Fairer than Morning

by Rosslyn Elliott

  “Did you get my letter?” Will’s voice carried clearly through the stone corridor.

  Ann did not want to eavesdrop, though she was mortally curious. She started down the hall away from Will’s cell, toward the back gate. Louisa kept pace at her elbow.

  As they went, the echo of Will’s voice faded, but before they turned the next corner, Ann heard him say one thing.

  “Did you say that you would marry me?”

  And the girl responded.

  “Yes.”

  Thirty-Eight

  THEY’RE TAKING YOU UP TO THE COURT TODAY.” THE jailer sorted through the keys at his belt and selected one to shove in the lock of the cell door.

  Once inside he held out a rope almost apologetically. “I’m gonna have to tie you. Put your hands in front of you.”

  Will obeyed while the man looped the rope around them in a complicated knot. The smell of the man’s rotten teeth nauseated him; he had to turn his head. When the jailer finished, the knots were tight. Will would not able to slip them off, as John and Clara Simon had slipped from their mock bonds in Blendon Township.

  The jailer took hold of the end of the rope and ushered Will out of the cell in front of him. When they came out of the prison gate, the afternoon light hurt his eyes; he squinted and shuffled along behind the jailer, half-blind for a minute or two.

  The courthouse was only two streets away—still, Will kept his head down, mortified to be taken through the crowded streets at the end of a rope. Some rivermen jeered him as he went, raising their tankards as they sat on a bench outside a tavern.

  A woman called out to him, “A fine piece of manflesh you are! Come up here and I’ll set you to rights!” The rivermen started a round of coarse jokes and offered to go in his place.

  On the next street the crowd was more genteel, which was almost worse. Will’s ears burned. Finally they walked up to the brick court building he recognized from his last visit there. The jailer pointed, and he stepped up the stoop and through the door.

  The same assortment of citizens dotted the courtroom: mostly tradesmen, craftsmen, and the poor, for the rich did not get hauled before the law. The observers leaned against the walls or sat on benches, dwarfed by the mountainous judicial table at the end of the room.

  A familiar face turned to him from one of the benches. Mr. Miller. There was Ann next to him, and Louisa Burbridge as well, holding her friend’s hand. Ann was pale and her reddened eyes revealed that she had been weeping, though she was none the less beautiful for it. Her bruised look made him want to take her in his arms again and comfort her, as he had on her farm. But that would hardly work, with his wrists tied up like the legs of a pheasant.

  Mr. Miller stood up and stepped around the feet and bodies of strangers until he made it to Will’s side. “How are you faring, son?” The saddler’s face was drawn and tense.

  “Middling, sir.” Will was not as starved and weak as he had been on his last appearance in this courtroom, but Mr. Miller’s question stirred up the dread that had boiled inside him all morning.

  He tried to stave it off with silent prayer. Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies . . . His confidence wavered as an unbidden image came to him of Master Good with a poker in his hand, beating Tom. Then the memory of losing control of his bladder when Good beat him so savagely before his escape . . . and most of all the master’s eyes, void of human compassion, brightening only at the pain and sorrow of others.

  Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies. The Lord is with me. He cast about inside himself for the presence that gave him hope. It was there, faint but steady.

  The judge looked up behind his spectacles, his wig wavering next to his cheeks.

  “Master Jacob Good.”

  Motion caught Will’s eye; Master Good rose from behind a cluster of seated men. His mask-like face turned to the judge. “Here, Your Honor.”

  “You bring before me the case of a runaway apprentice?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. One who was before this court not so long ago for killing a neighbor’s pig.” He pointed an accusing finger at Will. “Now his rebellious nature has led him to run away, causing me all kind of trouble and inconvenience. And one who should have returned him has instead harbored him, in defiance of the law.”

  “That is . . .” The judge scanned a paper on his table. “Mr. Samuel Miller?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And is Mr. Miller here?”

  “I am, Your Honor.” Mr. Miller strode to the front of the room to stand before the high bench.

  “Do you deny this accusation, Mr. Miller?”

  “In part, Your Honor. I wish to present the truth to you, not half-truths and outright lies.”

  The judge peered at Will where he stood bound beside the jailer. “I recognize the apprentice now. I saw him in the very act of running away, near the bridge. Bring him up here.” He scowled as if he had not eaten to his satisfaction that morning. Will fought off a whisper of foreboding as he followed the jailer to the front of the room. He shifted his arms to try to bring some feeling back to his numb hands where they hung useless before him.

  “And what, Mr. Miller, is your version of the truth?” The judge did not even look at the saddler.

  “This man, Jacob Good, had beaten this young man to within a hairsbreadth of his life, which caused him to run away. And it was not the first time Jacob Good beat his apprentices.” Mr. Miller grew more impassioned, addressing only the judge without acknowledging Master Good at all. “Nor did he feed them enough to even keep body and soul together.”

  “That is what the apprentice told you?”

  “I know it to be true, Your Honor.”

  “Did you witness this beating, or this starving?”

  “I witnessed the results, Your Honor. And Will bears the scars of a flogging that will be with him the rest of his days.” The reference made Will’s scars itch.

  “So do many sailors. That does not excuse mutiny or absconding.”

  Mr. Miller fell silent.

  Master Good smirked. “You see, Your Honor, this rival of mine attempts to undermine my business by stealing my apprentice and then besmirching my name.”

  The lines around the judge’s mouth deepened.

  What would Ann think of this slur against her father’s character? Will looked over his shoulder at the young women. Ann’s brown eyes were huge in her pale face.

  “Mr. Miller,” the judge said through his nose. “I see no evidence that your opinion is correct. You have broken the law based on the word of an apprentice who has already committed other criminal acts. Is this not the young man who killed your neighbor’s pig, Master Good?”

  “It is, Your Honor.” Satisfaction oozed across Jacob Good’s face.

  Now Will’s palms were sweating, and he closed his eyes and searched again for the holy presence to comfort him. But this time, he felt nothing.

  Another voice whispered in his head. The Lord did not help our Savior when he groaned on the cross—he died in agony, crying that his Father abandoned him.

  He bowed his head while his soul shrank within him.

  Allan Burbridge was right. The powers of this world are stronger than the powers of heaven.

  Behind him the door of the courtroom opened and closed.

  “Your Honor, may I speak on this matter?” The baritone was familiar. Will swiveled far enough to see Dr. Loftin walk up beside him in an impeccable frock coat and collar, his white hair adding to his air of authority.

  “You have some involvement with this case?” The judge lifted his bewigged head, adjusting his spectacles on his nose.

  “I am the neighbor whose pig this young man was accused of killing.”

  “He did kill it.” The judge corrected the doctor. “He did not deny it, and the other apprentice confirmed that he killed it, as I recall.”

  “I’m the other apprentice, Your Honor.” A younger voice came from behind Will, and a familiar, thin yo
uth with a mop of dark hair passed by Will’s elbow and stood by Dr. Loftin. What on earth was Tom doing here?

  “I lied about the pig, Your Honor.” Tom’s voice was strained.

  “That is called perjury, boy,” the judge snapped. “You know men go to jail for it?”

  Tom’s hands were shaking. He looked straight at Will, as if the sight of his former friend could keep him standing. “Yes, Your Honor. But the truth is that Will didn’t kill the pig. Master Good killed it. He went into the woods before Will, and the gunshot went off while Will stood right next to me.”

  “And you saw this?” The expression on the judge’s face wavered.

  “Yes, sir. But Master Good threatened to kill us if we did not perjure ourselves. Then he almost beat Will to death afterward.” The last words spilled out in a rush as if Tom were afraid the judge might cut him off.

  If the judge did not believe Tom, they would both surely die at Master Good’s hands. But if the devil could manifest himself in Jacob Good, the Lord had just walked into the courtroom in the starved body of Tom Reece. A light shines for those sitting in darkness. And the Lord did not always spare his children from pain and death, but he would make himself known, even in this world. Tom stared at Will, a question writ large in his tense face. Will held his gaze and nodded.

  With a thump of his hand on his table, the judge snapped at Tom. “I should clap you in jail this minute.” The judge pressed his lips together. “Except for the fact that your master apparently compelled you to perjury with every means at his disposal. And perjury is a most grievous offense against Justice herself.” He glowered at Master Good. “What say you to this, Jacob Good?”

  “It’s all lies, Your Honor. They have cooked up some scheme between them.” Master Good’s voice grew ingratiating, his unnatural smile as broad as a crocodile’s.

  The judge was unmoved. “I now have the word of four men that you are a perjurer, a swine-killer, and a would-be murderer. This apprentice”—he indicated Tom—“is willing to go to prison for his testimony against you.”

  “I am a solid citizen, Your Honor, and a good Christian man!”

  All of the buzz in the courtroom had ceased, and Master Good’s words fell into the silence like a stone dropped in a deep well.

  “I think not. And on account of you having suborned this young man to perjury, I hereby remand you to three years confinement by the State, followed by a year additional for killing the doctor’s sow.”

  Master Good took a step back, visibly stricken.

  The judge rapped his gavel, then waved it at Will. “Untie that young man. He has suffered enough at this man’s hands. I hereby cancel his debt and his indenture, and that of the other apprentice too. And young man”—he raised his voice at Tom— “though perjury is a very serious offense, I am willing to grant clemency under your circumstances.”

  Tom’s face lit up and Will was sure his own reflected the same joy. Mr. Miller and Dr. Loftin shook hands and slapped each other on the shoulder.

  Almost as an afterthought, the judge added, “Tie up Jacob Good and take him to the holding cell.”

  Master Good jumped, looked around wildly, then pushed his way for the door. Mr. Miller stepped in Good’s way and seized his upper arms. With a stream of oaths, Master Good jerked like a puppet in his attempt to free himself. But other men in the courtroom threw themselves upon Master Good, and he was soon facedown, struggling feebly against four captors. Flushed with their role in enforcing the law, the men jested and laughed, drowning out Good’s muffled imprecations from a face squashed against the wood floor.

  Will’s jailer finished untying him and moved with his rope to the small cluster of men holding Good down. Soon Good was tied as Will had been only five minutes before. The jailer ushered the men back and hauled Good to his feet none too gently.

  “I think you’ll be a shade less pleasant than my last charge,” the jailer said, and pushed Good toward the door.

  Good’s face contorted and he spat at the jailer.

  Compelled by an impulse he didn’t understand, Will followed after Good. At the door, his former master turned and looked him in the eye, his frozen stare malevolent.

  Will spoke as if each word could penetrate the man’s thick shell of ego and hatred. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness overcomes it not.”

  “You son of a whore!”

  The jailer cut off Good’s invective with an elbow to the gut. The black-haired man doubled over, gasping.

  Good’s insults did not provoke Will now, not even the mention of his mother. He watched as the jailer shoved a bent Jacob Good out the door. No longer my master. Never again.

  Then he remembered Ann. When he turned to find her, she stood embracing her friend Louisa. The light from the window revealed the sheen of tears on Ann’s face. She smiled self-consciously, lifting the handkerchief in her hands to blot her cheeks. But then something clouded her eyes, and she grew pensive. She turned her back to him and took Louisa’s hand. With a quiet exchange of words, they began to move toward the door on the other side of the courtroom. He looked after them, mystified.

  “Will.” Someone touched his shoulder. Tom hung his head. “I hope you can forgive—”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” Now a lump hurt Will’s throat. “You just saved my life at risk of your own.” He and Tom pounded each other’s backs, cleared their throats, and turned to stand side by side in an appropriately manly way, though Tom sniffed once.

  “I should remind you,” Tom said, gazing at the chaotic courtroom while the judge pounded for order and eventually threw up his hands and took a recess. “Someone is waiting and will be glad to hear your good news.”

  Emmie. His buoyant heart deflated.

  “You have kept her informed of the news?”

  “As well as I could.”

  “Thank you.” He shook Tom’s hand, wishing the other young man could eradicate that last trace of guilt from his countenance. Time would heal the wound, he hoped.

  “I think you should go tell her yourself,” Tom said.

  “I suppose so.” Will tried to sound enthusiastic. “I’m surprised she isn’t here. She came to see me in jail, you know.” His sinking sensation redoubled at the memory of her acceptance of his proposal.

  “Perhaps she was too nervous.” Tom looked unsure of himself, in this role as go-between. “Would you like me to come with you to see her?”

  “Yes, if you are willing.”

  “Of course.”

  Will beckoned Tom to follow and found Mr. Miller. “Sir, I must fulfill an obligation. Will you wait half an hour for my return?”

  The saddler looked curious but agreed.

  Will set off ahead of Tom, hurrying down the courthouse steps. He must act now, before he could weaken from his duty.

  It was maddening that she could not seem to stop her tears. Just when Ann thought they had run their course, a piercing thought would force out another. This unhinged state of joy and sorrow would drive her to an asylum should it continue much longer. Ann dabbed at the corners of her eyes before the moisture could become apparent. Louisa pretended not to notice, bending her head to the knitting in her lap.

  Ann’s father had sent them ahead to return to the Burbridges’ while he waited for Will, who had gone on an errand.

  After the judge’s decision, the words that sent joy flooding through her like sunlight, Ann could think of only one kind of errand that would be so important as to take Will away immediately.

  He has gone to see her.

  She dabbed at one eye again, letting the moisture seep into a dry part of the handkerchief. She needed a common handkerchief, not this dainty, lace-edged piece of frippery. It was half-sodden already.

  She was glad Allan was away from home, having gone on business out of town. If he saw her in this state, with his keen faculty of observation, he was sure to make some trenchant comment to her about Will.

  And she could not bear to admit he had been
right. Somehow, despite her conviction that she would marry Eli, she had lost her heart to the former pig-keeper, the runaway apprentice.

  And now she knew why they called it losing one’s heart. Inside her drifted a painful absence, where something of her had gone away. It was the same part of her that went out to Will as they stood together on the deck of the boat—the same pulse of living sympathy that had pulled her close to the bars of his jail cell. Never had she felt such complete oneness and peace of mind and heart with a man. She realized now that Allan and even Eli had always been to her exciting foreign forces that blew into her vicinity and then blew back out again, having stirred things up but leaving her unchanged by their departure.

  The clock ticked in the hush of the parlor. She tried to read her Bible, but her eyes glanced over the page without taking it in.

  Why had God brought about the circumstances that led to Eli’s second proposal: his remaining in Rushville, his renewal of his courtship? It had all seemed to be a heavenly response to her prayers.

  Maybe it was. Perhaps the Lord did want her to marry Eli, and it had been her own foolishness that led her to speak so intimately with another young man.

  A chill sent her past the point of tears as she gazed sightlessly at the open pages, white in her lap against the red of her dress. She would have to marry Eli, if she wished to marry at all, because Will did not love her. He was to marry someone else.

  At that blunt thought, a flicker of anger heated her cheeks. She snapped shut the Bible, causing Louisa to look up in her direction with wide, gray eyes. Ashamed, Ann opened it again, as if it had been a fumble.

  Why had Will spoken to her so tenderly, so confidentially, if he had made promises to another? She admired his compassion, his resolve to help others. The cruel circumstances of his past had not crushed or altered a character that, beneath the dirt and pain, was loving and selfless. Had he not realized that his actions might mislead her? Was he deliberately fickle—no, she could not believe that of him. He had not toyed with her affections. It had been an unfortunate accident of timing and proximity that she had come to know him well enough to discover his nature, the goodness that stole into her consciousness so quietly, and with results now so devastating.