you wouldn't have to have a large clientele," Gibb argued.
For the first time that evening, Matt showed some animation. "That's right, darling. We could direct some business your way."
"I don't want that, Matt. I would be a laughingstock Gibbs daughter-in-law, Matt's wife, dressing up every morning and playing lawyer." She gave a firm shake of her head.
"Thank you, but no."
"It's your decision, of course," Gibb said with a disappointed sigh.
"Although I think your talents are wasted in public service."
He had no idea how offensive that remark was to her.
"Wasted, Gibb? I don't think so. You see, the sexism and competitive spirit at Bristol and Mathers were only part of the reason I was eager to disassociate myself.
"Up to now, I haven't shared this with anyone except Ricki Sue and Grandmother, but I'll tell you because it might help you understand why I've focused my career on public defense."
She stood up and paced while she talked. "A woman came to the offices of Bristol and Mathers seeking my help. She had AIDS. Her husband had infected her with the virus, then abandoned her and their three children. Her health declined.
When she could no longer work to support herself or her children, the state took custody of them and placed them in foster homes.
"After six months, she was desperate to see them, but her repeated requests to do so were denied. Her desperation led her to enter the state-agency office with a pistol, saying she would see her children or else. She was arrested. The pistol wasn't even loaded, but that was a technicality.
"She raised bail and was released. Unhappy with the lawyer assigned to her case, she came to me. I was instantly sympathetic with her plight. Yes, she had committed a crime, but the mitigating circumstances were compelling. To my mind, the law and justice were in conflict in this case. Here was a woman who wished only to see her children one last time before she died. I agreed to represent her."
She drew a deep breath to quell the anger that rose inside her each time she thought of her summons into the partners' conference room. "They were horrified. The woman had been arrested at the scene of her crime. What possible hope did I have of winning an acquittal? And did the firm really want any involvement with an AIDS patient? The implied answer was a r esounding no!"
"Furthermore and this was the real deciding factor there was no money involved. The woman had limited resources, and the firm's hourly rate was considerable. How was Bristol and Mathers to profit if it willingly handled charity cases? If the firm took one, word would get out and the associates would be besieged by freeloaders. I was summarily ordered to drop the case.
"If I'd had the gumption, I would have resigned right then.
But I needed the job, and Bristol and Mathers was the most respected firm in Sheridan. So I stayed until I heard about this job in South Carolina. I thought that here, I could work toward seeing justice served without worrying about how much profit it might cost my firm. I love the law. And I hold to this outdated, outmoded belief that it was instituted for the People, not the lawyers.
"By the way, the woman died before her case was brought to trial. She died without seeing her children again. Every time I lose a case, I take it personally. It's as though I've let her down again."
After a moment of silence, Gibb said softly, "A touching story, Kendall. But you mustn't feel that you've failed because H.W. sent Billy Joe off to Columbia."
"Under the circumstances, it was unnecessary. His offense didn't warrant it."
"Well, I'm just a dumb sporting goods salesman. I wouldn't presume to know how H.W. arrived at his decision," Gibb said. "He's human just like the rest of us. Naturally you're disappointed, but his ruling isn't a poor reflection on your abilities. You did your best. That's all anyone expects of you."
She had needed to hear that. Heartened, she smiled.
"Thanks for the support, Gibb."
"Dad's a wizard when it comes to putting things in perspective. He's always right."
Kendall moved up behind Matt and laid her hands on his shoulders. "I need a friend. Are we still friends?"
He angled his head back. "What do you think?"
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Thank you for coming to my rescue. I saw a dashing and dangerous side of you I'd never seen before. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn't appreciate your heroic gesture." -:
"You're forgiven." They kissed, then he folded her hands over his chest and held them there. "Dad, should we tell her the surprise in store for this weekend?" :, "Surprise?" She clutched the concept with both hands.
It had been a terrible day. Tomorrow wouldn't be much better,- because news of her defeat would have spread. Everyone would be talking about it. Bama, the panhandler, had already : heard of it by the time she left the courthouse that afternoon.
"Too bad, Counselor," he'd said. "You'll win next time."
His thumbs-up sign did little to boost her spirits. In fact, his destitution had only depressed her more.
In her heart of hearts, she knew she had done her best.
Nevertheless, she didn't take defeat well. Losing always made her feel that she was disappointing those who had placed their confidence in her her clients, their families, her grand mother, even her dead parents.
Today had been a bitter defeat, but it was behind her. She would mark the Crook case up to experience and look forward to the next. She would try harder. Work smarter. She was determined to succeed.
Filled with resolve, her mood began to lift. A relaxing weekend sounded wonderful. "What have you two got planned?" she asked.
"Matt tells me that you've been hounding him to go along on one of our outdoor excursions."
"I wouldn't use the word hounding," she said coyly.
"How about nagging, pestering, or harassing?"
Playfully, she socked Matt in the gut, and he gave an exaggerated grunt of pain.
Pleased that family harmony had been restored, Gibb smiled at them indulgently. "Do you want to hear this or not?"
Kendall pulled a sober face. "I want to hear it."
"This Saturday there'll be a full moon."
She envisioned a candlelight dinner at a cozy guest house in the mountains, or a moonlight boat ride on the lake.
"The full moon in November can only mean one thing," Matt said, raising her expectations even higher.
"What?" she asked breathlessly.
"Hog slaughtering."
Gibb arrived before sunlight, eager to go. Kendall was hustled out into the frosty morning air. Their breath formed clouds of vapor as they walked to Gibb's pickup truck and climbed :' into the cab. She shivered inside her coat and tucked her gloved hands in her armpits in an attempt to warm them.
Matt hugged her close. "Cold?"
"A little. But I'll warm up." She had asked for this; she had wanted to be included. She wouldn't be a complainer.
"Before refrigeration, it had to be near freezing before hogs could be slaughtered," Gibb told her as he steered his pickup down the lane. "Otherwise the meat could spoil."
"That makes sense."
"So slaughtering became an autumn tradition. We fatten the hogs up all summer on corn."
" 'We'?"
"Not we ourselves," Matt explained. "We have a farmer who raises them for us out at his place."
"I see."
"That ham we had on our wedding night came from one of our hogs," Matt said proudly.
She grinned sickly. "I didn't realize I'd eaten a family friend."
He and Gibb laughed. Matt said, "Did you think that meat started out in those neat vacuum-sealed packages you buy at the store?"
"I prefer to think of it that way.
"Are you sure you're not a city girl?"
His words harkened back to what tie Crooks had said of her, and reminded her that Billy Joe was scheduled to be transferred to Columbia today. He was already an insolent troublemaker with a sizable chip on his shoulder. He had made it clear that he would resist analysis. his case, she feared that the RUE would be detrimental. She was seized by a premonition of doom.
Matt hugged her tighter against him, believing that her shiver was caused by the temperature.
The clearing was in a remote, heavily forested region and could be reached only by following a bumpy narrow dire path off the main road. By the time they arrived several dozen families had already gathered there.
It was a carnival atmosphere. The cried p air smelled of wood smoke, which rose from numerous campfires Where huge cast iron caldrons of water were boiling.
Children were playing games of chase among the trees. The teenagers had gravitated together and were hanging out on the tailgate of a pickup. They were raucous and rowdy.
The Burnwoods were greeted by shorts of welcome as they alighted from Gibb's truck. Someone thrust a mug of coffee at Kendall. She sipped it gratefully and was just about to offer thanks for it when she spotted the caresses.
Each hog was hanging upside down from exposed tendons in its rear hooves, through which rods had been run. The rod was suspended between too fence poles.
There were so many, she couldn't count them. Nor could she take her eyes off the grotesque sight.
"Kendall? Sweetheart?"
Mat':, speaking with obvious concern, touched her cheek and turned her face to him. He had pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves, which felt cold and foreign against her skin.
He'd also put on a pair of coveralls, a long rubber apron, and knee-high rubber boots.
There was very little grass on the ground beneath his boots.
Even where it grew sparsely, it had been trampled down. The dirt, like her husband's overalls, looked rusty.
She pointed at the stains and asked in a faint voice, "Is that blood?"'
"This is where we usually come to dress our kills."
She swallowed with difficulty.
"You look pale, Kendall. Are you all right?"
"A little queasy."
"Do I dare hope it's morning sickness?"
"Unfortunately no," she replied sadly.
His disappointment matched her own. Eager to have a child, he had promised her all the help she might need in the way of housekeepers and nannies, although she was confident that she could smoothly combine her career and motherhood.
She wasn't using any birth control, but, to their disappointment, her body continued to cycle as regularly as the moon.
Thoughts of the moon jarred her back to the present.
"I didn't expect them to look so helpless and . . . naked,"
she finished lamely, gesturing behind her toward the carcasses.
"They don't start out that way," Matt said, trying unsuccessfully to mask his amusement. "They're brought here and killed, usually by a bullet through the head. The jugular's pierced, and they're bled.-Then the hides are soaked with hot water and the hair is scraped off. All that takes time, so we pay people to do it. Hill people mostly. For doing the dirty work, they get a few dollars, the scraps, and the heads."
Kendall's knees went weak. "The heads?"
"They cook them to make sausagehead cheese.
"Matt!"
She and Matt turned and saw Gibb standing near two of the suspended carcasses. Dressed similarly to Matt, he was motioning him over.
"Coming, Dad." Matt looked at Kendall with concern.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just that I've never seen . . ."
"Kendall, this isn't as scary as you're making it out to be.
Even little kids get a kick out of it."
"Oh, it's awfully exciting." He and Gibb had thought this would be a treat for her. She didn't want to appear ungrateful.
"I guess it just takes some getting used to."
"Matthew!"
"I'll be right there, Dad."
Matt kissed her quickly and rushed off to join his father.
Kendall breathed through her mouth to stave off nausea. She inhaled each breath deeply, then let it out slowly. The air was thinner here than in town. She needed some oxygen, that's all.
Matt glanced back at her. She managed a gay little wave and a rictus of a grin for encouragement. She watched Gibb hand Matt a knife with a long, wide blade. While Gibb held one of the car casses in place, Matt drew the knife blade around the hog's neck, sawing through the muscles and tissue of the throat, completely encircling the backbone. Then, passing the knife back to his father, he gripped the head in both hands and gave It a VICIOUS twist.
When the head came off, Kendall fainted.
She felt the derisive stares of everyone in the congregation as she followed the usher up the aisle to the third pew, where she, Matt, and Gibb sat every Sunday morning.
As soon as she was seated, she opened her program and pretended to read, to spare herself the embarrassment of having to meet the belittling glances of the men and the scornful eyes of the women, all of them no doubt thinking that she was a shrinking violet.
She wanted to shout at them, "I've never fainted before in my life!"
She didn't, of course, but she couldn't hide her agitation from Matt. He leaned over and whispered, "Relax, Kendall."
"I can't. Everybody knows about yesterday morning."
To her mortification, she had regained consciousness in the bed of Gibb's pickup truck with a crowd of people hovering over her, patting her cheeks, chafing her wrists, and commenting on her fragility.
"You're being paranoid," Matt said. "And even if word has gotten around that you fainted, so what?"
