The Sacrifice

by Robert Whitlow

  “She’s Mrs. Perry Dixon,” Scott answered. “They married soon after high school.”

  “I’m not surprised. While you and Perry were having your long, long conversation, Linda and I talked. She was a senior, and I was a sophomore, so we didn’t know each other at all. I wasn’t sure what she thought about you taking me to the dance. I think she had a friend she wanted you to ask.”

  Scott swallowed a bite of salad. “Oh yeah, Mary somebody.”

  “Linda and I hit it off, and when we were leaving, she told me we were a ‘cute couple.’”

  Scott nodded. “She hasn’t changed her opinion. I work out at Perry’s gym a few days a week. I told him about you, and Linda has been very interested in the whole situation. I think they want us to come over for supper.”

  “That would be fun.”

  Their steaks arrived. Scott had a greater appreciation for a fine cut of meat as a man than he did as a teenager. He took a bite. It was perfect.

  “This is almost as good as the steak we cooked over the fire,” he said.

  “There are a few differences,” Kay replied. “The chairs are more comfortable, and the smoke from the fire isn’t chasing us in a circle.”

  “Does that mean you didn’t like camping?”

  Kay cut through her piece of steak. “No, I loved it. I even did some writing.”

  “When?”

  “In the morning while you were washing dishes after breakfast. Nicky visited me in my tent. His paw print is on the edge of the paper.”

  “What did you write about?”

  “About the hike. It was more of a diary entry than anything else.”

  “What stood out about the trip?”

  Kay chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “The overlook where we sat on the rocks. It was a neat place. And the way you didn’t get upset when you lost your lures in the stream.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have thought that was important enough to write about.”

  “It showed me something about you. I hate it when I have to walk on eggshells around someone because they get angry and upset too easily. After watching you respond to the lost lures, I knew that I could relax with you.”

  Kay wanted to know more about Scott’s work at the office. He told her several stories about his interaction with Mr. Humphrey.

  “That’s what I wanted you to do with Frank,” Kay said. “He needs someone he respects to talk to.”

  Scott shrugged. “For some reason, I didn’t make the cut.”

  They ate the last bites of meat and shared a strawberry cheesecake for dessert. When it came time to pay the check, Scott reached for his credit card. It wasn’t there.

  “I must have left my wallet in my car,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  While Kay waited, an older couple who were leaving the restaurant came by their table. The woman stopped and said, “I have been watching you all evening. You are such a beautiful couple. Is this your anniversary?”

  “No, we’re not married. We came here when we dated in high school, so in a sense it’s an anniversary.”

  “Have a good evening,” the woman replied. “And create new memories.”

  Kay was pondering the woman’s comment when Scott walked up to the table.

  “I paid the bill at the front. Who were you talking to?”

  “A woman who was like Mrs. Kilgore at Bishop Moore’s church.”

  “The dessert lady?”

  “Yes. Only it wasn’t the dessert I was thinking about. It has to do with someone who sees things before they happen.”

  “What did she see?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe the future.”

  Kay was less talkative during the drive back to Catawba. The lights of the city quickly slipped behind and were replaced by dimmer reflections from the windows of houses along the shores of Lake Norman.

  When they arrived at Kay’s apartment complex, Scott got out and walked her up the steps to her front door. Kay unlocked the door.

  “This has been a great celebration,” he said.

  Scott hesitated. He wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if the invitation was open. Kay faced him, and Scott’s heart skipped. He felt more nervous than a schoolboy. He cleared his throat.

  “Do you remember what I told you about my fear at the overlook?”

  Kay nodded and kept her eyes on his.

  “Would I be making a mistake if I kissed you?”

  “No.”

  Scott leaned forward, and they leaped together across the chasm from friendship to the first steps of intimacy.

  When they parted, Kay said, “Thank you, Scott.”

  “For what?”

  “For helping to bring me back to life.”

  The following morning, Kay opened her eyes to the first frost of the season. The green grass was covered with frozen crystals, and the heat of the earth was sending up a white mist. The few remaining green leaves would soon turn color and fall to the ground. She wrapped herself in her warmest robe and stepped onto her deck. Her breath reached out to the mist rising from the ground.

  She arrived a few minutes late to the church. She found a spot by Janie’s little brother, who smiled when he saw her. Soon after the music started, Kay was in the place where God’s love was both the focus of her attention and the experience of her spirit. When the last notes faded, she stayed still for a few more moments in the river of worship.

  When it was time for the sermon, Ben Whitmire took his place behind the black music stand. “My scripture today is from Psalm 116:15. ‘Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.’

  “Seven years ago my mother died. She was eighty-nine years old and lived the last eighty-five years of her life in west Texas, an area that shares a lot in common with the land of Israel. It is hot, dry, and you can see for long distances. But there is something about a barren place that brings perspective, and my mother had a healthy perspective on life and death. For example, one of her favorite sayings was ‘human history didn’t begin with our birth and won’t end with our death.’ She believed we are part of something bigger than ourselves. This is especially true if we are part of God’s kingdom.”

  Ben told several stories about his mother that illustrated the life of a twentieth-century person who walked with God.

  “One of the greatest lessons my mother taught me came at the time of her death. Now, there is no doubt that death is an enemy. Paul writes that ‘the last enemy to be destroyed is death.’ However, there is something even more remarkable about death found in the words of Jesus in John 8:51: ‘If anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.’”

  Ben took off his bifocals.

  “This verse troubled me for a long time. I mean, a lot of Christians have died in the last two thousand years. Didn’t they have to face death? My mother’s last day on earth helped me understand this truth.

  “When she was getting very weak, she told me to call my brothers and ask them to come to the hospital. She had a sense that her time to leave us was close at hand, and our family spent her last afternoon on this earth together in her hospital room. About four o’clock, she gave a long sigh and stopped breathing. At that moment a lightness entered the room, and there was peace in the atmosphere and on her face. Immediately, the Lord reminded me of the words of Jesus and spoke to my heart: She didn’t see death. She passed directly from this life to the next. We all stood around and said good-bye. As one of God’s children, she walked seamlessly from this world to the next.”

  Ben wiped his left eye with his handkerchief.

  “Usually, death is only discussed at funerals when everyone is upset at the loss of a loved one, and the message of Christian hope is dismissed by many as a sentimental attempt to help people feel better about what has happened. But I realized something the day my mother died—death is a defeated foe to those who know the Lord in a personal way. If his life is in you, you may stop breathing, but you will not see death. Jesus Christ is Conqueror of death and Lord of l
ife. Let’s pray.”

  Ben’s message was a strong affirmation of the freedom from the fear of death Kay had already experienced. Now her focus was on life.

  41

  Deceive not thy physician, confessor, nor lawyer.

  GEORGE HERBERT

  Monday morning, the trial day butterflies returned to Scott’s stomach. As he sat in his office going over his notes, he realized that he was more nervous about seeing Harold Garrison than facing Lynn Davenport and the twelve people who would serve on the jury. He already knew secondhand that the older Garrison was mad at him. Soon, Harold would be able to vent his displeasure in person.

  Mr. Humphrey’s fantasy had not come to pass. Kendall Kidd was not in the Blanchard County jail, and Scott had not received a phone call from Detective Griffin that the felonious cousin was in custody in South Carolina. Thus, the most important person connected to State v. Garrison would be absent from the courtroom.

  Lester and Harold arrived at the office a few minutes before they had to leave for the courthouse. Scott stopped by Mr. Humphrey’s office on his way to the reception area.

  “They’re here,” he said.

  The older lawyer straightened his bow tie. “I’ll come with you in case someone has to sit on Harold.”

  As instructed, Lester was wearing the same wrinkled white shirt and black pants. Harold was wearing brown pants and a blue shirt that didn’t match. Scott decided to proceed as if the discussion of Kendall had never taken place.

  “Are you ready to go?” Scott asked.

  “I have one question for y’all before we leave,” Harold responded.

  Scott waited. Mr. Humphrey moved a step closer.

  “How long will it take to try this case?” he asked. “Will we finish it up today?”

  Caught off guard, Scott hesitated before responding. “I doubt it. It will take two days to select the jury and present the testimony. Then we have to see how long the jury deliberates. Anything else?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  The jury pool wasn’t as large as the one summoned for the previous week of trial, and the old courtroom was only half full. Lynn Davenport entered, and Scott walked over to her. He didn’t want another unanticipated continuance.

  “Are you going forward with the Garrison case?” he asked.

  She nodded curtly. “Yes.”

  “Do you have any preliminary matters?”

  “Yes.”

  Scott didn’t try to find out how long they would have to wait. They had to stay in the courtroom anyway.

  Judge Teasley arrived, and the D.A. began calling cases in which the defendants wanted to plead guilty. Several men and women admitted their guilt to a variety of charges. Judge Teasley sentenced some of them on the spot; others were referred for a pre-sentence investigation and background check. Scott didn’t like the jury pool hearing so many people stand before the judge and confess their guilt. It gave the impression that every case involved a guilty person. He glanced at Lester. His client was watching the process very closely.

  It was an hour before Lynn Davenport stood and announced, “State v. Garrison, case number 76452, called for trial.”

  The defense team took their place at their table, and the jury selection process began. The clerk of court sounded twelve names, and the persons summoned separated themselves from their peers and entered the jury box to be questioned by the lawyers.

  The first time Lynn Davenport addressed a panel of prospective jurors she gave a brief summary of the case.

  “Lester Garrison is charged with assault with a deadly weapon with intent to inflict serious injury, assault by pointing a gun, and criminal damage to property. These crimes occurred during a sacred baptism service at the Hall’s Chapel Church.”

  Scott had lived with the case in such close quarters that the events leading up to the charges against Lester had become words on a piece of paper. Now hearing them repeated in open court, the situation was no longer a hypothetical problem but a dangerous incident involving real people. It was chilling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lester squirm in his chair.

  Scott introduced himself to each panel the same way. “I’m Scott Ellis. Together with Mr. Leland Humphrey, I’ll be representing Lester Garrison in this case. Lester is the young man sitting next to Mr. Humphrey.”

  Scott adopted a relaxed attitude in an effort to send the jury a subtle message that State v. Garrison was not as serious a matter as the assistant district attorney with the northern accent made it sound. Every time Scott mentioned Mr. Humphrey several jurors smiled and nodded in greeting to the well-known lawyer. Scott could see Lynn Davenport making notes of unspoken communication. He doubted any smiling jurors would make the cut.

  When it came time to select the twelve men and women to decide Lester’s fate, the prosecutor didn’t try to strike everyone who knew Leland Humphrey. Her strategy was more relevant to the facts of the case. She targeted white males who might not think there was anything wrong with scaring black folks by firing a gun in their general vicinity and tried to protect African-Americans and the more educated jurors.

  Scott wanted to keep a few rednecks, several women who might be sympathetic to Lester because of his age, and clients and friends of Mr. Humphrey. The only juror known to Harold Garrison was dismissed by the D.A. and left the courtroom with a pouch of chewing tobacco bulging in his back pocket.

  The sharpest debate over a juror at the defense table involved a man who attended Hall’s Chapel Church. He wasn’t present on the day of the shooting. Mr. Humphrey and Scott quickly discussed the pros and cons. Scott wished he could flip a coin.

  Lester leaned over and hissed, “You’re not going to leave him on the jury are you? He said he went to the church.”

  Scott answered, “He might be good because he’ll believe what Bishop Moore and Alisha Mason say about a dark-haired person.”

  “I don’t want him,” Lester said, looking at his father.

  “Keep him off,” Harold seconded.

  Mr. Humphrey nodded. “He’s gone.”

  In spite of Lester’s preferences, all the African-Americans could not be stricken, and when the twelve jurors were seated, two of them had dark skin.

  The judge looked them over and asked the D.A., “Is this your jury, Ms. Davenport?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Mr. Ellis?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  The judge administered the oath to the jurors, then said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do not discuss the case among yourselves or with anyone else. Do not attempt to find out about the case from any source. Your decision will be based solely on the testimony and exhibits admitted into evidence in this courtroom. When you return, reassemble in the jury room. The bailiffs can direct you.”

  He banged his gavel. “The court will be in recess until 1:15.”

  The jurors filed out of the jury box. In a simple case like Lester’s trial, the jury wouldn’t be sequestered and were free to scatter for lunch on their own.

  Scott, Mr. Humphrey, and the Garrisons walked up the aisle to the back of the courtroom. Outside in the hallway, Mr. Humphrey said, “We have a good jury. I think they will make the state prove its case.”

  Harold grunted. “I don’t trust none of ’em. What was the D.A.’s last offer if Lester pleaded guilty?”

  Scott stared at Harold, and Mr. Humphrey cleared his throat so loudly that it sounded like he swallowed something by accident.

  “There is no offer,” Scott responded. “We turned it down before the case was on the trial calendar two weeks ago, and it’s been withdrawn. The prosecution doesn’t have to leave an offer on the table.”

  “What was it?” Harold persisted.

  “Six months in a boot-camp program and three years on probation. The conspiracy charges would also be dropped.”

  “And if he don’t plead guilty, what could he get?”

  Speaking slowly and distinctly, Scott asked, “Did you hear me? There is no off
er to accept. If Lester is convicted, the sentence would be up to the judge. He could give him probation or ten years in the penitentiary. It’s a gamble.”

  Looking at his son, Harold asked, “Well?”

  Lester turned to Scott. “Should I plead guilty? What do you think?”

  Scott thought both of the Garrisons were crazy. This was not the time to float a plea offer in front of Davenport so she could blow it out of the water.

  He pointed out the basic reason why his client couldn’t plead guilty. “Lester, you shouldn’t plead guilty to something you didn’t do. You’re not guilty of the crimes listed on the indictment. I advised you to testify to the truth about your cousin Kendall. Since you’ve decided not to take my advice, I’m ready to try the case.”

  Lester looked once more at his father, then said, “I want to plead guilty. I couldn’t stand it if I had to go to prison.”

  Scott was speechless.

  Mr. Humphrey recovered enough to ask, “What made you change your mind?”

  “Watching the people plead guilty this morning got me thinking,” Lester answered. “Then, listening to the stuff the D.A. said about the case made me realize that the jury might believe her lies.”

  “But we don’t have an offer,” Scott added.

  Harold looked at Mr. Humphrey. “You talk to the judge. You know him, don’t you?”

  Mr. Humphrey answered, “We can talk to the judge, but under the rules we have to bring the D.A. into the conversation.”

  “She don’t carry your clout,” Harold said. “Get the deal involving the boot camp and dropping the other charges.”

  Scott turned to Lester. “But you’re not guilty. What are you going to say when the judge asks you if you fired the shots? You heard him question the other defendants who entered pleas this morning. He makes sure the person committed the crime.”

  “We talked about that while you were selecting the jurors,” Lester answered. “I’ll tell the judge that I did it.”

  Not trying to hide his frustration, Scott replied, “But that would be lying. What about Kendall?”

  “I fired the shots,” Lester replied with a straight face. “All Kendall did was dare me to do it. In the end, it probably won’t make any difference.”