Jonny stopped talking and glanced around the tent. As soon as he saw me looking his way, he hung his head and stared at his shoes.
The judge frowned. “Jonny, you should have told some-body. It’s good that nobody got hurt, but they could have. This could have been worse. You should have told your father! Or Sheriff Ernie. You should have trusted them.”
Jonny answered sheepishly, “I know. But we were just trying to help.”
“Help?” thundered Horatio, leaping up from his seat. He had been sitting quietly, listening to Jonny’s testimony and taking notes, but now he was on fire again. He’d been patient long enough. “Help a criminal? Help a wanted man get away with his crimes? You call that help?”
“We didn’t know what he was doing!” Jonny cried. “He wouldn’t tell us why he was hiding or what he was looking for. He said it was his, whatever it was.”
“He said it was his—and you believed him? That’s all?” The lawyer waved his hands at the jury. “You see this boy sitting here? All he did was give aid to the enemy. All he did was hide the truth from the authorities. All he did was make sure that the man who was robbing you didn’t get caught! That’s all! ”
He turned and pointed a shaking finger in my direction. “And what about you, Reverend? What do you think now? Now that you know how this desperate man duped your son and his friends into helping him? Isn’t it obvious? Your son helped dig the tunnel—the one that nearly killed you! Are you so generous with your forgiveness now? What do you think about all of this?”
I looked at Janice. She flashed me a look of hope. I looked at the assembled townsfolk, sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for my answer. I saw Xian regarding me with sincere regret and apology in his eyes. Finally, I looked at Jonny sitting in the witness box and digging a hole in the ground with his toe. I looked into his eyes that were full of tears and fear. He was afraid—but not of the judge or the trouble he was in. He was afraid of me.
I stood up and walked over to Jonny. In that moment, I finally understood. That was me sitting there. Jonny was turning into me. Why should I be surprised? I was the one who was afraid all the time. I was the one who was always afraid of what people would think. I forced my family to live under that same cloud. They had to be careful about what they said and what they did. I wanted everything to be under control, especially my wife and kids. This was what fear did to people. Jonny had been sneaking around behind my back, but I was the one who put him there. I’d been sneaking around for years.
It was just like the story in the Old Testament. I was like cowardly King Saul. My boy was like courageous Prince Jonathan. The nation of Israel had been in trouble, just like Boomtown was in trouble now. It was too late for Saul and Jonathan. But maybe it wasn’t too late for us.
I turned to face Mr. Hooke. He stood there wearing his expensive three-piece suit and silk tie. He stared at me triumphantly with his arms crossed over his chest waiting for an answer. He didn’t care if he was driving a wedge between me and my son. All he cared about was winning. But suddenly I cared about something a lot more important than that.
I looked him square in the eye and answered as loudly as I could so everyone could hear me. “You want to know what I think? Here’s what I think! I think there has never been a father who is more proud of his son than I am at this very moment. That’s what I think.”
The entire courtroom burst into cheering followed by a thunderous round of applause. Janice began to cry. Ruth and Sarah were smiling at me. As I faced him, I saw Jonny heave a huge sigh of relief, and he smiled at me.
“Really, Dad? You mean it?”
“Really, Jon. I really mean it.”
Horatio Hooke couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re proud?
How can you be proud of your son?”
I knew the answer to that question. “I’m proud because my son proved to Xian what his great-grandfather had tried to tell him—what I should have been telling him. He should have trusted the people of Boomtown. Xian was having trouble doing that—he probably has a good reason; you’ll have to ask him. I can certainly sympathize because I’ve been having the same problem. I haven’t trusted anybody. So whatever Xian has been up to, maybe all of us can learn something about trust. Even you, Mr. Hooke!”
The lawyer was coming unglued. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you or any of the people in this crazy nut house of a town. What a bunch of saps! You’re all a bunch of back-woods Pollyannas! Don’t you see what’s going on here? Xian was going to rob your bank! He was going to steal all your hard-earned money! He was going to steal from the members of your church!”
“You don’t know that,” I shouted back. “Sheriff Burton made the same point—weren’t you listening? The only one who knows what he was really doing is Xian. Why don’t you ask him?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do—if his lawyer has the guts to put him on the stand! Judge, I have no further questions for this witness. The prosecution rests.”
Horatio sat down in a huff, folded his arms, and glared as Jonny and I embraced. Side by side, we made our way back to our seats. Janice greeted me with a warm hug and a kiss of relief. Folks up and down the aisle patted me on the shoulder and whispered words of encouragement and gratitude.
Judge Rodriguez pounded her gavel and said, “The prosecuting attorney has turned the case over to the defense. It’s hot in here—too hot—and I think we’ve heard more than enough for one day. If Mr. Rigdale is in agreement, we’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning? Yes? Good! That’ll do it then.” She slammed down her gavel and we were dismissed.
We went home that night as happy as we’d been in a long time. Exhausted, we went to bed early, excited about what would happen the next day. Of course, we didn’t all sleep that night. One of us stayed very busy.
CHAPTER 17
Xian Takes the Stand
That night, a rainsquall passed through the area. By morning, it was a cool sixty-eight degrees and very comfortable in the tent. Every seat was taken; every inch of standing room was occupied and then some; the reporters and film crews were standing by. Everyone expected this would be the day the mystery would be solved.
Everyone except for Jonny, of course, who was not in his bed when we got up that morning. We searched the house and the backyard. I made a few phone calls. When we got to the courtroom, I took a quick survey of the bleachers and checked with Lazy Gunderson and Jim Dougherty; both of their boys were missing too. That could only mean one thing—they were off on another one of their adventures. That spelled trouble; we’d have to wait and see how much.
I didn’t have any more time to track him down. I was on the witness list; I had to be available in case I was called back to the stand. How could Jonny miss the show? Where was that boy? I hoped he was okay.
As soon as the judge had taken her seat, the trial resumed. George Rigdale stood up and said, “Your Honor, I will be calling only one witness this morning. I call Xian, the great-grandson of Chang, to the stand.” Horatio Hooke watched as the defendant rose. The lawyer grunted in satisfaction now that the final showdown was set to begin. He was looking forward to this like a dog waits for a bone.
Xian made his way carefully to the witness stand. Like his famous ancestor, he was a diminutive man, barely an inch over five feet tall. He had a smooth, unwrinkled face that defied age, though he was forty-nine years old at the time of the trial. He wore the simple, black linen jacket and pants common to his people, slippers, a black hat, and the traditional queue (ponytail) running down his back. He glanced nervously at the assembled crowd as he settled into his seat, expecting to see anger and indignation, but all he could see were amiable faces and encouraging waves. His face was an inscrutable mask, though I sensed surprise behind his dark eyes. A warm welcome from the people he’d stolen from was the last thing he was expecting.
George Rigdale crossed the grass floor and approached the witness. He stopped for a moment to regard the members of the jury, trying to cal
culate the mood. He saw twelve towns-people eagerly awaiting testimony from Xian—not a hostile face in the bunch. They were fascinated and intrigued. The lawyer hadn’t faced that many juries in his career; those he’d faced were often predisposed to convict. What he saw in front of him was a jury that embraced Xian, regardless of what he had done. They thought of him as the reembodiment of their town’s hero and founder. It almost didn’t matter what Xian had to say. The jury was ready to throw him a parade.
Mr. Rigdale turned and faced Xian. A hush fell over the assembly as he adjusted his tie and prepared to question the defendant. The tension was electric, but not nearly as exciting as the story Xian began to tell.
“Would you please state your full name for the court?”
“My name is Xian, son of Kang.”
“Kang was your father. And your grandfather?”
“His name was Wang.”
“And his father?”
“Chang, my great-grandfather.”
His voice was a barely audible whisper, aided only by the sound system and the microphone positioned near his mouth. His accent was distinctly Chinese, and he spoke in halting English, although his pronunciation was impeccable and his grammar correct. As he began to talk, everyone leaned forward so they could hear.
Mr. Rigdale continued, “So you claim to be the great-grandson of Chang. That is one of the primary issues this fine jury and all the people of Boomtown wish to pursue. You bear a striking resemblance to Chang, that is unmistakable; but how is it possible that you are his direct descendant when he was a man who was thought to be unmarried and without family until his death?”
“That is not a mystery. My great-grandmother, Sang, was pregnant when Chang escaped from China in 1846; he was only seventeen years old at the time. He did not know his wife was carrying a child when he left. If he did, he never would have gone.”
“You say he escaped? From what was he trying to escape?”
“Chang was born in 1830, during the latter days of the Qing Dynasty, which ruled my country for more than three hundred years. It was overthrown in 1911 after many years of struggle. After that the nation became known as the Republic of China; more recently, the People’s Republic of China, governed now by socialism at the hands of Mao Tse Tung. It is a sad and evil time for my country.
“But no more or less than it was in days of my great-grandfather, who lived to see the uprising of the White Lotus Sect. This paved the way for invasion by foreign capitalists, leading to what was called the Opium War in the twentieth year of Daoguang, a ruthless and corrupt emperor who persecuted intellectuals such as Chang’s father. He was both a professor of history and a gentleman, unused to war and unwilling to fight.”
While he spoke, Xian kept his dark eyes focused on the jury, although every now and then his gaze drifted over to where we were sitting. He told his story with bridled emotion. He seemed relieved to finally get all of the secrets out in the open.
“The cruelty of the emperor bred rebellion like mush-rooms after the rain. He was always at war—with neighboring countries and especially his own people. When Daoguang sent his troops to forcefully draft all the young men of my village, Chang faced a horrible decision. If he yielded to them, he’d be forced to do what was being done to him. If he refused to join the army, they would have him killed or imprisoned. Chang’s father encouraged him to run away.
“He said, ‘Go to America, my son. Make your fortune there and then call for your wife. We will send her to you.’ And so he went, planning always to send word of his where-abouts and to send for Sang as soon as it was reasonable.”
George Rigdale frowned. “But Chang never sent for her, not as far as we know. He never mentioned having a wife—or a son.”
“He could not have known what happened after he left,” Xian explained. “The emperor, Daoguang, was so angry with Chang’s father that he had him arrested and thrown into prison. From then on he sent spies into our village to seize any letters that Chang might send. He wanted to prevent any of our family from leaving to join him.
“During that time Sang gave birth to Wang, but Chang never knew she was pregnant and never learned the fate of his father and his family. Not until much later.”
“Tell the court, if you will, what happened next.”
“My family continued to live as prisoners in the village, even after the death of Daoguang and the fall of the Qing Dynasty. His agents in the government made sure that the policy against Chang and his descendants continued. His letters were taken. Our letters to America were seized.
“But then something happened. A friend of my father was traveling to America on business. He agreed to search until he discovered what had happened to Chang. He would send word to us through his network of business associates. Years went by and we gave up hope of ever hearing from him, until one day there came a knock on our door. It was an agent bearing news.”
“What was this agent able to tell you?”
“It was just as we had feared. Chang was dead. But now we knew what had become of him. He lived in Washington and died in Boomtown. He’d invented many wonderful things during this life and was considered a friend to many and an honorable man. Beyond that, the man was unable to say.”
“So that was the end of it?”
“No. There was more to come. My father had an acquaintance in China who was working as a minor clerk in the government archives section in Beijing. He agreed to do what he could to find any records referring to my great-grandfather and smuggle them out of Beijing and bring them to us if possible. It was a very dangerous mission for which my family will be forever grateful. Five more years passed, but we continued to wait. One day a bundle arrived on our doorstep. Tied to the bundle was a note.”
“Do you have that note with you today?”
“I do.”
“Your Honor, I wish to enter into evidence this note written by an associate of Xian’s father.”
Judge Rodriguez asked, “Any objections from the prosecution?”
Horatio Hooke approached the bench and took the letter from Xian’s hand. “This note is written in Chinese. How can we verify what it actually says? As far as we know, it could be a fabrication by the witness, a fakery to go along with all of his other lies.”
The judge answered, “For the time being let us assume it is genuine and that Xian will read it accurately. If you find anything damaging to your case in the letter, you may object at that time. Agreed?”
Mr. Hooke reluctantly withdrew his objection and marched back to his seat.
“Please continue, Mr. Rigdale.”
The defense attorney faced his witness. “Will you please read the letter at this time?”
Xian began to read:
“Dear friends, after many years of careful searching I was finally able to locate the sealed records of your ancestor, Chang. They were locked in a basement vault where until recently I was forbidden to go. Buried among the other documents, I discovered a collection of letters written by Chang and sent to his family over the years, seized by the government and locked away until now. I was afraid to take them all at once. So each week for a year I secreted a single letter inside the lining of my hat and carried them one by one out of the government building and to my small apartment where I have kept them hidden until now. I am risking my life delivering these letters to you, so I ask that you remember me with favor if the letters should prove to be of any value. Until then, I remain your friend, anonymously.”
Mr. Rigdale waited patiently while Xian took a moment to take a sip of water and collect his thoughts. After a few moments of tense silence, the lawyer continued his questioning. “Did the letters prove to be of any importance?”
“Yes, they did. Our family finally learned what had happened to my great-grandfather. The letters told us about his escape from China and how he sailed to India and how he went from there on foot across Europe. He sailed from France working as a cook aboard a tramp steamer bound for America.
“He
arrived in New York, where he learned of the Gold Rush. Like many Chinese, he was hired to help build the railroads to the West. The people of Boomtown know this part of his story—how he worked his way across the country, turned north when he reached California, and arrived here in Washington. His letters described a beautiful place of mountains and streams and wonderful, kind people who adopted him as their own son. He wrote about his many friends here, and I am ashamed that I did not trust them as he told me I should.”
Mr. Rigdale held up a sheet of paper. “You are referring, of course, to the last page of the letter that was found down by the river by Denk and turned over to Sheriff Burton Ernie?”
“Yes. I dropped the page during one of my nightly raids.”
“Do you have the rest of the letter in your possession?”
“I do.”
“Are you prepared to read the letter here and now in front of this jury?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Before you do, I have a few more questions, just for clarification. You said you did not trust the people of this town?”
“This is not their fault. I should have announced myself as soon as I arrived in Boomtown. I see now that I would have received a graceful welcome. I have been treated well as a guest of the sheriff in his very pleasant jail cell. Many admirable people have visited me every day. They have given me a comfortable bed to sleep in with fresh linens every morning. Mabel from the diner brings me terrible coffee for breakfast; Mrs. Kreuger brings me delicious sandwiches for lunch; the women from the Boomtown churches bring me supper at night. My Chinese countrymen have visited me frequently from the fireworks factory. I could not have been treated more kindly or with such courteous respect if I were a visiting king.”
“And your justification for stealing supplies and equipment from around town? Your reasons for involving the boys in your secret activities? What could that be?”
“This is the thing I am most sorry about. I shouldn’t have stolen anything. I shouldn’t have gotten the boys involved.
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