A Time to Love (20 page)

Blake’s heart kicked in his chest, and his knees went watery. Rice took hold of his arm to steady him as a collective moan swept through the crowd.

Haman put his hands to his face and shook his head as if he were shocked and upset.

Reluctantly, Judge Blevins said, “Mr. Barrett, you have been found guilty of grand theft, which carries a penalty of not more than twenty years, and not less than fifteen years in prison. By the authority invested in me, I hereby sentence you to fifteen years at the California prison facility at Ukiah.”

The gavel banged the desk, and Blevins said, “This court is adjourned.”

Rice gripped Blake’s shoulders. Through clenched teeth he said, “Blake, I cannot believe the boundless inhumanity inflicted by some human beings upon others. Why would someone in your bank do a thing like this to you?”

“I have no idea,” Blake said. “Maybe … maybe it’s not someone in the bank, even though everything points that way. Maybe the guilty party was smart enough to make it look like that, but he’s really an outsider.”

“I don’t know how,” Rice said dejectedly.

Sheriff Perkins stepped up behind them. “Blake, it just so happens there are two federal marshals here on their way to Ukiah. They arrived in town last night. Knowing you would probably be convicted, I asked them to wait till the trial was over, so if you did get convicted, they could take you with them. I’m turning you over to them, and they need to leave right away.”

Blake glanced at the two federal men, who stood within earshot, looking on. They nodded to him.

Pastor Clarke was directly behind Perkins. He moved up and said, “Sheriff, I’d like a few minutes alone with Blake.”

“Sorry, Pastor, but these men have to be in Ukiah by nightfall. As you know, it’s almost a hundred miles, and they’re on horseback. They’ve got to leave now.”

Tears filmed Pastor Clarke’s eyes as he gripped Blake’s hand. “A great injustice has been done here,” he said. “But don’t give up. Hang on to Romans 8:28 and remember that the church will be praying for you. God knows who the real thief is, and we’ll be praying that God will bring him to light.”

“Pastor, I hate to interrupt,” said the sheriff, “but Blake has to go.”

Haman crowded in. “Blake,” he said, “this is so horrible! I’m so sorry this has happened. I’ll take good care of the bank, and when you get out of prison in fifteen years, I’ll give it back to you.”

Blake nodded, feeling numb all over. “Haman, I’ll need you to sell the house for me. Just put the proceeds in an account in my name, will you?”

“I have a better idea. How about I just live in the house till you get out of prison, then you’ll still have it. All your belongings will still be here.”

“I … I hadn’t thought of that. You sure you want to do that?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

“Let me hear from you now and then.”

“I will. And I’ll get up there to see you, too.”

Blake thought of Linda. Turning to Perkins, he said, “Sheriff, before I go with the marshals, I need to send a wire to someone back east.”

One of the marshals stepped up and said, “We can’t wait for that, Mr. Barrett. We’ve got a horse out here for you to ride, and we’ve got to leave right now.”

“Then can I send a wire from the prison, Marshal—”

“Adams. Roy Adams. My partner over there is Marshal Jack Plummer. And, no, they don’t allow prisoners to send wires from the
prison. You can’t even send a letter from the prison till you’ve been there on good behavior for six months. But you can receive mail right away. C’mon. Let’s go. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Panic rose in Blake. He couldn’t let Linda come to Sacramento and then find out he was in prison. She must be told before she climbed aboard that train. “Marshal Adams, I need a few minutes to talk to my friend here.” He pointed to Haman with his jaw. “Please. I must send a wire to someone in the East. I’ll have him do it for me.”

“We have to get going,” said Adams.

“Five minutes? Would you grant me five minutes?”

Adams looked to his partner.

Jack Plummer shrugged. “Sure. Let’s give him five minutes.” “Thanks,” said Blake.

“But only five,” said Adams.

While the sheriff, the two federal men, and the pastor looked on, Blake and Haman moved into a corner out of earshot.

Keeping his voice low, Blake said, “Haman, I’m going to tell you about something I haven’t even shared with my pastor.”

Haman’s curiosity rose. “What is it?” he said in a low tone.

Blake quickly explained to Haman about Linda Forrest coming from Boston to become his mail order bride.

“She’s supposed to board the train in just a few days,” Blake said. “I need you to wire her immediately and explain what has happened. Tell her I’m innocent but I couldn’t prove it.”

Haman took a pencil from his shirt pocket and a small envelope from his suit coat pocket. “What’s her address?”

Blake told him Linda’s address and repeated it to make sure Haman had gotten it right, then said, “Tell her where the prison is, and ask her to write me. Explain that I won’t be able to respond for six months, but I want to know how she’s doing. Tell her I love her, Haman, with all my heart.”

Haman wondered how Blake could say that when he hadn’t even met her, but he said, “Will do, my friend.”

“Time’s up!” Roy Adams called. “Let’s go, Barrett.”

A crowd of people stood outside the courthouse and watched the two deputies escort Blake to a waiting horse. Pastor Clarke, Haman Warner, and Sheriff Perkins followed.

Blake was handcuffed before the marshals boosted him up into the saddle. As they rode away, he looked over his shoulder several times. The crowd called out to him, telling him they knew he was innocent. Tears filled Blake’s eyes as Pastor Clarke and Haman waved to him.

Brokenhearted, but trying to cling to Romans 8:28, Blake straightened in the saddle as Sacramento’s Main Street passed from view. When they reached the edge of town, the marshals put the horses to a gallop with Blake’s horse between them.

A few stars were twinkling in the sky overhead as the three men rode up to the gate of Ukiah prison. Blake gazed at the deeply shadowed, somber walls and said in his heart,
Lord, how could a thing like this happen to me? What purpose could You have in letting me be locked up in this place for fifteen years? Help me, Lord. Help my faith not to waver.

The U.S. Marshals ushered Blake inside the prison and turned him over to Daryl Watkins, who was the chief guard on the night shift. They handed Watkins the papers on Blake that had been given to them by Sheriff Perkins, then bid Watkins good night.

Watkins sat Blake down in a small office, made records from the papers, then provided him with prison clothing. Blake’s stomach turned over at the thought of wearing the drab clothes marked
Ukiah State Prison.

Watkins went over the prison rules and daily schedule with Blake and warned him to obey the rules at all times. He was told he would be put on a chain gang within a day or two, and it would be in his own best interest if he worked hard and gave the guards no trouble.

“Now, there’s one more rule here, Barrett. That’s the talking rule.”

Blake waited for him to proceed.

“The cells have solid walls between them. You will not be able to see the inmates on either side of you. The only way to talk to them is
through the bars on your cell door. But don’t. There’s no talking between inmates except the one who shares your cell. It so happens that right now you won’t have a cell mate. Talking between inmates is allowed only at meals. When you go on the chain gang, you’re not allowed to say a word to anyone but the guards. Do you understand?”

“You’ve made it plain enough,” said Blake.

“All right, let’s get you to your cell.”

While they were walking through the cell blocks, Watkins said, “Sometime tomorrow, you’ll be brought to Warden Hall’s office. He always meets with each new inmate for a little discussion. He’s a very gruff man, and tougher than harness leather. Just smile and call him sir, and you’ll get through it all right.”

The next morning, just after breakfast, Blake was escorted to the warden’s office. Warden Clarence Hall was indeed as tough as Daryl Watkins had told him, if not tougher. He did not like convicts and was ready to discipline severely any man who got out of line. Blake remembered his “sirs” and did well with the warden, but he was glad when the discussion was over.

As the guard walked him back to his cell, Blake asked if he could have a Bible. They stopped off at a storeroom, and Blake carried his new Bible to the cell with him. He was told that he was now scheduled to go on the chain gang in four days.

For two days Blake spent most of his time praying and reading his Bible. In tears, he asked God why this horrible thing had to happen to him. He prayed for an increase in faith, asking the Lord to help him not to doubt His goodness or His Word. He also prayed for Linda, imploring God to take care of her and to guide her in the direction He would have her to go, now that Blake had been removed from her life.

On the afternoon of the third day, Blake was sitting on his cot reading his Bible when two guards appeared at the cell door with a prisoner between them.

“Got a cell mate for you, Barrett.”

“There you go, Huffman,” said one of the guards, giving him a gentle shove into the cell.

Before closing the door and locking it, the guard with the key said, “Barrett, you might try to get along with Huffman here. He’s in for murder. Gonna hang in exactly a week. You see, we don’t have a death row in this prison, so we have to put the condemned men in with those who are just doing time. Don’t irritate him. He might try to murder you, too.”

The door slammed shut and the key turned in the lock.

Huffman stood at the bars, watching the guards walk down the corridor. When their footsteps had died out, he turned around to find his cell mate standing behind him. Blake put out his right hand and said with a smile, “I’m Blake Barrett.”

“Larry Huffman,” said the new inmate, meeting his grip. “How long you in for?”

“Fifteen years. I’ve only been here three days.”

“What’d you do?”

Blake sighed. “Why don’t we sit down?” He sat on his cot, and Larry eased onto his.

“I’ve been told,” said Blake, “that there are few guilty men in prison—according to them. They were framed, or the arresting lawman had it in for them.”

“Yeah. That’s what I hear,” said Huffman.

“Well, I really am innocent.”

Huffman looked at him intently, then said, “I’d like to hear your story.”

“Okay, but if you get bored at any spot, just say so, and I’ll shut up.”

“Shoot.”

When Blake had finished his story, Huffman said, “You know what, Blake? I believe you. There’s a clean-cut look about you, and there’s something in your eyes that tells me you didn’t steal that money.”

“Thanks. I wish the jury had been as kind as you.”

There was a silent moment, then Huffman said, “I know you’ve got to be curious about who I murdered and why.”

“Yes, but I really don’t have to know anything about it, Larry.”

“Might as well. You’ve got to live in this cell with me for a week. I’m not innocent, Blake. I planned very carefully to kill the man I murdered, and I did it as planned.”

“I see.” Blake’s features paled a bit.

“The man’s name was Melvin Packman. He was a burglar.”

Blake nodded.

“What happened … Packman broke into my widowed mother’s house one evening when she was visiting some neighbors down the street. He about had his bag full when she walked in and caught him in the act. When she tried to run, he grabbed her and strangled her to death.”

Blake’s features twisted. “Oh, how awful!”

“I won’t go into the details of it,” Huffman said, “but the law caught him. He was brought to trial. But—“Huffman choked up for a moment. “But he got off on a technicality. Because of some quirk in the circumstances of his arrest that came out in the trial, the judge declared a mistrial and set him free. That was more than I could take. I went after him to exact my own justice. And I did. I got my hands on him and strangled him to death, just like he did my poor mother.”

Blake pondered Huffman’s story and studied his face. “Are you glad now that you killed Packman?”

Larry scrubbed a palm across his mouth and said, “No. I didn’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. And on top of that, killing him didn’t bring Mom back. And now they’re gonna hang me.”

“It wasn’t worth getting your own justice, was it?”

“No. And I’m scared, Blake. I’m scared to die. I’m afraid of what lies out there beyond my last breath.”

Forgetting his own heartaches and problems, Blake said, “Larry, do you believe this Book is the Word of God?” He picked up his Bible from a small table.

Larry had not noticed it before. He bit down on his lower lip and nodded. “Yes. I have no doubt about that. I know it says there’s a burning
hell out there for murderers like Melvin Packman and … and Larry Huffman.”

“Yes, and for all other kinds of sinners who die in their sins. I can help you lose your fear of dying, Larry, if you’ll let me.”

An ecstatic Haman Warner walked out of the law offices of Laymon, Studdard, and Griswold. The briefcase in his hand held the papers that declared him owner of the Pacific Bank and Trust Company. He now had exactly what he had gone after. Blake Barrett was behind bars, and the will left by Bradley Barrett had made Haman Warner a millionaire.

The very same day, Haman moved into the Barrett house. He took over the master bedroom and closet, stuffing Blake’s clothes in a closet in a bedroom down the hall. One day, when he had time, he would burn Blake’s clothes.

He rearranged the furniture in the house to suit himself and went through cabinets, dressers, and chests of drawers to see if he could find anything of value. While he was pawing through a drawer that held some nice pieces of jewelry, he thought of Blake’s personal bank account. He had taken a look at the account that morning and found it quite sizable. He was trying to figure a way to get that money in his own hands but couldn’t come up with a surefire plan. He would think on it some more.