Breaking Matthew

by Jennifer H. Westall

  “She gave a short statement at the scene. Then she came down to my office a few hours later and explained in more detail what had happened.” Sheriff Peterson looked much more comfortable in the witness stand than Mr. Dalton had, probably on account of him having to testify all the time.

  “Why don’t you tell the jury, in your own words, what Miss Graves said to you in that first interview?” Mr. Garrett had stopped his pacing right in front of the jury box. It was a subtle, but brilliant move. It made it that much easier for the sheriff to speak to him and the jury at the same time.

  “She said that she’d gone into the barn looking for her brother, James. That he wasn’t in there, and when she turned around, Chester Calhoun was coming at her, saying he was gonna teach her a lesson. She said she struggled with him for a bit, and he tossed her about. He kicked her in the ribs; then he flung her against the hay bale and came at her with a knife.”

  Mr. Garrett put up a hand to stop him. “Now say that again. What did she say Chester did?”

  “She said he flung her around a few times, kicked her in the ribs, and tossed her against the hay bales.”

  “All right. Continue with Miss Graves’s statement, please.”

  “Well, she said when he come at her with the knife, she kicked at his hand and fought him off. That was how the knife ended up in Mr. Calhoun’s chest.”

  “When you spoke with Miss Graves, did she appear to have any injuries to her hands?”

  “No.”

  “No bruised knuckles?”

  Mr. Oliver stood. “Objection. Counsel has already established Miss Graves’s medical condition and that she had not sustained any major injuries.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Woods said.

  Mr. Garrett continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “Sheriff, did you find any evidence at the scene that would corroborate Miss Graves’s story?”

  Sheriff Peterson cleared his throat. “Only that it was apparent a struggle had occurred for a lengthy period.”

  “How long would you say is a lengthy period?”

  “Several minutes. The signs of struggle covered a wide area of the barn.”

  Mr. Garrett turned to face the jury when he asked his next question. “Did you discover evidence that contradicts Miss Graves’s story?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you please describe that evidence?”

  “We found several sets of footprints, and were able to narrow down a few prints from the fight. There were a set of boot prints, a smaller pair of prints that looked like ladies’ shoes, and a second pair of boot prints that were smaller than the first, but larger than the ladies’ prints.”

  The crowd behind me began to mumble, and Judge Woods tapped his gavel. Mr. Garrett, appearing surprised by this revelation, approached the witness stand and leaned toward the sheriff. “But how can you be sure those prints were from the scuffle, and not from other farmhands coming in and out of the barn? Or your own deputies, for that matter?”

  “Well, when people scuffle in the dirt like that, it gets all scraped around. Old footprints would get rubbed out from the boots and bodies moving all along the floor. And that was the case for the most part here. There were older boot prints around other parts of the barn, but where the fight took place there was large areas where the dirt had been pushed around, and a fresh boot print was on top. Therefore, we concluded the print had to have been made either during or after the fight had taken place.”

  “You mean like this?” Mr. Garrett went to his table and pulled out three pictures from the envelope I’d gone through with Mr. Oliver. He showed them to the sheriff, who agreed they were from the barn right after he’d arrived on the scene. Then Mr. Garrett took the pictures over to the jury so they could pass them around.

  The courtroom had grown deathly silent, and I saw a couple of the men on the jury nod their head as they looked at the picture. My palms started sweating. There’d be no way to explain away the extra set of boot prints.

  Once the pictures were returned, Mr. Garrett continued his questions. “Now, Sheriff, based on these pictures here, what can any reasonable man conclude—”

  “Objection!”

  Judge Woods leaned forward, looking pointedly at Mr. Oliver. “Sustained. Mr. Garrett, please make sure your questions only ask the witness for his conclusions.”

  Mr. Garrett tried again. “Sheriff, can you please, based on these pictures, explain to us what conclusion you came to?”

  “I concluded that Miss Graves was not the only person fighting with Chester Calhoun.”

  Mr. Oliver wiped his forehead with his handkerchief before he stood and approached the witness stand. “Now, Sheriff, is it possible that the second set of boot prints you’re referring to could have come from Luke Dalton? Or maybe Ruby’s brother James when he came to help her?”

  “I was able to find these prints a good distance away from the commotion that followed Mr. Dalton’s entry. They were secured as soon as we saw them, so none of my deputies made those prints either.”

  “Did you take everyone’s shoes that had been in the barn and compare them to the prints?”

  Sheriff Peterson’s mouth tipped wryly. “No.”

  “So you are guessing that the prints belong to Chester and Miss Ruby and…who?”

  “Another person we weren’t able to identify.”

  “Sheriff, exactly how many people entered that barn after the fight took place, but before you secured these footprints?”

  Sheriff Peterson leaned onto his knees and seemed to consider this for a moment. “Let’s see, there was Mr. Dalton, James Graves, Mr. Calhoun, and two of my deputies.”

  “And how are you certain that these footprints don’t match up to any of them?”

  “Like I said before, these footprints were located on the other side of the barn from where Chester died. Those folks who came into the barn didn’t go to that side.”

  The line of questioning quickly became futile. The sheriff wasn’t giving an inch on his conclusions, and the more Mr. Oliver pushed, the more certain the sheriff sounded. I was relieved when Mr. Oliver concluded his questions, but I was certain the sheriff had scored huge points for the prosecution.

  The clerk called the coroner to the stand, whose testimony, thankfully, turned out to be so dry I saw a couple of the juror’s heads drop before they bounced back awake. The coroner, Mr. Hankal, was an older gentleman who’d been coroner in the county for nearly thirty years. I felt sure he must have testified many times before, because he seemed rather bored by the whole thing.

  “When the knife entered Mr. Calhoun’s chest, it sliced into a major artery: the aorta. Although the wound itself was not large, Mr. Calhoun bled profusely into his chest cavity, which resulted in death.”

  Mr. Garrett sat at his table, leaning back as though he were as bored as the rest of the onlookers. “Were there any other signs of trauma to the body?”

  “There was a bruise forming on the left side of his face consistent with being punched.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Mr. Garrett asked.

  “Yes, sir. There was a fresh bruise forming on the left side of his jaw when I examined Mr. Calhoun at the scene. When I later examined the body at my office, it had deepened.”

  Mr. Garrett turned toward the jury and gave them a pointed look. My stomach sank again. No one in his right mind would believe little ole Ruby could have punched Chester hard enough to bruise him without injuring her hand in the slightest. This was quickly becoming a lost cause, and I was about to lose her forever if God didn’t step in and turn things around.

  I bowed my head and prayed while Mr. Hankal was dismissed, and the clerk called Mr. Calhoun to the stand. Surely he would be the last witness. And surely his testimony would actually help our case. He knew what Chester had done to Ruby all those years ago, and he’d have to stand before God and everyone and tell the truth, which is what he swore to do before taking his seat in the witness stand.

  “What is
your relationship to the victim?” Mr. Garrett began.

  “He was my oldest son,” Mr. Calhoun said, his large shoulders slumped forward.

  “Tell us in your own words what you saw when you came to the barn that morning.”

  Mr. Calhoun rubbed the back of his neck before answering. “Luke Dalton come up to the house a-hollering ’bout Chester being hurt down in the barn. I took off after him. When we got there, Chester was laying on the ground on his back.” Mr. Calhoun paused. He looked over at the jury with tortured eyes. “He was…gone…already. I checked him. He wasn’t breathing or nothin’. There was blood…on his chest, on the ground a bit too.”

  “Did you see Ruby Graves?”

  Mr. Calhoun turned his gaze to Ruby. “She was sitting on the ground a few feet away, leaning on the hay bales. James was there beside her. Neither of them said anything. I asked ’em what happened. Ruby said Chester had come at her, tried to attack her. Said she’d fought him off. Then she broke down and started cryin’.”

  “Did she say anything else about what happened?”

  “No. Sheriff Peterson and his deputies arrived after a while. I went up to the house to comfort Mrs. Calhoun and my daughter.”

  “Did you walk around the barn at all?”

  “No.”

  “Did you walk over to Ruby when you talked to her?”

  “No. I stayed beside Chester until the sheriff arrived.”

  Mr. Garrett stood from the table and walked toward the jury box again. I knew now he did this whenever his line of questioning was particularly important. “Mr. Calhoun, the defense is going to try to convince us that your son, Chester, attacked Miss Graves once before. Are you aware of any such attack?”

  This was it. Old man Calhoun was going to have to fess up. I rubbed my hands together and sat forward on the pew.

  “No, sir,” Mr. Calhoun said. “I don’t have any knowledge of Chester ever attacking Miss Graves before.”

  Shock and anger surged through me. Ruby turned her head and caught my gaze. I could see she was asking herself the same question I was. How could he sit up there under oath and lie?

  When Mr. Oliver finally stood to begin his questions, I wanted to jump right up there beside him and question Mr. Calhoun myself. I’d get that lying piece of trash to tell the truth.

  “Do you remember,” Mr. Oliver began, “March 21, 1932?”

  “A course I do,” Mr. Calhoun said. “That was the day all them tornados came through.”

  “Do you remember the conversation you had with Ruby Graves and Matthew Doyle on your front porch that day?”

  “I remember ’em both coming up there and accusing Chester of attacking Ruby.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  “I called up Chester to come over there and clear things up.”

  “And did he?”

  “He came on over,” Mr. Calhoun said. “He denied everything. And I believed him. I never saw no proof he done anything to Ruby.”

  “Did he not admit to you that he’d been attacking and raping a young colored woman—”

  “Objection!” Mr. Garret said. “That is irrelevant to Chester’s history with Miss Graves.”

  “Your honor,” Mr. Oliver said. “It speaks to Chester Calhoun’s temperament and pattern of attacking young women.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Judge Woods said.

  Mr. Garret returned to his seat, and Mr. Oliver asked the question again. “Did your son admit to attacking and raping a young colored woman who lived in the woods on your property?”

  Mr. Calhoun raised his chin and looked Mr. Oliver right in the eye. “No, he did not.”

  “Liar!” I found myself standing among the spectators, my finger pointed at Mr. Calhoun.

  A gasp ran through the rest of the courtroom, followed by hushed whispers. Judge Woods beat his gavel, silencing the crowd. He pointed his gavel at me.

  “Young man, you will kindly take your seat, and there will be no more outbursts in my courtroom. If you cannot control yourself, you will be removed.”

  I sunk back onto the pew, horrified that I might have just inadvertently hurt Ruby’s case. I raised my gaze until I found Mr. Calhoun. He was looking down at his hands, a blank look on his face. Mr. Oliver dismissed him, and he slunk toward the pews behind Mr. Garrett. I willed him to look at me. Just once, so he could see that I knew who and what he was. But he kept his eyes resolutely on his hands.

  I swore to God that when my turn came, and I was on that witness stand, everyone in that courtroom would know Percy Calhoun was a liar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ruby

  I sat in the courtroom that morning mostly in a daze. It was the most surreal thing to sit and listen to everyone talk about me, about my life and things I’d done, like they knew me. How had I become the center of such a mess, when really, I wasn’t worth all this trouble?

  After Mr. Calhoun was dismissed, the clerk called Irwin Cass to the stand. I couldn’t believe my ears. For a brief moment, Mr. Oliver seemed just as stunned. But then he lumbered to his feet and roared his objection.

  “On what grounds?” Judge Woods asked.

  “Your Honor, this witness was not present during the events that took place at the Calhoun farm. He has no knowledge of the evidence. His testimony bears no weight. Mr. Garrett is simply trying to prejudice the jury against Miss Graves.”

  Mr. Garrett turned to the judge as if he were offended. “Your Honor, I can assure you this witness has testimony that directly refutes claims made by the defense about Miss Graves’s character.”

  Judge Woods looked between the two lawyers with weary eyes. “Let’s take a fifteen minute recess and discuss the matter in my chambers.” As both men opened their mouths to respond, he slammed the gavel down. “Fifteen-minute recess!”

  Mr. Oliver followed Mr. Garrett through a door off to the right of the bench, while the crowd behind me began to shift and murmur. I turned in my seat just as Matthew leaned forward onto the rail separating us.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “I’m all right. How about you?”

  He shrugged and tried to smile. “Pretty bored, so far.”

  Just about everyone was standing by this point, so we both stood too. Mother reached over the rail and gave me a hug. “I think Asa and I will go stretch our legs. Stay strong, honey. We’re almost through the worst of it.”

  She and Asa headed out the double doors behind a few others filing out. Glancing around, I caught the stares of several people in the crowd, their brows furrowed as they discussed my guilt or innocence. My stomach tightened.

  “I’m going to the restroom,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Matthew shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over the courtroom with restless eyes. “Don’t be long.”

  I made my way along the aisle and through the double doors without meeting anyone’s gaze, but I could feel the weight of their judgment as I passed. It seemed as though everyone in there, or nearly everyone, was convinced I could commit murder.

  I went into the restroom hoping for a few moments alone, but there were several ladies already there, powdering their faces. They stared at me as I eased by them. One woman, whom I’d never seen before in my life, looked down her nose at me and muttered, “Should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  She huffed and gestured toward the other women in the small room with us. “Everyone here knows you murdered that poor man. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  My throat tightened, and I started to turn for the door, but I stopped at another voice from behind me. “In case you’ve forgotten, we live in a country where a person is innocent until proven guilty.”

  The young lady speaking stepped toward us. She wore a fine dress that spoke of wealth, and she carried herself with the confidence of someone who was used to commanding attention. Something about her seemed familiar.

  The first woman, lifted her chin and
gave my defender the same scowl she’d given me. “Well, I can hear as well as anyone in that room, and I heard the evidence. That’s enough proof for me. She killed that man. Or helped someone else kill him. All the same to me.”

  I wanted to speak up, to explain everything. But I caught myself. I’d just make things worse. People were going to believe what they wanted to believe. So I stepped aside and let the woman pass. Several others followed her out the door, leaving me alone with the young lady who’d spoken up for me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She smiled, and again it struck me that I knew her from somewhere. “Those old hags just like gossip to chew on and spit out. I wouldn’t worry too much about what they think or say.”

  “At this point, it’s the men on the jury I’m worried about. I can’t help but wonder if they think the same thing.” I turned to the mirror above the sink and stared at my reflection. “They look at me and see a person capable of murder.”

  I closed my eyes and shut out the sudden image of Chester dying on the barn floor, and how I couldn’t save him. Or maybe I just hadn’t wanted to enough. Did that make me a murderer?

  I opened my eyes and turned back to the young lady. “You seem familiar. Do we know each other?”

  “Oh, forgive me!” she said, extending her hand. “We met a long time ago at the Doyle home. I’m Vanessa Paschal. My family is old friends with the Doyles.”

  Vanessa. Yes, I remembered her. “What are you doing here, at the trial?” As the words tumbled out of my mouth I realized that sounded rather rude, but I didn’t know how else to ask. “I mean, I thought you lived in Montgomery with your family.”

  “I just wanted to come up and offer Matthew my support. He’s been so distraught over this whole thing.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” My mind raced to connect Vanessa with Matthew. “Are you and Matthew…are you…together?”

  Vanessa smiled and raised her left hand, a ring glistening on the fourth finger. My stomach twisted, sending a wave of nausea through me. I tried to force a smile.

  “Congratulations.”

  She looked down at the ring and adjusted it on her finger. “We were supposed to move to Nashville after the wedding. Matthew promised me this beautiful little house there. We had so many plans, but then…”