The Woods at Barlow Bend

by Jodie Cain Smith

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked, “Tell Mr. Jones that you won’t take the stand.”

  “Hattie, Honey, I’m afraid if I don’t, the jury will think your Daddy’s guilty. He’s guilty of plenty, but not this. Having me stand up for him will go a long way with the jury. You can’t lose both your parents. You just can’t.”

  “But I…” I tried to protest again, but Mittie stopped me.

  “Hattie,” Mittie said as she motioned toward the line of character witnesses in the hallway, “at least half the people in that line know about Elsie and that baby. If Mr. Poole doesn’t ask me about it, he’ll ask somebody else, so whether I take the stand or not, the jury will find out. Mr. Poole’s not gonna keep this secret. I wish he would, but I know he won’t.” Mittie paused and brushed a tear off her own cheek. “Addie was my sister. She was my sister, and I loved her more than myself. I miss her every day. I wouldn’t testify for your daddy if I thought for a second he coulda killed her. So, if I don’t think he killed her, nobody else should. Hopefully, the jury will see that.”

  Throughout the day, the line of family and friends from the hallway took the stand. Each one told of a good man with excellent character and Christian morals. Mr. Hendrix told the court of his prosperous sales business in Monroe County and said that Daddy “always gave ya a fair deal” with the Raleigh products he sold door-to-door throughout Monroe County. Grandpa Andrews told of Daddy’s Christian upbringing. Several of Daddy’s siblings told us how devoted Daddy was to Momma and that he was completely smitten with her from the moment they met in that church in Luverne.

  All I could focus on was that Daddy probably cheated on Momma with tramps from all over the county and definitely did with one woman who lived in our town. He probably came home to Momma stinking of Elsie. Momma probably passed her on the street, probably wanted to scratch her eyes out, but didn’t. At one time, Momma and Elsie may have even been friends, sharing recipes and gardening tips at Hendrix General Store. Then Momma watched Elsie’s belly grow with Daddy’s betrayal. Frisco City is a small town. I bet every single person in Frisco City knew, everyone but me.

  During both of the nights following the prosecution’s testimony of affairs, lies, and betrayals, I would lie on my cot wondering which rooms in the hotel Daddy had chosen to break Momma’s heart in. Now, I knew he didn’t even have the courtesy to run around in another county. He chose to humiliate her just a few steps from her home. How could he do that to her? How could I be expected to go back to him if he was freed?

  The story of Elsie and the baby came out during Leroy Andrews’s testimony. Leroy was Daddy’s cousin and had moved to Frisco City in 1931 with his wife Jewell. Leroy did odd jobs around town, earning enough money for a modest home and food on the table. Jewell and Momma became friends, and the four would attend church socials and dances together. Leroy testified that Momma and Daddy had a good, solid marriage and that he never heard mention of a pending divorce. However, during the cross examination, Leroy admitted to the jury, judge, and captivated audience that in March of 1933 he helped Daddy bury a stillborn in Union Cemetery in Frisco City. No one in the room seemed shocked by the story except the jury and me.

  Mittie was the last witness Mr. Jones called to the stand. I could tell by the way she clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, that she was still uneasy. I knew she risked angering her father and her sisters by testifying for the defense. I admired her courage though, not because her testimony could help Daddy, but because she was doing what she believed was right regardless of the consequences or what other people told her to do. Aunt Mittie might not have ever admitted it, but she had more in common with Momma than just her face.

  “Please state your name for the record,” Mr. Jones began.

  “My name is Mittie Lowman Franklin.”

  “And how do you know Hubbard Andrews?”

  “He was married to my sister, Addie.”

  “You two were actually twins, right?”

  “Yes, Sir, identical twins.”

  “So, would you say you knew your sister well?”

  “As well as I know myself.”

  “And how well do you know Mr. Andrews?”

  “Very well.”

  “Mrs. Franklin, would you mind speakin’ up a bit? Just so we can hear you clearly,” asked Mr. Jones.

  “Umm, okay,” said Mittie, “Mr. Andrews was married to my sister for over fifteen years. I spent a lot of time with her and her children and Hubbard. I saw Addie every chance I got.”

  Mittie’s voice started to catch a bit, and, for the first time, I could really see her grief. I knew what it felt like to lose a mother. In that moment, I thought of Meg and prayed I would never have to learn the pain of losing a sister, especially the kind of sorrow shown on Aunt Mittie’s face that afternoon on the witness stand.

  “I’m sorry this is painful for you, Mrs. Franklin,” said Mr. Jones and offered Aunt Mittie his handkerchief.

  “No, thank you,” she said, waving off the handkerchief, “I’d like to continue, please.” Aunt Mittie seemed to swallow her pain and focused her attention on Mr. Jones.

  “Mrs. Franklin, was your sister happy in her marriage to Hubbard Andrews?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “What do you mean ‘for the most part’?”

  “Well, they had their problems, but at the root was love, undeniable love.”

  “Did she ever mention to you that she was planning on getting a divorce from Mr. Andrews?”

  “Never.”

  “In your opinion, what kind of man is Hubbard Andrews?”

  “Well, I think he tries to be a good man, but sometimes, he fails. I think he does his best as a father, and I think he tried to be a good husband.”

  “When was the last time you saw your sister?”

  “The weekend before she died.”

  “What type of mood was she in then?”

  “Happy,” said Mittie, then smiled a little, “she was happy. She was excited about their hunting trip. Addie loved to hunt, especially with Hubbard.”

  “What happened to your sister at Barlow Bend?” asked Mr. Jones.

  “Objection!” yelled Mr. Poole, “Speculation! Mrs. Franklin was not witness to Mrs. Andrews’s death.”

  “So, sorry, Your Honor. I’ll rephrase. Mr. Poole’s right. The only witness to the accident was Mr. Andrews,” said Mr. Jones.

  “Objection, Your Honor!” repeated Mr. Poole, “Mr. Jones is…uh…he is…”

  “What’s your objection, Mr. Poole?” asked the judge.

  “Well, I, umm…”

  “Your Honor, I apologize for gettin’ Mr. Poole all rattled. Why don’t I just move on?”

  “Good idea. Get on with it,” said Judge Bedsole. A frazzled Mr. Poole sat back down, and a few of the jurors laughed for a second.

  “Now, Mrs. Franklin,” continued Mr. Jones, “do you believe that Hubbard Andrews killed your sister?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “In your opinion, was your sister’s death an accident?”

  “Yes, I believe it was.”

  “And why do you believe that?”

  “Because I believe that Hubbard Andrews really did love my sister. He carried her for two miles through the woods so that she could be given a Christian burial and her family could say goodbye. I think he really loved her.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. Nothing more, Your Honor.”

  Mr. Poole, still appearing rattled by Mr. Jones’s questions for Aunt Mittie, declined to cross-examine her, so she was dismissed from the witness stand and joined me in my pew. With that, Mr. Jones declared the defense’s case finished. Judge Bedsole gave his usual instructions to the jury (no speaking to the press or anyone else about the case), told Mr. Jones and Mr. Poole to be ready with closing arguments at 9 a.m. sharp, and rapped his gavel on his desk to signify the close of day three of Daddy’s trial. After the bailiff dismissed all of us for the day, Mr. Jones’s assistant, Peetie, approach
ed me with another invitation for dinner with Daddy. I declined the invitation, politely, the way Ms. Jenkins had taught me.

  “No thank you. Unfortunately, I will be unable to join him for dinner this evening. Please thank him for the invitation for me,” I told Peetie, and then left the courthouse.

  In truth, I couldn’t stand the idea of sitting across a table from Daddy. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to look him in the eyes again. Instead, I walked back to the hotel in silence with Aunt Mittie and Uncle Melvin, wondering if I had, in fact, lost both of my parents regardless of the jury’s decision.

  Chapter 22

  September 26, 1935

  Grove Hill, Alabama

  Closing arguments started shortly after 9 a.m. on September 26, 1935. The courtroom was packed by 8 that morning, and the temperature seemed to rise with every new spectator. I swear every person in Grove Hill was trying to squeeze into the room to hear Mr. Jones’s last-ditch effort to save Daddy’s life and Mr. Poole’s final attempt to end it.

  Mr. Poole was up first, and, from his usual rigid stance behind the center podium, he cleared his throat and began, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what happened to Addie Andrews at Barlow Bend on January 31, 1934? Who ended her life?” He paused as he looked from his notes to the jury. “That is the question you have been tasked to answer. Mr. Hubbard Andrews would like you to believe that his wife’s death was an accident, but, as you have learned over the last three days, Hubbard Andrews would like you to believe a mountain of untruths.” With that line, I heard several agreeable mutters from the crowd, which were quickly met by the cautionary stares of Judge Bedsole and his bailiff.

  “He would like you to believe he was a faithful husband, but you now know he was not,” Mr. Poole continued and gained steam as he rolled through the next few lines of his meticulously planned speech. “He would like you to believe he was a devoted father and husband, but now you know he thought only of himself on that cold January morning. He would like you to believe he is an honest, hardworking businessman, but now you know him to be a cunning and desperate fraud. You now know that his fear of being exposed drove him to end his young wife’s life.” Mr. Poole paused again to let the full weight of his words press against the ears and rest on the shoulders of the jury.

  “If we could expose the secrets of Barlow Bend, we would learn that Mr. Hubbard Andrews drove his unsuspecting victim miles from the warmth and comfort of her home in Frisco City, to the thick, icy woods. He walked her two miles into those woods, and then, once so far into the woods that his crime would have no witness, he shot Addie Andrews at close range, ensuring a fatal wound.” Mr. Poole took one last pause, waiting for a reaction, but his words seemed to muzzle the usually opinionated and frequently vocal crowd into silence.

  Mr. Poole concluded his speech with an air of empathy, not for Daddy or Momma, us kids or the family that aches for her, but for the jury. “As if his crime was not heinous enough, he then enlisted the help of family and friends to quickly dispose of her body and all physical evidence of his crime and then coolly slipped into the role of grieving widower. He not only killed his own wife, but he wants you to offer him comfort, sympathy, and support. Ladies and gentlemen, a decision has been assigned to you. You must decide whether you will be fooled by his ruse and allow him to get away with robbing four children of their mother, and a family of their daughter and sister, or will you say, ‘No more, Mr. Andrews.’ I believe your decision is clear. You must convict him of his crime, of what he truly is, a liar, a womanizer, and a calculated killer. You must return a verdict of guilty. Mr. Hubbard Andrews is guilty of first degree murder.”

  Mr. Poole took one more look at the jury and then at the audience behind him. When he turned to the crowd, they broke into applause. I couldn’t believe it. They actually applauded as if they were at a play. At that moment, the truth of why every seat was filled rang out. Sure, the reporters were doing their jobs, and a few family members were on hand to offer support for Momma or Daddy, whichever side their loyalties lay, but the crowd was there for themselves. To them, this wasn’t the real trial that could lead a man eventually to a life in a cell or, God forbid, the electric chair. This was some tacky soap opera come to life in their own pathetic town, right in front of their pathetic eyes. Momma would have been disgusted by the whole display, truly and completely disgusted. She would have narrowed her perfect blue eyes at them and then dismissed them from her life.

  “They’re just a trifle, Honey, just a trifle.” Momma’s voice floated around in my mind.

  “Quiet down, everybody, hesh up,” Judge Bedsole silenced the crowd again, “I’m not gonna warn you people again.” Unfortunately, any sincere belief that future outbursts from this crowd wouldn’t happen had left his voice. “Mr. Jones, go on with your closin’. Get to it.”

  Mr. Jones had chosen a light grey suit with a pale blue tie today. He appeared well rested without a glimpse of worry as he rose and set his notebook on the podium. He smiled at the jury as he started to speak, “Ladies. Gentlemen. Mr. Poole is right. We’ve come to decision time. You’ve listened to all the supposed expert testimony, solicited opinions, and wildly concocted theories that were brought forth by Mr. Poole over the last three days. You’ve listened to all of this, but heard no real evidence of a crime. You’ve heard grief. You’ve heard rumors. You’ve heard suspicions. But you’ve heard no evidence. The State has a false hunch that Hubbard Andrews killed Addie Andrews, but they have no proof of that hunch. So that’s all they’ve got, a hunch.”

  Moving toward the jury box, Mr. Jones motioned to Daddy and then to the two rows behind Daddy where Grandpa Andrews, cousins Stephen and Leroy, Leroy’s wife Jewell, Aunt Mittie, Uncle Melvin, and I all sat. “What you have,” Mr. Jones continued in his kind, gentle tone, “is evidence of a fifteen year marriage that produced four children and a community of people who loved both Addie and Hubbard Andrews.” Mr. Jones then turned to the jury and spoke directly to each one, trying to hold their gazes as long as possible.

  “So now, let me tell you what really happened on January 31, 1934. Hubbard and Addie Andrews drove out to Barlow Bend before dawn. They were hoping to get a few squirrels, maybe even a turkey, on the last day of the rifle huntin’ season. They hiked two miles into the woods looking for their prize. They crossed the Alabama River at Barlow Bend and finally heard some squirrels rustling the vines, climbing up a tree. Addie had the shotgun, Hubbard the .22. Addie tried to scare ‘em around that tree so Hubbard could take the shot, and then tragedy struck. Addie’s gun snagged on a twig and went off, killing her instantly. In shock at the site of his beautiful Addie dead in front of him, Hubbard did what any good man would do. He tenderly wrapped his beloved wife in a blanket, rowed her body across the river, and then carried her for two miles through the thick pine. The damp, cold air stung his fingers. The sharp branches slapped his face and snagged his clothes. As her body grew cold, his arms burned with the burden of his load, but he pushed on for the two-mile hike back to their car. Why? Not so he could fool you, not so he could get away with some imagined crime. He carried her so that he could give his Addie, the mother of his children, a Christian burial. He carried her so that everyone who loved her could say goodbye. He carried her because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her, even for a moment, alone in those woods.”

  Mr. Jones paused for a moment, glancing at Daddy, and then strangely, at me, “Hubbard Andrews is not a perfect man. But you cannot deny his love for Addie Andrews. A love so strong that it would not allow him to harm her. Instead, that love propelled him to carry her home, to her children, to her family. You must honor that love with a verdict of not guilty. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I know you will make the right decision.”

  As Mr. Jones took his seat, applause did not arise from the audience. Rather, the unfolding of handkerchiefs and sniffles could be heard from both sides of the courtroom. Papa Lowman quietly walked out. Aunt Mittie quickly excused herself. I sat completely sile
nt, stunned by the vision of Daddy carrying her. In my mind’s eye, I saw Momma wrapped in a blanket, slumped lifeless in Daddy’s arms. I tried to resurrect my anger, remember what I had learned over the three days, but in my mind, all I saw was Daddy carrying her, step after step through the cold, damp woods. All I felt for him was pity, a deep pity for Momma’s sweet-like-chocolate-candy Harry, carrying his wild love to her grave. In that moment, his past sins didn’t matter. My heart ached for him.

  Chapter 23

  September 18, 1935

  Grove Hill, Alabama

  The jury began deliberations around 10 a.m. on Thursday morning. By Friday evening, a verdict still wasn’t back. The town buzzed with talk of did he or didn’t he. At supper with Aunt Mittie and Uncle Melvin, every single person who walked into the café rushed over to our table to ask if we had heard anything. They, of course, offered some trite version of sympathy or encouragement, but I knew their game. They were all so terrified that they might have missed the big climax. A few of the tacky fans didn’t even try to hide their relief of learning that they hadn’t missed the grand finale.

  After supper, I tried to read, but couldn’t force my eyes to focus on the page, or my mind on the words. I told Aunt Mittie I was going on a walk and slipped out the staff entrance to the alley behind the hotel. The alley led to a field. Across the field was a small patch of pine trees. Lit by a full moon overhead, I walked into the woods until I found a fallen tree. I sat on the rotting trunk, looked up at the clear night sky, and tried to wrap my mind around everything I had learned during Daddy’s trial.

  I couldn’t understand why Momma stayed with Daddy. She could have left him. She knew about the baby and Elsie. She probably knew about others, too. So why did she stay? It seemed unlike her to put up with his betrayal. She never put up with selfish or childish behavior from us, so why him? The whole thing seemed beneath her. Did she try to ignore it? Did she try to change him? Did she have her own sins to atone for? I couldn’t make sense of any of it.