Parlor Games (51 page)

Paul swiped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head like the cynic he is.

I slapped their arms. “Now, eat your stew. There’s a trial to wrap up this afternoon.”

I knew my attorney well enough to understand he was at his best when granted free rein to spin out his case, uninterrupted by objections. His closing statement afforded just that opportunity, though my pleasure in it was dimmed by the presence of Reed Dougherty in the back row. I had, however, devised a plan to avoid him: My attorney had promised to stand by my side and fend off any questioners whenever I entered or exited the courtroom.

“Gentlemen, you have heard Mr. Sawyer’s case. It is based on the word of the plaintiff, on claims she’s made against the Baroness after their many years of friendship. At any point she could have withdrawn from the friendship, refused to take expensive trips with
her, turned down invitations to parties. But she knowingly continued this association for over five years, from 1901 to 1903 and again from 1912 until just last year. She has freely admitted she enjoyed her association with the Baroness; even after they quarreled in 1903, she was overjoyed at the resumption of the friendship.

“This raises significant questions about the timing of her lawsuit. If she truly felt that she was being taken advantage of, she could have demanded to set matters straight at any juncture. But she didn’t. Until now. Why now? Because she has spent all her inheritance and sees the chance to replenish her funds by going after the Baroness’s money.

“The plaintiff claims that she was tricked into turning over her whole inheritance, that my client schemed all these years to part her from her money. But let us consider the beginnings of their friendship. When they met in 1901, my client bore the title of baroness, bought and sold property in Arkansas, and was welcomed at royal courts all over Europe. She and the Baron owned homes in Holland and London. And the plaintiff? She had recently embarked on her new law practice outside Chicago. Her parents provided her with an annual allowance of three thousand dollars to help her launch this practice.

“I ask you, gentlemen, how was my client to look upon this budding friendship? She, a world-traveled baroness and owner of land on two continents, befriending a young woman beginning what is an improbable career for a lady? What kind of an attraction would three thousand dollars per annum have been to a baroness? It is preposterous to assume she had any designs on Miss Shaver’s money. Quite the contrary, it was the plaintiff who stood to benefit from this new friendship.”

How I wished I could have cheered Mr. Powers on—so brilliant was his oratory. He recounted the early years of our friendship, further hammering home his point that money could not have motivated my decision to befriend Frank.

“The defense has introduced a release bearing the signature of Miss Shaver, a release that absolves the Baroness of any and all purported debt. You have been told by the plaintiff that she didn’t carefully read this release because she was ill at the time. I hope you will pardon my skepticism, but I simply cannot reconcile this claim with
the plaintiff’s learned status and profession. You have seen her on the stand for many hours over these last two weeks. She is a woman with a keen intellect and a quick mind. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with a bachelor’s degree. The University of Michigan—a most prestigious university—admitted her to its law school. She studied there, obtained her law degree, and passed the requisite exam to practice law in the state of Illinois. Her well-to-do parents raised her to understand the workings of the world well enough that she was able to travel independently between their home in Pittsburgh and her adopted city of Chicago. She ventured all over Europe and even to Algiers with the Baroness, exotic places most Americans never get a chance to see.

“Miss Frank Shaver is no fool, nor is she ignorant of the worth of a dollar. In truth, she is a highly intelligent, well-educated woman who knows how to conduct herself in the world’s capital cities. Her claim not to know the value of a dollar is ludicrous, her defense of not comprehending a release from debt insulting to this court. She is a lawyer, a lawyer with the best possible training and standing. No lawyer of such stature can pretend to misunderstand a contract of a mere sentence or two.”

Mr. Powers next confronted the insinuations by Sawyer that the release was obtained under duress or falsified. Powers handily concluded there was no way to prove this shaky assertion, pointing out that Miss Shaver herself admitted the document bore her signature, that she remembered the occasion on which it was signed, and that Mr. Gene Dugas had witnessed the signing.

“As for the Baroness’s family and friends, I sat quietly by while Mr. Sawyer referred to these parties as ‘henchmen of the Baroness.’ Every defense witness who took the stand was insulted by this lawyer. The plaintiff’s side made every attempt to disgrace them, not with solid charges, but with insinuation and innuendo—for that is all they had.

“But I will have my say now. Paul and Gene Dugas are upstanding citizens of this community. They have no criminal record. They have never engaged in any untoward financial deals. They are honest men who work side by side at this town’s automobile business. Many of the citizens of Menominee, Marinette, and the surrounding farms and towns have purchased automobiles from them. They are known
to all who have had dealings with them as reputable businessmen. They shop at the same stores as you, they hunt the same woods, they attend the same church. These are honorable men.

“And as for Daisy Emmett, here is a woman who has served as a loyal assistant to the Baroness for over twenty years. And how is her fine and loyal character painted? As a henchman? This is the lady who took charge of the funeral for the Baroness’s mother at a time when the Baroness and her brothers were weighed down with grief. That is the sort of person Miss Daisy Emmett is, gentlemen, a faithful lady who has served her employer and cared for her own poor and crippled mother for many years.

“Let us look at the central charge here. The plaintiff and her attorney would have you believe that my client set her sights on a pot of gold, systematically mined it, and then cast Miss Shaver aside. I ask you to consider all aspects of this allegation. Was the plaintiff passive during the whole of this friendship? Of course not—she freely entered into it and gladly accompanied the Baroness on many pleasure trips. Was she made of gold? I have already explained that Miss Shaver was no paragon of wealth when she and the Baroness first became acquainted. To assert that the Baroness considered her a ‘pot of gold’ simply does not square with reality.

“Did my client cast Miss Shaver aside, as she claims, like a hot penny? Recall for yourselves how this friendship met its recent demise. It was Miss Shaver who pressed the issue of money upon the Baroness. After telling her own cousin, Mrs. Owens, that one didn’t worry about money with the Baroness, Miss Shaver suddenly decided to worry about her own, just when she depleted the money she freely spent accompanying the Baroness on trips. She was no unwilling guest on these cross-Atlantic adventures. Nobody kidnapped her and forced her to take the train to New York City to celebrate New Year’s Eve. No one handcuffed her and spirited her off to Montreal for a birthday party. Oh, no, Miss Shaver came to enjoy this life of luxury; she only cried foul when she realized she had spent all her inheritance.

“As for the Baroness, you may wonder why she refused to take the stand herself. But consider how the attorney for the plaintiff badgered her brothers and Miss Emmett, called them henchmen, insinuated they were liars. No, Baroness May de Vries loves this town
too dearly to be insulted with lies and insinuations that are beneath her. This community is dearer to her than any place on earth. Her lovely mother lived out her last years here, and she is buried in this community of her friends and family. The Baroness will not allow the plaintiff’s attorney to tarnish her mother’s memory.

“I submit, gentlemen, that this lawsuit is intended to harass the Baroness into turning over a very large sum of money to Miss Shaver—money that is not hers to claim. The only just conclusion to this case is to find for the defendant, Baroness May de Vries.

“Dear gentlemen, my client and I thank you for your patience and your service in the name of justice.”

THE VERDICT
FROM MENOMINEE TO POINTS BEYOND—FEBRUARY 1917

I
tiptoed into Gene’s bedroom. Laying my hand on his blanketed shoulder, I nudged him. “Gene, wake up.”

He moaned and turned toward me. “What time is it?”

“Nearly seven. You have to take me to the train station.”

He blinked his eyes open. “What? You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I have to get the money.”

I was dumbfounded—there can be no other word for it. To think those jurors sat in the jury room for six-plus hours poring over my purported debts. To think they ignored the release Frank had signed. To think they ordered me to pay her fifty-seven thousand dollars. Unbelievable.

Gene raised himself up on his elbows. “Does Paul know?”

“No, he wouldn’t understand. Now, get up.”

“Paul told me to make sure you don’t sneak off.”

“Sneak off?” It was just like Paul to obstruct me. “I have to get the money.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“We might lose the house and the business and you can’t tell me?”

Paul had obviously involved Gene in his plot to foil me. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could cook up a plan. “Just get up. I have something to show you.”

Tokyo nosed his way through the cracked door and whimpered at my feet.

Gene flopped back on his pillow. “I’m not taking Tokyo out. You do it.”

“Fine. Now, hurry.”

I’d dressed in my warmest attire—my black gown with fluted collar. After easing my fur hat over my coiffed hair and donning my moleskin coat and leather gloves, I led Tokyo out the front door, down our shoveled walkway, and onto the sidewalk. A short distance behind me I discerned the idling of an automobile, but strolled along as if I cared not a jot. Over the course of the trial, I’d granted a few interviews to newspapermen who had staked me out, but I was in no mood to talk to them this morning, let alone allow them—or Dougherty—to sniff out my imminent departure.

I ambled to the end of the block, the snow on the walkway creaking and crunching underfoot. Turning back, I could see, three doors down from the house, the auto’s gray fumes billowing against dawn’s eerie pink; it was one of the ubiquitous black Model T’s driven by Menominee’s few taxi drivers. I pretended indifference, not wishing to attract attention or raise suspicions. When I turned up the walk to our front door, the driver made no move. Still, I didn’t like the looks of it—a taxi parked in clear view of the house the morning after the trial’s conclusion.

I found Gene in the kitchen in a red flannel shirt and baggy wool pants, his hair pillow-flattened in back and sticking out on top. As Tokyo scampered up to him, I asked, “Everybody still sleeping?”

“I guess,” he said, standing at the stove and warming the kettle and his spread-out hands over the flames.

I extracted the baby announcement letter from Helen and David O’Neill from my purse and showed the envelope to Gene, pointing to its Chicago postmark. “Some friends are keeping my money for me. But you mustn’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

He kept his hands open to the blaze. “What about Daisy?”

“I left her a note. Can you bring the car up to the back door?”

He swung around to face me. “And what do I tell Paul?”

“That I’ve gone to get the money.”

“He won’t believe that.”

“You have to trust me, Gene. It’s our only chance.”

“Let me wake Paul up and see what he says.”

“No, if I miss this train my plan won’t work. I’m the only one who can retrieve the money.”

“You promise you’re telling the truth?”

I gripped his shirtsleeve and looked up into his eyes. “Yes. Now, hurry.”

We loaded up my three suitcases. As our car turned onto the street, I ducked down in the front seat.