The Rebellion of Miss Lucy Ann Lobdell (25 page)

“Four farmers and two merchants,” said Mr. Wylie as we made our way through the empty town. “A good jury, I think.” He was trying to encourage me and doing a bad job of it. It didn’t matter—I’d see for myself soon enough.

The town hall looked like a small barn, except that it had a door for people and a painted wooden cross hanging over it. We passed under and into the hall that seated perhaps a hundred and fifty, every seat taken. Why were they here? Didn’t they have fields to tend or clothes to wash?

Heads turned as we came down the aisle. The swelling about my face had gone down some, but the purple bruises remained. I wondered whether those marks would bring sympathy or just be proof of my bad behavior. I didn’t want to look at anyone—didn’t want to see their delight in my troubles. But neither did I want to give them satisfaction by looking away, so I cast my eyes in their direction and erased their faces in my mind.

Mr. Smith rose and escorted me to the chair next to his. Off to the side were six men in a row and not one with a kind expression. Judge Robson came in wearing a black robe and a frown. He took his chair and brought down his hammer. “In the matter of the People versus Mrs. Lucy Ann Slater.” He nodded to the county attorney.

In a freshly pressed shirt and hair slicked back, William Richards rose and addressed the court. “Your Honor, the people of Meeker County hereby charge Mrs. Lucy Ann Slater with wearing men’s clothes to falsely impersonate a man, contrary to the laws of God, man and nature, practicing deceit and causing injury thereby to certain individual parties, to the moral fabric of the community, and against the peace and dignity of the State of Minnesota.”

The judge turned. “What say you, Mr. Smith?”

My attorney stood and, of all things, seemed to suppress a yawn. His clothes were no different than those he wore every day; if anything, they were more rumpled. He paused and rubbed his nose as though thinking about his answer. “Your Honor, I ask for a dismissal on the grounds that no statute of the State of Minnesota or Meeker County has been violated. My client has broken no law and injured no person.” Mr. Smith spoke simply and clearly. The motion seemed undeniable.

The judge shook his head. “It is quite clear, Mr. Smith, that a deceit has occurred. It will be the purpose of this trial to determine if any party has been injured or any law broken. Mr. Richards, continue.”

My attorney raised his hand to show he wasn’t done. “With the court’s permission, I would also ask for dismissal on the grounds that my client has a right to a jury of her peers. Mrs. Slater is a woman. There are no women on this panel.”

Judge Robson gave a look of warning. “Counselor, you see no women on this panel because, as you well know, in the State of Minnesota women do not serve on juries as a matter of law.”

“That is my point, Your Honor. My client is entitled to a jury of her peers, and if one cannot be impaneled, the charges against her must be dropped.”

“Mr. Smith,” said the judge, taking on color. “I am aware of your political views. But I am not going to make new law here, and if you persist, I will have you removed and cited. Am I clear, Mr. Smith?”

My attorney lowered his eyes. “Yes, Your Honor.”

I was a bit shaken by this. I glanced up at Mr. Smith, who, while keeping an outwardly repentant face, managed a small wink. I had no idea what it meant.

Mr. Richards rose. “I object to the defendant, dressed as she is in men’s clothes. She mocks this court and these proceedings.”

“Your Honor,” answered Mr. Smith, “my client
is
properly attired. It is our assertion that by wearing these clothes, she has committed no offense. If the court requires her to change, it would prejudge the case.”

Judge Robson thought for a moment. “I know of no precedent requiring a defendant to appear in certain clothing. Mr. Richards, begin.”

The county prosecutor walked over to the jury and reminded them that it was they who would defend “the honor of our fair city.” Then he called to mind that Minnesota had been a state for only a short while, so there had not been time to bring into law all that should guide our conduct—that we needed to consult common sense and precedent. He walked back to his table and picked up a dusty old book. “And what better precedent than the original laws of our land?”

“Oh, let me guess,” said Mr. Smith, just loud enough for me and Mr. Wylie to hear.

Attorney Richards held up the book. He said it contained the laws of the Colony of New Haven. Then he opened to a chosen page and read aloud. “
Truth, whether through words or actions, is required of all men. Punishment will be given any person who wittingly maketh any lie, tending to the damage of any person, or with the intent to deceive the people with false news pernicious to the public weal
.”

Richards looked at the rafters as though God Himself had authored those words. He held that pose for a moment and then looked back to the jury. “This is a simple law and a wise law. It identifies lies not just as spoken words but also as deceitful acts. It defines injury not only as damage to individuals but damage done to the public trust, the very well-being of the community. Think about that.” Richards paused so they could.

“Now, let me read you another law of our forebears,” he said, shaking his head, as though he were sad that it had come to this. “Some of you may find this harsh, but can we be lax when we defend the conduct we show our children? The law reads:
If any man lyeth with mankind as a man lyeth with a woman, both of them have committed abomination, they shall both surely be put to death. And if a woman change the natural use, into that which is against nature, she shall be liable to the same sentence
.”

The courtroom was hushed. Richards closed the book with an unneeded slap. “I apologize to the womenfolk for having to sully the air around us with such language,” he said, seeming not one bit sorry. “But here we see the intent of those who laid down the first laws of this land to keep the proper boundaries between men and women. Mrs. Slater has, most surely, crossed those boundaries.”

“You dirty snake,” said Mr. Wylie under his breath. I felt the same way and thought Mr. Smith would jump up and protest with passion. He didn’t. He just got up and twisted a little to stretch his back. “Your Honor, may I inspect the volume from which our esteemed county attorney was reading?”

The judge nodded, and Mr. Smith picked up the book, turned some pages, and faced the jury. “I too should like to quote the code of 1650.” He said the date slowly and clearly. Then he began to read.
“If any man have a stubborn rebellious son of sixteen years or upward, which will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother; and that when they have chastened him will not hearken unto them, then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him to the magistrates assembled in court, and testify unto them that their son is stubborn and rebellious and will not obey their voice and chastisement. Such a son will be put to death
.”

Mr. Smith closed the book and let those words echo in the silence. “I shall not read further,” he said, “but I know I could find similar punishments reserved for those who drink spirits and, if I remember correctly, kiss their children on the Sabbath.” I glanced over and saw Mr. Richard’s raise his eyes, as though Mr. Smith were making up stories. It didn’t matter. The jury was watching Mr. Smith and he was looking hard at them. “Yes, the code of 1650 is a part of this nation’s treasured history. But that code was
never
law in the
Territory
of Minnesota, and it is
not
law in the
State
of Minnesota, and I doubt whether any of you would like to make it so. After all, if everyone who told a lie were put in jail, we wouldn’t have enough legislators left to pass another law to get them out.”

There was laughter. Judge Robson pounded his hammer and glared at Mr. Smith. The judge seemed to be considering another rebuke, but, instead, he called a recess for the midday meal.

Mr. Smith let the courtroom clear before he walked me out the door and down the street toward the Blanchard house. “That was a bumpy beginning,” I said.

My attorney knew that I meant the judge’s order for him to say no more about women and the jury. “Well, yes,” he answered, “but that’s what we wanted.”

“I don’t remember wanting that.”

Mr. Smith stopped and turned to me. “Mrs. Slater, what matters is how we finish. Now, as you know, Judge Robson has little sympathy for you or me, and he answers to the voters of this county. So it must appear that he has been hard on us all the way, otherwise, we can hope for no reason or kindness at the end. I’ll let him bloody my nose another time if I can.”

I looked at my attorney with new eyes. His common manner was something he wore like clothes, the wrinkles of which he had probably planned as well.

“I saw Noah White on the way out,” I said, as we began walking again. “Is he to testify?”

“He’s been called by Mr. Richards. So was Owen Carter.”

I felt a sudden fear. “Where did they find him?”

“Somewhere south of St Cloud.”

“Does he have a wife?”

My attorney shook his head. “I don’t know.”

* * *

By the start of the afternoon session, the heat had worked its way into every corner. A yellow dog in search of shade had wandered into the courtroom and fallen asleep in the back. And there weren’t enough seats as people from the farther farms had come into town during the morning—come to town to see the show. The windows were opened to their fullest, so the folks outside could hear, and that worked well enough, I suppose, but no breeze came in return. People sat on the benches and fanned themselves.

Judge Robson came in, sat down, and told the county attorney to call his first witness. Mr. Richards called Dr. Blanchard. Mr. Smith stood up. “May I ask for what purpose this witness is called?”

A tiny smile made its way across Mr. Richard’s face. “To determine for the record, the true sex of the defendant.”

“But the county attorney asserts that my client is a female,” said Mr. Smith. “
We
assert that my client is a female. There is no question of fact.”

“I will permit the witness,” said the judge. “I don’t want any doubt about this. Now or later.”

Dr. Blanchard got up and walked forward, not trying to hide his frown. He took the oath and Mr. Richards began. “Doctor, are you familiar with the defendant?”

“I am. She has resided in my house for the past week.”

“Were you instructed by Judge Robson to make an examination?”

“I was.”

“Can you tell the court the results?”

I did my best to look indifferent, but my clothes were coming off with a hundred people looking on. The doctor, who had made no examination, did his best to dampen the excitement. “I will simply say that by my observation the defendant, Mrs. Slater, is truly a woman.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“No.”

Mr. Richards let the doctor go. He then called out for Owen Carter. Owen had been seated in the back when we entered for the afternoon. He appeared very much the way he had in Kandiyohi, but he didn’t look at me when he walked forward. He wasn’t happy to be there, that was clear, and I had no idea of what Richards would ask him or what Owen might say.

Once the oath had been taken, Mr. Richards began. “Mr. Carter,” he said, “you had occasion to spend time with the defendant. Would you tell us how that came about? When was it?”

“Two winters past,” Owen said in a low voice. The judge asked him to speak louder. “Two winters past. We held a site in Kandiyohi for the new state capital. At least that is what we was told.”

“Did you know that the defendant was a woman?”

“No,” he said, looking down as a ripple of laughter crossed in the room.

“Did the defendant represent herself as a man?”

Owen thought for a moment. “Well, she let me think that she were.”

Attorney Richards shook his head as though sorry to hear this. “And by this deception,” he continued, “did she ever lead you to embarrass yourself?” I thought of Owen’s cries in the dark as he pleasured himself with thoughts of Allison Murphy, but Owen just sat there, seeming confused by the question. “What I mean,” said Richards, “is did you ever do things in front of her that you would not have done if you knew she was a woman? Things of a personal nature.”

Owen’s face was turning color. “I s’pose.”

“I need an answer that is yes or no, Mr. Carter.”

“Well, uh, yes, I guess. I weren’t really paying much attention.”

Attorney Richards nodded as if to say his worst suspicions had been confirmed. “And do you believe that you have suffered injury because of Mrs. Slater’s deception? By way of these lies do you feel that something was stolen from you? A piece of your dignity, perhaps?”

I saw a flash in Owen’s eyes. Maybe he didn’t like how the county attorney was twisting things. Or maybe he just wanted to throttle me. I couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, I could see the storm building as he sat there.

“Mr. Carter,” said the judge. “Please answer the question.”

Owen gave his head a slow shake like he was still sorting it out.

“Mr. Carter.”

Owen cast a quick glance in my direction. Our eyes met for a brief moment and then Owen looked back at the county attorney. “No. Joseph never stole nothin’ from me.”

Mr. Richards decided to end it there, and as soon as he had taken his chair, Mr. Smith was standing in his place. “Mr. Carter,” he said, “in the time you lived with her, did Mrs. Slater in every other way conduct herself honestly toward you?”

“Yes,” he said, again looking down.

“Did she share in the work and the hardship?”

“She did.”

“Was there a lot of hardship to be shared?”

“Well, it was cold that winter, and we ran low on food.”

Mr. Smith nodded and walked away from Owen, as though thinking about his next question. He turned, no longer friendly in his manner. “Mr. Carter, you would have us believe that in all that time that you and Mrs. Slater were together, you did not observe that she was a woman?”