The Sacrifice

by Robert Whitlow

  He worked late and drove straight to the high school. He was a few minutes early, and Kay’s car was parked beside the modular unit. The door to the classroom was propped open to let in the cool evening air. Kay was sitting at her desk intently writing on a piece of paper. As he walked up the steps, Scott determined not to revisit the conversation they’d had after the football game. He’d opened the door to her, but he wanted to keep it by invitation only. He knocked on the doorframe.

  “Hello!” he said.

  Kay looked up without putting down her pen.

  “Come in. I’m finishing up a thought.”

  Scott walked in and sat down in front of her desk. Kay immediately returned to her paper and scribbled a few more lines. A few strands of her hair escaped and hung down on the edge of the page. She blew them out of the way and kept writing.

  “Done,” she said in a few minutes.

  “Grading papers?” Scott asked.

  “No, writing one.”

  “What about?”

  “Adoption. Do you handle adoptions?”

  “I represented a couple last year who brought a little girl to the U.S. from the Philippines. She was supposed to be six, but I think she was closer to nine; it’s hard to tell because she was so small. She’d been living on the streets before an agency took her in and gave her a place to stay. It was a great experience for everyone, including me.”

  “I’ve had a great experience of my own,” Kay said. “That’s what I was writing about.”

  “With a student who’s adopted?”

  Kay pointed to herself. “No, me.”

  Puzzled, Scott said, “You’re not adopted. You look more like your mama every day.”

  Kay smiled. “I’m not sure how well you remember my mother, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ve been adopted by God.”

  Scott gave the teacher a closer inspection. She looked happy, not crazy.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been going to church services in the gym at the middle school on Sunday mornings. Janie Collins invited me.” Kay picked up the papers from her desk and handed them to Scott. “Here, read this. It describes everything better than I can tell you.”

  Scott read the first few lines quickly then slowed down and carefully worked his way through the pages. He didn’t comment until he turned over the final sheet.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  Kay waited. Scott handed the sheets back to her.

  “I’m not looking for compliments, but do you have any other reaction besides ‘interesting’?”

  “You’re a good writer,” Scott said, laying the pages on the corner of the desk. “Very descriptive, almost passionate. I guess you could call it spiritual.” He paused. “How am I doing?”

  Kay pushed her hair behind her ears. “Okay, I guess. You still sound detached, like a newspaper book reviewer. I mean, did it affect you emotionally?”

  “Do you want an honest answer?” Scott asked.

  “Of course.”

  Scott’s eyes met hers. “What you’ve heard and felt about God’s love struck a chord in you. Other readers may hear the same notes. I didn’t.”

  “That’s better. Will you give me another honest answer?”

  “I’d rather hear the question first.”

  “Do you think this is just an emotional response by a woman who’s been rejected by her husband?”

  “It’s not what I think that’s important but what you believe yourself.

  Because religion is such a personal issue, I usually consider it off limits. I was baptized as a kid and believe in the Ten Commandments. Whatever anyone wants to believe is up to them.”

  The students started trickling in. Yvette Fisher gave Scott a knowing smile, appreciative of the information she’d purloined at the football game. She’d not exaggerated the relationship between Scott and Kay to the extent the teacher predicted, but several female students now viewed the tall, blond teacher as more human because she’d eaten bittersweet fruit in a high-school romance.

  Dustin Rawlings limped in and sat down in a desk so he could extend his right leg straight out in front of him. Scott came over to him.

  “What’s wrong? I was at the game Friday night and didn’t see anything happen to you.”

  “I hurt it in practice this afternoon. A guy fell on me in a pileup.”

  “I hope it’s not serious. Do you want to go home?”

  “No, I’ve had it on ice for an hour.”

  Scott slid an extra chair over to the desk. “Use this if you want to elevate it.”

  Janie, Frank, Alisha, and several others came in as a group. By 7:05 only one of the regular students was missing, a young man at home battling the flu.

  “We’re going to break up into groups,” Scott said, “but first I want one of the lawyers to practice an opening statement in front of everyone. If you’re a witness, remember what the lawyer says because you need to support it with your testimony if it’s consistent with the written facts you’ve been provided.”

  “And if it’s different?” one student asked.

  “That’s your lawyer’s problem. The other side will know as much about the facts as you do and will pick up on anything that seems incorrect.”

  Scott turned to Yvette and Dustin.

  “Which one of you is going to do the opening statement?”

  Dustin raised his hand. “I am.”

  “You get a bye tonight,” Scott said.

  Janie and Frank were sitting beside one another on the other side of the room.

  “What about you?” Scott asked.

  Janie raised her hand. “We thought Frank should do the closing argument, and I’ll do the opening statement.”

  “Why?” Scott asked.

  Frank spoke up. “Janie is more organized, and I’m more of a—”

  “Jerk,” someone said in a stage whisper from across the room.

  Scott knocked on the wooden podium with his knuckle. “We’ll hear from Janie. Who is the bailiff?”

  “Veronica Jones,” Kay said.

  A cute, red-headed girl with green eyes and freckles raised her hand.

  “Have you studied the materials?” Scott asked.

  Veronica stood up. “Yes, your honor,” she replied in a clear voice.

  Scott smiled. “Good start. Please call the court to order.”

  “All rise!” Veronica called out and waited until everyone stood up. “Oyez, oyez, the Superior Court of Russell County is now in session, the Honorable Scott W. Ellis presiding.”

  “Why did she say ‘hey you, hey you’?” Dustin asked.

  “Tell him, bailiff,” Scott said.

  “It’s from French. It means, ‘hear ye, hear ye.’”

  “That’s right,” Scott said. “Not long ago I heard a bailiff pronounce it, ‘ow yez, ow yez!’ It sounded like he had a tack in his shoe.” Several students rolled their eyes, and Scott knew his attempt at high-school humor had failed. He looked to Kay who shook her head.

  “Thank you, bailiff,” he said. “Please be available if I need your assistance.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “You may be seated,” Scott said to the students. Turning to Janie, he said, “Counsel, you may proceed with your opening statement. Will you be representing the plaintiff or the defendant?”

  “The plaintiff. I’ve written something down but haven’t had anyone check it. Is that okay?”

  Scott gave the student a stern look. “Counselor, the word okay is inappropriate in this courtroom. I instruct you to avoid it in the future.”

  Janie’s cheeks turned slightly red. “Okay, uh—”

  Scott interrupted. “I remind all attorneys to use words appropriate for a court of law. You don’t have to be too formal, but when asking the court’s permission, don’t use casual slang. Okay?”

  Janie smiled slightly. “Yes, your honor.” “You may proceed for the plaintiff. Please come to the front of the room.”

&n
bsp; Janie came to the podium with several sheets of paper. The pages were visibly shaking in her right hand. Kay stepped to the side of the classroom and leaned against the wall.

  “May it please the court,” Janie said with a slight tremor in her voice. “My name is Janie Collins. My co-counsel is Frank Jesup, and we represent Betty Moonbeam, the plaintiff in this case. Betty was injured in a car wreck. We think it was Pete Pigpickin’s fault because he ran a stop sign without looking where he was going and plowed into the side of a car driven by Ralph Risky, who was not negligent and hadn’t been drinking enough from the punch bowl at the party at Sarah Rich’s house to affect his driving according to the blood test taken at the hospital an hour after the wreck.” Janie paused to catch her breath.

  “Oh yeah, Pete was driving a truck loaded with barbeque, and it went everywhere after he ran into Ralph’s car. There will be several witnesses who will testify: Betty, Ralph, Joe Joker, Billy Bob Beerbelly, Dr. Feel-good, and Archie Expert. Betty doesn’t remember much about the wreck because she was thrown from the vehicle, but she thinks Ralph is an okay, I mean, good driver. Ralph will testify about what happened before and after the wreck. He is a pretty good witness. Billy Bob was at the intersection in another truck and saw what happened. Joe Joker is a friend of Betty and Ralph. He doesn’t know a lot of new information, but he can corroborate Ralph’s testimony.”

  She looked at Scott before continuing. “Corroborate means he will say the same thing so that you can believe what they both say. And then, Dr. Feelgood will tell about Betty’s injuries, which is important because we are asking for a lot of money for her pain and suffering. He has seen a lot of people in pain. Betty’s injures were—”

  Janie looked down at her papers, trying to find the data she needed. “Uh, multiple contusions, a concussion, and a communist fracture of her left leg. If you’ve ever broken a bone, like I did a couple of years ago when I fell on the ice and broke my left arm, you know how painful it can be.

  “Mr. Expert knows a lot about what happens when there is a wreck and will explain how the pattern of the barbeque on the road proves that Pete should have gotten a ticket from the police, and it was wrong for Ralph to get a ticket or be charged with contributory negligence, which is a bad law anyway. In North Carolina if Ralph, who was driving Betty, was a tiny bit negligent, Betty won’t get anything against Pete Pigpickin’s insurance company unless Pete had the last clear chance to avoid the wreck.” She looked at Scott again. “Or at least that’s what I think the law is, and it doesn’t seem right. After you hear all the evidence, we believe your decision will be easy. My co-counsel, Mr. Frank Jesup, will tell you what to do in the closing argument. Thank you very much.”

  Still breathing twice as fast as normal, Janie looked at Scott, whose mouth had dropped slightly open the deeper Janie went into her opening statement. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

  “Thank you, Janie,” he said. “It takes a lot of courage to go first. Let’s break up into groups for lawyers and witnesses.”

  When the last student left, Scott looked at Kay and burst out laughing. “I’ve been holding that in for over an hour,” he said. “I was doing all right until Janie called the injury to Betty’s leg a ‘communist’ fracture. It made it sound like she broke it before the Berlin Wall came down.”

  “What’s the correct medical term?”

  “Comminuted. It means the leg was shattered at the site of the break. In our small group, I told Janie to say ‘severe fracture.’ An opening statement is not the place to try out fancy new medical words.”

  Kay sniffed. “Of course, I’m sure you never commit a courtroom faux pas and everything goes according to plan.”

  “I’m a beginner myself. I walk downstairs to Mr. Humphrey’s office all the time for advice.”

  “You didn’t humiliate Janie in the small group?”

  “Of course not and, to his credit, neither did Frank. Janie is a bright girl. She was just nervous. By the time of the competition, she’ll have an opening statement that is a lot smoother and less rambling.” Scott chuckled again.

  “Now, what’s funny?”

  “The part when she criticized the North Carolina rules about contributory negligence. I agree with her, but a sixteen-year-old girl judging principles that have been around for 250 years—”

  “Shows that she’s analytical enough to be in the courtroom.”

  It was too cold for Frank and Janie to ride with the top down. As they were leaving the school parking lot, Janie said, “I think Mr. Ellis was holding back his criticism to avoid hurting my feelings.”

  “Who knows what Ellis was thinking? I doubt he has a lot of court- room experience, and I think he volunteered to help because he’s after Mrs. Wilson. I heard she’s getting a divorce, and they dated in high school.”

  The breakup of Kay’s marriage was news to Janie and explained why the teacher had come to church alone.

  “Are you sure about the divorce?”

  “Yeah, someone heard it from one of the other teachers.”

  After a few moments of silence, Janie said, “My parents are divorced. My father left when my youngest brother was about six months old. Now he’s living in Louisiana, and I only see him for a couple of weeks in the summer.”

  “My parents are splitting up,” Frank replied matter-of-factly. “My mother moved out a few weeks ago and took my little sister with her. I’m glad about it.”

  “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind. I miss my dad, and I’m praying he’ll come back.”

  Frank grunted. “Don’t pray for my mom. I’m happier the way things are.”

  He dropped off Janie and drove home. His father was in the downstairs study drinking an expensive whiskey. Frank joined him in the dimly lit room and sat in a high-backed leather chair.

  “Where have you been?” his father asked.

  “I told you. I’m on a mock trial team that meets on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”

  “Oh, yeah. Don’t get any ideas about being a lawyer. Every lawyer I’ve dealt with has been a shyster who overcharged me and didn’t produce. They’re all parasites.”

  “Don’t worry,” Frank replied. “I want to grow up to be just like you.”

  His father took another drink and didn’t catch the cynicism in his son’s voice. Frank looked at his father with disgust. There were dark circles under the older Jesup’s eyes, and he’d missed a button on his shirt when he changed clothes after work.

  20

  Sing to the LORD a new song.

  PSALM 96:1

  Harold and Lester Garrison arrived at Humphrey, Balcomb and Jackson without an appointment. Scott told the receptionist to have them wait in the small conference room. When Scott joined them, Harold was sitting at the glass-topped table, and Lester was touching General Hoke’s nose.

  He turned and asked Scott, “Is this an original painting?”

  “Uh, it’s an oil painting of a Confederate general from North Carolina. His name is on the little plate at the bottom.”

  “I know he’s a Confederate general from North Carolina,” Lester said with exasperation. “He’s wearing a major general’s uniform for Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. I know a bunch of stuff about the Civil War.”

  “Okay, but the general is long gone, and you have more immediate problems we need to discuss. The D.A.’s office is pushing your case harder than Grant did the Confederates at Vicksburg.”

  Scott summarized his findings for Harold. When he mentioned Bishop Moore’s recollection about the man on the other side of the creek with black hair, Lester quickly looked at his father who didn’t say anything. Harold Garrison had a head full of thick, black hair.

  “I think the D.A. should drop the case,” Harold said when Scott finished. “And I want to sue her for violating our constitutional rights.”

  “Were you listening to me?” Scott asked. “We’ve got some strong arguments, but nothing is certain in court.”

  “Th
at’s lawyer talk.” Harold snorted. “Anybody could win this case.”

  An image of Harold arguing to the jury in a stained white T-shirt flashed through Scott’s mind. No class in law school had prepared him for the Garrison family.

  “I have a legal duty to mention one other thing,” he said. “The D.A. brought up the possibility of a plea agreement when she called the other day. She didn’t make a formal offer, but mentioned five years in prison followed by two on probation for the charges on the church case.”

  Lester jumped up from his chair. “But I’m not guilty!”

  “I’m not recommending it,” Scott said calmly. “But I have an obligation to communicate the offer to you. What do you want me to tell her?”

  “That’s easy,” Harold said and swore.

  “Lester?” Scott asked.

  The young man shook his head. “Yeah. No way.”

  “Any counteroffer?”

  Lester narrowed his eyes. “I’m not guilty. Are you trying to get me to plead guilty so you don’t have to represent me?”

  “No, just doing my job. I’ll tell Davenport that we’re not interested in any plea bargain because you’re not guilty.”

  “And tell her like you mean it!” Harold added.

  After Lester and Harold left the office, Scott stayed for a minute to reorganize the file. He looked up at General Hoke’s portrait.

  “General, how would you have handled Harold and Lester Garrison?”

  The general stared down with eyes that had seen much death and borne the weight of great responsibility but didn’t reveal any nineteenth-century wisdom applicable to present-day attorney-client relationships.

  Mr. Humphrey, a more immediate source of advice, was meeting with a client and not available for a debriefing, so Scott went up to his office. An hour later his phone buzzed.

  “Kay Wilson, on line 4.”

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m between classes, so I have to be quick. Do you have plans for lunch?”