Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  “And did you?”

  “Did I what?” Ricky’s confusion would have been funny in a sitcom.

  “Do something about it?”

  Ricky’s face lit up. “Oh yeah. I said, ‘Young man you just busted my taillight with one of them rocks you was throwing.’”

  Chan glanced to his right. Lani and Ryan were listening to every word.

  “Then the boy cussed at me. Called me a stupid cracker; said I didn’t have no proof he broke anything.”

  Miss Bertie leaned close, nodding at A.B. “The young man’s obviously a good judge of character.”

  “Mr. Smoot, what happened next?”

  “Well, the kid came toward me. I woulda just let it drop, but he was coming at me with his hands in his pockets.” Ricky motioned to his friends. “By then, Leon, Buzzy, and Pete had come outside. Leon said, ‘that boy might be packing a gun.’ That got me scared.”

  A couple in their thirties were sitting behind A.B. and Theresa Traynor. Chan took them to be A.B.’s parents. Harvester sat next to them, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “So what did you do when you became frightened?”

  “I told that nig… boy to go on home, to get outta there, but he just kept coming at me, hands in his pockets. I backed up a little, up on the curb in front of my truck, but he kept coming. Then the boy who’d run away yelled something at him. When he turned to look, I jumped him.”

  “So you defended yourself?”

  “It was that or run,” Ricky said sharply. “I figured I was defending others, I mean if he had a gun and all.”

  “So you grabbed and subdued him?”

  “Well I tried, but he got mouthy again. Told me to let him go or him and his friends would mess me up.”

  “Did you strike him?”

  “Yessir I did. I was holding him against the front of my truck, had him lifted off the ground, and he hauled off and kicked me in the privates.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  “I ain’t gonna lie, that made me mad. I smacked him a good one across that black face of his, then he spit at me.”

  “Spit at you?”

  “Yeah, so I popped him in the jaw. You know, defending myself.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “That’s when Miss Bertie and Mutt Manning got involved. Miss Bertie shoved me from behind. I didn’t know who done it, and I shoved her back.” Ricky looked at Miss Bertie. “I’m sorry about that now.”

  “Apology not accepted, and stop lying.”

  Ignoring Miss Bertie’s response, Broomsdale continued.

  “So, you’re telling the court that the young man sitting at the defendant’s table caused property damage, gave the impression he might be armed, battered you, and threatened your life?”

  “Yessir, that’s what I’m telling the court.”

  ###

  Theresa Traynor didn’t waste a second. She rose to her feet and approached Ricky.

  “Mr. Smoot, do you understand what it means to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  Ricky’s face flushed like he had been smacked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Have you done that?”

  “Done what?”

  The attorney exhaled loudly. “Told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  “Yeah.” Ricky blinked several times.

  “How many... cocktails did you drink on the day in question?”

  “What?”

  “The question is a simple one, Mr. Smoot, but I’ll ask it slower. How-many-cocktails-did-you-drink-on-the-day-in-question?”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Broomsdale was on his feet. “Mr. Smoot isn’t an imbecile. It’s not necessary for Miss Traynor to treat him like one.”

  Chan fought the urge to laugh.

  “Objection sustained. Miss Traynor, please treat the witness like an adult.”

  Theresa didn’t miss a beat. “Like an adult or an adult who beats up children?”

  Broomsdale’s loud objection and Judge Perkins’ gentle reprimand made for good theater.

  “I like her,” Lani whispered. Miss Bertie nodded her agreement.

  “Can I get an answer to my question?” Theresa zeroed in on Ricky.

  “Uh, what was the question?”

  Even Ricky’s friends couldn’t keep from laughing. His face grew red. Theresa repeated the question.

  “Well, I can’t remember exactly. I mean, I go there quite a bit.”

  “What kinds of cocktails do you generally order, Mr. Smoot?”

  “Oh, uh... all different kinds. Depends on how I feel.”

  “Give me one example.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I kinda like beer really.”

  The laughter was louder this time. Judge Perkins banged his gavel, glaring at the gallery. Following the moment of levity, Theresa Traynor doggedly continued.

  “So, Mr. Smoot, let’s try again. How many beers did you drink on the day in question?”

  “Never more than two,” Ricky replied, glancing at the judge. “Can’t let the drinking get out of control.”

  Theresa returned to the defense table and picked up a single sheet of paper.

  “So, you’re saying you had two beers on the afternoon in question? Are you sure you want to stick with that number, Mr. Smoot, and remember you’re under oath.”

  Ricky stared at his lap.

  “Like I said, it’s hard to remember from one day to the next. It might have been three, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “How about six beers, Mr. Smoot?” Theresa waved the sheet of paper. “Could it have been that many?”

  Ricky clenched his jaw, his eyes boring in on Theresa Traynor. He spit out his words.

  “I never drank no six beers.”

  The attorney met Ricky’s stare and held it until he looked away.

  “Your Honor, I submit to you a bar tab from Schmidt’s Pub for the day in question. It will show that Mr. Smoot consumed six long-neck beers during a two-hour lunch with his friends.” Theresa never took her eyes off Ricky while she was speaking, willing him to say or do something stupid.

  He did.

  “It was hot that day!”

  Theresa moved in for the kill. She showed no fear. Ricky stared at her belligerently. If this was going to be a war, she wanted to be in the middle of it.

  “Mr. Smoot, do you dislike African Americans?”

  “Objection!”

  “Overruled. Witness will answer the question.”

  “What do you mean, ‘dislike’?”

  “Do you have any African American friends?”

  Ricky smiled. “I guess you ain’t spent much time around here, sweetheart, ‘cause there ain’t many coloreds in Saxon County. How am I gonna have ‘em as friends when there ain’t none around?” Ricky paused a moment, leering at her. “Course, if you want to be friends, I guess I could see my way to—”

  “Your Honor, please advise the witness that he will address me as Miss Traynor. I’m nobody’s sweetheart, least of all not his.”

  “Just answer the questions, Mr. Smoot, and be cognizant of how you address others in the courtroom.”

  Ricky looked to his attorney. Broomsdale motioned for him to continue.

  “No, I ain’t got no colored friends,"

  “Ain’t got many white ones either,” the barely audible comment came from someone seated in the back. The judge scanned the courtroom sternly, then motioned for Theresa to proceed. For the next twenty minutes the savvy young attorney twisted Ricky Smoot in a hundred directions, alternately leaving him looking stupid, angry, and embarrassed. And finally, she was done.

  As Ricky left the stand, Theresa Traynor glanced into the gallery. Her eyes briefly met Chan’s, before she nodded at Miss Bertie.

  “If it pleases the court I would like to call Miss Bertha Mae Ellis to the stand.”

  “Objection!” The judge shushed Broomsdale before turning his attention to Theresa.

 
“You certainly have that option, Miss Traynor,” Judge Perkins said, “but I think I have what I need to make a decision.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Theresa returned to her seat. The judge wasted no time.

  “It appears, Mr. Broomsdale, that your plea to have the young man, Arsenio Beckett, remanded to a juvenile facility is based largely on the testimony of Mr. Smoot.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Broomsdale kept his eyes low.

  “Mr. Smoot’s testimony has been questionable at best, and even without the defense calling any witnesses I feel strongly that the young man should be released to his parents.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Broomsdale said.

  “And, Mr. Broomsdale, should the city choose to proceed with any related case,” Judge Perkins stopped for a moment and looked in Chan’s direction, his meaning evident to all. “I would be obliged to rule in a similar manner unless there is considerably more evidence than what was brought forth today.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Evidence that is more reliable and thoroughly researched.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Miss Traynor, again I welcome you to Saxon County. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  “Perhaps, your honor.”

  “Court adjourned.”

  EIGHTY-THREE

  “Mr. Manning, a pleasure.”

  “Miss Traynor. Thanks for getting A. B. - and me - off the hook.”

  Theresa smiled slightly. “Two for the price of one. It really wasn’t difficult.”

  Ricky Smoot barged past in the wide aisle, anger and embarrassment on his face. He stopped, but Broomsdale placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him past.

  “Keep walking Ricky.”

  He took a few more steps, but stupid was too deeply ingrained. He spun to face them.

  “There’s a good reason I ain’t got nigra friends.”

  “Undoubtedly, Mr. Smoot your superior intellect makes casual conversation impossible.”

  Theresa’s response confounded Ricky long enough for Broomsdale to get him out of the courtroom.

  She grinned at Chan.

  “Papa always said my smart mouth would get me in trouble someday. And speaking of Papa,” Theresa glimpsed past Chan, where Lani and Ryan watched her every move, “are those beauties yours?”

  Chan waved them over and introduced them. Their eyes said it all – they thought Theresa Traynor was pretty special.

  “You did great,” Lani said, her voice tiny in the large courtroom.

  “I’m gonna be a judge,” Ryan said confidently. “And a baseball player.”

  Theresa’s laugh was musical.

  “Miss Traynor, I’m Bertha Mae Ellis.”

  “Miss Bertie, if the truth matches the legend, I have met my match.”

  Theresa offered her hand, but Miss Bertie hugged her instead.

  “The legend might have been true at one time, but I’m just a tired old lady these days.”

  “Do not believe a word,” Chan laughed. “When she jumped into the middle of things with Ricky Smoot, I thought she was going to start tossing bodies.”

  “I heard about that. Mr. Broomsdale didn’t want anything to do with her on the stand. Did you see his face when I called her to testify?”

  “Bill Broomsdale was in my English classes for four years. He never came close to living up to his potential.”

  Chan barely took his eyes off Theresa as she chatted with Miss Bertie and the kids. She was very different when the courtroom theatrics concluded. Softer and more animated, less intense.

  “I see you’ve met,” Harvester said, joining them after seeing A.B. and his family to their car.

  “We have,” Chan said. “I take it you and Miss Traynor are acquainted?”

  “Oh, we know each other,” Theresa said as she pecked Harvester’s cheek.

  “Hi Papa.”

  ###

  The kids chose pizza for lunch. Chan invited Theresa, Harvester, and Miss Bertie, and was delighted when they accepted. Particularly Theresa. He hoped to learn more about her, but the interruptions made conversation difficult. Not so much a problem for Lani, however. She grilled Theresa like a talk-show host.

  “Did you grow up on a farm like your father?” she asked.

  “My earliest memories are of playing in the tomato fields while Mama and Papa worked,” Theresa said between bites of pizza. “Of course, school was important too, with Papa being a college professor.”

  “Cookie was always helping out,” Harvester said. “When she got older, she could pick tomatoes with the best of them.”

  “Why did he call you Cookie?” Ryan asked.

  Theresa laughed. “My grandpa called me Cookie, and it stuck. Nobody uses it anymore, except Papa.”

  “Did you like living on a farm?”

  “Not at all, Lani. It was hot and dirty. I was meant to be an inside girl. It’s hard to keep your nails clean when you’re picking tomatoes.”

  Harvester smiled. “She worked hard but there was never any doubt that Cookie would need to find a job where the money was good and the air conditioning was cold.”

  Their laughter gave Harvester the incentive to keep going.

  “From the time she was five, Cookie spent summers with her Grandpa, just down the road a piece,” Harvester said. “By then I was teaching at Penn State, so we would put her on a plane all by herself.”

  “Grandpa gave me a love for learning. His favorite textbook was the Bible. We read it every day. I have most of the New Testament memorized, thanks to him.”

  “What made you choose law?” Chan asked.

  “I saw a lot of injustice in the world, particularly for African Americans. I’m sure you’ve heard about the issues that Papa’s family faced—”

  “Excuse me, you said ‘Papa’s family.’ Weren’t they your family too?” Chan asked.

  “Yes and no,” Theresa said. “I’m adopted. My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was three.”

  “Cookie was our god-child,” Harvester said. “Her grandparents were up in age, so they asked us to adopt her.”

  The conversation continued long after the pizza was gone. Chan was captivated by the lady attorney who had used intellect and street-smarts to tear a Saxon County good old boy to shreds. It was mid-afternoon when Chan approached the counter to pay for the pizza. He rebuffed Theresa’s offer to help cover the cost, but she followed him anyway.

  “Are you kidding? You saved me the cost of hiring an attorney in that kangaroo court.”

  “Oh, it’s not a kangaroo court at all,” Theresa said. “Judge Perkins has a lot of integrity. He saw what was going on.”

  “Well regardless, thank you Miss Traynor. I’ll recommend you to all my friends.”

  She giggled. “Let’s be real, Mr. Manning. All the friends you have in Saxon County are sitting at that table.”

  Chan feigned hurt feelings. “Well that’s just not true. There’s Toby at the funeral home. Duke Windsor. I’m even getting friendly with Ricky Smoot’s father.

  “There’s an intriguing combination; you and the father of the guy whose head you bounced off a pickup truck.”

  “Well, it’s business really. He wants to buy the island.

  “Are you selling it to him?”

  “Just talking.”

  “But what about...” Theresa looked back at the table. Harvester was deep in conversation with Miss Bertie, while Lani and Ryan shot spit balls at one another through straws.

  “Those migrant families are the first rays of happiness Daddy’s found since Mama passed.” Theresa looked deep into Chan’s eyes. “Is there a possibility that could be taken away from him, Mr. Manning?”

  Chan’s mouth went dry. “Like I said, nothing is set yet. I do have an obligation to listen, though.”

  Theresa patted his arm, her eyes softening. “I’ll say plenty of prayers for wisdom, Mr. Manning. I know you’re in a tough spot.” Then, nodding in the direction of the table, she con
tinued, “You’re a caring, honest man who’s raising two beautiful kids. God’s somewhere in all that.”

  As they were saying their farewells in the parking lot, a man Chan remembered from the funeral pulled up in an older-model pickup. Harvester walked over.

  “What’s up, Frankie?”

  “Professor, have you heard about the letters everybody got this morning?” Frankie pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Harvester.

  “They’re trying to keep our kids out of Adair School.”

  Chan instinctively knew what was happening. It had happened before, many years ago.

  Harvester read through the letter, then spoke quietly to his lunch mates. “When the migrant families moved here in April, the school asked if they could wait and enroll this fall. We should have objected, but there were only six weeks left.” Harvester took a deep breath.

  “So now,” he continued, waving the letter, “the school is saying they won’t put the island kids in regular classes. They’ll be placed in a special resource room.”

  Chan clenched his fists. “Lowell Surratt?”

  “Who else?” Miss Bertie shrugged. “Leopards never change their spots.”

  “It’s Mr. Surratt that the parents are supposed to contact if they have questions,” Harvester said, “but the letter says it was a school board decision. Hopefully we can persuade them to reconsider.”

  “Lots of luck with that,” Miss Bertie said. “In Adair, Lowell Surratt is the school board. They don’t make a move unless he recommends it. Chan knows what kind of person he is.”

  Harvester’s eyes brightened. “Would the two of you like to go along when I visit him?”

  Miss Bertie quickly agreed. Chan hesitated.

  “Maybe, but why don’t you take Miss Traynor.”

  “I don’t know,” Harvester said. “The last thing we want to do is bring an attorney into the picture too quickly. Mr. Surratt might take it the wrong way.”

  “Lowell is a hard-headed, hard-hearted man,” Miss Bertie interjected. “Knowing he’s facing off against an attorney might be enough intimidation to make him rethink the situation.” Then, grabbing Theresa’s hand, Miss Bertie continued. “I’ve seen what this young lady is capable of. Lowell Surratt is no match.”