Grass Roots

by Stuart Woods

  Will opened the cottage door and let the wind blow in an occasional leaf; the cool air would keep him alert. He paced the living room, formulating questions to the witnesses and saying them out loud. He practiced a summation, though he knew its content would change depending on what the trial brought out.

  He was standing, hands in pockets, addressing an imaginary jury, when a particularly large puff of wind blew in a pile of leaves, scattering them around the room; he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he did not notice for a moment that someone had entered with the wind.

  She stood watching him, silhouetted against the sunlit doorway, until finally he saw her and stopped, his mouth open.

  “Hello, Will,” she said.

  It took Will a moment to recover. “Hello, Kate,” he replied slowly.

  Neither of them said anything for a moment,

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, breaking the silence.

  He was at last able to move from the spot. “No, no, you’re not interrupting. Come in, let me get you something to drink.”

  “Thank you. Something soft, if you have it. I have to drive back to Atlanta in a little while.”

  He went to the refrigerator, got a pitcher of iced tea, and poured them both a glass. He came back to the living room and put them on a little table between two comfortable chairs, then sat opposite her.

  “This is quite a surprise,” he said carefully.

  “I know it must be,” she answered. “I spoke this morning to some prospective analyst recruits at Georgia State University; my plane isn’t until six, so I had some time. I rented a car and drove down.”

  “I see,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He felt oddly unsettled.

  She waited a moment before she spoke. “I guess I’m going to have to be the one to speak first.” She looked away, out the windows toward the lake. “It seems we’ve been working at cross-purposes for the past few months.”

  He still said nothing.

  She took a deep breath. “I want to try to make you understand what’s been happening. If I can. When I got the new job, it rekindled something in me, something I had forgotten I ever had—a kind of passion for the work. The past few years had been so boring at the Agency that I really was ready to leave it and get married; then, when they offered me this job—well, it was like falling in love again. After two years out of the loop, suddenly, I knew everything again; they trusted me; I could affect events.”

  She tucked her feet under her in the large chair and smoothed her skirt, a motion that Will found familiar and appealing.

  “I immersed myself in it right up to my ears; I was working fifteen, sometimes twenty hours a day—we had a crisis or two that kept things on the boil. I neglected Peter.” She had a small son by her first marriage, who was enrolled in his father’s old boarding school in New England. “I didn’t go up there to see him as often as I should have, and when I finally did get a day or two off, that was where I had to be.”

  “I can understand that,” Will said. He had not liked it when she had allowed her ex-husband to send the boy there; he liked Peter and felt he was too young to be at that sort of school.

  “I believe I mentioned to you that I had to undergo a new security check.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “It was awful. There are still people at the Agency who think a woman shouldn’t be in this job. It was as though they were reinventing the security-clearance process just for me. I was terrified that they would discover my connection with you and use that as an excuse to deny me the job. They’re scared of Ben Carr at the Agency, you know. I’ve heard more than one person there express relief that he’s gone from the Senate Intelligence Committee.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Will said.

  “What may surprise you is that they were scared of you, too. Your staff work on the committee was better than they would have liked. You made life difficult for them at budget hearings.”

  Will laughed. “I always thought you handled my questions well—too well, if anything.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, sir. Still, they regard you—some of them, anyway—as the enemy. Believe me, if you’re elected to the Senate, there will be some disappointed people at the Agency.”

  “I hope to disappoint them.”

  “I know I wasn’t returning your calls, and I know how maddening that can be. Part of it was the hours I was keeping—I couldn’t call you from the office, and I seemed to be at home only in the middle of the night. Still, that’s not a good enough excuse. I think the truth is I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  He felt a stab of hurt; this was nearly his worst fear.

  “You were a distraction from the job, and I wanted to give the job everything.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “No, I promised myself I was going to be absolutely honest.”

  “Please do. I need that.”

  “It wasn’t just the job,” she continued, lowering her eyes. “I was feeling boxed in, and I used your absence to try and put you out of my mind. I felt guilty about not being down here to help you win this race, where I should have been, if I really loved you.”

  Will’s heart was pounding. This was getting worse.

  “There was somebody else,” she blurted.

  “Ahhh,” Will sighed. This was his very worst fear.

  “It’s not what you think—at least, not all of what you think. He was somebody at the office; he was funny and bright and comfortable to be with. He didn’t make any demands on me. And you were right, what you said when I saw you in Georgetown. The Agency does encourage people inside to … well, see each other, marry. There’s a kind of comfort that comes from being with somebody who knows what you’re doing, somebody you can talk about it with. It was normal, acceptable; I didn’t have to hide it.”

  Will nodded, but he did not speak.

  “I was having him to dinner the night you turned up,” she said. “But I want you to know that I never slept with him. I thought about it, I even wanted to, a little bit, but I never did. That’s the truth, and I want you to believe me.”

  Will felt a stab of shame. He had not been so abstemious. He looked away. “I do believe you,” he managed to say.

  “When there was any moment I wasn’t thinking about work, I missed you,” she said with feeling. “In spite of myself. Often, even when I should have been thinking of work, I was thinking of you. But I had this terrible conflict, and I had to resolve it.”

  Will was frightened now. As angry as he had been with Kate, he knew he still wanted her. Now she seemed about to make a choice.

  “On Friday, I went to see the boss,” she said. “He bought me a drink, and I talked with him for more than an hour. I told him about you, about the last four years. I made no apologies; I told him I knew what I was doing, and that I had never compromised my position at the Agency. He believed me, I think. He said he was spending the weekend at the Director’s country place, that he wanted to talk with him about it. I said I would do whatever he wanted; if he wanted my resignation, fine, he could have it, but that it was my intention to go to you at the first opportunity and throw myself at you. I … ”

  Will left his chair and knelt next to hers, took her in his arms, kissed her hair and her face.

  She was crying. “I told him I was going to marry you, if you would still have me, and if he and the Director didn’t like it, they could both go to hell.” She laughed through her tears. “I think I was a little drunk by then.”

  Will buried his face in her hair and held on to her for dear life.

  She looked at her watch. “I really do have to get a six-o’clock plane,” she said. “I just came down here to propose marriage to you, the moment you’re through with this campaign.”

  “I accept,” Will managed to say into her ear.

  “I’ll be a senator’s wife, if you win. I’ll stay at the Agency, too, if they still want me. Or, if you lose, I’ll go anywhere, do anything with you. I’ll come down h
ere and live in this sweet cottage with you and raise cows, if that’s what I have to do to get you. You’re more important to me than anything else.”

  Will laughed. “I can just see that,” he crowed. “Raising cattle, a country lawyer’s wife. That would be hilarious!”

  She cuffed him playfully on the side of the head. “I mean it!”

  “You’re sure you’re not just horny?” he kidded.

  “Oh, that, too. Boy, am I horny, but I’ve got to catch that plane. I’m traveling with a colleague, and we have a long report to go over; there’s one of those meetings tomorrow morning that may decide the fate of the Western world.”

  He laughed again. “It’s a long way from deciding the fate of the Western world to being married to a country lawyer in Georgia, which is what happens if I lose this race. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  They stayed, she in the chair, he on his knees on the floor beside her, locked together, until he had to walk her to her car. Finally, he kissed her the way he had dreamed of doing and sent her on her way. Then he stood looking out over the lake into a setting autumn sun, and he knew that, no matter how the election went, everything was going to be all right for him. Because Katharine Rule loved him.

  15

  There were more people at the courthouse than Will had expected, and they were better organized. As he was waved into a parking spot by a sheriff’s deputy, he saw two groups, one entirely white, the other mostly black, divided by the walkway leading to the front door of the courthouse. The mostly black group carried signs saying JUSTICE FOR SARAH COLE and STOP RACIST MURDER. Will saw that the black attorney Martin Washington, head of a group called ARE, Attorneys for Racial Equality, was back. Will had met Washington a couple of times and thought him an honest, if rigid and excitable, man.

  The group of whites standing opposite was smaller, made up of men and women, with a number of children and babies among them. Their signs said WHITE RACE UNDER SIEGE, DON’T RAILROAD LARRY MOODY, and CIVIL RIGHTS FOR WHITES. The two groups were eyeing each other with some hostility.

  “Who are those people?” Will asked the deputy, indicating the all-whites.

  “Beats me, Counselor,” the deputy replied. “Everything’s coming out of the woodwork, I guess.”

  Great, thought Will. This is all I need.

  Larry Moody, Charlene Joiner, and Larry’s boss, John Morgan, got out of a car across the street, and Will waited for them. They greeted each other, and Charlene’s hand lingered in Will’s for a moment. It was the first time he had seen her since their assignation of a few months before, and it took some effort on Will’s part to keep his response to her muted. He also felt a moment’s guilt that he had suspected her when the rumors had begun about photographs of a candidate and his girlfriend.

  They ran the gauntlet through the groups of demonstrators and paused on the courthouse steps, where television cameras awaited them. “Smile when you’re asked questions,” Will said to Larry. “And be brief.”

  “We’ve only got a moment,” Will said to the television people.

  Microphones were stuck in their faces.

  “Mr. Lee, is your client going to take the stand?”

  “If I think it’s necessary, yes, but I stress that I, not Larry, will make that decision.”

  “Larry,” a woman said, “are you glad to be coming to trial at last?”

  Larry Moody grinned his most boyish grin. “No, ma’am,” he said, “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I’m sure looking forward to getting this cloud out from over my head.”

  “Any chance you’re going to cop a plea, Larry?” another reporter asked.

  “No, sir, absolutely not,” Larry replied, more seriously. “I’m innocent, and I’m expecting to get acquitted.”

  “We’d better go inside,” Will said.

  “Mr. Lee,” a reporter said, “do you think this trial is going to have any effect on your campaign?”

  “Absolutely not,” Will said. “This is a case the Judge assigned me before I decided to run for the Senate, and the two have nothing whatever to do with each other.” He began herding his group toward the courthouse doors.

  “Miss Joiner,” a reporter called out, and she turned to look at him. Charlene was dressed in a dark blue wool dress with a full skirt, but a tight waist and bodice; she managed to look, at once, both elegant and extremely alluring. “What are your views on the trial?”

  Charlene fixed the man with a dazzling smile. “I think,” she said, “that Larry is awfully lucky to have such a brilliant lawyer representing him.” And with that, she turned and, with her chin tucked down and her eyes gazing up at him, gave Will an equally dazzling but somehow more intimate version of her smile. Strobe lights flashed from the print photographers’ cameras, and the moment was fixed in time.

  Will, disconcerted, hustled his party inside.

  *

  Jury selection went more quickly than Will could have hoped. He considered that the jurors who would be most sympathetic to Larry Moody would be white males, and the least sympathetic, black females. He ended up with four of each, but he managed to get black women who, if not particularly well educated, seemed intelligent and thoughtful. He could live with that. There were also one black man and three white women on the panel. Will might have been happier with twelve Klansmen, but he was satisfied.

  *

  The jury selected, and the preliminaries over, Elton Hunter, thinner since his illness, stood. “Your Honor, the prosecution calls Janeen Walker.”

  A trim young woman with a voluminous Afro haircut, dressed entirely in black, took the stand and was sworn.

  Elton Hunter addressed his witness from behind his table. “Miss Walker, are you employed at the Meriwether Counseling Center?”

  “Yes, I am,” she replied.

  “Were you at work there on December seventeenth of last year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the defendant, Larry Eugene Moody, come into the Center on that day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please describe the circumstances and what occurred.”

  The young woman shifted in her seat. “Well, I called the Morgan people about our furnace—it was real cold in the building—and they sent Mr. Moody to repair it. When he got there, he said it was a bad thermostat, and it would have to be replaced. Sarah—that’s Sarah Cole, my boss—objected to the price, but he said it was the cheapest one he had, and she wrote him a check for it, and he left.”

  “What was Mr. Moody’s attitude toward Sarah Cole?” Hunter asked.

  Will rose. “Objection, Your Honor. The witness has demonstrated no qualifications as a mind reader.”

  “Sustained. Rephrase, Mr. Hunter,” the Judge said.

  Hunter reddened. “Miss Walker, did you notice anything unusual in Larry Moody’s apparent attitude toward Sarah Cole?”

  “Well, he stared at her the whole time, like he was hungry for her.”

  “Objection,” Will said.

  “Sustained.” The Judge turned to the woman. “Miss Walker, you may testify only to those things of which you have knowledge.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Miss Walker,” Hunter went on, “did Larry Moody smile at Sarah Cole?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What sort of a smile was it?”

  “Objection. Is the witness an expert on smiles?”

  “I will rephrase, Your Honor. Miss Walker, did Larry Moody smile at Sarah Cole in a manner you felt was proper for a furnace repairman toward his customer?”

  “No, sir. I felt it was not proper.”

  “In what way?”

  “It was kind of a leer, sort of a street-corner leer, that you might see when a man is ogling a woman.”

  “Larry Moody was, in your opinion, ogling Sarah Cole?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “During the whole time Sarah was in the room.” “When Larry Moody left the premises, did Sarah Cole comment o
n this ogling?”

  “Well, I said to her, ‘Jesus, what a creep … ”’

  There were chuckles in the courtroom.

  “ … and she said, ‘Don’t worry. He didn’t bother me.’ ”

  “When did you last see Sarah Cole that day?”

  “When she left the Center, about six o’clock. I stayed on to finish up some typing.”

  “And how did Miss Cole leave? Was she driving?”

  “She usually did, but that day her car was in the shop, so she walked. It was only about a mile to her house.”

  “And did you ever see Sarah Cole again?”

  “No,” the young woman said, her voice trembling. “She was murdered before she could get home.”

  Hunter turned to Will. “Your witness,” he said.

  Will walked from behind the table and stood a few feet in front of the witness, his hands folded in front of him. He gave her a moment to compose herself; then he smiled in a friendly way. “Good morning, Miss Walker,” he said.

  The young woman said nothing, but watched him warily.

  “Miss Walker, had you known Sarah Cole for long?”

  “Yes, for about two years. That was how long I worked at the Center.”

  “Was Sarah Cole an attractive woman?”

  “Oh, yes, very attractive.”

  “Attractive to men?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Were you ever with Miss Cole in the company of men?”

  “Yes, lots of times, at the Center and after work, at parties, and so on.”

  “Did the men at the parties and at work seem to find Miss Cole attractive?”

  “Yes. Like I said, she was extremely attractive.”

  “Were any of the men on these occasions white?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Did they find Miss Cole attractive?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “So, to sum up, Sarah Cole was an extremely attractive woman, one that any ordinary, normal man might find attractive?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Then was it in any way unusual that Larry Moody, here, a healthy, normal fellow, would find Sarah Cole attractive?”

  “No,” the young woman said quietly, knowing she was trapped.