Next Holbrook called twelve-year-old Elizabeth Sager to be sworn in. Hope was unsure why the prosecutor felt the need to call the young girl. He already had Eliza Spaulding’s sworn testimony. Surely that could be entered in, or she could even be called to testify. She spoke the Cayuse language and had been called to interpret for them during that long month of captivity. To Hope’s way of thinking, she would surely know more than Elizabeth.
“Now, Miss Sager, would you please explain how you came to be at the Whitman Mission?”
The girl nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “My folks died when we were coming west, and Father and Mother Whitman took us in.”
“And when you say ‘us,’ to whom are you referring?”
“My brothers John and Frank and my sisters.”
Holbrook nodded. “And how old were you when the attack took place?”
“Ten.”
The prosecutor walked back to his table and picked up a piece of paper. Hope felt a growing sense of fear. It started deep in her belly and rose steadily, making her chest feel tight. After Elizabeth gave her testimony, the prosecutor would expect Hope to take the stand. Her face grew hot. She reached into her reticule, her hand brushing the pistol that Lieutenant Kenner had returned to her. She pushed it aside and found her fan.
“Now, Miss Sager, tell me in your own words what happened on the day the defendants brutally killed Marcus and Narcissa Whitman and the others.”
“Objection,” Pritchette declared from the defense table.
The judge nodded and looked at Holbrook. “You know better.”
“I apologize, Your Honor.” Mr. Holbrook didn’t look sorry. “Miss Sager, tell us about the day when the Whitmans were killed.” He glanced at Pritchette and then Judge Pratt and, hearing no further objections, continued. “In your own words, tell us what you saw and heard.”
Elizabeth squirmed. Hope fanned herself and bit her lower lip. “The Indians came to the house to ask Father for medicine. Mother was giving me a bath.”
“Who demanded his help? Can you point to them?”
Elizabeth pointed to Telokite and Tomahas.
Mr. Holbrook nodded. “Let me make it perfectly clear for the jury and the record, you’re talking about Telokite and Tomahas.” He walked to the defense table and pointed to each man as he said their names. He looked back to Elizabeth for confirmation.
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened after they asked for medicine?”
“There was loud talk and then shooting. It scared me bad. Mother and the ladies started crying, and they brought Father into the house. He was bleeding badly, and Mother tried to bandage him. Then Mother went to the window and someone shot her.”
“Did you see who shot her?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, but she was yelling at Joe Lewis. I think he might have done it.”
The questions continued, and Hope felt the churning in her stomach grow stronger. She knew she was going to be sick. She bolted from her seat and all but climbed over the other people in her row. When she reached the aisle, she ran for the door, pushing through the crowd that stood at the back of the room.
She fled from the building, having no idea where she’d go. All Hope knew was that she couldn’t testify. She couldn’t. The bile rose in her throat, and with no other choice, she doubled over and expelled her lunch.
Her vision blurred, and Hope felt her knees giving out, but before she fell headlong into the mud, strong arms wrapped around her waist.
Chapter
9
Try to relax,” Lieutenant Kenner said. “Breathe deep.”
Hope was too weak to fight off his hold. She felt another wave of nausea and bent over again. She was mortified that anyone should see her in such a state, but there was nothing she could do about it. When she’d emptied the contents of her stomach, she struggled to straighten.
“I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry.” She could barely breathe the words.
“Hope?” Grace called.
“She’s here,” Lieutenant Kenner replied.
In another moment, Grace was at her side. “I’m her sister. What happened?”
“I can’t go back there,” Hope said, shaking her head. “Grace, I can’t do it. I can’t.”
Grace looked at the lieutenant. “What can we do?”
“Is your wagon nearby?”
“Yes, just over there.” Grace pointed up the street.
Without warning, Lieutenant Kenner swept Hope into his arms and carried her to the wagon. Hope couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was far too ashamed.
“Just put her here,” Grace said, motioning to the back of the wagon.
Kenner placed her gently into the wagon bed. “Stay here with her,” he said to Grace. “I’ll go speak to someone and let them know she’s collapsed. They can hardly expect her to testify if she’s sick.”
Grace nodded. “Thank you.”
Hope curled into a tight ball, unable to stop reliving the massacre. She could see the blood and hear the screams and cries of her friends. She could feel Tomahas’s hands on her body.
“Hope?” Grace was beside her, pushing the hair back from Hope’s face.
“I can’t go back. I can’t go back.”
“Shhh, you don’t have to. Lieutenant Kenner is going to let them know you’re too sick.” She gently stroked Hope’s hair. “I won’t let them take you back in there.”
Hope felt her fear abate a little. “Why can’t they just hang them? They’re guilty. I was there, so were a lot of those other women. It isn’t fair that we have to go through all of this again. The Indians nearly destroyed us the first time, but now it’s our own people. It’s not right. It’s just not right.”
“I know. It isn’t right at all, but it’s how things are done.”
Grace continued stroking her hair and speaking in a soft tone. For a moment, it was as if Hope were back in her mother’s care. Mama had offered the same soothing comfort, and Hope was almost certain that if she opened her eyes, she’d find her mother there.
Oh, Mama, I wish you were here. I need you so.
Lance wasn’t at all sure who to speak to. He could hardly interrupt the court. He’d already left his post and would no doubt have to answer for it. But he knew when he’d seen Hope run from the room that he couldn’t leave her to face her demons alone.
He stepped inside the courtroom just as the prosecutor ended his questioning of Elizabeth Sager. Again the defense waived their right to question the witness. Lance took that moment to rush forward to the bar. Holbrook glanced his way, and Lance motioned to him.
“Judge Pratt, could I have a moment?” Holbrook asked.
“Very well.”
Holbrook joined Lance and listened as he quickly related the problem. “There’s no possibility of her returning at this point.”
“It’s all right. I have enough without her. I’ll let the judge know what’s happened. Thank you for trying to bring her back.”
Lance nodded then went to Eddie, who stood guard with the rest of the soldiers. “Take over here.”
Eddie nodded but didn’t have a chance to reply before Lance was gone.
When Lance reached the wagon, he offered the ladies a comforting smile. Hope was curled up beside Grace and didn’t open her eyes or move. “You don’t have to testify. Holbrook says he has other witnesses.”
He saw relief in Grace’s expression. “Thank you. I know she couldn’t have managed.”
“No, I don’t imagine so.”
“I’m Grace Armistead. I appreciate what you did for my sister.”
Lance’s throat went dry. Armistead. That wasn’t a name for which he held any affection. “It was my pleasure to help.”
To his surprise, Hope opened her eyes and sat up. She met his gaze briefly then looked at Grace. “Lieutenant Kenner is the one I told you about. He drove me home.”
Grace beamed at him. “It would seem you’ve come to our rescue more than once. I’d love to rep
ay you. Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner. I know my husband, Alex, will want to extend his thanks as well.”
And then it all fit together. Alex Armistead. The man who killed Lance’s brother was here in Oregon City. There couldn’t be two men with that name. Thinking back to the dark-haired man who’d sat with Hope and Grace in the courtroom, Lance felt as if he’d been gut-punched. He’d thought there was something familiar about him but figured it was just from having seen him in town rather than the memories of a twelve-year-old boy.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
He looked at her in confusion for a moment then nodded. “I’m sorry. I have to get back to the courtroom. You’ll have to excuse me.”
He returned to his post, but his mind was flooded with memories of long ago rather than the courtroom.
“Your brother Justice has been killed in a duel,” he remembered his father telling him and his brother Marshall. Lance was only twelve and just two years earlier had lost his mother and little brother to yellow fever. Death seemed a constant companion.
Friends of his brother had flooded the plantation house with reports that it hadn’t been a fair fight, that Alex Armistead had murdered Justice. His father and Marshall had sworn revenge, and Marshall had taken matters into his own hands and set fire to the Armistead family home.
When word came that the fire had claimed the lives of Alex’s mother and father, Lance had been appalled. It was one thing to destroy property, but Marshall had killed those people the same as if he’d put a gun to their heads.
Their father immediately made plans to spirit Marshall away, but the law had shown up much too quickly, and despite their father’s protests and assurances that Marshall would remain in the area, they arrested him and took him to jail. Lance had never seen him again. He had been convicted and sentenced to a dozen years but had died before his release.
Lance grew up an angry young man. He often talked to his father about how they might get justice for their family, when in truth he meant revenge. It drove him to study law, thinking that one day he might actually see Alex Armistead tried for murder.
For years his father shared his desires, but then sickness took hold of him, and some of the people who had sworn Alex had murdered Justice admitted to lying. His father’s views changed.
“Your brothers are gone, and soon I will join them. You have to put this all behind you, Lance,” his father had told him years later. “You must accept it as God’s will and move forward with your life.”
And Lance had tried to do that, but now the past had come back like an enemy who’d been stalking him all along.
Lorinda Bewley Chapman was called to testify, followed by Josiah Osborn. He was the only man who could bear witness to what had happened on the day of the massacre. After he was sworn in, the prosecutor immediately began.
“Tell the court where you were on the day of November 29, 1847.”
Lance did his best to pay attention to the proceedings and forget his personal issues. There was absolutely nothing he could do about Alex Armistead right now, since he was responsible for keeping peace in the courtroom.
“Mr. Osborn, was your family with you?” the prosecutor asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you tell the court where you were when the attack began?”
Osborn explained that he and his family had taken sick with the measles. Lance listened as Osborn told of hearing the commotion first and then seeing the Indians attacking. He identified the Indians he’d witnessed and continued to answer Holbrook’s questions with relative ease.
“How is it you escaped being killed, Mr. Osborn?”
“I hid with my family under the floorboards of the house. There’d been some work going on in the house, and the boards hadn’t been nailed down yet. I pulled them up and helped my wife and children underneath, and then I joined them. We hid there until nightfall.”
“And what, if anything, did you see or hear while you were hiding there?”
“Murder.”
There were murmurings throughout the courtroom, but the judge did nothing to still them. Holbrook continued his questioning and then finally turned it over to the defense.
The defense posed questions related to the appearance of the Indians. Osborn admitted there were a great many Indians milling about the grounds and that the Whitmans had arranged to have a steer butchered that day. The meat would be shared with the Indians. They were also grinding grain for the Indians at the gristmill.
“Were there other reasons for the Indians to be present?” Pritchette asked.
“Yes, a large number of Indians were sick—their families too. They came to Dr. Whitman for medicine.”
“And did he give it?”
“Yes.”
The testimony continued, but Lance could only think of Alex Armistead. Why had he reappeared in Lance’s life? For years, Lance had wrestled with his anger and sorrow over all he had lost, and now without warning the cause of his misery was living only a few miles away.
It was late in the afternoon when Holbrook announced he would call no further witnesses, and Lance fully expected the judge to recess until the next morning. Instead, Judge Pratt announced that the proceedings had gone on long enough and he wanted the defense to call its witnesses immediately. They did, beginning with John McLoughlin.
Mr. Pritchette began by asking the doctor to explain who he was, even though there wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t already know. Even Lance knew of this great man and all he’d done. The point of his testimony, however, was quickly proven when he said he had warned Dr. Whitman against settling in Indian country.
“The Cayuse have a practice of killing their medicine men when they fail to provide healing. It’s not at all uncommon among many tribes to take that attitude.”
“So when the measles epidemic raged on and many of the Cayuse died, they would have perceived Dr. Whitman as responsible for the deaths?”
“Aye. They would have.”
Pritchette asked McLoughlin a few more questions then offered the prosecution its chance to cross-examine. To Lance’s surprise, Holbrook waived his right, and the defense called its next witness. This time, an Indian named Chief Istachus, or Stickus as he was called by the settlers.
The spectators were shocked by a Cayuse chief being called as a witness, but the judge instructed him and allowed the defense to begin questioning.
Stickus knew Whitman and had hosted the doctor at his village some miles to the south of the mission on the day before the attack. He testified that he had warned Whitman that the Cayuse at his mission would kill him. He told the doctor he shouldn’t return, but Whitman insisted on going home.
Holbrook had only one question for the chief, and that was how Stickus knew the doctor was in danger. Stickus shared that he had been told this by another Indian who frequented the mission.
The last defense witness came to the stand to be sworn in, the Reverend Henry Spaulding. Spaulding and his wife had come west with the Whitmans. He had known Marcus Whitman perhaps better than anyone else. He had also been with the doctor at Stickus’s village the day before the massacre.
Lance listened as the defense attorney asked about that day and the advice of Stickus to remain in the village.
“Reverend Spaulding, did you leave with Dr. Whitman when he departed the village?”
“No. I stayed the night and left the next day. I feared for my life and wanted to return to my own family and home in Nez Perce country.”
The defense witnesses seemed to be there purely to prove that Whitman had ample warning that his life was in danger. It hardly disproved the intent of the defendants and, if anything, strengthened the prosecution’s case, as far as Lance could see.
Pritchette rested his case, and a hush fell over the courtroom as people waited for the judge to recess for the day. Instead Judge Pratt surprised them all.
“I want to end this today. I’ll call a thirty-minute recess, and then I want the closing ar
guments from both sides.”
It hardly seemed worth the effort to recess. Lance and his men took the defendants out a side door while the crowd poured out the back of the room. The soldiers hurried the Indians back to the jail.
“This over now?” Tomahas asked Lance. His scowl reflected his anger.
“No,” Lance replied, trying not to be unnerved by the brave’s piercing eyes. He couldn’t help but think of Hope at the mercy of this man. He was twice as big as she was and seemed to take delight in intimidating his opponents. His hate-filled expression had caused more than one of Lance’s soldiers to take a firmer grip on their firearms.
“When it over?” Tomahas asked, narrowing his eyes.
Lance looked him in the eye. “When you’re dead.”
Chapter
10
Hope sat at her spinning wheel, trying not to think of the trial going on in town. It was the fourth day, and she wasn’t sure what would take place. After getting sick the day before, she was relieved to be dismissed as a potential witness.
The carded wool roving was soft and smooth. As she pulled the strands apart, Hope thought of how her life was much like this wool. It had started out in a completely different form. Then it went through a shearing process. It had been washed, dyed, and carded, and with each process, it was altered just a little bit more, refining it to become what it was now. It had to go through all that in order to be useful. Was God processing her as she had the wool? Were all those horrible things she’d gone through part of that refining process?
It was hard to imagine that a loving God would subject His children to such atrocities in order to make them into something new. Grace had said that what happened wasn’t what God desired for His children, but because the world was in a fallen state of sin, these things happened at the hands of willful men. However, she had also reminded Hope that God could take evil and turn it into good. So far, Hope didn’t see how that was the case. She doubted the women at the trial saw it that way either.
Yesterday, Alex had gone back to the courtroom to hear the rest of the testimony after helping Uncle Edward at the mill. Meanwhile, Grace accompanied Hope home. They had said very little on the wagon ride, for which Hope had been grateful. When Alex returned that evening, he shared that Lorinda Bewley Chapman had testified for the prosecution, as had Josiah Osborn. After that, Holbrook turned it over to the defense, who called several witnesses, including Dr. McLoughlin, who shared that he had warned Dr. Whitman against remaining amongst the Cayuse. For some reason, the defense seemed to think that because Whitman was warned he could be attacked and killed, it negated the actions of the five men on trial.
Beloved Hope (Heart of the Frontier Book #2) Page 8
