by Judith Pella
“We can subpoena her,” said Jonathan.
“She’s a real nice old lady, and I don’t think she’s being purposefully deceitful.”
Jonathan gave an understanding smile. “I will be gentle with her, Carolyn, if the need to call her arises.” He glanced back at the list. “The last name isn’t really a name at all. But your mother remembers a barmaid from the cantina testifying. Even at the time, your mother couldn’t understand what she had to do with it all since they had never set eyes on each other before.”
“I wonder…” Carolyn thought back to Ramón’s mother, to her dark, cold eyes filled with both pain and bitterness. She obviously hated the Stoners. “Did my ma say if she was a hostile witness?”
“They were all hostile, Carolyn.”
“Well, I just met a lady at the cantina—” She stopped as she noted Sam’s raised bushy eyebrows. “She’s the mother of a friend of mine at the ranch,” she hastened to explain. “Anyway, she owns the cantina now, but back then she was what I guess you’d call a barmaid. I talked to her, but she didn’t say anything about testifying at the trial, and she had plenty of opportunity to talk about it. She hates the Stoners. Still, she might have been hostile toward my ma just because she was afraid of Caleb.”
“What is her name?”
“Eufemia Mendez.”
“We’ll make a point of talking to her. There’s only one other person your mother could think of whose testimony might possibly help. Unfortunately, he disappeared nineteen years ago.”
“Who’s that?”
“Jacob Stoner.”
Carolyn paled as she remembered what Laban had said about Jacob and her mother. “No one’s ever mentioned him at the ranch, except once. I tried to question Laban and he said…” She glanced uncertainly at Sam.
“What is it, Carolyn?” Jonathan urged.
“It’s kind of a delicate subject.”
“We’re all going to have to have pretty tough skins,” Jonathan said. “This won’t be the only time we’ll have to broach difficult subjects. For your mother’s sake, we must forge ahead.”
“Well, he said that my ma and Jacob…that they—”
Sam mercifully broke in. “Your ma told us all about that, Carolyn. None of it was true. Your ma and Jacob were friends and nothing else—not that your ma might not have wished for more, but she was committed to being faithful to her husband.”
“I knew it couldn’t be true, but, Sam, why didn’t she ever say anything to me about it?”
“There was so much for her to tell you, Carolyn; I’m sure it didn’t seem as important as the rest.”
“Laban said he testified about this in the first trial. Won’t it hurt Ma if he testifies about it again?”
Jonathan answered, “We’ll just have to present your mother’s character as such that no one would ever believe it. That won’t be hard to do.”
Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to Carolyn. “What if Jacob killed my pa? What if he’s dead now, and the real murderer will never be found?”
“Have faith, child,” said Sam. “The truth will be victorious.”
Jonathan nodded. “Even if what you say is true, Carolyn, we still ought to be able to prove your mother’s innocence without this Jacob. We only have to prove she didn’t do it; we don’t have to find the real killer.”
In spite of the encouraging words, they all paused in a brief silence. It was nevertheless a sobering thought, and, though Jonathan Barnum might be reticent to say so, it would be a lot easier to prove Deborah’s innocence if they could produce the real murderer. If that murderer no longer existed, their case would be that much more difficult to prove, especially when all the clues had been buried for nineteen years. Carolyn had some hopeless moments at the ranch, but now, seeing how little she had gathered in these many weeks was truly defeating. Caleb said they would need new evidence in order to free her mother, the one vital thing they lacked.
Despite her discouragement, however, Carolyn knew she could not give up. She had to keep hunting, searching, asking questions. She would not quit until—
She just couldn’t give up, that’s all.
As if this resolve physically propelled her, she rose from her chair. “I’d best be getting back,” she said. “There’s lots to do.”
“You ain’t going back there?” asked Sam, incredulous.
“Of course I am. What else do you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know. But—”
“Sam,” Jonathan put in, “if Carolyn is willing, I think that’s the best place for her. If no harm has come to her by now, I doubt any will.”
Carolyn knew it was wrong to keep quiet about Laban’s attack and the ambush, and she’d probably regret it, but she also knew that if she said anything, Sam would have her locked up before he’d let her return. At least she had Matt helping her. She could not retreat from the ranch yet. She might not have been very successful so far, but she still believed she was probably the only one who’d be able to unlock any of the answers hiding on the Stoner Ranch.
“I have to return, Sam. But I will be at the trial. Maybe I’ll come up with something by then, who knows?” Then she turned toward the lawyer. “Mr. Barnum, I’m glad to have met you. I guess you know how much we’re all counting on you.”
“Yes, I do, and I truly hope to be worthy of that trust,” said Jonathan with true humility.
“If anyone can do it, you can, Jonathan,” Sam said. “Carolyn, you should have seen him with the judge the other day. When that fella found out this was the man who nearly won the Republican Presidential nomination a few years back, he was ready to jump through flaming hoops to get the wheels of justice turning for your ma.”
“In the end,” Jonathan said, “the only thing that’s going to matter is how I perform on the courtroom floor.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Carolyn felt a bit awkward about giving encouragement to such an important man, but Jonathan accepted it graciously.
“And you will do fine also, Carolyn!” He took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes as if he really understood all the confusion and pain this was causing her. “Yes…just fine!”
Part 11
Day in Court
49
Carolyn was glad to be able to immerse herself in her mother’s trial. If nothing else, it distracted her from her sense of helplessness—at least for a while.
It began on schedule Monday morning. Carolyn awoke before dawn, dressed in a white shirt and plain dark blue cotton skirt belted with a wide leather belt. No matter what happened, she would be there for her mother, even if she could help her in no other way.
Caleb, too, was ready to go when Carolyn met him in the dining room for breakfast. Although he showed some signs of lingering illness this morning, there was a glint in his eye and almost a spring to his step. He ate heartily, while Carolyn picked at her food. His eager anticipation of what lay ahead and his certainty that it would go his way put her in a sour mood. She hardly spoke during the fifteen-mile ride, nearly three hours in Caleb’s buggy, to the little town of Leander where the trial would be held.
As in many small western towns that had no other large meeting halls, the courtroom was set up in the town’s saloon, with the judge’s table at one end opposite the bar so as to minimize the impression of being in a saloon. To the left of the judge’s table were twelve chairs for the prospective jurors. Two other tables faced the judge—one for the prosecution and the other for the defense. Beyond this, also facing the judge, were six rows of chairs. It looked enough like a real courtroom…if you pretended not to notice the smell of whiskey or the long, oak bar with its bottle-lined shelves and large oil painting of a beautiful, voluptuous woman dressed in a red gown that showed all her features to best effect.
When Carolyn and Caleb entered the saloon just before nine in the morning, about two dozen people were milling about. Most were men, but there were five or six women also. Spectators continued to arrive, and Ca
rolyn was surprised that there were so many. She supposed that some had been called by the court for jury duty, but that hardly could account for the numbers that eventually filled all the vacant seats and left people standing along the walls.
“Why do you think there are so many people, Grandfather?” Carolyn asked, worried.
Caleb only shrugged and grunted, the gleam fading from his eyes. Carolyn decided that if the size of the crowd displeased her grandfather, it must be a good sign for her mother.
After ten or fifteen minutes, the noise quieted. A man entered the saloon from a back entrance so that his path led directly to the front without having to pass through the spectators. He was a tall, well-groomed fellow in a dark brown broadcloth suit. Carolyn, who had never witnessed any court proceedings, thought he might be the judge—he looked distinguished enough to be. But he took a seat at the front table to the right of the judge’s.
A few moments after he was seated, several other figures emerged from the back entrance. Sam and Mr. Barnum came first, immediately followed by Deborah and the sheriff.
An ache gripped Carolyn when she saw her mother, looking pale and thin in her shapeless gray prison dress. Even more difficult was to see her hands handcuffed in front of her as if she were some dangerous criminal. Carolyn wanted to jump up and scream at the sheriff for being so cruel. Mostly, though, she longed to run to her mother and hug her and know that everything was really all right, that the serene look on Deborah’s face truly reflected what was inside.
Carolyn sat motionless, but she gazed at her mother until she caught her eye and received an encouraging smile from her. Carolyn tried to smile back, but it was a forced attempt. The emotions churning inside her worsened when Deborah’s gaze shifted slightly to take in Carolyn’s companion; Deborah’s smile faded, and the light in her eyes dimmed.
Carolyn could not help stealing a glance at Caleb. His eyes were fastened on Deborah, even after Deborah looked away and took a seat at the other front table. Carolyn could not believe what she observed in that brief moment. Caleb’s normally stern countenance took on the quality of granite, and his eyes had the cold chill of ice. She had always realized that her grandfather hated her mother, but in that instant Carolyn saw what real hatred was. It grieved her deeply that the man she had grown so fond of had such a capacity within him.
She forced her eyes away from her grandfather, but it was an effort to concentrate on the remaining activities.
The sheriff, after seeing Deborah to her seat and removing her handcuffs, strode to the front of the room.
“Okay, folks,” he said in a tone that indicated his discomfort at speaking before such a large group, “this here court’s now in session with the honorable Judge Claude R. Wilcox presiding. If you didn’t check your gun with my deputy at the door, you best do so now, ‘cause there ain’t no guns allowed in here while court is in session. Now, all rise for the judge.”
Everyone obeyed, and Carolyn took the opportunity during the shuffling and momentary disorder to glance about the room. Then she saw the only other familiar face in the room. Sheriff Pollard, with a stubbled face and red eyes, was standing against the wall toward the back. It was the first time she had seen him since the day he had led her mother away at gunpoint.
The hours following the trial’s dramatic first moments were painfully dull for Carolyn. She soon realized that her secret hopes of a speedy finish were in vain. By the lunch recess, only two jurors had been accepted—a process, Barnum explained, that sometimes was the most time-consuming part of a trial.
Caleb had exited the saloon the moment the sheriff announced the recess, so Carolyn was able to visit with her mother for a few minutes.
“Is everything all right?” asked Deborah, taking her daughter’s hands firmly in hers.
Carolyn was touched by her mother’s concern; after all, she had far more to think about than Carolyn’s well-being.
“Yes, now don’t worry,” said Carolyn. “I’m getting on very well. But I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get much out of Caleb yet.”
“I could see that.”
“But I don’t think it’s hopeless, Ma. I really believe he…well, that he has some tenderness deep down inside. He’s just kept it bound up for so long that it’s gonna take time to get it loose.”
“You may be right, Carolyn.” Deborah did not sound fully convinced.
Carolyn wanted to say something positive to show that her time at the ranch had not been entirely wasted. But what hope could she offer?
“Well, I’m not finished poking into things at the ranch,” she said buoyantly. “There are still some rocks that I can look under.”
“Just don’t do anything dangerous.” Sam, sitting nearby, gave Carolyn a stern look of fatherly concern. “Sometimes there’s snakes under rocks.”
Carolyn began to regret saying anything. “I’ll be careful.”
“Well, we can use whatever you find, Carolyn,” said Deborah with a sigh. “We haven’t been able to turn up anything new yet, and that’s what Jonathan says we’ll need to win.”
“That’s not exactly right,” said Jonathan Barnum, striding toward them from where he had been talking with the prosecuting attorney. “New evidence—in our favor, of course!—would make it a sure thing. But we have other possibilities. Not the least of which is favorable public sentiment. That crowd in attendance today indicates we have people’s interest. You may not have noticed, but there were several newspapers represented out there—besides three Texas papers, there’s a reporter friend of mine here all the way from Philly. This trial is going to make national news; and believe me, none of the charges against you, Deborah, are going to hold up under that kind of scrutiny.”
“I don’t really like the idea of so much notoriety,” said Deborah. “But I suppose things might have gone differently nineteen years ago had everything been more out in the open.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Publicity isn’t going to win this trial for us, but I don’t think it will hurt, either. We still need a strong defense. It helps that the prosecution’s case is built mostly on hearsay.”
The court session ended at three in the afternoon. Three more jurors had been selected, for a total of five. It was frustrating for Carolyn, but she reminded herself that the longer these preliminaries took, the more time she had to find something that could really help her mother.
50
The entire second and third days of the trial were spent in choosing a jury. It was such a tedious, nit-picking process that Carolyn could hardly sit still. Just as Barnum seemed to find a satisfactory man to fill one of the twelve seats, the prosecution would conjure up some reason to reject him; and several times the defense disqualified the prosecution’s choices. Carolyn could understand that since the first conviction was overturned because of bias. Therefore, the attorneys were being especially prudent in their selections. But did they have to be that careful?
On Thursday, it seemed as if the trial would begin in earnest. The prosecutor, James Fuller, made his opening statement.
“Gentlemen of the jury, we are here today to confront a nineteen-year-old crime. You may wonder why it matters what happened so long ago. Isn’t it time to put the past behind us and move forward? But I remind you that in our great country there is no statute of limitations on the crime of murder, and for good reason. We hold life to be so precious that the loss of a single human being diminishes us greatly. It is thus our sacred duty to see that any act of murder against another person is always confronted, even if it takes twenty years to do so.”
He continued for ten more minutes, talking about the American justice system, extolling its merits, seeming to forget that even the court, in allowing this retrial, had admitted that the system had failed miserably nineteen years ago. His premise, of course, was that because the system was so great, it could not possibly have failed. He dwelt on that idea for a long time before once again reminding the jury about the value of human life. Finally, he concluded passiona
tely:
“The accused, Deborah Killion, has spent the ensuing years since that heinous crime in freedom and comfort. We must now forget her previous trial, for the court deemed there were irregularities causing it to be nullified in the eyes of the court. But let us never forget that a life was lost; a young man was killed, murdered in the prime of life. He had no years of comfort and fulfillment, for it was all snuffed out one night by a bullet shot into his back.
“After twenty years, there is still only one suspect for that crime—the woman we now see seated in this courtroom. It will fall to the people of the state of Texas to prove beyond all reasonable doubts that she did in fact on the night of July 2, 1865, with malice aforethought, by her own hand shoot and kill her own husband, Leonard Stoner.
“And it will fall to you, the esteemed jury, to convict Deborah Killion of the crime of murder in the first degree. And in that way, justice will at long last be served.”
Carolyn watched the prosecutor take his seat, but she hardly saw him. The man’s words clouded her mind so that she could concentrate on nothing else. Malice aforethought…by her own hand…murder in the first degree.
Carolyn glanced at her mother and was able to focus on her for a moment. Oh, Ma, please let it not be true! she cried out in her heart. Then quickly berated herself. It wasn’t true. She had to believe in her mother.
Jonathan Barnum spoke next. “Yes, gentlemen of the jury, your prime objective here today is to serve justice. That is all the defense asks, because when that objective is reached, this woman, Deborah Killion, will be completely exonerated of all guilt in this terrible crime. Thank you.”
Carolyn gaped with astonishment as Barnum sat down. The prosecutor had spoken for twenty minutes and, by comparison, it seemed that Barnum was slighting Deborah with such a brief statement. Carolyn liked Barnum, and he had seemed sincere. But was he really doing all he could for her mother?
