“I don’t have any interest in whatever stories are being told about me. I know the truth. I know who I am, and what I’ve done. I thank you for your concern for my soul, but I assure you it’s in good hands.”
“Ruby Graves, you are a vile, rebellious Jezebel. I am horrified that you have once again dragged the good name of the Doyle family into your sinful behavior.”
So that was what had him in a fuss. He’d always hated my friendship with Matthew and Mary. “I’m not dragging anyone into anything. Matthew is a grown man who can make his own decisions. Now, please excuse me, but I’m pretty tired. I’d like to get some rest.”
“You better get used to confinement. The rest of your time on this earth may well be spent in a cell, and unfortunately for you, the afterlife will be much, much worse than you can ever imagine.”
I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his shoes clopping away, pushing his words as far away from my thoughts as possible. Once again, I prayed that man would find some measure of compassion, and that God would control my tongue when speaking to him. As much I despised any interaction with him, he was a powerful influence in Cullman, and it would not be wise to entice him into a campaign against me.
Only a short while later, Matthew strode up to my cell like a man on a mission. His dark eyes blazed with that familiar intensity I’d seen before when he was set on making things happen. Despite my predicament, my heart did a little flutter. Something I hadn’t felt in so long; I’d nearly forgotten the sensation. I set it straight right quick though. There’d be no more schoolgirl crushes on Matthew Doyle.
“Morning,” he said, gripping the bars. “You all right? What happened last night? Did the sheriff and solicitor grill you? What did you say?”
I walked over to him, offering a smile to slow his onslaught of questions. “Good morning to you too. Yes, I’m all right. I didn’t get much sleep, but I feel just fine. They asked me the same questions the sheriff already asked me. Now, what are you still doing here? You should be heading to Nashville.”
“I postponed them.”
A sigh of exasperation escaped my lips. “And you lecture me about being stubborn, while you shove the same beam into your own eye.”
His brow wrinkled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t you read your Bible? It’s from Matthew. Surely you at least read that book?”
Gripping the bars, Matthew’s head dropped between his shoulders. “Can we skip the sermon this morning? I’m getting you out of here, today.”
“Don’t you spend one dime of your money on this circus, Matthew Doyle.”
He looked up at me with wide eyes. “What? You want to stay locked up in here? I have the money. Let me help you.”
I shook my head ’cause I knew if I tried to speak, my words might betray me. It was true. I didn’t want to spend one more night in that place, but I couldn’t allow myself to be indebted to him either. I could see he was going to dig in his heels, so I’d have to dig mine in just as deep.
“Ruby,” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Go home. Sleep. You should be with your family through this.”
“If you have even an ounce of respect for me, then you’ll forget all this mess, get on up to Nashville, and move on with your life,” I said, ignoring the heaviness in my chest and the sting in my eyes. “I don’t need your money, and I won’t accept it.”
The door opened, and Sheriff Peterson approached with a very large man in a dark suit following close behind. When they reached us, Sheriff Peterson stepped aside. “Miss Ruby, this here’s Norman Oliver. Judge Woods appointed him to represent you.”
Mr. Oliver tipped his hat. The sheriff turned to Matthew and clamped a hand onto his shoulder. “Why don’t we give Miss Ruby and Mr. Oliver some time to get acquainted?”
Matthew stiffened, but he didn’t shrug the hand away. He met my gaze, sending another rebellious flutter through my stomach. “I’ll be back soon.”
Before he was out the door, the sheriff was unlocking my cell to let Mr. Oliver inside. “Y’all take all the time you need,” he said. “I’ll be right outside. Just holler when you’re done.”
Mr. Oliver stuck out his hand as the sheriff walked away. “Well, I wish it were under better circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you, Miss Graves.”
I shook his hand. It was damp. “Likewise.”
He motioned toward the chair in the corner. “Shall we sit and talk a while?”
I nodded and took a seat on my cot. He pulled out the chair in front of me. I was afraid it was going to collapse as he sank into it, but it just groaned a bit. He took out his handkerchief and wiped it across his brow.
“Well now,” he said. “It’s my understanding you’re being charged with the murder of Chester Calhoun. So how about you tell me everything that happened, and we’ll decide how we should proceed.”
I closed my eyes to set myself right. I wondered how many times I was going to have to tell this story. And I wondered what might happen if I slipped up, even just once. Lord, give me wisdom and help me to be as truthful as I can be.
So I opened my eyes and started my story again. I explained how I went into the barn looking for James, and how Chester had come at me. I told him the hateful threats that spewed from Chester’s mouth—that part was as clear as daylight in my mind. I told him how Chester had flung me around and come at me with a knife, and how I’d somehow managed to kick at it so it lodged into his chest. That part wasn’t so clear, and I could see it bothered Mr. Oliver. But he let me keep on talking. Then I told him about trying to help Chester, and Luke Dalton coming into the barn, and all the chaos that followed.
Mr. Oliver studied me before he spoke. “I’m a little unclear on something. Why would Chester come after you in the first place?”
I twisted my hands in my lap. That was the tricky part. How to explain anything without explaining everything. “Chester attacked me once before. About five years ago.”
“Five years ago? How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Why on earth would a grown man attack a fourteen-year-old girl?”
I shrugged, unable to lie, unable to tell the truth. “He’s always been violent. My family was working as sharecroppers at the Calhoun farm back then. He managed his daddy’s place. He kept things under control by using force. I did some things he didn’t like, and I knew things about him he didn’t want anyone else to know. That’s all I can say about that.”
He rubbed his brow again. “Well, there’s no way we can say you didn’t kill him. If he did try to hurt you, then it was self-defense. But that’s extremely hard to prove, and you run the risk of being found guilty of murder. And in that case, you could possibly face the electric chair.”
A chill ran down my spine, and I was pretty sure my heart stopped for a few beats. “The chair? For this?”
“Like I said, only if the jury thinks you planned it and did it on purpose. Unfortunately, that seems to be what the prosecution is going to try to show.”
“How could they possibly show that if it isn’t true?”
“I haven’t seen all the evidence yet, or talked to any witnesses. I only have your words to go on right now. But Mr. Garrett is thorough and excellent with juries. I’m not sure how, but he will go after you. He will dig up every secret you have.”
Every secret…
My heart thudded in my ears as I realized the enormity of what was at stake. The electric chair? Was I going to die for this?
And what if my secret came out? Would God take my gift from me, like He took it from Asa? Maybe He already had. Maybe that was why He didn’t heal Chester. He knew all along this would be the end of me.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Mr. Oliver leaned toward me onto his elbows, his hands clamped together. There was something in his eyes that made my heart quicken. “Listen, you’re a young girl with a bright future ahead of you. If you plead guilty to a much lesser charge, say manslaughter, then m
ost likely the judge will give you the minimum sentence. Considering the circumstances, it might be just a couple of years.”
“It might be. But it could be a lot more.”
“Well, yes. For manslaughter it could be up to twenty-five.”
Twenty-five years. Covering my face with my hands, I forced myself to breathe slowly. No matter what happened, it seemed I was heading off to prison. How had I gotten myself into this? Breathe in; breathe out. My throat ached, and a few tears slipped down my cheeks. I heard Mr. Oliver clear his throat.
“Miss Ruby, I know it’s hard to think about going to prison. But we should consider that it would be a lot better than facing the electric chair.”
Coming back up for air, I wiped my face on my sleeve and tried to still the tremor in my voice. “You’re p-probably right. But…can I have some time? To think about it?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, his expression clearing of concern like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. Heaving himself up, he put the chair back in the corner of the cell. “I’ll speak with Mr. Garrett and make sure we can proceed, if that’s what you decide. And I’ll get all the paperwork ready.”
I suddenly felt too tired to stand. “Thank you,” I managed.
He stepped over to the cell door and called out for Sheriff Peterson, who appeared within seconds. Then Mr. Oliver bid me a last farewell, and I fell back onto my cot to release the tears I’d been trying to hold off.
“Oh, God!” I sobbed. “Is this what Your will is for me? What do I do? Please give me Your peace, Your strength, Your grace. I’m empty and so afraid!” I pulled my hands into my chest, trying to hold back the fear threatening to take over my mind.
Nothing came. No words of comfort. No whisper of love or encouragement. I ached for His voice, but there was nothing.
Chapter Seven
Matthew
When I came out of the courthouse, it was drizzling just a bit. The bank was only a few blocks away, so I decided to pull my coat a little tighter and walk. It gave me a chance to ponder my options—leave Ruby to sit in jail all alone, or pay off her bond and endure her anger? It wasn’t really much of a debate. I’d known what I was going to do from the outset, but her resistance had given me pause. I was already in need of forgiveness for turning my back on her. Should I risk even more of her ire?
I said a quick prayer and decided I’d just have to ask for more forgiveness. I’d borne her wrath many times in the past, and this was for her own good. She’d see that as soon as she got back home with her family. And she’d see that I wasn’t going to leave her to fight this battle on her own. Then she’d forgive me. Maybe.
I entered the bank and waved at Judy Hathorne behind the counter. She’d gone to school with my older brother, Frank, and her husband had died a few years back. Father had put in a good word for her and helped her get a job at the bank so she could feed her two kids.
“Is Mr. Campbell in?” I asked her.
She smiled and pointed toward the back corner. “He’s at his desk.”
I thanked her and headed that way. Parker Bank & Trust was about the only reliable bank in town the past several years. There’d been one that closed all together in ’33, and a small building and loan that did its best to stay afloat, but like many businesses, it struggled to keep its doors open. Father had never put his money anywhere but Parker’s, and he hadn’t allowed any of his kids to either.
As I approached Mr. Campbell’s desk, he smiled and waved me over. “Why, Matthew! I haven’t seen you in here in some time. How are things going?” He stood and extended his hand. Mr. Campbell was an old friend of my father’s and about his same age. His face was lined with years of worry, which I presumed to be over the stock market.
“Just fine and dandy, thank you,” I said.
He motioned toward the chair on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
I perched on the edge of the chair and pulled the passbook for my savings account out of my coat pocket. “I just came in to close out my savings account.”
The lines on his forehead deepened. “I don’t understand.” Then he smiled. “Oh, you mean you want to update your passbook with yesterday’s withdrawal? That isn’t necessary, son, but I’ll zero it out for you.”
“Yesterday’s withdrawal? What are you talking about?”
He tilted his head like a dog trying to make sense of a command. “This account was closed yesterday.”
“What? How is that possible? I have the passbook right here. I should have just over four thousand dollars in there.”
My head spun with questions. That was every penny I’d saved up since I was fourteen years old. I’d worked in Father’s stores, gotten odd jobs around town. Surely it wasn’t just gone.
Mr. Campbell looked down at the passbook and back up at me with a perplexed expression. “Why, your father came in here yesterday and closed out the account. Said you had a new job lined up in Nashville, and you’d be moving your account to a bank up there.”
I let this sink in for a moment. Why hadn’t he mentioned anything about this to me? “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Well, I spoke to him myself. He didn’t have the passbook, but he had the account information and well…He and Mr. Parker go way back. And Mr. Parker approved the transaction since he was the primary account holder.”
“He was the primary account holder? That was supposed to be changed years ago when I went off to school!”
“Well…I don’t know anything about that. According to Mr. Parker, your father was the primary. I suppose you’ll need to speak with Mr. Doyle about all this and get it straightened out. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
I groaned, knowing it was most certainly not a misunderstanding. It was a deliberate move to place me under his thumb. Did he think he could just hold my money as ransom over my head to force me to do what he wanted? My blood raced hot through my skin.
“I apologize for any confusion,” Mr. Campbell said. “If I can be of any further service, I’d be happy to help.”
“I want to speak with Mr. Parker,” I said.
“Unfortunately, he isn’t here right now.”
Pushing myself up from the chair, I slammed my hand onto the desk, and Mr. Campbell jolted. “This is completely ridiculous! You’re telling me that my father can just waltz right in here and steal money from my account with the bank’s blessing?”
Mr. Campbell glanced nervously around the room. When he spoke he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “No one said anything about stealing.”
I paced in front of his desk, rubbing the back of my neck to ease the pressure building. Mr. Campbell was right about one thing. I was going to have to talk to Father and find out exactly what was going on.
I stormed right past Era and into Father’s office, heading straight to his desk. Flinging all caution and childhood fears to the wind, I shoved my finger at him, demanding an explanation. “What kind of game are you playing at?”
He kept on writing, his expression remaining unchanged. It occurred to me that he had been expecting this very confrontation, and I was probably playing right into his hands.
“You may think you’re a grown man,” he said eventually in a steady, calm voice. “But you will not come bursting into my office and disrespect me.”
I was in no mood for submitting to his control. “Where’s the money?”
He dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as they met my own. “What money are you referring to, son?”
“My money! The money you stole from my savings account yesterday.”
“Stole? I believe that account was in my name, and that I personally deposited every penny into it.”
“I worked for that money, and you knew I was saving it up to buy a house for Vanessa and me.”
He leaned forward and smiled. The smile did not reach his eyes. “Well, then you go on up to Nashville, and get yourself a job. You and Vanessa can pick out whatever h
ouse you like. I’ll see to it the money gets paid to the cost of the house. In fact, I’ll even throw in some extra to help you kids settle in.”
Control. It always came down to control. “No, thank you,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’d like the money returned to me, that’s all. I’ll determine how it’s spent.”
He sighed and folded his hands over his chest. “And I suppose you intend to spend it on that wretched girl who’s in jail for murder.”
“I intend to spend my own money any way I see fit.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. You see, I can’t just stand by and allow you to throw away your future on someone so worthless. She deceived us all once before, and she used your good name to smuggle food away from hardworking men who needed it. She’s a liar, and now she’s a criminal. I won’t have our family name dragged through the mud.”
Realization mixed with exasperation made my volume rise. “That’s what really matters here, isn’t it? Not the fact that she’s innocent! Not that someone decent and kind needs our help. Not that she practically saved my life. But that your precious family name might be tarnished!”
“It’s your family name too!” My father’s voice finally reached the tone he used when demanding obedience. “I’ve worked hard all my life to secure a future for each one of my children, and I’ll not apologize for it. Nor will I stand by while one of them tosses it aside as if it had no meaning. You are a Doyle, and you will act like a Doyle!”
I stared into his eyes, so hardened they were blind to the truth. “I don’t want any part of being a Doyle if it means being like you.”
“Really? Oh well, then, you’re more than welcome to change your name! March right over to that courthouse and do it if you like. But that will not change who you are on the inside, and no matter what you do, you will always be my son. You want to come in here and fight me?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re more like me than you realize.”
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