The doctor also confirmed he’d examined the child living in the Davenport home, and he was the same child he’d delivered. The boy’s muteness was a mystery, “though most likely due to shock.”
Ellis addressed the jury. “Sirs, you may hear argument from the defense that the boy found with Gideon Wolf was not the Davenports’ son. I know you will have heard many versions of this nonsense in your day-to-day life. I trust the doctor has now put that to rest. The defense has spread this theory to provide a reason Gideon Wolf should be released. Do not be fooled.”
Mary Davenport was escorted to the stand, and guided by Ellis through her statement with gentleness and deference. No one was interested in the facts she agreed to. Mary’s job, as Gomer Ellis and John Henry had explained to her, was to help the jury see how much her sons meant to her, how loving a mother she was, how devoted a wife, how courageous, dignified and reasonable she was. As unnecessary as it should be, she was demonstrating her superior nature. This would hold her in good stead when she would be, unavoidably, insultingly, compared with the unwed farm girl later on.
Ellis explained to Mary that the Italian would speak to her in ways she wasn’t accustomed to, and that she needed to fortify herself.
“Remain composed,” she’d said. “I understand.”
Gabino had looked forward to speaking with Mary Davenport the same way he looked forward to fox hunts. She was the quarry, the kill. Here, he’d learned (delighted by the ease with which a middling detective could entice locals to divulge everything they’d heard about the Davenports), was a woman who hadn’t recognized a child she moments later swore was her flesh and blood, who’d turned to psychics and occultists for life advice, who’d had verifiable bouts of insanity, and was unnaturally attached to her Negro housekeeper and a newspaper reporter. There were so many tracks down which he could pursue her, it was thrilling. He’d been anticipating this for weeks.
He took in her smart white blouse and tailored navy skirt, a modest and dignified outfit Ellis must have advised her would be suitable to win over the jurors. House of Worth, if he’d had to guess.
Gabino weighed his first move. He didn’t need to reveal her as the unreliable individual he knew her to be now that he had a hidden card to play, the one that would stop the jury in their tracks. He needed simply to establish she’d been affected by the press and some members of the public to believe stories about Wolf that were not true. Upholding Wolf’s character was his priority, but the thought of cutting her down was irresistible. He’d not deny himself. He’d met so many women like Mary Davenport: rich, sheltered, patronizing, with a confidence as smooth and brittle as an eggshell. She’d end up with the child, had to, but he’d let himself blood her a little first.
As Gabino walked toward the witness stand, Mary unexpectedly transformed before his eyes. Already elevated above him, she grew perceptibly straighter and taller. Gabino paused mid-step. He had an easy first sentence he anticipated would make her fumble, but as she locked eyes with him he saw she was—today—as self-assured as a monarch on her throne. Gabino had met many lesser royals, though, so he wasn’t shaken by her demeanor. In fact, it gave him a shiver of pleasure. He would rise with her.
“Madam, may I,” he began, “take you back to that…some might say confusing, others might say difficult…night at Sheriff and Mrs. Bird’s home?”
“You may. It could be the word you want is ‘remarkable’ or ‘wondrous.’ ‘Blessed,’ even. English can be so challenging.”
“It is, indeed—no more challenging than my other three languages, but I thank you for your politeness.” Gabino smiled. “It must have been unpleasant for you to even be in such an inferior environment. I imagine a sheriff’s home in Alabama is less than refined.”
In the gallery, Mrs. Bird, Sheriff Bird and Sheriff Sherman bristled as one.
“The Birds’ home is lovely. And Mrs. Bird had taken very good care of—”
“Witnesses say you had to kneel on the floor to look at the boy. Is that true?”
“He was on the sofa. It was the best way—”
“And your Negro housekeeper, for reasons unknown, was seen wandering around the Birds’ front yard talking to strangers.”
Mary frowned. “I have no idea what you’re—”
“It certainly sounds like an unusual night, one that I imagine you’d rather forget, with the squatting on the floor and—”
“I never—”
“—ramshackle houses and wayward servants—all that, of course, before you declared the boy wasn’t yours, and then was. I know I’d rather put that right out of mind, were it me.”
Ellis stood. “Where is counsel going with all this speculation? I’ve heard no question for my client amidst his entirely false imagining.”
“Do you have a question, counsel?”
Gabino nodded to the judge, touched his forefinger to his lips, changed tack. “Mrs. Davenport, it’s true, I think, that you’ve never met Mr. Wolf before today.”
“That is true.”
“So you never heard him explain how the child came to be his ward?”
“Ward?” Mary looked to Judge Roy for help.
“Yet another curious choice of word,” the judge said. “And unfactual, in any language. The jury will disregard it.”
“Is it also true that your entire understanding of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Wolf’s capture and undeserved imprisonment have come to you via your husband and your reporter friend, Mr.—” He waited.
“McCabe.”
“Tim?”
“Tom.” Mary felt her cheeks flame.
“Yes. Tom McCabe. He spent a lot of time lifting your mood while your husband searched for Sonny, didn’t he?”
“Relevance?” Ellis asked, but the damage was done. The jury could see Mary Davenport was flustered.
Tom, startled and offended by the insinuation, pushed himself off the back wall he’d been slouching on. What was Gabino doing? He glanced at Clara and muttered, “Who does this guy think he is?” But she didn’t respond, and kept her narrowed eyes on Gabino.
“You see, I worry, Mrs. Davenport. I worry you don’t have the facts at your disposal, and that you may have been led astray, condescended to, told half-truths. That’s not your fault, but I do need to point it out. Men sometimes think women don’t need facts. But I’m not inclined to believe that. I think you deserve the full story of how the boy became Mr. Wolf’s traveling companion—”
Mary flicked her eyes to John Henry. No one had warned her about this path, and she wasn’t sure how to walk it.
“Objection,” Ellis said.
“—and you will get it in due course,” Gabino finished.
Sheriff Bird replied to Ellis that John Henry had agreed when Mary Davenport declared the boy was theirs. And told Gabino that Mr. Wolf had put up no resistance to being arrested, and the boy showed no fear of him, no matter Mrs. Potter’s observations.
A discordant note came from Mrs. Bird. “The boy was a treasure. Kicked up a little fuss when I bathed him, but that’s nothing. Mostly he was no trouble. And six-year-old boys aren’t always easy.”
Ellis nudged her back on course. “Everyone in town was thrilled at his rescue. And they all showed up on my front lawn to say so,” she said. The courtroom laughed in understanding. Mrs. Bird described how anxious Mary had been to see the boy, and how—
“How touching it was to see them together?” Ellis prodded.
Mrs. Bird froze.
“Witnesses say you were visibly moved when Mrs. Davenport arrived at your home, that you ushered her inside with great compassion. As one mother to another, you must have felt glad for her?”
Mrs. Bird considered. “She was unsure.”
“I don’t think anyone would say that’s so strange?” Ellis smiled at the jury. “Women are unsure about a great many things.” The men snickered. “But in seriousness, once she was certain, did she seem quite certain?”
“Oh yes, most firm.” Then Mrs. Bi
rd added, “But I can’t say the same for the boy.” She looked for Sheriff Sherman, but before she could say anything more, Ellis indicated for her to return to her seat.
Gabino waved away his chance to cross-examine Mrs. Bird, which left her words hanging in the air as she made her way back to her husband, casting a quick glare at the man who’d disparaged her housekeeping. Ellis considered his opponent’s decision: the man was savvy, but where was he going with his odd defense?
Sheriff Sherman, when questioned by Ellis, answered that John Henry was a model father and loving husband who had applied himself with patient persistence to the search for his son. And that Mary, while at first overwhelmed at the Birds’ house, had been resolutely certain by the end. Ellis nodded. “Mrs. Davenport showed the thoughtful caution such an important moment deserved.”
Gabino pursued an entirely different line, asking the sheriff how thoroughly he’d interviewed Gideon Wolf. “While I’m told you’re experienced in law enforcement, it does strike me that you restrained rather than engaged with Mr. Wolf.”
“Engaged with him?” Sheriff Sherman said. “He was caught with a boy who wasn’t his own. That’s a crime and now he’s on trial for it. What more would you have had me engage with him about?”
“Did he not plead his innocence?”
“Every criminal does.”
“In this instance there may be good reason for that. Were this case about you, Sheriff, I’d suggest a degree of negligence in not giving a man’s honest statement due consideration.” He didn’t elaborate on that. Gabino knew to be careful; that in his critique of the sheriff there should be no whiff of him thinking the man had done a shoddy job because he was a yokel, a person who would not have been elected to the office in another town. The jury might see this as casting aspersions on Opelousas more generally. His attention had to stay on Wolf’s innocence. He told the judge he had no more questions for the sheriff.
Like Esmeralda, the sheriff was baffled that neither lawyer had mentioned the viewing of the boy in the Davenport house. When Gabino freed him to step down from the stand, he hesitated. “Your Honor, may I speak?”
The judge nodded.
“It’s important to note that two women are laying claim to this boy. I’m not sure at what point that gets brought up. But I’d like to offer some information about the event that involved Grace—”
The judge interrupted him. “Were you present at the event you’d like to discuss? No. In which case, it would be hearsay. I won’t allow that.”
“But it seems a crucial part of the—”
“This is a trial between the Davenports and Gideon Wolf. You’ve answered the questions put to you, Sheriff. Return to your seat.”
Gabino pursed his lips. He could press the judge to let the sheriff bring up the topic of Grace Mill, but he’d prefer to introduce her later, as he’d planned. He stood aside for the sheriff to walk to his seat.
At this point, Esmeralda bent low and edged toward the upstairs exit. Though she was curious about what was coming next, she needed to get to work. Without her income, her family was struggling to get by. Esmeralda helped her daughters with the laundry and piecemeal mending farmed out to them by well-to-do families, hoping that work wouldn’t dry up once word of her departure from the Davenport house spread. When they weren’t working, Esmeralda, Annalise and Joe made plans for the group to travel north as soon as they’d raised enough money for train fares.
Joe followed Esmeralda, whispering, “I’m coming, too. Had enough of this. They’re going to cut that poor girl out of her own story.”
Back at the Davenport house, the boys had come up with a plan. Pru was always more relaxed when their parents were gone, so while she ate a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen, the boys took the newspaper into their bedroom and wedged a chair under the doorknob. George read Tom’s article out loud, and stopped when he got to the details about Grace Mill being at Penny Farm.
“Grace Mill is your real ma, isn’t she?” George asked. To the boy’s nod, he said, “Okay, then.”
Paul grinned at his brother. “We’re thinking the same thing. I bet we are.”
George would miss the boy. They made a good gang, now that they were used to one another and the boy had learned their games. But Esmeralda had said it was the right thing to be kind to him. And taking him to his ma, no matter what Tom wrote about her, had to be the kindest thing to do.
“Then let’s get you to Penny Farm.”
Paul leaned over George and read aloud, “Johnson Street. That’s the one that goes to the kite park. If we can get on that without anyone noticing it’s a long straight line, pretty much.”
“We’d go out through the backyard, down the milk cart lane, circle around to Johnson, past the vacant lot where the black boys play chickamy.”
“How’s that game go?” Paul asked. They paused in their planning to talk about the rules and requirements of chickamy.
Afterward, while the boy was drawing a map, Paul said, “Madame Caron lives near that lot.”
“We’ll have to be real careful.”
“I’ll bring my knife and compass. Rucksacks.”
“Camp blanket, in case. And we’ll hide away some of our lunch and dinner. We’ll need food.” George saw the disappointment on the boy’s face. “We’ll get ready today and go tomorrow.”
“Remember how I told you about Scouts being prepared?” Paul asked. “Says here they think the trial could take a week, so tomorrow’s as good. We want to plan this right.”
“I reckon it’s going to take most of the day to get there. And it’ll be cold. But so long as we stick together, we can do it.”
Without Pru, the new cook, Sula or Mason paying any heed to what they were up to, the boys gathered supplies in preparation for their journey, spreading the load between two sacks that they hid under their beds. And after lunch, when Nanny Pru said they could play outside a while, they explored the backyard with escape in mind.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Gabino walked the length of the jury box as if he had all the time in the world. He passed close enough to Barber Smith Junior, sitting at the end of the front row, that the barber was able to place his cologne: Cantonese lime, a refined choice. Meanwhile, in the gallery, Mrs. Billingham fanned herself. Gladys admired the glint of afternoon light on her pearl buttons. Tom whispered to Eddie that if Gabino said his name again he’d sock him once the case was done. Clara and Nora, standing next to one another, slightly away from Tom and Eddie, whispered loudly. Tom didn’t even try to listen in: he’d get an earful when they left the courtroom.
“I know you’re waiting to hear from Mr. Wolf,” Gabino said. “And you shall. But first, let me tell you my client has never been anywhere near Half Moon Lake. I doubt he could find it on a map. But that’s no crime. Gideon Wolf is guilty of one thing: compassion. Two, if one counts kindness as a separate attribute.”
He examined his buffed fingernails. “You see, Sonny Davenport was not kidnapped by Mr. Wolf. No. He was found by him in Mobile, Alabama, the poor boy drifting about without a custodian, while our client was going about his lawful business of tuning pianos and church organs. And the reason the child approached Mr. Wolf was because he could tell he was a trustworthy man. How? Because on the day young Sonny met Mr. Wolf”—Gabino took the time to make meaningful eye contact with jurors in both rows—“and here I will keep my promise to you, gentlemen, and explain the remarkable specifics—my client was already in the company of a child with whom he had permission to travel. That’s right—another child. There were two boys.”
The people in the jury box and courtroom gasped as one.
Gabino spoke louder. “Gideon Wolf traveled through Alabama with two boys. Two!”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Ellis said, leaping up. “This is the first we’ve heard of—”
Judge Roy banged his gavel.
“Two boys, neither of whom he stole. Masters Sonny Davenport and Ned Mill.”
Reporters from
the Bugle, Daily and Louisiana Times ran out of the room to get the news back to their editors. This was enough to write their front-page stories. The details could come later.
Mary sat wide-eyed and unmoving. John Henry had told her to display no emotion, no matter what she heard in court, but it was clear everyone was shocked to hear this. She tried to catch her husband’s attention but he was looking straight at Judge Roy. As she reached out for him, John Henry stood up, and made his way to Ellis. She watched the two huddle and confer at the table, their faces furiously animated, while she concentrated her energy on how to comport herself.
“Yes,” Gabino raised his voice louder above the ruckus, “two boys. Ned Mill, son of Grace Mill, was traveling with Mr. Wolf not only with the mother’s permission but also at her request. That is how trustworthy a man our client is—a woman asked him to be her son’s guardian. And while he was undertaking this duty, he came upon Sonny Davenport—”
“Your Honor, may I approach the bench? This is absurd,” Gomer Ellis spluttered.
“Quiet!” Judge Roy shouted. “And yes, both of you, come here.”
The judge spoke first to Gabino. “I’m not averse to some element of drama in my court. You’ve woken up the jury. But you best have some evidence to back up your claim. As far as I’m aware, this is the first time anyone has suggested Mr. Wolf traveled with two boys.”
“I believe Mr. Wolf’s testimony today and Grace Mill’s tomorrow morning will—”
“You’re not serious,” Ellis said. “Your Honor, Gideon Wolf hasn’t stopped talking in months, and he’s never mentioned anything about being with two boys. No one has. And when he was arrested he was with one boy. It’s clear this is a complete fabrication, a last-minute gambit.”
The judge considered. “Mr. Gabino, I don’t want to hear another word of soliloquy. Get your witness up here right now. I’ll let you follow this line of questioning with him but I’m warning you, don’t waste my time.”
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