by Kit Morgan
They were wrong about that. Hank’s was stuffed to the rafters with people, half of which were there to defend Stanley’s character. The other half were waiting to see if he’d survive the proceedings, considering all the Weaver men were present. If there was one thing that particular half liked, it was a good old-fashioned brawl.
Hank had shoved a couple of tables together at one end of the restaurant for the judge to use and placed the others against the walls. The chairs set up in the middle of the room were already taken, so the rest of the townsfolk leaned against or sat on the tables, much to Hank’s dismay.
The Weavers were the last to arrive and had to stand where they could. There wasn’t room for all of them, of course, so only Ma, Harlan, Benjamin, Calvin, Daniel and Ebba were able to squeeze in. The rest of the women and the children had to wait outside with everyone else unable to claim a space. Arlan was nowhere in evidence.
Ma and Harlan were dressed in Their Sunday best as they were hoping to get married afterwards. All Ma would have to do is change into her wedding dress. Harlan would already be in his wedding clothes.
Harlan looked at his future bride and smiled. Ma’s hat kept sliding off to one side of her head, making it hard for her to see what was happening. “Where’s the judge?” she asked. “I don’t see him.”
“My guess is that there’s the new judge sittin’ behind them tables, Ma,” Benjamin said.
“What? What happened to Judge Houston?” she asked. “He’s been coming through here for years.”
The brothers exchanged glances. “Don’t rightly know Ma,” Calvin said.
Ma craned her neck to see. Not an easy thing to do at her height. “I wish some of these people would move out of the way.”
A sudden rapping on a tabletop caught everyone’s attention. All faced forward and noted Judge Whipple’s scowl. “This court is now in session,” he bellowed, and then waved Spencer Riley toward him. “Let’s make this quick, Sheriff. I got me a bellyache.”
A few folks chuckled at the remark. The judge picked up his gavel and rapped it on the table again, which made Hank cringe. “I’ll have order in this court if you don’t mind.” He looked at Spencer again. “What have we got?”
Spencer nodded to Tom Turner who marched a handcuffed Stanley Oliver through the crowd to where the judge sat. “This is the accused, Your Honor,” Spencer said. “Mr. Stanley Oliver was caught in the act of attempting to defile a young lady.”
Judge Whipple’s face twisted up in disbelief. “Defile? You mean he tried to rape her?” A few women in the crowd swooned at the word and almost fell out of their chairs. He rapped his gavel on the table again. “If you women can’t take this sort of thing, then get out! This is a courtroom, not a quilting bee!” The women quickly straightened up and sat still.
The judge rolled his eyes and shook his head, then looked Stanley over. “How long have you lived here, son?”
“A little over a year, Your Honor, sir,” Stanley stated as his eyes darted around the room.
Judge Whipple kept looking him up and down. “Uh-huh.” He looked over the crowd before his eyes fell on Spencer again. “And where’s his accuser?”
“Right here, Your Honor!” Ma cried from the back of the room. She, Harlan and her sons shoved their way through the crowd, with Ebba in the middle. When they reached the table Ma sighed in relief. “Whew, made it.”
The judge seemed confused. He looked at Stanley, at Ma, back again. “Son, you attacked this poor old woman?”
Spencer’s jaw tightened in an effort not to laugh. “Mrs. Weaver is not Mr. Oliver’s accuser, Your Honor.”
Judge Whipple glanced at a paper on the desk. “Says here she is.”
“I’m not the Mrs. Weaver he attacked,” Ma said as she maneuvered Ebba forward. “She is!”
The judge nodded. “I see. You want to tell me what happened, little lady?”
“Well,” Ebba said as she wrung her hands in front of her. “I was handing sandwiches out to …”
The judge belched long and loud, cutting her off. He struck his chest a few times with his fist. “Pardon me. Indigestion.” He glared at Hank, who shrank back into the crowd.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Ebba said apologetically.
“You and me both. You were saying?”
She swallowed hard and tried again. “I was handing out the sandwiches and ran into this man here near the barn on the Weaver property.”
The judge struck his chest several more times and cleared his throat, his face turning red. “The accused has a name, miss. Use it.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Oliver was coming out of the barn when I offered him a sandwich.”
“That ain’t all she offered him!” came a shout from the crowd.
The judge brought the gavel down hard upon the table. “Order!” He looked at Ebba “And?”
“He grabbed me and pulled me into the barn.”
“Didn’t you think to scream or something?” the judge asked and belched. “Pardon me.”
Ebba and everyone else within a few feet of the man wrinkled their noses. Whatever Hank fed him earlier obviously had a lot of onions in it. “I couldn’t, sir. He put a hand over my mouth.”
The judge eyed Stanley disapprovingly. “Did he?”
Stanley blanched. “I demand a lawyer!”
“There are no lawyers around these parts, boy,” the judge said. “I’m all you’ve got – deal with it.”
Stanley’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. The judge nodded in satisfaction at the silence and turned back to Ebba. “Then what happened?”
“Well …” she said, wringing her hands once more. “He dragged me into a stall, threw me on the ground and pinned me there.”
Several women swooned again, one of which managed to carefully fall onto the floor.
Judge Whipple rolled his eyes and groaned. “Somebody get them out of here! A man’s liable to trip over one of ‘em!” He turned back to Ebba. “Then what?”
Ebba was momentarily distracted by the fainting women’s husbands ushering them through the crowd and out the door. The one who’d hit the floor had the audacity to pretend she was out cold, but Ebba caught her peeking at the crowd as she was dragged away. “Um … I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. And then my husband stabbed him with a pitchfork in the … the, uh …” She reached behind her and pointed at an area below her waist.
“Took a hayfork in the butt, did he?” the judge confirmed. “Is your husband here today, young lady?”
“That’d be me, Yer Honor,” Daniel said, raising his hand.
“I’ll get to you later, son.” Judge Whipple turned to Stanley. “So? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Ebba was still looking around the room. She’d never been in court before, but knew this was hardly the norm. Why were people being so theatrical about the whole thing? Were they friends of Nellie Davis? And speaking of which, where was Nellie Davis? She didn’t appear to be present …
“What she says ain’t true!” Stanley cried. “She’s just sayin’ that ‘cause she don’t want them Weavers to find out what she really is!” He glared at Daniel. “Not that this’un ain’t figgered it out already if’n he’s got half a brain –”
The judge banged his gavel again. “Quiet, you! A simple answer will suffice.” He grimaced and struck his chest again with his fist. “Dangblasted onions. Oof.” He looked at Ebba. “He’s calling you a liar, miss. My question is, why would you lie?”
“I wouldn’t! He is!”
The judge belched and grimaced again.
“Judge Whipple,” Spencer said with concern. “Are you all right, sir?”
The judge waved dismissively at him. “It’ll pass. Witnesses?”
“I’m the witness, Yer Honor,” Daniel said.
The judge took a few deep breaths and leaned back. “Ah yes, her husband? What did you see?”
“It’s just like Ebba said. By the time I got there, he was about to … well, ya know.�
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“No, I don’t know. How am I supposed to know anything if you people won’t give me a straight answer?” He belched again. “Land sakes, but I hate this job sometimes. Spell it out, boy!”
Daniel tried again, pointing at Stanley. “I walked in on this man pinnin’ my bride down and tryin’ to have his way with her. So I grabbed the first thing I could find in order to stop him!”
“Which was the pitchfork?” the judge asked.
“Which was the pitchfork, yes.”
The judge nodded and smiled, then looked at Stanley. “Well, son, it’d be darn deadly difficult to put those tines in your tush unless you were indeed in the position they claim you were.”
Stanley’s eyes darted furtively about. “She was askin’ fer it! Her kind always asks for it. She wanted it too!”
More gasps from the crowd. The judge ignored them. “So now you’re claiming that she solicited your affections?”
“‘Course she did!” Stanley spat. “What can ya expect from a whore? This whole trial’s a farce, I tell ya! No one expects a man to be punished for havin’ his way with a common –”
Daniel stepped beside Stanley before he could finish and punched him in the jaw, never once taking his eyes off the judge. “Oops. Sorry, Yer Honor – my fist musta slipped.”
Judge Whipple stared in shock at Stanley lying on the floor, then looked up at Daniel again. “Young man, was that really necessary?”
“I believe so, Yer Honor. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my wife, even if it means I have to go to jail, sir.”
The judge grumbled to himself for a moment. “Well, under normal circumstances, I’d find you in contempt of court for punching a defendant, but … given what he said, I’ll let it pass this once. But don’t even think about doing it … belch …. doing it again … belch … doggone you, Hank, what was in that stew?”
“Sorry, Judge!” Hank replied from somewhere in the crowd. “It was leftovers!”
“Left over from the war, no doubt.” The judge put a hand to his belly and grimaced. “I’ll deal with you later.” He turned back to Ebba. “Let’s proceed. Are you in fact what the defendant said you are?”
“Of course not! I would never do such a thing.”
He looked at Daniel. “Have you evidence that this woman was, well, of a pure nature at the time you married her?”
Ebba watched Daniel’s cheeks flush red. “She was untouched, if that’s what ya mean.”
The judge leaned forward and motioned Daniel to do the same. He lowered his voice and said, “Have you ever been with a woman before, son? Because if not, how would you know?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Yer Honor, but I have three older brothers, all married before I was. They made sure to fill me in on what to expect.”
The judge sat back again and nodded. “Good point, son. You would know, then.” He put a hand on the table and began to drum his fingers, then leaned forward to see if Stanley was still on the ground. “Someone want to toss some water on that boy?”
Deputy Turner nodded and went to find a bucket. Ma Weaver followed.
Everyone sat in silence as the judge continued to tap the table. “Seems to me,” he finally said, “we have a misunderstanding here. And being as how I have horrible indigestion, I’d like to wrap this up. My only remaining question is what gave Mr. Oliver …” He again checked on Stanley, who still hadn’t stirred. “… the notion that this young woman was of, shall we say, ill repute?”
The room went silent as a tomb.
Judge Whipple studied Ebba a moment. “Miss, I think you look like a nice young woman, but one can’t be too careful nowadays. It’s also my understanding that this particular town doesn’t have an active saloon that would employ the kind of women Mr. Oliver claims you to be. Still, did you do anything to provoke his actions?”
“No, Your Honor, I did not,” Ebba said firmly.
“She didn’t, but I know who did!” came a voice from the back of the room.
All heads turned as Clayton and Arlan entered, marching Nellie Davis between them. She was none too happy to be there, and certainly not happy to be there with the two men gripping her by the upper arms. Trailing behind was Mr. Davis, a stern look on his face.
“What’s the meaning of this?” The judge asked.
“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Davis here?” Clayton said.
“And why should I?”
“Because,” said Arlan. “She took something that didn’t belong to her and created a mountain out of a molehill.”
The judge leaned forward and looked Nellie up and down. “Did she now?” he said. “Well, do tell.”
Chapter 19
“I did nothing!” Nellie spat. “Tell these two ruffians to unhand me!”
“Nellie,” Mr. Davis warned. “Tell the judge what you did.”
“You’re not helping!” she snapped at him.
“I’m doing my best not to march you home and lock you up for the next six months! Maybe then you’ll mind your own business!”
Judge Whipple leaned back in his chair, hands on his belly. “Make it quick.”
“I’m guilty of nothing!” Nellie said, chin high.
“Mother, what have you done this time?” Charlotte groaned several rows back.
“She stole Daniel’s letter from Ebba, that’s what she did,” Arlan told the judge.
“What?” Daniel turned to his older brother. “What she’d do that for?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Arlan said.
Daniel leaned past Arlan enough to look at Nellie. “Mrs. Davis, what is this all about?”
“I was doing my civil duty to protect your family from this … this … harlot!”
Daniel looked at Ebba, who was staring daggers at Nellie. “What is she talkin’ about?”
Ebba shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s treated me strangely ever since I arrived.”
“What was in that letter?” the judge asked Daniel.
“I can’t say. I never really read it myself,” Daniel said.
“Oh, illiterate, eh?” said the judge.
“No, Yer Honor, I can read fine. But my cousin Matty read it to me first, and then it disappeared. Or I thought it had.” Now he was glaring at Nellie too.
“So what was in that letter?” the judge demanded. “I’m not gonna last much longer, son.” To prove his point, his stomach began to make odd gurgling noises. Everyone backed up a step.
“I’ve got it right here.” Mr. Davis pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his coat. “Seems my wife had hidden it in a drawer with her frillies.”
“You went through my …?” Nellie began.
“One more word, dear, and I’ll put you on a train back to Mississippi myself,” her husband growled.
Shaken, Nellie went silent.
Someone else, however, did not. “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Matthew said as he made his way to the front of the room. “I am Matthew Quinn – the ‘cousin Matty’ of which Daniel Weaver spoke. I am also Mrs. Davis’ son-in-law. I did read the letter for Daniel when it first arrived, as he was too nervous to read it himself.”
“All right,” the judge said with a grimace. “And you’re telling me this because …?”
Matthew shoved his spectacles up his nose as his cheeks turned pink. “The letter in question is of a private nature, Your Honor. I would not wish to embarrass my cousin’s new bride by speaking the contents aloud. But as my mother-in-law read what I did, I can see how this got so out of hand.”
Judge Whipple grimaced and gurgled once more. “Enough is enough! Give me the dangblasted letter and let me see for myself!”
Mr. Davis handed it over. The judge unfolded it and read silently, nodding a few times. When he reached the end, his eyebrows rose. “Hmmm.” He slowly turned to look at Ebba, then sat back in his chair, sighed and looked at Daniel. “You should make it a habit of reading your mail, young man.”
Daniel glared at Matthew. “I knew there was somet
hing Matty wasn’t tellin’ me, but I never got the chance to read it myself.”
“And we know whose fault that was,” Arlan said. “Don’t we, Mrs. Davis?”
Nellie turned crimson, but said nothing.
“Wait a minute!” Ebba said. “Don’t you think I don’t know what I wrote to Daniel? I don’t see what all this fuss is about! I never said anything in that letter that would indicate I was anything but who I am!”
The judge, along with every other man in the room, stared at her.
Ebba paled. “All I told him was … that I had all my teeth!”
The room erupted in laughter.
“Quiet!” the judge barked and rapped his gavel until the crowd shut up. He looked at Ebba. “Did anyone else have that letter before you sent it off?”
“No!” Then it hit her, and she put her hands on her temples. “Oh no …”
“Oh no what?” Daniel asked.
“Mrs. Pettigrew … she mailed it for me.”
The judge’s stomach rumbled. “Merciful heavens,” he said with a grimace.
“Here, drink this!” Ma made her way through the crowd, a glass in her hand. “It’s my own recipe. It’ll help settle your gut, Judge.”
Judge Whipple was in too much pain to argue. He grabbed the glass and downed the contents in a single swallow, then belched long and loud toward Nellie. “Oh my. Terribly sorry, ma’am.”
“Great Scott, man!” Mr. Davis cried. “See a doctor!”
Ma wrinkled her nose, having been standing next to Nellie, but otherwise endured the onslaught stoically. Nellie still had her eyes closed.
The judge settled back in his chair. “Much obliged, ma’am. I feel better already.” He looked around for a moment, his eyes finally settling on Mr. Davis. “I take it this isn’t the first time your wife has done this sort of thing?”
“No, Your Honor, I’m afraid not.”
“Your expression toward the woman at the moment would be proof enough, even had I not asked you,” the judge said. “You realize the trouble she’s caused this young lady?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I do.”
