please tell the jury how you—a single woman—came by such a large sum of money.”

Hill's composure broke, and Matthew was certain he had her. But when she spoke, he knew that Clyde Lukens was doomed.

“An inheritance from my father. He passed away, and I . . .” Her voice caught, and she fetched a handkerchief from her purse.

“I'm sorry,” Hill said as she dabbed at her eyes.

“Would you like some water?” Tyler asked solicitously, reaching for a pitcher Harry Chambers had provided for the judge.

“No, I'm fine. It's just that I am only recently alone in the world.”

“Mr. Penny, I suggest you pursue another line of questioning,” the judge said. Matthew heard angry whispers in the crowd and sympathetic murmurs from the jury box. He knew he was defeated.

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Matthew said as he took his seat.

“The state rests,” Caleb Barbour proclaimed before gallantly assisting Sharon Hill from the witness stand.