Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  He jotted another note. Then he glanced back up at her. "Why don't you regret his death?"

  "Because he hurt my child," Kate said. "Again and again and again!" Tears blinded her, and her voice turned shrill. "I tried to run away with her, but he always caught us and brought us home. I can't be sorry that he can't hurt her anymore. On another level, I know my feelings of relief that he's gone are very wrong, but—" Kate shrugged. "She's safe from him, and I can't get beyond that."

  The attorney repositioned the paper he was writing on and cleared his throat. "I realize that you claim his death was accidental." He pushed erect and strolled toward her, his manner so kindly that Kate wanted to slap him.

  "But I'm curious. Did you ever consider deliberately killing him?"

  She dug her nails into her hands. In all her wildest imaginings, she had never dreamed that the prosecutor's questions might be this vicious. An honest answer might prove fatal. Her lawyer jumped up. "Objection, Your Honor! If people could be tried for their thoughts, we'd all hang. That question is completely out of line."

  The judge leveled a relentless glare at Kate's attorney. "Objection overruled. To establish intent, this question is completely acceptable." Returning his gaze to Kate, he said, "Please answer the question, Mrs. McGovern. Did you or did you not ever consider deliberately killing your late husband?"

  "I refuse to let my client answer that question on the grounds that her reply may incriminate her!" the lawyer cried.

  Kate threw a frantic glance at Zachariah. His eyes held hers for a long, endless moment, and during that moment, she remembered all her many reasons for coming here. Namely, she wanted her life back, and to accomplish that, she had to put the past completely behind her. No more secrets. No more lies. No more being haunted by memories. Unless she answered the questions, honestly and without holding back, she would never be entirely free of her past. Never.

  Kate fixed her gaze on the judge. It had been so long since she had trusted in the goodness of human nature, five years that had seemed like an entire lifetime. She could stay caught in that trap for the rest of her life.

  Turning toward her attorney, Kate said, "It's all right, Mr. Defler. I have nothing to hide. If I did, I never would have come forward." Then to the prosecutor, she said, "The answer to your question is yes, I considered killing Joseph Blakely at least a dozen times and probably in every conceivable way you can imagine."

  A gasp rose from the spectator seating area. The prosecutor looked taken aback for a moment. He clearly hadn't counted on that being her answer. As his gaze rested on hers, Kate thought she saw a spark of sympathy in those gray depths. "Can you give me one instance?"

  "Objection!" Defler roared. "Don't answer that question, Mrs. McGovern."

  Kate ignored him. "Once I nearly stabbed him with my sewing scissors. If he hadn't turned at the last second, I would have."

  Charles Defler threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture of defeat and returned to his seat.

  Wilcox pursed his lips and clasped his hands behind his back. "On the night of Joseph Blakely's death, when you walked up behind him with that piece of firewood, did he turn around?"

  Kate stared at him, knowing he had set the trap and that she was about to step in it. She squared her shoulders.

  This was a courtroom. The aim here was to see that justice prevailed. She had to believe that. "No, he didn't turn around."

  "Then what prevented you from hitting him on the head, Mrs. McGovern? According to your deposition, he was torturing your child. She was screaming. You had tried, unsuccessfully, to drag him off of her. At that last second, as you lifted that piece of firewood, you must have considered killing him!"

  "I just wanted to make him stop!"

  "Permanently?" he fired back.

  "Yes, permanently! Of course, permanently."

  "No more questions," Wilcox snapped. "The prosecution reserves the right to recall the witness."

  Thinking she was finished, Kate pushed to her feet, only to be told to sit back down. Charles Defler rose and walked toward her, clearly agitated. Coming to a stop before the witness stand, he raked a hand through his hair.

  "How are you doing, Mrs. McGovern? Would you care for some water?"

  Kate nodded and gratefully accepted the glass that was handed to her by a court clerk.

  Defler paced, then turned. "You've admitted to nearly stabbing your husband with your sewing scissors. Was he abusing your child when you made that attempt?" he asked gently.

  Kate's lips felt glued to the glass. She nearly choked as she swallowed the mouthful of water. Lowering the tumbler to her lap, she replied, "Yes."

  "What was he doing to her, Mrs. McGovern?"

  She wrapped her hands around the glass. "He was sh-shoving the tip of a knife under her fingernail."

  Defler resumed his pacing and directed his footsteps toward the jury box. Scanning the jurors' faces, he said, "A knife under her fingernail? A brutal, unthinkable punishment, surely, but not fatal. Some might wonder why you felt compelled to stab the man. Can you explain that to us?"

  The ensuing silence seemed deafening. Once again, Kate scanned the spectators' faces, looked into their eyes, read their emotions. This time instead of seeing accusation reflected there, she saw shock and revulsion and pity.

  These people hadn't turned their backs on her, they simply hadn't realized. Kate could forgive them that. Joseph had been a clever man who had hidden his true nature under a cloak of respectability, charming when he chose to be and always treacherously convincing, able to shift moods with honeyed ease as only the truly mad can. These people had been hoodwinked, just as her uncle Jed had been, just as she had been until Joseph revealed his true character to her.

  Kate took a deep breath, determined to get through this. Remembering was never easy. To put those memories into words was nigh unto impossible. "She was sc-screaming for me to make him stop, but h-he wouldn't.

  Nothing I s-said, nothing I did—he wouldn't stop—and so I tried to stab him."

  Kate once again panned the courtroom, but now no one seemed able to meet her gaze. Except one man. She looked into his hazel eyes and yearned to feel his arms around her.

  Another awful silence fell over the courtroom, broken only by occasional coughs and the sounds of people fidgeting in their seats.

  "What had your daughter done to provoke your husband into meting out that sort of punishment, Mrs.

  McGovern?"

  Kate passed a hand over her eyes. "She, um… She had taken a piece of bread without first asking his permission.

  We were late having lunch that day, and she was hungry, and I—" A break in Kate's voice forced her to pause and swallow. Afraid she might spill the water, she set the glass aside on the railing. "I told her she could have a bit of bread to tide her over. When Joseph saw her with it, he assumed she had snitched it, and before I could tell him otherwise, he was in a high temper. Once he got riled, there was no stopping him."

  Another silence. "One final question, Mrs. McGovern, and then I'll allow you to step down. On the night Joseph Blakely died, did you consider dealing him a fatal blow with that piece of firewood?"

  Kate closed her eyes, struggling for composure. At last she found the courage to meet her attorney's gaze. It seemed a damning question to her, but she could only trust that he knew what he was doing. "Look at my little girl's hand, Mr. Defler, and estimate how long it must have been held in the flames to cause burns so severe."

  "Objection!" the prosecutor cried. "This is an obvious ploy to gain juror sympathy!"

  The judge rapped sharply with his gavel. "Overruled! Continue, Mrs. McGovern."

  Kate ran a finger under her collar and cleared her throat. "I—I can't remember the question."

  Defler repeated himself. Kate grasped for what she had been saying, then resumed her testimony. "Anyone who looks can see that her hand had to have been held in the flames for a long while." Her voice quavered. "Imagine, if you will, how she must have screame
d. Faced with those same circumstances, show me a mother who wouldn't have considered killing Joseph Blakely, and I'll show you a woman who isn't fit to raise a child."

  "That doesn't answer my question," he said softly.

  Kate took a bracing breath. "Yes, I thought about hitting him on the head. I nearly did."

  "What prevented you?"

  Kate felt her face twisting, felt tears welling in her eyes. But she couldn't regain her composure. "I'd like to believe that at the last second something noble in my character held me back." Bracing herself against a violent trembling that had invaded her body, she gripped the chair arms. "But deep in my heart—" She moistened her lips and swallowed back an unbidden little moan. Then, cupping her hands over her face, she cried, "The honest truth is that I was too spineless to do it!"

  "Katie, no!" Zachariah burst out. "You have more courage in your little finger than anyone else in this room."

  Kate hunched her shoulders, wishing she could melt into the gleaming wood of the witness box and disappear.

  Sobs choked her. The memories clawed at her, too horrible to remember.

  "Defler, that's enough," Zachariah cried.

  The judge rapped wildly with his gavel. "Order in the court. Mr. McGovern, take your seat and refrain from speaking out of turn!"

  Kate felt Zachariah's strong arm come around her. She turned toward him and clutched his shirt.

  "Mr. McGovern, take your seat!" Defler cried.

  "This has gone on long enough," Zachariah said. "No more questions. Not without a recess or something. She's too upset to answer."

  "Maybe the jury would like to hear the truth!" someone roared from the back of the courtroom.

  Kate flinched at the sound of that voice. Ryan! Zachariah swore beneath his breath. A gasp of surprise rose from the spectator seating area.

  "She's a lying bitch!" Footsteps clumped toward the judge's bench. "And you, McGovern! You're a murdering bastard! I told you I'd do some digging. Only I didn't use a shovel. After I heard about the indictment, I went to the Applegate Valley . From the first minute I saw you, I suspected you had helped her bury Joseph's body. All I needed was proof of your flawed character. Now I have it!"

  Kate felt Zachariah's body snap taut. "That has no bearing on this trial."

  "No bearing? No bearing!" Ryan gave a maniacal laugh. "You murdered your wife and her lover, and you claim it has no bearing?"

  "Order in the court!" the judge cried.

  Kate gasped. "Ryan, how can you say something so obscene! Mr. McGovern didn't even live in the area when Joseph died."

  Ryan's blue eyes glowed with red as his gaze met hers. "Birds of a feather flock together. He burned his wife and her lover to death. Found them in bed together and set the house ablaze! Look at his face! How do you think he got those scars? The fire went out of control when he set it, that's how!"

  Kate glanced up. The expression on Zachariah's face made her blood run cold. When his hazel eyes met hers, she read the truth. Ryan wasn't making this story up. It had happened. It had actually happened.

  "No charges were ever filed against me," he said weakly.

  "Enough!" the judge roared. "Back to your seats!"

  Ryan ignored him, his attention riveted on Zachariah. "The only reason you were never charged was because they couldn't gather enough evidence, you miserable bastard!"

  Shocked and appalled, Kate drew back from Zachariah, begging him with her gaze to deny it. His mouth settled into a grim line, and his jaw tightened.

  "A jealous husband's retribution!" Ryan ranted. "Punishment by fire. Wasn't that how it happened, Mr.

  McGovern? Your wife was unfaithful to you—you came home from a cattle-buying trip and caught her in the act

  —and in a fit of rage, you murdered her and her lover!"

  "No," Kate whispered. "Oh, my God, no."

  Ryan began to laugh, a horrible, mad-sounding laughter. He leveled a finger at Kate, tears of twisted mirth streaming from his eyes. "Let her go free! What worse punishment can there be than to be shackled to a cold-blooded killer? You claim Joseph was cruel, Kate? Well, now you'll see what real cruelty is, won't you? Every day for the rest of your life. The perfect punishment!"

  The judge rapped his gavel again. "Order in the court! Mr. Blakely, take a seat or be held in contempt!"

  "That'd be fitting because I am in contempt!" Ryan's laughter faded as abruptly as it came. "My brother was a fine and honorable man! How dare this court allow his murderess to sit up there saying such vile things, sullying his good name when he's no longer alive to defend himself? Handmaidens of Satan, that's what she and her daughter are!"

  The judge hammered wildly. "McGovern? Blakely! To your seats!"

  Zachariah released Kate and stepped down from the witness box. Ryan threw him a contemptuous look, then rounded on her. "You and that child deserved everything my brother did to you!" he cried. "Both of you! He was only trying to save you from yourselves. Wicked, that's what you are. Wicked and sinful!"

  Gripping the arms of her chair, Kate leaned slightly forward and cried, "My daughter is four years old! Only four years old! Say what you like about me, but she hasn't a wicked bone in her entire body! Your brother was a twisted, insane monster!"

  "And you're a treacherous, lying whore!"

  Kate shrank back against her chair. Blurred figures ran forward, but all she could see was Ryan. He shook away the court attendants as though they didn't have substance. As if in a dream, she saw him leap at her. She tried to evade him, but she couldn't move quickly enough even though everything seemed to happen around her with a crazy slowness.

  Ryan floating toward her, his hands clawing, his blue eyes wild. His weight slamming against her. And then an awful pain in her throat.

  From that point on, everything occurred as swiftly as liquid being sucked down a funnel. A gargling gasp, which she dimly realized was her own, and a pounding sensation inside her head. Falling. A body on top of hers. A frantic need for breath. Black spots. And Ryan's voice. You deserved it, you ungrateful bitch. You and that miserable brat. He had no choice but to discipline you! No choice!

  Kate heard screams. Not hers because she couldn't breathe. Male voices. Shouting. All of it seemed to come to her from a great distance away. Something at her throat. She clawed frantically to breathe, but the hands around her neck wouldn't slacken. Then she heard Zachariah, roaring with rage. More shouts. More screams. Suddenly, the strangling pressure on her throat let up. Air. Kate clawed at her collar, her need so great she barely registered she was on the floor of the witness stand.

  Air, she had to have air. Her lungs grabbed frantically for breath, but it felt as if something was in her throat, blocking her wind. Blackness encroached, an awful, blanketing blackness.

  Chapter 24

  As Zach followed the deputy along the cell-block corridor, he felt as though he were walking toward the executioner's block. Katie. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget that look he had seen in her eyes this morning when Ryan burst into the courtroom. Oh, God, why hadn't he told her? We can't have secrets between us. His own words came back to haunt him now, making a mockery of everything he had worked so hard to build between them.

  Trust. Kate had finally given him hers, and if he'd had any sense, he would have rewarded it with honesty. He had nothing to hide, after all. Now, after hearing it from another's lips, she was never going to believe him innocent.

  As he and the deputy approached her cell, Zach steeled himself for a battle. She probably wouldn't like the idea of being locked in with him. Not that he blamed her. Free of one nightmarish marriage, and now ensnared in another.

  Swallowing his dread, Zach straightened his shoulders. No, she wouldn't like the idea of being locked in a cell with him. But that was just too damned bad. He wasn't about to play the gentleman, not this time. He had too much to lose, namely her, and by God, he'd fight to keep her.

  A single lamp hung from a ceiling hook inside her cell, and its sputt
ering wick sent out a feeble glow. He glimpsed her lying flat on her back on the narrow cot, fragile face waxen, her hands clasped at her waist like a corpse laid out in a coffin. The instant the key grated in the lock, however, she sprang erect and discarded the damp cloth that had been draped at her throat.

  In the dim light, he couldn't read her expression. The deputy swung the door wide, and Zach stepped into the enclosure, wishing for the first time in his misbegotten life that he were a man of smaller stature. The lamplight threw his shadow against the wall, a huge, hulking shadow that reminded him of how big a man he was and how intimidating he must look.

  He regretted that. But then tonight he was filled with regrets, and there didn't seem to be a whole hell of a lot he could do to rectify any of them. Her eyes, which had always seemed to him the biggest thing about her, looked like gigantic splotches in her pale face. Her mouth was drawn and colorless. As she perched on the edge of the cot, she kept her tautly folded hands in her lap. "Zachariah," she whispered.

  Even in the dimness, he could see the bruises along her throat. Her new russet-colored gown was ripped at the shoulder, and a bit of torn lace dangled from her bodice. Doc Willowby had given her a sedative, and he could see the lingering effects of that as well, mainly in her eyes, which were still dilated and slightly unfocused. Damn Ryan Blakely to hell. He hoped they kept the bastard in jail and that he rotted there for the remainder of his days.

  Zach had pressed charges of assault, a pitiful vengeance when what he really wanted was to throttle the maniac.

  At least the man wouldn't be able to bedevil Kate for a few days, and that was something.

  "How's the throat?" he asked.

  That wasn't what he wanted to ask. The doctor had already given him an account of her condition, for one thing, and for another, a few bruises were the least of her problems.

  She worked her hands free and touched trembling fingertips to her larynx. "Better, much better. I slept nearly all day."