Allie's Moon (35 page)

Allie thumped her fist on the arm of her
chair. “Mr. Purdy, if you are going to represent Mr. Hicks, you
cannot stand by and make no effort to spare him from conviction for
a crime he didn’t commit!”

“
I’m curious, Miss Ford, why are you so
concerned with the fate of Jeff Hicks?”

Allie sat back, unprepared for the question.
“Well, h-he worked for me, and I believe he’s a good man.”

“
Forgive me for saying so, but when I
spoke with your sister she indicated that your interest goes
somewhat deeper. She even went so far as to reveal that you can,
shall we say, account for Mr. Hicks’ whereabouts most of the night
before the murder took place.”

Allie felt hot blood rush to her cheeks, and
silently cursed disloyal, loose-tongued Olivia. She could barely
meet Purdy’s pale gaze. What was he suggesting? That some other
kind of inducement from Allie would inspire him to help Jeff?
Gathering her tattered dignity to her, she lifted her chin and met
his eyes squarely, ready to confront whatever she found there.
“Would it help him if I testified to that in court?”

The silence that hung between her question
and his answer told her that they were both thinking of her implied
offer. “It might. But I wouldn’t dream of calling a lady to the
stand to make such a statement.”

“
I believe that’s my decision to
make.”

He shook his head in a paternalistic sort of
way. “It is not your decision at all. It leaps the bounds of
decency to even consider it.”

She let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Then you
must make use of the evidence I already told you about.”

“
Miss Ford, I think it’s pointless to
spend anymore time discussing this.” He gathered a stack of papers
and tapped their edges on the desk, plainly dismissing both her and
the subject.

She would not be told no, she vowed to
herself again. She would do whatever it took to exonerate Jeff. But
what? What could breathe life into this languid, prosaic man? What
was it he wanted? Looking around, it suddenly occurred to her.

“
If it’s a matter of money, I can pay
you.” She had a little in the bank, and if it meant that there
would be less for Olivia, well, that was too bad. Her sister would
have to help pay to undo the horrible wrong she’d committed. “I
understand that you’ve agreed to represent Mr. Hicks for free. It’s
a noble, humanitarian thing you’re doing. Surely, though, you must
have expenses to meet.” She gestured at the office around her, a
grubby little closet on a side street behind the barbershop, barely
large enough to accommodate his rummage-sale furniture and the
chair where Allie sat. The walls were painted a dirty tan, and the
plaster upon them crazed like a dry riverbed during a drought. In
her opinion, if he paid more than two dollars a month rent for this
place, he was being robbed.

Purdy straightened and sat forward, his eyes
sharply focused on her face. “Yes, well, my practice is very new
and I haven’t had the chance yet to establish myself.”

Although Allie’s life had been fairly
sheltered, she was not so unworldly that she didn’t understand what
power the lure of a dollar had. Despairing, but not wanting to
appear so, she threw Purdy another tempting morsel. “I’m sure you
have a bright future ahead of you, especially if you display your
legal talents and help clear Mr. Hicks.”

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his
chair and studied her while he mulled over her suggestion. Pushing
himself away from his desk, he said, “You could very well be right,
Miss Ford. I think we understand each other better than I first
believed. We should make the trip to your farm, right now, while we
still have good daylight.”

~~*~*~*~~

Jeff lay in the darkness counting his
heartbeats between the flashes of lightning and the claps of
thunder. Funny, he couldn’t usually feel his heart unless he’d been
working hard in the sun, or as he had the other night, when he’d
made love with Allie.

But he felt it now thudding in his chest,
just lying here with the storm raging outside. He knew it was
because he was scared. Despite what he’d told Allie about atonement
and a reckoning, he was so scared of tomorrow he wished he could
curl up and hide beneath his bunk.

Royal Purdy had reminded him that Judge John
Cavanaugh usually preferred to dispense with a jury, as was within
his authority, and decide cases himself. He was a fair man, but
stern, with no patience for the follies of humanity. So tomorrow,
the judge would listen to Floyd Endicott and Olivia Ford spin their
lies, and with a stroke of his gavel, he’d find Jefferson Walker
Hicks guilty of murder. And by doing so, he’d bring Jeff to the end
of a long, directionless road he’d set his foot upon two years ago.
The hope for the future that Allie had given him would be thrown
back in his face, because he had no future.

But he was so damned grateful for the time
they’d had, and that he’d known love one more time. Any man in his
right mind would consider himself lucky to have the chance to hold
Allie in his arms, and to have that again was worth facing a whole
courtroom full of Judge Cavanaughs.

Will had told him that no matter what
happened, Jeff had to make a good showing in court, so he’d
accompanied him to the barbershop for a bath and a shave. At least
he’d arranged for it all to take place after closing, but the walk
down there had been torture for Jeff. Decker Prairie had whispered
about him before, but he’d always been too drunk to care. As he’d
followed Will on the sidewalk, he’d been painfully aware of every
pair of eyes on him and his bound wrists, every murmuring voice,
even if he hadn’t been able to hear what was said.

Old Pete Gerard, the barber, had gone to
great lengths to tell Jeff that Floyd was going around town,
telling anyone who’d listen how Jeff had cracked Cooper’s noggin
with that pick and taken from him the best friend a man ever had.
Oh, it was such a sorry tale, and good for lots of free beers at
the Liberal.

For the briefest moment, Jeff had considered
bolting and trying to escape. Even though his hands were shackled,
if he could get away he could worry about freeing them later. But
he’d abandoned the idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind.
Will, the man he’d once called a friend, would have been forced to
shoot him down in the street, right there in front of everyone.
Maybe in front of Allie.

Somehow that had seemed worse than hanging.
Meeting his fate like a man, with his head up, had more dignity
than running away. He owed Allie and his family that much.

So now he lay here, listening to the rain,
counting his heartbeats, and counting the minutes until
morning.

At last, when he couldn’t do that anymore,
and because he could do nothing else, he slowly rolled over on the
bunk, buried his face against his arm, and wept.

~~*~*~*~~

Allie chose her best dress, a French blue
cambric wrapper, and was carefully dressed and ready to leave her
hotel room by seven-thirty the next morning. But court would not
convene at the Liberal Saloon until nine. There was nothing to do
except wait, so she perched on the desk chair and tried to keep her
insides from shaking.

She’d slept little the night before. Most of
her time had been spent pacing in a circle in her room at the
hotel. Flashes of lightning occasionally accompanied the thunder
that seemed to roll in waves from one side of the valley to the
other. Rain, when it came, had fallen in angry, windblown torrents.
The lace curtains billowed into the room like the remains of a
ragged death shroud.

Allie must have gone to the window a hundred
times to look down the darkened street toward the sheriff’s office.
Now she stood and went to the window to look again. Last night’s
storm had passed and the morning had dawned a tender blue. The day
promised to be a warm one. It was too fine a day to ruin a man’s
life, she thought.

Would it work, the plan that she and Royal
Purdy had devised? Could he ask questions that would unravel
Olivia’s seemingly calm self-assurance, and break down Floyd’s web
of lies? He thought he could. She left the window and recommenced
pacing the circle she’d traveled over last night.

As Allie had guessed, the lawyer’s interest
and level of energy directed toward Jeff’s behalf took a giant leap
forward when, upon returning to Decker Prairie from the farm, she’d
stopped at the bank and withdrawn one hundred dollars to pay
him.

After treading her well-worn circuit on the
carpet, Allie glanced at the clock on the nightstand one last time.
Eight-forty-five. Thank God. As she collected her reticule and took
one final look in the mirror, she thought that there was almost
nothing worse than waiting for fate.

Except perhaps meeting it.

~~*~*~*~~

The Liberal Saloon, now temporarily
transformed into a makeshift courtroom, was packed with what seemed
to be every citizen in town. People had come from miles around to
see this grand spectacle of justice. Borrowed chairs and benches
had been pressed into service, and still there were people who
stood along the walls and in the back. Although the doors were left
open, heat was already beginning to build within the saloon’s
confines. Those who couldn’t get a place to sit or stand lingered
on the steps outside. The air was thick with whispering, throat
clearings, the occasional laugh, and murmuring. This was probably
the biggest event in the town’s history and no one wanted to miss
out on it.

Allie was fortunate enough to have secured a
spot just behind the Royal Purdy’s table, which she recognized to
have come from the library. The judge’s bench and the rest of the
furniture, according to a discreet signs attached to them, were
provided courtesy of the furniture display at Wickwire’s. She saw
Olivia on the other side of the room, sitting behind the
prosecutor’s table. She was dressed as impeccably as ever in a
beautiful mint green walking dress, but her face was the color of
plaster. Allie knew she was completely unaccustomed to being in a
crowd this size—certainly, even Allie was. But Olivia had no one to
keep her company, no one familiar to sit next to or chat with.
Allie caught herself beginning to feel sorry for her before she put
a stop to the idea. Olivia, with her own lies, had put herself in
this position.

Farley Wright, whose henhouse Jeff had been
arrested for raiding, leaned against the bar, in deep discussion
with another farmer. Even Lane Smithfield and his father, Elisha,
had taken the time to come into town for this big event.

Floyd Endicott sat on a bench along the wall,
unshaven and in overalls—essentially, looking no different than he
did on any other day.

Allie frequently intercepted a curious stare
from people in the crowd. That was to be expected, she supposed,
but it was still unnerving. And if Olivia had told Royal Purdy
about the night Allie spent with Jeff, there was no reason to
believe that others didn’t know about it now, as well.

There was not one person in this room that
Allie could count as a friend, she realized. Her life had been so
empty and narrow. The one person who had changed that was going on
trial for his life.

Sending up a silent prayer for Jeff’s
deliverance, she interlaced her fingers tightly in her lap and
waited—her stomach was knotted just as tightly.

Finally, after what seemed like an
interminable delay, Jeff was ushered in through the Liberal’s back
door, accompanied by Will Mason. Low, wordless murmuring rolled
through the crowd like the wind moaning through treetops. Allie’s
heart climbed to her throat. Dear God, he looked almost as pale as
Allie felt herself, and yet she’d never seen him so handsome. The
suit that Will had loaned him fit fairly well, showing off his
wide, lean-muscled shoulders. Underneath he wore a clean white
shirt, and a dark tie was knotted at his collar. He stood straight
with his head up and his shoulders back, looking neither right nor
left. He had the appearance of a soldier going into battle—scared
but determined to hide it. Oh, gallant Jeff, she thought, pride
lifting her own chin slightly as she gazed at him.

Will seated him at the table next to Royal
Purdy, and only then did Jeff catch her eye. He sent her a brief,
private smile that she knew was meant for her alone.

“
All rise for the Honorable John
Cavanaugh,” Will said.

A general shuffling of chair legs and light
stamping of shoes on the plank flooring brought everyone to their
feet. The judge, a dignified, white-haired man, entered, followed
by his clerk. All were seated again, and the proceedings
commenced.

The charges against Jeff were read, and
sitting behind him, Allie saw his shoulders rise and fall as they
would if he took a deep breath. Beside him, Royal Purdy, appeared
unconcerned as he scribbled notes on a piece of paper.

Following opening statements, the first
witness was called.

“
Yes, indeed,” Dr. Brewster said, “I
examined the body of Cooper Matthews. I’d say the blow to his head
killed him. The wound appeared to have been made by a slender,
pointed object.”

“
Such as the point of a pick?” Marshall
Hastings asked, taking up a big pick and holding it up for the
physician to examine.

“
Yes, exactly like that.”

“
Let the record show that Dr. Brewster
has indicated the murder weapon. Your witness,” Hastings said to
Purdy.

The pale young lawyer stood, his voice
infused with more authority than Allie had heard yet. “Doctor, in
your learned opinion, could the wound have been caused by another
kind of tool? Say an axe?”

Allie held her breath.

The doctor shook his head. “No, not in my
opinion. The weapon pierced the brain, the sphenoid bone that forms
the bottom of the brain box, and continued all the way through the
roof of the man’s mouth. An axe would have left a bigger hole and
created a much messier injury.” A few distressed moans rippled
through the spectators. “The configuration of the wound indicated
it was inflicted by that kind of weapon, there.” He pointed to the
pick on the evidence table.