by Deeanne Gist
“Is he violent?”
Hunter shook his head. “He might enjoy a tale or two about battles fought and won. But in each instance, it’s the good guys he sides with.”
Mr. Seacoat paused, letting that sink into the minds of the jury members. “Just one more question, Mr. Scott. Why should we put any weight on your opinion of the boy? What makes your opinion so special?”
Hunter slowly straightened. “I’m a Texas Ranger, Mr. Seacoat.”
Billy waited for him to say more, but that was it. As if that were explanation enough. And it might have been if they were in Texas. But not up here. Up here, they wouldn’t understand.
Seacoat pursed his lips. “For the sake of any in the court who might not be aware, can you please tell us what Texas Rangers are?”
She let out a breath of relief.
With back still straight, he readjusted himself in the chair. “Texas Rangers are men who cannot be stampeded. We walk into any situation and handle it without instruction from our commander. Sometimes we work as a unit, sometimes we work alone.” He turned his attention to the jurors. “We preserve the law. We track down train and bank robbers. We subdue riots. We guard our borders. We’ll follow an outlaw clear across the country if we need to. In my four years of service, I’ve traveled eighty-six thousand miles on horse, nineteen hundred on train, gone on two hundred thirty scouts, made two hundred seventeen arrests, returned five hundred six head of stolen cattle, assisted forty-three local sheriffs, guarded a half dozen jails, and spent more time on the trail than I have in my own bed. We’ve been around since before the Alamo, and”—he turned to Hood, impaling him with his stare—“we’re touchy as a teased snake when riled, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Complete stillness fell onto the room. The judge, jury, and gallery stared at him in shock—Billy not the least of them. All color receded from Hood’s face.
Seacoat returned to his table. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
CHAPTER
49
Hunter’s testimony signaled the end of the trial. After each attorney gave his summation, the judge charged the jury with deliberating the guilt or innocence of the boys.
The court filed out, but no one in the gallery left their seats. A quiet hum of conversation ebbed and flowed. Billy wanted to ask Hunter what he thought. If he felt like Derry had a good chance of being freed. But more than a few eyes were cast their way and she didn’t want to be overheard.
She wished he’d take her hand again. He’d been her rock throughout the entire affair. He’d offered sympathy at the loss of Miss Weibel. He’d quit his job in an effort to rescue Derry. He’d conducted an investigation to see if he could round up evidence that would point to the boy’s innocence. He’d sat beside her, sharing his strength with her, throughout the trial. He’d hired a carriage to take them to and from the courthouse so she’d be shielded from curious eyes. And he’d found Joey. Their sweet, precious Joey.
She couldn’t even imagine going through this ordeal without his support. And receiving it was not a show of weakness, she realized. Quite the opposite. She wasn’t impregnable. No one was. She needed help sometimes, and so did he. There was no shame in receiving it any more than there was in giving it.
Opening her fan, she waved it, stirring the tendrils of hair around her face. Now that she’d conceded the fact, she found she didn’t ever want to go through another crisis without him. If she were honest, she didn’t want to go through another day without him. And if that meant going to Texas and being a country doctor, it was a small price to pay for the friendship, the laughter, the support, the protection, and the love she’d receive in exchange.
Leaning slightly to her left, she bumped him with her shoulder.
He looked down.
She gave him a private smile. And though his lips lifted slightly at the corners, the worry in his eyes overshadowed it. And it scared her.
Within the hour, the court, the boys, and the jury returned.
Derry slumped in his chair, his energy sapped. She didn’t know whether it was good or bad that he had no idea how much was riding on what was about to occur.
The jury took their seats, their backs straight, their bodies stiff.
Stomach bouncing, she reached over and slid a hand into Hunter’s. Gripping it, he covered it with his other.
The clerk positioned himself in the center of the arena. “Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?”
The foreman, an older man with a long white beard and black sack suit, stood and answered in a strong voice, “We have.”
The clerk turned to the boys. “The defendants will rise and face the jury.”
Looking at the lawyers and other boys, Derry perked up, his attention captured by the disruption of routine.
“How do you find the defendants?” the clerk asked.
The foreman pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket, hooked them on one ear at a time, then unfolded a crinkled piece of paper.
The people in the gallery held their collective breath.
“We, the jury,” he began “find the defendants Fredrick Kruse, Ewald Kruse, Olsen Shiblawski, and Rody Lonborg guilty of murder in the first degree in manner and form as charged in the indictment and fix the penalty at death.”
Gasps and chatter broke out. For the first time, Billy saw a look of vulnerability pass over Kruse’s face.
The judge pounded his gavel. “Order!”
The noise settled. She pressed a fist against her waist. Hunter squeezed her hand.
The foreman cleared his throat. “We, the jury, find the defendant Derry Molinari guilty of murder in the first degree in manner and form as charged in the indictment and fix the penalty at imprisonment in the penitentiary for life.”
“No!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. “He’s innocent! He’s innocent!”
The courtroom erupted.
The judge pounded the gavel. “The people in this room will remain absolutely quiet. Those who are unwilling to do so will retire from the room immediately.”
Standing, Hunter slipped a hand about her waist and urged her back down beside him.
Derry frowned, uncertain of what was happening.
Her entire body began to tremble. She stared at the men on the jury. The plumber, the farmer, the grocery man, and the shoe dealer. The blacksmith, the bank cashier, the railroad clerk, and the carpenter. They were men with traditional lives and traditional jobs and traditional families. How could they convict an innocent boy? A nine-year-old innocent boy?
The clerk cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, listen to your verdict as the court has recorded it. You say you find the defendants guilty of murder in the first degree. So say you all?”
In chorus, the men of the jury responded, “We do.”
The judge nodded. “That ends your services, gentlemen of the jury, in connection with this case. You are excused.”
CARTER H. HARRISON, MAYOR OF CHICAGO39
“As a man of great popularity and one who’d been instrumental in the fair’s success, Harrison made a point of being available to his people.”
CHAPTER
50
Billy walked outside the criminal court building wishing she had a parasol or something to shield her face and eyes from the curious. She made do with a fan and clung to Hunter’s arm as he escorted her to their carriage.
Even within the relative privacy of the buggy, she forced herself to contain her emotions until they’d put a bit of distance between them and the courthouse. Then her lips began to tremble, her chin quivered, and tears gushed from her eyes. Covering her face, she sobbed.
Hunter pulled her against his side, tucked her under his arm, and held her. “Shhhhh.”
She continued to weep. She didn’t understand how this could have happened. Hadn’t the jury heard what she’d heard? How could they not have seen his innocence? After all the testimony, she’d been confident there’d have been at the very least a reasonable doubt. So confident, s
he’d expected to have Derry in the carriage with them today. Right now. This minute.
She’d planned to have Hunter take him to the Hull House bathhouse, then she’d wanted to examine him and make sure he hadn’t picked up any infections or diseases. She’d wanted to use the Hull House kitchen to cook him a good meal that would help make up for all the ones he’d missed. She’d wanted to take him to Marshall Field’s and buy him some new clothes. She’d wanted to talk to his employer and make sure he got his job back. She’d wanted to tuck him into clean sheets at her dormitory, just for a few nights so she could make sure no signs of illness popped up. She’d wanted to let him know everything was going to be all right. She’d wanted to . . . mother him.
But instead, he’d been convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. And the other boys, all of them youths, had been condemned to die by hanging. Hanging.
The crime was horrific, but they were so young. So very young.
She crinkled her fist around Hunter’s lapel. “Is there anything we can do? Anything anyone can do?”
“I don’t know.” He pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “I’ll find out, though.”
She pushed herself up. “Mr. Seacoat’s summation was awful. His entire case was awful. He hardly cross-examined anyone and didn’t call one single witness. He could have done so much more.”
“I know.”
“What’s going to happen now? Where will they take him?”
“I’ll find out, Billy girl. I’ll find out.”
The outcry of Chicagoans who objected to such harsh sentencing for youths, particularly Derry, was not as strong as Hunter had hoped. Some warned such “wholesale execution,” as the newspapers called it, would have a hardening effect on the city and its citizens. Some suggested a separate justice system should be set up for juveniles, one that would focus on rehabilitation rather than punishment. But the voices who upheld the jury’s decision were in the overwhelming majority.
The judge was not in his quarters, nor would he be anytime soon. He’d left on holiday for an indefinite amount of time.
Mayor Carter Harrison, however, was home. As a man of great popularity and one who’d been instrumental in the fair’s success, he made a point of being available to his people. Stepping onto his front porch, Hunter knocked on the door of the man’s steep-roofed Queen Anne residence.
Harrison himself answered the door. The rotund, bearded man with a wiry brown mustache and gray beard wore no jacket and made no apology for it.
Hunter tugged on his hat. “I’m Texas Ranger Hunter Scott of Company A.”
Harrison’s eyes lit in recognition. “Scott, I’ve been reading about you and your Rangers in the papers. Quite impressive.” He widened the door. “Come in. Come in.”
Rather than taking him into the front parlor, Harrison led him to a library that doubled as a smoking room. It was a man’s room and Hunter immediately felt at ease in it.
A square gaming table along with armchairs and animal trophies populated one corner. Across from them a fire warmed the grate. Clearly the mayor had been enjoying a cigar when Hunter had interrupted him, for a lit one lay abandoned on a tray.
Passing by Hunter, Harrison crossed to a credenza and picked up a brandy decanter.
Hunter rotated his Stetson and glanced at the volumes of books, some classics, some scientific, some of which would be inappropriate for a room ladies were allowed in.
Harrison splashed brandy into two glasses and handed one to Hunter. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here about the nine-year-old who’s been sentenced to life imprisonment.”
Harrison offered Hunter a chair. “A bit young for that kind of sentence, though the crime was certainly heinous.”
Settling into the soft leather, Hunter took a moment to luxuriate in his surroundings. He’d not been in anything close to it since leaving Texas. Then he thought of where Derry was, and where he’d be taken, and where he’d be spending the rest of his life. “He’s innocent.”
Tugging on his trouser legs, Harrison sat in the chair opposite him. “Who? The boy? Molinari?”
“Yes. Derry Molinari. I know him. He was trying to protect the victim, not harm her.”
“You’re sure?” Harrison frowned. “A jury seemed to think otherwise.”
“The defense attorney was young, arrogant, inexperienced, and he didn’t care about looking for the truth.”
“What about the others? Surely you don’t think they’re innocent as well?”
“No, they all confessed, except Derry, of course.”
Harrison offered a box of Upmanns. “Cigar?”
Hunter held up his palm.
Picking up the cigar he’d left on a tray, Harrison rolled it back and forth between his fingers. “You realize, of course, I can’t do anything. The boy was tried, found guilty, and sentenced.”
“I’d like to work out a deal.”
Harrison gave him a speculative look. Hunter knew the man was not opposed to bending the law and also knew that people loved him. Not just the common ones, but the influential ones.
Hunter qualified it. “Nothing illegal.”
“Of course not. Of course not.” Harrison took a sip of brandy. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to have Derry put into my custody. I’d be his jailer, for lack of a better word. I’d take him back to Texas with me, and I’d take full responsibility for any illegal actions or crimes he committed.”
Harrison bit down on his cigar. “The only way something like that would work is if he received a pardon. And I don’t have the authority to do that.”
“It’s the governor I need to talk to, then?”
“It is.”
“Will you arrange a meeting? Put in a good word?”
After the enormous success of Chicago Day, with attendance that broke the record of any exposition anywhere in the world, Chicago’s fair had now completely paid for itself. Harrison was riding high in the aftermath of that achievement.
The man blew a smoke ring, then another inside it. “I’ll talk to him, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
Picking up his hat, Hunter stood. “That’s all I ask. How soon can it be arranged?”
“He’s in Springfield for a few days, but will be back in town by the middle of next week.” Standing, Harrison held out a hand. “I’ll talk to him then and see what I can set up.”
Hunter gave him a firm shake. “Thank you, sir. I really do appreciate it.”
CHAPTER
51
Making her final notes for the day in the infirmary’s medical log, Billy yawned. She’d lain awake all night, finally falling asleep about an hour before she had to get up. She hated that.
Scraping back her chair, she gathered up her coat, turned off the electric lights, and stepped into the parlor. Her spirits immediately lifted.
Hunter sat in his usual spot on the couch, feet stretched out, ankles crossed, hat over his face. The only difference was he wasn’t in his uniform, of course, but in his denims.
“Howdy, Billy girl.” He’d known she was there without looking.
Hugging her coat against her torso, she walked over and stood at his feet. “Hello, back. What brings you here at this hour?”
“Same thing as always. Waiting for you to finish up.” He lifted the hat, his brown eyes making her heart warm. “You okay?”
“It’s been an awful day.”
He patted the spot beside him.
She glanced at the fireplace. “You want to light a fire?”
“We can’t. After the Cold Storage Building burned down, the colonel said no fires anywhere. Not even in the fireplaces.”
Disappointment piled on top of her fatigue and grief.
“You cold?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It’s always cold in here, but mostly I just like the sound and smell of a fire. That’s all.”
“If I could order one up for you, I would.”
She took in
his familiar brown hair, angular jaw, broad chest, and long lean body. “I’ve been thinking.”
Tapping his booted toes together, he tilted his head on the cushion. “Thinking what?”
Looking to the side, she clutched her coat a little tighter. “I’ve been thinking that being a country doctor might be a rather nice change of pace.”
The tapping stopped. His body stilled. “What are you saying?”
She looked at him. “That I’d go to Texas with you if the offer is still good.”
Pulling in his feet, he sat up and put his hat aside. “What about me working?”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Of course you can work. I can’t believe I was so arrogant. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
He nodded, if a bit cautiously. “What about male patients?”
She gave him a pointed look. “I’m a doctor, Hunter. I’m going to treat male patients. You’re being silly about that. You really are.”
Groaning, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead on his fists. “I don’t like that, Billy. I don’t like that at all.”
She smiled, then reached out and combed his hair back with her fingernails. “When at all possible, I’ve started having the wives and mothers of my male patients stay in the room with me during the men’s examinations.”
He looked up. “You have?”
“I have.”
“Even before today?”
“Long before today.”
“What if the wife or mother aren’t available?”
“Then I go ahead and do my examination without them.”
He pulled his lips down the tiniest of bits, then sighed. “What about babies?”
“Yes, please.”
“Yes, please?”
She shrugged. “I’d like some babies. Lots of them, actually.”
“Who’s going to raise them?”
“We both are, I guess. We’ll definitely need to bring in some help. Maybe your mother?”
