Breaking Matthew

by Jennifer H. Westall

  “Thank you for offering,” she’d said. “But we’re holding fast to our faith that God will provide for Ruby.”

  Roy had given me a pointed look before adding, “All the same, if you need us, come and get us, you hear?”

  I’d walked them out to their trucks with a load of canned fruits and vegetables Mrs. Graves had insisted on sending with them. Once it was loaded, I shook Roy’s hand and thanked them all for being there.

  Roy had lowered his voice and held onto my hand. “If things get bad…I mean really bad…You come down to the caverns and get us.”

  “How will I find you?” I’d asked.

  He’d proceeded to describe several back roads and turns I was sure I’d never remember. “Then you’ll see a run-down gas station on your right called the Tipsy Gin. Ask for old man Harris. Tell him ole Ironside sent ya.”

  “Ironside?”

  “Yep, and he’ll ask you if you’s lost or somethin’. Tell ya there ain’t no Ironside around. You tell him you met ole Ironside in the war, and you need to see him. He’ll look at you like you’re crazy, but don’t waver none or he’ll clam right up. You tell him how terrible it was that Ironside got his leg blowed off.” I was certain I’d never be able to get all this right, but he kept right on going. “He’ll ask you which leg, and you be sure to tell him the wrong one. Say it just like that. ‘The wrong one.’ And then you take a seat and wait for me.”

  After he’d climbed in the truck and pulled away, I’d gone through the conversation several times in my mind, trying to memorize everything. But I’d prayed I wouldn’t need to. I prayed every single night, as I tossed and turned on the sofa, that God would rescue Ruby. That he’d at least grant her a new trial, and a new chance.

  The day of the hearing, I sat in the courtroom, in my same seat behind Ruby and Mr. Oliver, beside Mrs. Graves and Asa, with my head pounding like a drum. I hadn’t slept a wink the night before. The pews were only half full this time, with the Calhouns and the sheriff in their same place, and Mr. Adams from the paper just behind them. Only a few spectators showed this time, and Father was nowhere in sight.

  We listened to three hours of arguments from both Mr. Oliver and Mr. Garrett, and not once did Judge Woods call for a recess. Not even a lunch break. He seemed determined to press on through to the end, cutting off lengthy arguments and encouraging both attorneys to keep their statements brief.

  Mr. Oliver put forth five assignments of error that would warrant a new trial—improper evidence admitted, jurors not having been given the option of finding Ruby guilty of lesser charges, a verdict contrary to the law and the evidence, and finally, that there was no evidence to support the verdict. Most of his arguments centered on the footprints presented by the sheriff, and the failure of the sheriff to eliminate others who had entered the barn. Mr. Garrett did his best to refute every claim made, and forcefully argued the footprints were valid evidence that showed Ruby’s intent to cover up the truth of what actually took place.

  After a long weary morning of arguments, I expected Judge Woods to dismiss us while he considered his ruling. But he did no such thing. “In the interest of everyone involved,” he said, “I will be making my ruling without delay.”

  Mr. Oliver jumped out of his seat. “Your Honor, may we request a short recess while you consider all the information presented to you here today? I’m sure you must be exhausted, and we could all use a break.”

  “I thank you for your concern for my well-being, Mr. Oliver. But I am ready to present my ruling. I imagine your client is anxious to know what it is. So I will proceed.”

  Mr. Oliver sat back down like he’d been scolded. Then Judge Woods looked between the two sides of the courtroom and rested his elbows on the bench. “In preparing for today’s hearing, I have carefully studied the transcript of Miss Graves’s trial. I have also listened carefully to the arguments presented. I can find only one area where perhaps the evidence admitted was questionable. I concur with Mr. Oliver that the footprints at the scene should have been investigated more closely and compared to the footprints of others who’d entered the barn. This would have eliminated the doubt about the sheriff’s claim.”

  My hopes rose with every word, and my headache eased just a bit. But my brief reprieve didn’t last long.

  “As to the other assignments of error made by the defense,” he continued, “I’m afraid I cannot concur. First, it is not the duty of this court to offer any instructions to the jury that the defense did not ask for in the first place. Furthermore, in regards to whether the evidence supports the verdict, let me remind you that the jury must weigh the evidence it is presented. The jury must decide if a witness is credible, as well as the importance of the evidence offered. It is not up to this court to perform the duties of the jury. Therefore, given the limits to the power and duty of this court, I find that there is enough evidence to support and uphold the verdict.”

  The pounding renewed in my head, and I rubbed my temples, my vision blurring before me. How could this be happening again? Had God completely abandoned Ruby? None of this made any sense.

  Judge Woods announced Ruby would be transferred as soon as possible to the State Penitentiary in Wetumpka, where she would await her execution, and then he dismissed us.

  Ruby sat unmoving in her seat. I reached for her shoulder, and she placed her hand over mine. Then her chin fell to her chest, and her shoulders began to shake. It was the first time I’d seen her cry during this whole thing, and it shot through my chest like a bullet.

  Mr. Oliver put a hand on her arm and tried to offer some comfort. “We’ll appeal to the next higher court. We won’t give up, I promise.”

  “This is all your fault,” I growled at him. “If you hadn’t convinced her to leave out the option for manslaughter—”

  “Matthew, no.” Ruby stood and turned to me, swiping her tears from her cheeks. “Don’t blame Mr. Oliver. He’s done everything he can to help me. I did this. It’s my fault.” She gave Mr. Oliver a thin, grateful smile. “Thank you for working so hard.”

  I saw Sheriff Peterson approaching from the other side of the room, so I stepped over the railing and pulled Ruby up into my arms. I pressed her against me and kissed the top of her head. “I ain’t giving up, so you don’t either.”

  This time, Sheriff Peterson didn’t pull her away. He stood off to the side and let us have our time together. It was a pretty decent thing to do, but I couldn’t forgive him for offering up the very evidence that would take Ruby away from me.

  Mr. Oliver stepped away from us, and busied himself with papers. Mrs. Graves rubbed her hand up and down Ruby’s back. And I gently swayed with her in my arms. I had to fix this. Somehow. I had to make this right.

  I stayed with Ruby outside her cell till the sheriff closed up for the evening. We didn’t say a whole lot to each other. Mostly just sat there, shoulder to shoulder with the bars between us. I held her hand, and she did her best to keep up my faith along with hers. I had to wonder if even Ruby might falter in her faith at a time like this.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to let in the terrifying images that had haunted my dreams recently. “Me too.”

  “They’re transferring me soon. Sheriff said it might be as soon as tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”

  My stomach lurched. I dropped her hand and leaned forward onto my knees. “I can’t let this happen, Ruby.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. We have to trust that God has a bigger plan for us than this.”

  “A bigger plan?” I couldn’t take it anymore. All this faith in a God of no action! I stood and gripped the bars to steady myself. “There’s no plan, Ruby. Except to let you die for something you didn’t do. And I can’t just stand around and do nothing about it.”

  I pushed away from the bars and headed for the door.

  “Matthew!” she called.

  But I didn’t stop. I knew exactly what I had to do.

  I drove up
to my parents’ home as dusk fell, screeching into my usual parking place without my usual care. I slammed the door behind me as I jumped out of my car, not bothering to lock it. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, deliberately taking the stairs one at a time. But my rage did not subside. I pushed the door open and stepped inside the foyer.

  The lights made a gentle humming sound, and I could hear the clink of silverware from the direction of the dining room. I slammed the front door closed, rattling the windows.

  “Father! Get out here and face me right now!” I was determined to go no further than the foyer.

  But instead of him coming out to see me, it was Mother who rushed out of the dining room. Her eyes were anxious, and she held out her hands as she came to me. “Oh, Matthew. You’re home. Come inside. Come eat with us, and let’s talk.”

  I let her hug me, but I moved away as soon as possible. “Where’s Father? I want to speak to him right now.”

  “I’m here, son.” He strolled out of the dining room still wiping his hands on a napkin. “What’s all the commotion about? Your mother and I are trying to have supper.”

  “You’re going to fix this,” I said, marching closer to him. “You’re going to contact whoever you have to, and you’re going to fix this.”

  “What’s going on?” Mother asked. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

  I turned to her, knowing if I could get her on my side, I might actually stand a chance. “He had Ruby convicted of murder, and now they’re going to electrocute her!” I turned back to Father. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? Do you? She’s going to die because you can’t get your way on a business deal. A business deal!”

  Father barely moved. “Get control of yourself, son.”

  “That’s your answer?” I screamed. “To control myself? When you’re trying to rip my life to shreds?”

  Mother came up beside me and laid a hand on my arm. “Patrick, is this true?” He didn’t answer, so she turned to me instead. “Honey, your father couldn’t have—”

  “Mother, stop being so blind! He used Richard Moore to influence the jury for the verdict and sentence he wanted!”

  “Now hold on here,” Daddy said. “I did no such thing. You jumped to that conclusion on your own. That jury reached the verdict it did because of the evidence—”

  “You are such a liar! Do you even know how to be honest anymore? Tell her the truth!”

  The expression on his face darkened. “Listen, I may have hinted that if it seemed a conviction was likely, that he should do his best to convince the others of what he believed. But I did not force him to do anything.”

  “Patrick!” Mother gasped. “You…you couldn’t have known he’d be on the jury.”

  He looked between us with contempt in his eyes. “Neither of you understands the level of commitment it takes to keep this family prosperous in times like these. Do you see our neighbors? Do you see what’s happening around here? Roosevelt has been re-elected, and he is only going to squeeze more and more out of people like us. I’m doing my best to secure your future—”

  “At what cost?” I shouted over him. “Ruby’s life? Listen to yourself!”

  He pushed up his chin and pointed toward the door. “I’m going to finish my supper. If you’re only here to parade around and make a big scene, then I’ll have to ask you to see yourself out.”

  “Patrick!” Mother yelled. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m eating my supper.”

  He turned to leave, and panic surged through me. “You win, all right? I’ll do what you want! I’ll stay here. I’ll marry Vanessa. I’ll work for you. Whatever it takes. But you have to make this right. You have to contact whoever you can and save Ruby.” I walked over to him and stepped directly in his line of sight. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  His frown deepened as he looked between Mother and me. “It’s too late.”

  “What?” I said. “What do you mean? How?”

  “What’s done is done. It’s out of my reach now. You should have come to your senses a lot sooner, when I still had the power to do something.”

  Rage shot through me, and before I knew it, I had his throat in my hands. Mother screamed. I pushed him to the wall and held him there. “You are the most despicable human being I’ve ever known. You are not my father. Don’t ever try to contact me again. Don’t ever show your face to me again. Do you understand?”

  He met my gaze with no sign of emotion. “Clearly.”

  I let go of him and barged past Mother toward the front door. “Patrick, do something!” I heard her cry.

  But I’d slammed the door behind me before I could hear another word. I ran down the steps and flew to my car, sending dust everywhere as I sped away. There was only one solution left.

  I lost count of how many wrong turns I made before I finally found the Tipsy Gin. It was basically four walls made from cement blocks—none of them at right angles with any other surface—and a slab of tin on top that looked like it would blow away in a strong breeze. As for it being a gas station, well, it appeared to have had a tank at some point, but the roof over the pump had fallen in on one side so that it was unreachable now.

  I pulled in next to the only other car there and got out to look around. The hour it had taken me to find the place had calmed my feverish hatred of Father, but I was still on edge. I stepped up through the makeshift front door, and was surprised to find a fully functioning store on the inside.

  Behind the counter was an older man in ragged clothes making notes on a pad of paper. There were five tables scattered around the room, with four men playing cards at one, and two men drinking something not quite clear from mason jars at another. I didn’t look too closely. Not one of them stopped what he was doing, but I could feel their eyes on me somehow.

  “Can I help you?” called the old man from behind the counter.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  He looked me over, and I was keenly aware of how my slacks and dress shirt must have stood out in that place. I walked over to him and tried to remember exactly what I was supposed to say. “Um…I’m looking for, um…a Mr. Harris?”

  The old man went back to writing on his little pad of paper. “Never heard of him.”

  “Oh, well…I was supposed to find him and tell him old Ironside sent me.”

  “You were, huh? Well, it’s too bad fer ya then. ’Cause ain’t no one here that goes by either of them names.” He set his pencil down and started digging around behind the counter where I couldn’t see. “I can get ya a drink if you like though.”

  I leaned onto the counter and folded my hands together. “I’m kind of in a hurry. It’s very important.”

  “What’s important?”

  “That I speak to Ro—old Ironside.”

  He straightened and lifted a bushy gray eyebrow at me. “Well, then you’s outta luck!”

  I searched my brain for the rest of what I was supposed to say. “I uh…I met him in the war. Yeah! I met him in the war.”

  “That’s just wonderful. Now can I get you a drink? If not, you need to mosey on.”

  I slammed my hand onto the counter as the rest of it came back to me. “He lost a leg! I mean…uh, it was a shame about losing his leg and all. Real shame.”

  This time I could’ve sworn the old man’s mouth twitched just a bit, and his eyes held a hint of laughter behind them. “Sounds like an interesting fella.” He came out from behind the counter with a cloth and went to wiping down the empty tables. I waited for him to finish the routine, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “I said, it was a real shame how he lost that leg in the war.” I was about ready to just speak plainly and beg the guy to help me, when he finally stopped wiping and stood up straight.

  “Say there, which leg did he lose?”

  I nearly jumped in the air. “The wrong one! It was the wrong one.”

  The old man had himself a good chuckle. “You have a seat young fella, and I’ll be bac
k in a while.”

  He went behind the counter and brought out a Coca-Cola for me before he headed out a back door I hadn’t even seen. The other men in the store still hadn’t paid me the least bit of concern. I dropped into a chair at one of the empty tables and took a swig of the soda, letting the burn in my throat replace the fire in my belly.

  Seemed like I sat there for a good thirty minutes, sipping my Coca-Cola till it was empty, and then watching the four men playing poker. I was fascinated how they played in nearly complete silence. Like a dance they all knew by heart. After a particularly long hand, I turned back to the table and nearly fell backward when I saw Roy seated across from me.

  “How bad is it?” he asked.

  After I recovered my wits, I found my voice again. “Just about as bad as it can get. Can you help me?”

  Roy leaned onto his elbows and lowered his voice. “The boys and I been talking things over in case you showed up. We got some options, but we need to know where things stand.”

  “The judge upheld her conviction and execution. They’re moving her to Wetumpka either tomorrow or the next day.”

  “That narrows our options. Looks like our best bet may be to derail the transfer and get her over here to the caverns to lay low for a while.”

  The older man whom I’d spoken to earlier—I figured he was Mr. Harris—set a mason jar full of clear liquid in front of Roy, who took a sip and grimaced. “That’s some a our best stuff right there. Want a taste?” He grinned when I shook my head. “Might need a little Dutch courage come tomorrow.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Leave the details to us. Best to keep your hands as clean as possible if you’re running with her. That way, the law won’t be looking for two of ya. Can you disappear for a while? Affairs all in order?”

  I nodded. “I got nothing to my name. No job. No family. I can leave now and never look back.”

  Roy nodded. “Good. ’Cause that’s exactly what you’re doing.” He motioned for Mr. Harris to come over again. “Bring a pencil and some paper, would ya?” he said.