The Just And The Unjust (34 page)

The girls and their parents were in the second bench; and beyond them, in the corner, sat Adelaide Maurer looking at her pencils. The door opened, and Theodore Bosenbury, the deputy clerk of Quarter Sessions, a stout ageing man with a white moustache, entered in a hurry. John Costigan, who followed him, strolled up and sat down at Abner's table. The door opened again and admitted Jesse Gearhart, carrying a wet umbrella. He glanced around, tiptoed past the minister and the Wrights, and seated himself at the far end of the front bench.

When his name was called, Field had arisen, and Abner walked over to him. Field looked haggard and ill. Beside him, Warren Lyall cast his eyes down, examining his own muscular hands with a decorous professional indifference. He was the instrument of the law, with his duty to do, which was to have ready the body of his (or Hugh Erskine's) prisoner. Warren did not let the rest of it concern him; partly because everything that could be said or done was now an old story to him; and partly because an impersonal, disinterested manner saved trouble. A prisoner could not help seeing that to argue with disinterestedness would be absurd, and to appeal to impersonality, useless.

'Sam,' said Abner as gently as he could, 'I have here indictments charging you with assault and battery on Mary Beach, Nina Friedman, and — er — Helen Hartshorn. How do you plead to them, guilty or not guilty?'

'Guilty,' said Field, in a very low voice.

'All right; if you'll just sit down, please.'

Turning, Abner said, 'I'll call John Costigan, your Honour.' Bending over his own table, Abner took a pen and began to endorse the pleas on the back of the three bills. Theodore Bosenbury said, 'John Costigan sworn,' closed his Bible and sat down under the bench. 'Mr. Costigan,' Abner said, still writing, 'what is your occupation?'

'County detective.'

'And do you know the defendant, Samuel Field?'

'Yes, sir, I do.'

'Well, will you just tell us what part you played in this case?'

'Yes, sir. Last evening at' —he looked at his notebook — 'six-forty-five o'clock I received a call —'

Jesse Gearhart, down in the corner of the front row, and half hidden from Abner by the empty chairs of the jury box, held his chin in his hand, leaning forward slightly. His pallid immobile face seemed even tireder than last night, as though sleep did not rest him. Abner looked on to the girls and their parents. Mary Beach he recognized at once from the photographs. The girl seated between Leon Friedman and the dark woman was obviously Nina. The other, the Hartshorn girl, it seemed to Abner he had seen somewhere, though without knowing her name. Her father, next to her, was, by his appearance, a farmer. He had a strong, blunt, determined face. His little worn anxious wife in a shabby hat sat on the other side. Abner's gaze encountered Adelaide Maurer's, and she lifted one eyebrow and smiled faintly.

To Costigan, Abner said, 'And after that you were present at the hearing at the justice of the peace's office?'

'Yes, sir.'

'All right. I think that's all. Unless your Honour has some questions?'

'I don't think that Mr. Costigan explained what the purpose of the search in Mr. Field's office at the school was.'

'Why, we —' Costigan began.

'I think, sir,' Abner interposed, 'it was thought that some evidence of Mr. Field's activities might be found.'

'Oh,' said Judge Irwin. 'Yes. Yes. That will be all, Mr. Costigan.'

'Mary Beach,' said Abner. 'Will you take the stand, please?' She came down with composure, perhaps to be expected in a girl who had made no objection, or none that wasn't eventually overcome, to posing as Sam directed. She was a hefty girl, bold-faced but pretty in a thick blonde way, and well-made — Abner could see Maynard Longstreet looking her up and down as she pressed her hand on Mr. Bosenbury's Bible. She went up on the witness stand with a little self-possessed flick of her skirt, and sat down, swinging one leg over the other.

'How old are you, Mary?' Abner said.

'I'm sixteen.'

'Now, Mary, you testified before Squire Delp last night that on the afternoon of March fifteenth or sixteenth last, Mr. Field requested you to report to his office for a conference. I want you to tell his Honour, Judge Irwin, in your own words, what took place there after you had reported."

'Well,' she said, lifting her shoulders a little, 'he began by asking things about my work; and then he said he would have to ask me some personal questions, and I must not mind answering them, because it was just like talking to a doctor —' She paused and said to Judge Irwin, 'Do I have to say everything he asked me?'

'No,' said Judge Irwin. 'That will probably not be necessary, if you will just indicate the general nature.'

'About, well, whether I was, well, mature or not —'

In spite of her mannerisms, she was a good witness; better, probably, than if she had been hampered by maidenly innocence. Abner recognized the type. A girl who had her reputation was almost always either an outright moron, or, like Mary Beach, entirely adult in her point of view — much more than a match for boys her own age; and often no less than a match for men as much older as Sam Field. Her testimony seemed to Abner straight and plausible; but of course she didn't, and had no reason to want to, and perhaps anyway couldn't, report along with what she said and he said, her by-play of look and tone. She did not say, as probably the case was, that at previous conferences her precocious senses had apprised her of the teacher's involuntary interest in her; and for the fun of it, and because she enjoyed her power, and because she was experienced enough not to be afraid, she kept signalling little invitations, making them, if Sam pretended to ignore them (as he very likely did at first) bolder each time and more alluring.

Abner could see that actually Mary Beach might be to blame for the whole business — the dates of the other charges were all later. She had excited his imagination, and shown him how easy it was, and he had profited by her instructions. Abner looked at Sam a moment, wondering if by any chance Sam realized this — the fact, so well known to the district attorney's office, that, unless the man were insane, or very drunk, the woman was always to blame for what happened to her. She could end it any time by an honestly meant fiat refusal.

Abner said, 'On these, or other occasions, Mr. Field never went further than that, 'did he? I mean, just putting his hands on you —' But his indirection, he saw, was ridiculous. 'In short, he never at any time had, or attempted to have, sexual intercourse with you, did he?'

'No, he never did.'

'Your Honour? That's all, then, Mary. You may step down. Nina Friedman, please.'

The Reverend Mr. Field, looking sadly at his nephew's back, shifted and swallowed, like a man who has borne up in a period of prolonged strain, and at last reaches the end; only to find that he is not through, for another one, a fresh one just like it, awaits him.

Nina Friedman came down and faced Mr. Bosenbury. She was much slighter and looked much younger than Mary Beach; but she, too, answered that she was sixteen. On the witness stand Nina was tense and jerky, her smooth head and small warm coloured face in ceaseless movement while she looked at her finger nails, sidelong at the ceiling, out the window into the dripping green summits of the trees. At each question of Abner's, she went through a high-strung pantomime—obedient attention, quick comprehension, careful reflection, ready response. Invited to tell what had happened to her in her own words, she began with vivacity, then stumbled and went scarlet at her own words. Her eyes filled with tears, and she gave a light laugh. She said, 'He never did any more than that. He really didn't —'

To accept Mary Beach's standing invitation was one thing; but to fool with a kid like this — Sam ought to have better sense! Abner exchanged a glance with Judge Irwin and checked her. He said, 'Thank you. That will be all, Nina. Helen Hartshorn.'

Mr. Hartshorn turned to his daughter and said audibly, 'Go on up there!'

By the note of brusque authority, Abner could guess that Mr. Hartshorn was an old-fashioned disciplinarian. He expected justice to be done and Field to be punished; but that was not his only concern. One of his duties, and he was the man to do it, was to see that his daughter behaved herself. Common sense must have taught him that truth about where the blame lay that the district attorney's office knew so well. Once Mr. Hartshorn was certain that Helen had not been forced to allow the familiarities by superior strength or fear of injuries, he probably came to the rough and ready conclusion that the teacher wasn't the only one who needed correction. Abner suspected that Helen, when she got home last night, had been given a good licking. She was cowed and mournful, and when she sat down in the witness chair, she did it with such care that Abner was obliged to bite his lip.

'How old are you, Helen?' he said.

'Fifteen.'

'And you're a student at Childerstown High School?'

'I was. My father says I can't go back.'

Abner could see a change in Jesse Gearhart's expression. Mr. Hartshorn might be — he looked as if he would be — a member of his township sending board, the body that arranged for sending children in to the central high school. It was easy to guess that he was going to demand changes — Mr. Rawle's head; and if he felt that way, other men like him on other sending boards were bound to feel the same. Jesse was going to have bad news for the meeting.

'Well, that's too bad,' Abner said, 'but —'

Mr. Hartshorn stood up and said, 'You needn't be worrying your head about things too bad, Mr. Coates. We're looking into this school business; and it's going to be too bad for some people I could name in Childerstown, if that is what you mean. Yes, I —'

'Mr. Hartshorn!' said Judge Irwin.

'Things haven't been going right here, and —'

Judge Irwin had no gavel, but he rapped his knuckles violently on the desk. A delicate pink flush came up his cheeks and he said, 'If you do not sit down at once and be quiet, I shall hold you in contempt! This is a court of law, Mr. Hartshorn, not a public forum.'

Reddening, Mr. Hartshorn sat down. 'Proceed, Mr. District Attorney,' Judge Irwin said.

Abner said, 'Well, Helen, you were a student at the high school during last May, weren't you? And you testified that on May third —'

Sam Field had bent his head down further. The only thing Sam could have to hope for in all this was that it would soon be over, and fairly soon forgotten; and Mr. Hartshorn's contentious words perhaps reminded him that this hope was unwarranted. Four years' service had given him his place in the squabbles and schemings and jealousies and long-holding of grudges that made up so much of the life and world of the school office and the faculty room. Though no longer present, Sam Field would not be quietly released from their talk and thought. In the struggle about to be joined, the coming together in opposition about who was to blame and who would have to pay, they would expose Sam Field anew at every meeting, and retry the case every day for weeks, while his friends hated him for putting them at the disadvantage of having been his friends, and his enemies gloated quietly together, telling each other again and again that they had told each other so.

When Abner called his name, Sam Field jumped, starting erect. This made it necessary for him to stand a moment, drawing back stiffly, while Helen Hartshorn returned to her place. She slipped past him and sat by her father; and Field came down with constrained steps to where Mr. Bosenbury held the book. When he was in the stand, Abner said to him, 'Mr. Field, you have heard the evidence that has been offered' — the truth was, Abner thought, he had probably heard little of it — 'and I will not ask you anything about it in detail, unless there are details that you feel should be corrected. You have a right to question any of the witnesses if you want to.'

'No,' said Field.

'Mr. Field, can you give his Honour any explanation for these actions of yours? Can you say anything about why you were led to act this way?'

Field said, 'I don't know why.'

'That will be all, then,' Abner said with relief. 'Unless your Honour —?'

'No. That is all. I have no questions.' Judge Irwin cleared his throat, took a last look at the page of the open volume of the statutes under his hand. 'Samuel Pierce Field,' he said, 'come before the Court.'

'Right here,' Mr. Bosenbury whispered, indicating the space by the rail in front of him. When Field stood there, Judge Irwin went on, 'You have pleaded guilty to charges that are very serious. However, because you have pleaded guilty, because you have co-operated with the Commonwealth, I will not pain you, or others, by dwelling on the detestable nature of what you allowed yourself to do. I think you regret your acts. You are a young man of education and intelligence and though it is necessary for me to sentence you as I am about to, the Court feels every confidence that what you have been guilty of is merely a mis-step, and that you will in the future — er — be a useful and honourable member of society.'

Judge Irwin shifted in his chair, clearing his throat again, and went on: 'The sentence of the Court is, first — this is the first indictment, Mr. Bosenbury; number sixty-three. First, that you pay the costs of prosecution.' He paused and looked at Field. 'And that you undergo a term of imprisonment at the Blue Hills Reformatory of not less than one year, nor more than —'

Muffling an exclamation, Beatrice Wright put a hand over her face and began to cry.

To Abner, John Costigan murmured, 'Got a break. Didn't send him to the pen, at any rate.'

Coming behind Abner, Warren Lyall whispered, 'Were those to run concurrently?'

'Yes,' said Costigan. Lyall squeezed his shoulder, stepped by him, and made a gesture to Field. Maynard Longstreet, folding his copy paper, stood up, put his elbows on the front of the bench, addressing Judge Irwin, who bent forward to hear. Everitt Weitzel said to the witnesses, 'That's all. You can go now.'

Standing up, Abner found himself facing the Reverend Mr. Field, who said agitatedly, 'I just wished to ask you whether it's proper for us to speak to him; whether we can see him a few minutes —'