Smolder on a Slow Burn

by Lynda J. Cox

  “He’s my brother, and thank you but I can carry her.”

  “I can walk,” Allison protested.

  “No, you won’t,” A.J. said. He stood and pulled on the blood stained shirt.

  ****

  The trial reconvened two days later. Bayless called his next and final witness, Nathan Garrison.

  Garrison walked into the dining room cum courtroom without even a glance at A.J. or Allison. Fishe gestured to the Bible on the table next to the chair used as the witness stand. “Raise your right hand and place it on the Bible. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  Garrison swore he would.

  “Mr. Garrison, were you involved in a shooting that ended with three men dead?” Bayless asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who shot those three men?”

  A.J.’s shoulders tightened. Allison wanted to lean forward and put a comforting hand on him but Drake had warned her not to.

  “A.J. Adams shot them.”

  “Is he in this courtroom?”

  Garrison looked at Bayless for just a moment, and then tipped his head. “He’s sitting right over there.” He nodded toward the table with A.J. and Drake.

  “You alleged Adams shot those men in cold blood when you came into town.”

  “I was wrong. Adams didn’t kill those men in cold blood.”

  A rippling murmur went through the courtroom.

  Bayless took a step back, his head snapping over to Drake and A.J. before he looked again to Garrison. “Are you sure, Mr. Garrison? You are under oath.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then, can you explain to the court how Billy Swickard came to be shot twice in the back? And, how Kevin Courtney was shot twice, as well? And Jacob Porter was felled with a single shot to the head?”

  “Yes, I can. I was hired by Gene Oakten to bring the woman sitting behind Adams back to Colton County, Georgia. Swickard, Porter, and Courtney worked for me. We chased Adams and the woman out of Harrison. When the gray the woman was on went down, she got hurt bad. Swickard circled way far out, thinking that Adams couldn’t keep track of two fronts. He then rode hell bent for leather to the woman and Adams told him to stop or he would shoot. Swickard shot at the woman and when he rode by, Adams took the only clear shots he had.”

  Allison ducked her head, tears burning her eyes. Garrison was lying through his teeth, to save A.J. She lifted her head, meeting Garrison’s gaze over A.J.’s shoulder. Drake rocked back in his chair, his mouth dropping open. He recovered quickly enough and had the expression Allison termed his slightly amused poker face back in place.

  “And, Courtney?” Bayless asked.

  “Courtney was a fool. He slapped leather on Adams. Adams fired a warning shot that hit him in the shoulder and Courtney reached for his gun with the other hand. Adams didn’t have a choice. Courtney would have killed him. Porter drew and shot first. Adams returned fire.”

  The murmuring in the court room swelled in volume until the judge gaveled the room into silence again.

  “And, how did you get shot, Mr. Garrison?”

  “Payback.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Garrison dropped his head for a moment, shifted on the witness stand, and tugged on the hem of his frock coat. “Payback. I was a guard at the prisoner of war camp where Adams was for two years. I had orders to shoot any Reb who came too close to the dead line…that’s a line we drew in the ground near the walls that if a prisoner crossed, we were to shoot to kill. Someone brought Adams a coat and he gave it to a regimental drummer, ’cuz I guess the kid needed it more than he did. The kid was only about ten or eleven. Adams had a habit of tweaking the commander’s nose and we were told to make an example to Adams that no matter what he did, the camp commander could still make his life hell. I killed that boy and claimed that I thought it was Adams and that he had crossed the dead line. The boy wasn’t anywhere near the line.”

  A.J.’s head dropped. Drake caught his brother’s shoulder and Allison saw him squeeze hard.

  “So, you’re saying Adams shot you in the leg as payback for that boy’s death?”

  “Guess I should be thankful he’s a gentleman. I’da killed him if the shoe had been on the other foot.”

  Bayless cleared his throat. “Mr. Garrison, this is not the story you told me or the sheriff when you first came into town after the shooting. Which is the truth?”

  “What I’m telling you now is the truth.”

  “I have no further questions,” Bayless muttered, returning to his seat.

  Fishe gestured to Drake. “Anything to ask this witness, Mr. Adams?”

  Drake drew a deep breath before he stood. “Mr. Garrison, you said you work for Gene Oakten and you were a guard at the prisoner of war camp where my client was held. Who was the camp commander?”

  “Objection!” Bayless shot to his feet. “Your Honor, none of that has anything to do with the charges against that man.”

  Drake turned to the judge. Fishe shook his head. “You opened the door when you allowed your witness to testify about who he worked for and what he did during that lamentable war. Over-ruled. You may proceed, Mr. Adams.”

  Drake turned to Garrison, waiting for an answer. Garrison said, “Gene Oakten was the camp commander.”

  “You also testified that while my client was held in the camp, the commander wanted to send a message that he could make Major Adams’ life a living hell. Why would Oakten want to do that?”

  “Objection. He’s asking for the witness to testify as to another man’s reasoning.”

  “Sustained,” Fishe said.

  Drake paused for a moment, and looked across the room at Allison. “Your Honor, may I have a moment to confer with my client?”

  Fishe lifted his hands in an expansive gesture. Drake walked to the table and leaned onto it. “A.J., I want the men of that jury to know what that bastard did. But, I’m not going to push this if you say not to. Everything that happened to you there, every justification for killing Garrison with those three other men needs to be out on the table. Let me take him apart on the stand.”

  A.J. shook his head. “No.”

  “Let me do my job. You had every reason in the world to kill him and you didn’t. He’s already put enough doubt in their minds as to whether or not you killed those men in cold blood. Let me do my job and make sure that jury knows how difficult it was not to kill him.”

  A.J. shook his head again.

  Drake lifted his head and looked at Allison. “Allison, convince him…”

  “No.” Allison took the opportunity to quickly run a hand the length of A.J.’s arm. “This is his decision and it’s his choice as to how much of what those men did to him is told.”

  Drake lowered his head for a moment, then slowly straightened and turned back to the witness. “Mr. Garrison, why have you changed your story?”

  Garrison looked at Allison for a long moment. “I did what I was ordered to do when I was a guard at that prison camp. I did what I was ordered to after when I worked for Oakten. But, there comes a time when a man looks at himself in the morning when he’s shaving and admits he can’t look himself in the eye. I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror.”

  ****

  The jury had been out for less than fifteen minutes when Helga came to their room. “The judge ist calling everyone back. He said to tell you the jury’s reached their verdict.”

  A.J. pulled in a long breath and stood, buttoning his frock coat. Allison managed a light tone. “It’s got to be good if they reached a verdict already.” She looked over at Drake for confirmation.

  “It’s usually a good thing.”

  A.J. held his hand out to Allison and she promptly took it. How could he be so calm? She saw Drake nudge Harrison toward the door. “We’ll wait outside. Don’t be too long.”

  A.J. just nodded. Once the door closed, he turned to her. Allison blinked back tears and couldn’t meet his gaze. He caught her chin in
the palm of his hand and tilted her head up. “Promise me, if they find me guilty, that you will leave on the next train out of here. You will not stay to the bitter end.”

  “I can’t promise you that. I won’t promise you that.”

  “Promise me, or I will have Harrison slap you into shackles and he and Drake can drag you out of this damn town.”

  “How can you even ask that of me?” She couldn’t stop the tears.

  “Because,” he said, his voice softening, “I don’t want your last memory of me to be that of watching me walk up a scaffolding to a hangman’s noose. And I don’t want the last thing I ever see before they drop a hood over my head to be you standing out in a crowd and knowing you’re going to watch me die. Please, promise me.”

  Allison forced herself to say, “I promise. I won’t be there if they’ve found you guilty.”

  He pulled her into his arms and enveloped her in his embrace. Allison dropped her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat filling her ear. She choked back a sob when he pressed a kiss to the top her head and released her. He caught her hand into his and said, “Let’s go face the music.”

  Allison held onto his hand until she had to let him go sit next to his brother. As she sat behind him and the jury filled in from the kitchen, Harrison caught her hand and squeezed. She scanned the faces of the jurors.

  They all sat staring straight ahead and her heart sank.

  Fishe pounded his gavel, calling the courtroom to order. He then asked if the jury had reached a decision. The man sitting closest to him stood and said, “Yeah, Joe—sorry, Your Honor, we have.”

  Fishe looked out over the courtroom. “Mr. Adams, will you please stand?”

  A.J. and Drake both stood and Allison held her breath. Harrison’s hand tightened on hers.

  “What is your verdict, gentlemen?”

  The man who seemed to be the foreman of the jury fiddled with a folded piece of paper and asked, “You want me to read this, or do you just want to see it?”

  “What’s your verdict, Bill?”

  “Not guilty.”

  Allison clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her outburst even as A.J. exhaled sharply. Fishe asked, “On all counts?”

  “Yeah, Joe, on all counts.”

  Fishe nodded. “All right, then. Gentlemen, thank you for your time. Mr. Adams, you are free to go.” He banged his gavel on the table. “And, this court is adjourned.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart.

  ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  A.J. paced the floor of the kitchen. Harrison and Drake exchanged grins. Finally, Drake caught A.J.’s shoulder. “I thought you did this once before.”

  “I did.” A.J. looked to the closed door. “I don’t recall being this nervous then.”

  “Maybe,” Harrison suggested, “because that time I got you drunk the night before and you were so hung over you were green. You were too sick to be nervous.”

  “That might be it. I don’t remember much about it.” A.J. adjusted the white rose in his lapel. “What in the blazes is takin’ so long?”

  Again his best man and groom’s man exchanged grins and this time, Harrison chuckled. “I haven’t heard that deep a drawl from you in quite a while. Try taking a deep breath.”

  Drake leaned against the kitchen counter, his grin wide and threatening to break with laughter. “While we’re waiting, big brother, have you thought about what you and Allison are going to do now that you’re both in the clear with any legalities and you’re even a reconstructed rebel?”

  “I’m glad you find all of this so damned amusing.” A.J. adjusted the boutonnière again.

  Drake sobered. “I’m only asking because I don’t want to lose my big brother, not after just being found by him. If you go to Kentucky or Georgia, we probably won’t ever see one another.”

  A.J. turned to his brother. He hadn’t looked at it from Drake’s perspective. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I do know that Allison has said there is nothing in Georgia for her and I have no desire to try to purchase Clayborne and go back there. How hard is it to raise cows? And, do you know anyone that’s got some land for sale?”

  Drake winced. “We raise cattle around here, not cows.” He shared a glance with Harrison. “As to land, I’ve heard to the right buyer, the Crazy TG is for sale. I can help with the legalities of filing the paperwork to register a brand and you can change the ranch name anytime you want. There’s only one condition to that sale. It comes with Tommy.”

  A.J. had the distinct feeling he had been skillfully guided into this conversation. “Who or what is Tommy?”

  Harrison closed the distance to him, adjusting the white rose on A.J.’s lapel. “Leave the damn thing alone. You’re going to have all the petals plucked off it before you ever get married.” He stepped back. “As to Tommy, he’s a good man. The Crazy TG is the only home he’s ever known and to put him off it if Rachel and I sell wouldn’t be right. He’s a little slow, but he’s damn good with livestock and he’s never hurt a living being in his life. The only condition for sale of the Crazy TG is Tommy be allowed to spend the rest of his life there.”

  A.J. took a moment. “What are you asking for it, Harrison?”

  “A dollar to transfer the deed.”

  “I’ll talk to Alli, but I think she’ll agree.”

  Father O’Cleary stuck his head into the kitchen. “Rachel assures me it’s only another two or three minutes. All the guests are assembled, so I will ask you gentlemen to make your way to the parlor.”

  A.J. paused. Drake grabbed his arm above the elbow. “Too late to back out now. In a little over a week, you get to do the same for me.”

  The parlor doors, festooned with evergreen boughs and red velvet ribbons, were wide open. An aisle way marked a clear path to the massive hearth, which was also decorated with evergreen boughs. Candles in all heights flickered along the mantelpiece.

  O’Cleary was dressed in his seasonal vestments of gold and silver. The priest stood in front of the fireplace. A.J., Harrison, and Drake joined him. A.J. took a moment to scan the guests. Allison had asked for a small, intimate ceremony. Royce Majors was there. Ben Hauser, both doctors, Cole Archer and Mark Hagar, their respective spouses and assorted children completed the guest list.

  Movement by the entrance to the parlor drew A.J.’s attention. Rachel and Jessie, in matching dresses of green velvet, joined Father O’Cleary and the groom’s party at the front of the room. A moment later, little Kyla skipped to her mother, clutching what looked suspiciously like the flower bouquet Allison was supposed to be carrying. Right behind her came Joshua, snapping at his sister, “You need to give that back to Allison.”

  “Mine,” Kyla said, gripping the flowers so tightly they were crumbling. Rachel caught Kyla’s arm and whispered, “Go sit with Ben.” She looked at her son, adding, “You need to go walk Allison in here.”

  No sooner had Kyla sat down next to Ben than Allison, with Joshua holding her hand, appeared in the doorway. A.J. audibly sucked in a breath and he straightened just a little more. Her wedding ensemble was a suit of ivory colored silk and velvet. From the standup collar of the jacket to the tightly fitted waist to the ruffle at the hem of the skirt, it had been beaded with gold and canary yellow embellishments. Stars circled the collar, fell down her sleeves from the elbow to the point creeping over the back of her hands, and danced in the ruffle. The brass buttons in matched rows glittered in the candlelight. There was a decided military feel to the jacket. No wonder she had been so secretive the last several days when she said she and Madeline Callahan, the town’s dressmaker, were adding something special to the wedding suit.

  Allison met his gaze as Joshua walked her to him. A smile he recognized as the one she reserved for him alone lit her face. When she reached him, O’Cleary asked, “Who gives
this woman in the sacred rites of marriage to this man?”

  In a clear voice, Joshua firmly stated, exactly as he had been practicing for the last week ever since Allison had asked him to give her to A.J., “Their friends give her to his safe-keeping.”

  Joshua extended Allison’s hand to A.J. and then stepped back and went to sit with his sister and Ben. A.J. glanced down at the buttons. He had to quell a laugh. Where in the name of heaven had she found enough Confederate cavalry buttons? Each button was embossed with a large script letter “C”.

  As he tucked Allison’s hand into the crook of his arm, he bent and whispered, “The buttons are a nice touch.”

  Allison’s smile grew. “Glad you like them. We had to steal a couple off your coat.”

  O’Cleary began the wedding ceremony. “Adrean James and Allison Suzanne, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

  As one, she and A.J. said, “We do.”

  “Will you love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”

  Together they said, “Yes.”

  “Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?”

  Again, in one voice they answered.

  O’Cleary said, “Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and this company.”

  A.J. turned to face Allison and took her right hand into his. Tears swam in the depths of her chocolate eyes. A.J. lifted a brow in a question. She whispered, “Happy tears.”

  Without faltering, he nodded and said, “I, Adrean James Adams, take you, Allison Suzanne Webster, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”