A Question of Mercy (28 page)

By the fourth day bail was posted and Jess was allowed to leave. She heard the doors again closing behind her, then she saw her father and Sam standing beside the car. She walked toward them stiffly, like someone walking on ice.

Edward drove Jess home, but neither Sam nor her father asked her any questions—as though the decision not to ask had been discussed. At home they found that people from church had brought over fried chicken, a few casseroles, banana pudding—the way they did for a funeral. Edward filled their plates with food and Sam pointed to a stack of letters on the hall table, all from Lula, Alabama. Jess opened them and, as they ate, she read each one out loud. The first, from Zella, was scrawled on yellow tablet paper.

August 30

My Sweet Jess
,

Sometimes things go wrong. I know about that. Sometimes they twist around out a shape. I can't hardly believe you did something to get you jail-time. You always been so sweet in my eyes. Us working together so close in the garden those days back. I always knew they was something wrong though, behind those eyes a yours
.

But now nothing I can think of could put you in jail with people who spent they whole lives stealing and murdering. I don't think it be true. That you did a bad thing. And that Judge need to listen real close to what you say
.

Miss Tut, Mr. Will, and me, and Miss Rosemary and the Professor are thinking about you. Frank probably thinks about you the most. Shooter and Ray miss you much as we do. They say they going to write you in prison. That's what they call it. To them you some kind a hero
.

To me too
.

Love
,

Zella Davis

August 29, 1953

Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit. Seneca

To Miss Jess Booker
,

We all think of you often and wish that you were here in this house with us. Shooter talks about you, and Ray stands at the fence watching the road. He
thinks you're coming back any day now. He keeps asking where prison is, and if it's like a cave
.

We know what kind of girl you are, Jess. You are young and you will have a chance to live out the life that you should be living, the life you deserve. The young man who came to get you seems trustworthy, a man of dignity, and you, dear girl, are a graceful piece of this world to all who live here in the boardinghouse
.

Yours
,

Albert Chapin (Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.)

“He never stops with the Latin,” Jess laughed, and folded the letter, tucking it back into the envelope. “He's always teaching.” She took a sip of iced tea.

Aug. 30, 1953

Jess, my dear
,

We speak of you often. You were a light brought into this big old house, for everyone. Even Frank stopped lifting objects from the hall table to sell at the pawn shop
.

Not one of us believes that you have done a terrible thing, and whenever you want to come back and tell us you can do so. Or you can come back and tell us nothing. The main invitation here is that you must come back to Lula and visit us. You always have a room
.

Rosemary has been near to hysterical about your leaving, since she thinks you were the one who brought her together with Prof. Chapin (I still can't call him Albert). She thinks just your being here in the house brought a kind of love potion for everybody. She says to say how much she misses you, and that she will write when she gets herself together
.

Mr. Long came back. He found a job as a Fuller Brush salesman. The boys are happy and not afraid when he leaves to make house calls
.

This house is lonesome without you
.

My love
,

Pauline Tutwiler

PS There will be a wedding in December. Will and I hope you will be here
.

“The next one's from Mr. Brennan,” Jess said. Edward stood to pour more tea into their glasses and sat down to listen to the next one. He seemed uncomfortable at the mention of William Brennan's name.

Aug. 30, 1953

Jess
,

How much we miss your presence here! I don't believe you will finally be found guilty of anything. If that judge there in North Carolina knows anything about the person you are, I believe you'll be fine. All of us here feel a love for you and want to help any way we can
.

Miss Tut has agreed to marry me in December, and she and Rosemary are planning a wedding, which I now dread! Please come back for the wedding, you and your young man
.

Frank wrote an article about how you were the missing girl, and that you had gone back to Goshen. He said nothing accusatory, but stated a few facts. He checked out the article with both me and Albert before turning it in. Now, he's working on an article about kleptomania!

Shooter said to tell you he bought four candy bars with his treasure money, and Ray bought five comic books. We miss you, and Miss Tut is refusing to rent out your room. She says, Keep it like it is. We all know a good heart when we see one
.

Much love
,

Will

“I miss him the most,” Jess said. “He told me they used to call my mother Day. Her nickname in high school.” Edward nodded. He knew that nickname, but looked sad at the mention of Will's knowledge of it. “You were right about Mr. Brennan, Daddy,” Jess said. “He
did
have a crush on Mama, but said he never had a chance because of how much she loved
you
.”

Edward smiled, as though he had always known this.

“These next two are from the boys.” Jess noticed that she did not have a letter from Frank.

Saturday

Jess
,

My Daddy came back, but we miss you and look for you everywhere. Miss Zella says maybe you come back sometime, then I stop crying. Miss Zella is writing this for me just like I say, so I say this: If you come back I will let you have one of Shooter's candy bars that he gave to me, and if you come back we can play ball in the front yard like we did that day you fell down and we laugh so hard I peed my pants. Do you remember?

Are you in prison? What is that like? I wish I were there too, and Shooter, so we could throw the ball in prison like we did in the yard
.

I have to go
.

Love
,

Ray

Saturday

Jess
,

Did you know my Daddy is home? I knew he would come back. I have a birthday next week, and he's giving me a party, but it won't be fun without you, but I'll have it anyway. Maybe you could send me something for my birthday. I will be eight. I like baseball caps and I like to build model airplanes with Mr. Will, and I like just money too. If you want to send me a present you can. Ray and me talk about when you were here, and sometimes we laugh, but really we don't feel happy about you being gone, and we wish you were coming back real soon. Miss Tut says maybe you will come for the wedding, but that's a long way off. I will be in second grade and my teacher is Mrs. Bevell, but we call her Mrs. Devil because she is so mean. I don't like her already
.

Please write to me and to Ray so we can act like we still know you, and maybe you will come back here sometime. You could sing me to sleep like you did that one time. We like the man name of Sam
.

Love
,

Shooter

P.S. You can just send my present to this address
.

Though the letters were just words on paper, each separate voice crackled with the memory of reprieve that came at the boardinghouse. Edward lifted Jess's plate, along with his own, and took it to the sink. Sam had eaten with deliberate slowness, as though every bite was a difficult task. He offered to make some coffee, said he was used to drinking ten cups a day, strong as crude oil.

It was early evening. After they had washed the dishes and put away leftovers, Jess and Sam sat on the front porch steps. Edward stood on the other side of the screen door, and watched geese in a ragged V stretch over the trees, then went back into the house.

“I had a dream last night.” Sam lit a cigarette and blew smoke from his nostrils.

“A bad one?” Jess didn't know what to expect from him anymore. He was sitting next to her, but not close.

“They usually are bad, but this one … I don't know. Maybe it was just true.”

Jess shifted, afraid to ask. “What do you mean? About us?”

Sam didn't answer, and the not answering said everything.

“You don't know who I am anymore, Jess.” He cleared his throat.

“I think I do. So what was the dream?”

“I only remember pieces of it. I was in a field, corn field, I think, and I
knew you were there, but couldn't find you. Some searchlights were sweeping over the field. I had to duck down. I began to shoot, I don't know at what, but in the dream I was sure. I was afraid I would shoot you, somewhere in the cornstalks. The shots woke people up and they came out to see what was happening. They popped off porches and out of their beds. No one was afraid of the gunfire.” He shook his head a few times trying to remember. “Things get confused at this point, until the searchlight shone straight on you. I had shot you. The last thing you said was ‘You never should have come back.” Then some half-naked little boys came pouring out of doors and windows. They were singing something that I recognized in the dream, but not now. Then one said ‘What about her?' and pointed to you on the ground. I said, ‘She'll be all right, as soon as I go.' So I left, and you got up and asked for lemonade.”

Jess gave a small laugh. “Lemonade?”

Sam looked at her as though he wished he hadn't told her the dream. “Don't laugh.”

“So you would end everything between us because of a dream! Sam? It's a
dream
!”

Sam put his face in his hands. “Don't make this hard. All those letters. You can't know what it meant to get them, and to write to you. I meant everything I said, but …” He looked straight at her.

“Are you saying you don't love me?

“I do love you.” Irritation entered his voice. “Damn it, Jess.” He stood, and Jess thought he was going inside.

“Don't!” she yelled. “I thought we loved each other, but if your feelings for me have changed then …” She took a deep breath.

“Something's shifted,” he said. “I don't know what.”

“But on the way back home when we stayed at the motel … we … I mean, I thought we were good.”

“I know. But what I'm saying is different …”

“Help me understand,” she said.

He stood with his back to her, and was through discussing it. “What's to understand?” He sat again on the porch steps, but not beside her. The porch boards creaked when they moved.

They sat for a few minutes looking out at a group of stunted trees. Sam pulled out another cigarette. Jess wished he wouldn't smoke so much. She didn't like the smell of cigarettes. When he took a drag and blew it out, he asked about the trial.

She looked at him privately trying to feel calm. “I don't know what will happen,” she said. They studied each other's faces, astonished at how different they were. “I thought we were all right,” she said. “When you came to
Lula and got me. I thought we could just pick up where we left off.”

He put his arm around her shoulder. “Don't cry.”

“But you don't just
stop
loving somebody!” she said.

He didn't answer her.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Jess said.

“Just don't forget me.” Sam looked helpless, both loving and unable to love.

“That makes it even harder. I want to forget you right now.” Her face looked shiny, oiled in the afternoon light. “When will you be leaving?”

“I'll stay through the trial, Jess; then I'll go. I don't know where.”

“Maybe you should leave now,” she said.

“I can't.” She knew he loved her, but could not look at her. The war, she saw now, was still being fought within him.

September light had started to change to the gold of fall. Soon the whole forest would be lit from within, but, as Jess and Sam sat on the porch steps, early twilight moved over the trees like a weary ghost.

— 39 —

T
he trial began on Thursday.

At nine o'clock Judge Horn said that the question of guilt or innocence depended upon whether Adam's death was a suicide or if it was caused by “culpable negligence”. “In that case,” the judge announced, “a defendant can be charged with manslaughter. The key component, though, lies in how much the victim understood the consequence of going into the river.” He nodded to the prosecutor, “You may call your first witness.”

The prosecutor called Bobby Coe to the stand.

Jess saw Sam sitting next to her father in the second row of the courtroom. Sam smiled weakly. She leaned toward Mr. Strickland to ask who Bobby Coe was.

“He's the man who found Adam's body in the river.” Strickland was taking notes.

The man stated that his name was Robert Louis Coe, and said that he had found Adam's body at Sudderth Creek. “I found him on a shoal about a hundred miles downriver. I was walking by early one morning and saw somebody. Looked like they'd washed up onto the bank. His leg was caught on a tree stump.”

“What were you doing in the woods that day?”

“I walk that path most every day. I go visit my brother. He's in a wheelchair and needs my help, so I'm always going by there.”

“Did you know Adam Finney?” The prosecutor would preclude any chance for Strickland to put suspicion on Coe.

“No, sir. I never saw him before in my life, till then.”

“And what did you see, Mr. Coe?”

Bobby Coe described how Adam's hair and clothes were soaked with mud and sand, and his face, he said, “was turned up to the sky with his eyes open. He looked bloated, more like a sack of something washed up on shore, but peaceful, you know?” Jess wanted to close her ears. “I wiped the mud
off his face. Looked like he had some bones broken, 'cause he'd been washed over rocks and stuff. I hesitate to tell y'all these things.” He looked toward Clementine. “Anyway, I called the police.”