Read Worthy Brown's Daughter Online
Authors: Phillip Margolin
Worthy Brown's Daughter (13 page)
W
orthy Brown and Kevin O’Toole, who’d been convicted of murdering a man named Flynn, were the city jail’s only occupants. The paucity of prisoners had nothing to do with Portland’s crime rate. The jail was a disgrace. There were numerous cracks in the hewn-timber roof and walls, and the narrow passage up the center of the building had an earthen floor. Wind blew constantly through the chinks. During Oregon’s long rainy season, the floor turned to mud. If the roof had been repaired, the marshal would have used one of the rooms in the jail as officers’ quarters, but the city council refused to allocate funds for this purpose, so Marshal Lappeus refused to post his men in the jail when the rains came. This didn’t mean there were unattended prisoners in the jail. Scarcely a day went by without an arrest for drunkenness or some minor offense, but during the rainy season, insignificant rogues and scoundrels were released because of the marshal’s extreme reluctance to confine them in Portland’s shoddily constructed dungeon. An exception had been made for the two murder suspects, who could not be set free or left unattended, and the marshal had assigned guards to watch the prisoners.
On the morning Matthew visited the jail, a wall of rolling black clouds hid the snowcapped mountains of the Cascade Range from view and erased the sun. Then rain fell with a vengeance, turning the dusty streets of Portland into a bog. Some merchants had laid planks across the swampy thoroughfares in hopes of encouraging trade, but most of the city’s residents had enough sense to stay out of the rain. Two men nursing coffees in a café on First Street watched sympathetically when Matthew, mud-spattered, distracted, and bedraggled, fought past their window, one hand on the brim of his hat and bent low into the wind like a sailor standing watch in a gale.
Matthew had to shout at the top of his lungs and rap three times on the jail door to be heard above the torrential downpour. When Amos Strayer opened up, Matthew saw a chair, an oil lamp. and a Bible in the only dry spot near the outer wall. There were beads of water on Strayer’s beard and poncho.
“Sorry I took so long, Mr. Penny. I couldn’t hear you.”
“Don’t apologize, Amos. Just let me in. I’m drowning.”
The guard stepped aside, and Matthew squeezed by.
“What’s that?” Strayer asked, suspiciously eyeing the bundle Matthew withdrew from under his slicker.
“A blanket and a change of clothes for Mr. Brown. I cleared it with the marshal.”
“I don’t know—”
“You want me to make Jim run across the street in this rain to clear this up? He’ll have you patrolling outside until the skies clear. Not that it’d make much difference,” Matthew said, just as a huge drop bounced off the brim of his hat.
Strayer smiled. “You made your point. Prisoner’s in the last cell.”
Matthew followed Strayer to the end of the muddy corridor, stepping carefully to avoid the largest puddles. The deputy opened a square peephole in the center of a thick wooden door and peered inside. The prisoner was curled up in his bunk on the moldy straw that served as a mattress, but he was not asleep.
“Stay where you are, boy,” Strayer commanded, “you got a visitor.”
Strayer opened the door, and Worthy lifted his head, staring at the lawyer with dull eyes. Strayer locked the door behind Matthew.
“Holler when you want out,” the deputy said before returning to his post.
Matthew’s nostril’s flared involuntarily when they were assailed by the dank, repulsive odor of decay that permeated the cell. Worthy shivered under the thin blanket he’d wrapped around his shoulders. When he sat up, he seemed less substantial than the muscular giant Matthew had seen chopping wood when he’d visited Worthy’s cabin.
Matthew shook off the water from his hat and revealed the dressing that covered the wound on his head and the yellow-black bruises around his eyes. Worthy’s jaw was still swollen, and he moved slowly as he tried to find a comfortable upright position.
“We’re a sorry-looking pair,” Matthew said with a tired grin.
“I been better.”
“How are they treating you?”
Worthy shrugged. “Mostly, they leave me alone.”
Matthew suddenly remembered the bundle. “I brought you a blanket and a change of clothes. Thought you might need them.”
“Thank you,” Worthy said as he stowed the package in a dry corner of his bunk.
“I would have come sooner, but I was pretty beat up.”
“I understand.” Worthy hesitated. Then he took a deep breath. “How’s Roxanne?”
“She’s staying at Gillette House with Heather. Heather’s a rock. She’s with her all the time.”
“How is my girl?” Worthy persisted.
“She’s quiet, Worthy. What Barbour did to her . . . She’s bearing up, but it’s been hard. Heather thinks she’s getting better every day.”
Worthy nodded, but he seemed to draw inside himself. Matthew thought about the best way to bring up the reason for his visit.
“Worthy, about your charges . . . ,” he said.
Worthy looked up. Matthew sat on the bunk beside him and looked away, unable to meet Worthy’s eye.
“I know you didn’t kill Caleb Barbour,” Matthew said. “I did.”
“You?”
“Barbour . . . attacked Roxanne.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word
rape
in Worthy’s presence. “After he’d . . . had her, she got away. I rode up just as she ran out of the house. She was naked, Worthy, and that bastard was pursuing her.”
Matthew was having trouble breathing. He grabbed his pant legs to stop his hands from shaking. When he turned to Worthy, there were tears in his eyes.
“I didn’t have to kill him. It just happened. I could have taken Roxanne away.”
Matthew paused to catch his breath. “I would have told the marshal or District Attorney Thornton, but I didn’t remember what happened until two days ago. I was too weak to see you until today. I’m sorry you were beaten and put in this place. You’ll be out soon. I’m going to see Mr. Thornton after I leave. I just wanted a chance to tell you what happened before they lock me up.”
Worthy digested what Matthew had told him. Then he nodded his head a few times like a man who’d made an important decision.
“They ain’t locking you up,” Worthy said firmly.
“They’ll have to. I murdered a man in cold blood.”
“You saved my Roxanne. I ain’t gonna let harm come to you.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Penny. I’m an old man. Ain’t no one gonna miss me when I die, ’cept Roxanne. But you are a young man, a good man. You have your life in front of you.”
It slowly dawned on Matthew where Worthy was going. He shook his head vigorously.
“You’re not going to take the blame for something I did.”
“Ain’t your say. Everyone believes I killed Mr. Barbour, and I would have if I was in that yard when Roxanne came out of that house. It was God put you there to save Roxanne, and it was God put me in this cell so you can be free to do his work.”
“Worthy, they’ll hang you.”
“I know, but don’t you see, all I ever wanted was for Roxanne to be free. Now I got that, I’m ready for what comes.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t let you die for me. Believe me, it would be no gift. Barbour was scum, but even his death is an unbearable burden. Imagine what it will be like for me to have your death on my conscience. I couldn’t live with that. What kind of man do you think I’d be if I let you do this?”
“Mr. Penny, I’m free, and free men decide what to do with their lives,” Worthy answered calmly. “That’s the difference between being free and being a slave. You talk about living with yourself if I take the blame for killing Caleb Barbour. Imagine how I’ll feel knowing our troubles destroyed your life?”
Matthew argued with Worthy a little longer, but it soon became clear that he had no chance of changing Worthy’s mind this morning. Matthew stood and hollered for Amos Strayer.
“I’m going now. You think about what I said. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but it’s not the right thing.”
“Thank you for the blanket and clothing,” Worthy answered, avoiding further discussion of who would take responsibility for Caleb Barbour’s death. “Tell Roxanne I love her and think about her all the time, and thank Miss Heather for her kindness.”
A
group of miserable stevedores huddled together on the shore as the steamer
Argentine
slipped sideways toward its mooring. Sheets of rain had made the gentle slope that led down to the water treacherous. Boards covered the ground to give the drenched dockhands some purchase when they unloaded the
Argentine
’s cargo.
The driver stopped Benjamin Gillette’s coach as close to the dock as possible and scrambled down from his seat. He was wrapped in a poncho and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, but they were of little use in this downpour.
“I’m going down to the dock, Miss Gillette,” he shouted into the coach before trudging toward the steamer with a large umbrella. Heather could barely hear him over the rain, which rattled on the roof like a cascade of iron nails. She strained for a glimpse of her father through the rain-streaked window, but the downpour was keeping the passengers inside the lounge.
The steamer’s whistle blared as its gangplank was lowered to the landing. Moments later, Francis Gibney preceded Benjamin Gillette and Sharon Hill onto the deck. The driver held the umbrella over the heads of Benjamin and his mistress and they rushed over the gangplank toward the coach. Heather opened the door. Her father and Hill ducked inside while the driver returned to the ship to help Francis with the luggage.
“You shouldn’t have come out in this weather,” Benjamin told his daughter.
“I had to. Something terrible happened while you were gone, and I wanted to tell you right away. Caleb Barbour is dead. He was murdered.”
Benjamin and Sharon Hill looked shocked, but for different reasons.
“Who . . . ?” Benjamin asked.
“Worthy Brown.”
“The man who was suing Barbour for his child?” Benjamin exclaimed.
“The slave?” Sharon Hill said.
“Barbour
raped
his daughter,” Heather said.
“My God!” Benjamin whispered.
Heather told her father how Matthew had rescued Roxanne from Barbour and informed him about the injuries Matthew had suffered when he tried to protect Worthy.
“Is Matthew all right?” Benjamin asked.
“He stayed at Gillette House for the first few days, until he felt well enough to move back to his place. It’s Roxanne I’m worried about. She’s recovered physically, but she’s so quiet. Everything seems to frighten her.”
“Poor girl. I knew there was something wrong with Caleb, but raping a child . . .” Benjamin shook his head in disgust.
The coach shook as Francis strapped the luggage to the roof then climbed up next to the driver.
“I’ve put Roxanne in one of the guest rooms,” Heather said. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
The coach began to move. Heather glanced at the street and saw Matthew Penny, his shoulders hunched and his head down, lost in thought as he struggled through the rain and wind. Benjamin said something to her, but Heather was only paying partial attention. Something was wrong with Matthew. They had become close while he was recuperating. The reserve he had shown when they were first together had disappeared. He had been relaxed with her, and she was certain that he had feelings for her. Then everything had changed.
Heather had wanted Matthew to spend a few more days recuperating before moving back to his apartment, and she assumed he would agree if only so they could spend more time together. Suddenly, however, Matthew had been anxious to leave. Why had he wanted to get away from her? And why did he look so troubled just now? Heather wished that she knew.
M
atthew sat in his rocker, which he’d brought in from the landing when the rainy season started. He had been drinking, and his thoughts were slow and muddy. He looked around him. There was so little in this room. There had been so little in his life since Rachel died. When Rachel was alive, his world had been full of vivid colors. After his intense grieving had ended, Matthew was shocked to find that his day-to-day life was just like it had been when Rachel was alive, with one big exception: everything around him appeared in shades of gray. Then he’d met Heather and he had dared to hope that he could be happy again. What wonders would life have held for him if he hadn’t murdered Caleb Barbour?
Matthew contemplated his bleak future and the one ray of hope in it. He could still have everything if he let Worthy Brown take the blame for Barbour’s murder. That was what he’d realized during the walk from the jail to his office in the unrelenting rain. No one but Worthy knew who had murdered Barbour. Not even Roxanne, who probably thought that Barbour had been alive when Matthew carried her to Gillette House. If Matthew said nothing, he could have Heather, the wealth her father’s business would bring him, and a life. But what kind of life would it be if Worthy Brown had to die for him to live it?
Then again, didn’t Worthy want to make the sacrifice? Hadn’t he told Matthew that he was willing to die to save him? What Worthy said made sense. He was a man with no future, while Matthew had the whole world in front of him. If Worthy had been there when Roxanne ran into the yard, Worthy would have killed Barbour. There was no question about that.
Matthew buried his head in his hands, appalled that he could even think such thoughts. What would Rachel say to him if he told her what he was thinking? Worthy was a human being, a good man who had suffered terribly his whole life. That Matthew would consider letting Worthy die for him proved he was not worth the sacrifice.
No, in the morning, he would tell W. B. Thornton the truth, even though he was terrified of what would happen when he visited the district attorney. In the morning, he would do what was right.
