The Rebellion of Miss Lucy Ann Lobdell (26 page)

The suspicious tone of the question surprised me. Owen too. “I swore it on a Bible,” he said, glancing at the judge as though for help.

Mr. Smith acted astonished. “How, Mr. Carter, is that possible?”

“Well, it were pretty dark most all of the time,” Owen said with the slightest stammer, “and I weren’t paying attention ’cause I had no reason to.”

“In other words, Mr. Carter,” said Mr. Smith, now looking at the jury, “you were giving her—though you didn’t know she was a woman—you were giving Mr. Joseph Lobdell the normal courtesy of privacy that people give each other when they are in close quarters. Living where we do, we know it is not uncommon for people in small cabins to give each other privacy through inattention when no other means are at hand. This they do as a matter of course.” Mr. Smith folded his arms. “Mr. Carter. Do you have any reason to think that Mrs. Slater didn’t extend to you the courtesy of privacy that you extended to her?”

There was short silence before Owen spoke. “No. I would think that she did.”

My attorney let that answer hang in the air. Then he said he was done. Owen got up, and as he stepped down from the chair, his eyes, again, came to me. But the moment didn’t last long enough for me to even say a silent thank-you. He walked out of the hall.

Mr. Richards went back to his table and looked through his papers, while the room filled with the dull sound of people shifting about and saying this or that to the one next to them. It all became quiet again as Mr. Richards stepped forward. “The People call Mr. Elijah Noah White.” I glanced about as did others. I saw Noah sitting off to one side. And he was looking about too, as if to see if someone else in the room would answer to that name. When no one did, he rose. He wasn’t much to look at, standing there in his everyday overalls and walking forward with that odd gait of his and a wearing small grin as though he was somewhat amused by it all. I didn’t think Richards knew what kind of fish he had on the line. The Bible was presented, and Noah declined.

“I will tell the truth,” he said. “I don’t need to swear it to God.”

“Yes, you do,” said Judge Robson. “You are in my court, and you will take your oath on the Bible or find yourself in the defendant’s chair.”

Noah gave a shrug and placed his hand on the Bible. By this time the flies had become a general bother. People used newspapers to drive them off, but they never went far. A large one took a liking to Mr. Richards. The county attorney first tried to act unconcerned. Then he waved his arm. The fly persisted. The prosecutor finally thought to walk back and forth. The fly moved on.

“I understand,” he said to Noah, “that you spent time with the defendant two winters ago. Did she also lead you to believe that she was a man?”

“I believed she was,” said Noah agreeably. “A better man than most I know.”

I heard laughter, and Judge Robson turned to Noah. “You will confine yourself to answering the questions put to you.”

Noah looked as though he wanted to answer back, but he didn’t.

Richards started again. “Mr. White, were you injured in any way by Mrs. Slater’s deception?”

Noah took a quick look around the room. “Well, I had to come here and testify,” he said. “Lost four good-weather days. But that was your doing, so I guess my quarrel would be with you, sir.”

Noah’s poke at Richards brought more laughter. Judge Robson pounded his hammer. “I will not have you telling jokes in my courtroom! We all have better things to do!”

“The county attorney doesn’t seem to,” said Noah, showing no fear. “I’m happy to hear that there are no real criminals in Meeker County.”

Judge Robson was about to explode. He was ready to put Noah in jail, and Noah was ready to go, that very fact maybe keeping Robson from doing it, uncertain as to who would appear more the fool. Mr. Richards said he had no more questions and went back to his table, looking like he wanted to hide under it. Mr. Smith, enjoying all the discomfort, was slow to take his place. He might have asked Noah something about my character as he had done with Owen, but he didn’t. My attorney, it seemed, wished to make it plain that it was not
he
who had brought this witness to the room and it was not
he
who had brought this case to trial. He looked hard at the judge. “I have no questions.”

Noah left the chair, and the judge watched his every step. A stray hiccup would have been enough to put him behind bars, but Noah took his seat and stayed quiet. I was now expecting to see Otis Whitmore, but neither he nor James was in the courtroom. Had they refused to come? Refused to be part of the lynching? Perhaps they had some unpleasant history of their own with the county attorney.

There was a recess, but I stayed where I was and examined the scratches on the table like they were some sort of map to get me out of there.

* * *

Mr. Smith stepped forward and called for Mrs. Lucy Ann Slater. I stood and walked to the witness chair. Every eye was on me—like crawling bugs. In that moment I was glad that I had not killed Willie. If this much trouble had come of a simple pair of pants, what could be made of a man with a bullet in his head?

The Bible was brought, and I swore to tell the truth. Mr. Smith approached.

“Mrs. Slater, did you ever tell anyone that you were a man?”

“I don’t think I ever did. Not in words.”

“But by your conduct and your dress, you did lead them to believe something you knew not to be true?”

“Yes.”

“And so you did deceive people, even if you did not use words to do it. Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mrs. Slater, would you tell us why?”

I took a quick look at Mr. Smith for courage. “I had been abandoned by my husband and just wanted to live free here in Minnesota. On land of my own. And that would have been near impossible as a woman, so I pretended to be a man. I hoped that someday my daughter would join me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Slater.” Mr. Smith seemed to think that was all I needed to say. He sat down.

Mr. Richards stood and slowly came toward me. I saw hate pour out of those small, gray eyes. I was expecting to tremble, but my eyes, fueled by a hatred of their own, did not turn from his. I was unmasked as a man, but defiant now as a woman.

Mr. Richards began his work. “Mrs. Slater,” he said, “you took an oath to tell the truth in this courtroom, did you not?”

“Yes. You were here when I did it.”

Richards glanced at Judge Robson to see if he would scold me. The judge fingered the hammer but said nothing. Richards pressed on.

“And that oath required you to tell the whole truth, did it not?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Richards acted like a great curtain would now be pulled back. “So tell me, Mrs. Slater, when you deceived the good citizens of this county as to your true nature and let them conduct themselves unfairly in your presence, did you do this deception knowingly?”

I met his cold eyes. “I thought I made that clear already.”

Attorney Richards then asked Judge Robson to instruct me to answer only the question asked and not to add opinions, and the judge did so. Richards then asked me the same question, and I said I did
knowingly
deceive people, at which point he walked back to his table as though he had won a big victory. Then he turned with an odd smile.

“Mrs. Slater, you have testified that you had hoped to live Minnesota in the company of your daughter, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Well then, please tell us, Mrs. Slater, when your daughter arrived in Minnesota, were you to be her mother or her father?”

There was laughter. Mr. Smith jumped up.

“Your Honor!”

“Mr. Richards!” said the judge.

“Withdrawn,” said the county attorney, not trying to conceal his smirk.

I felt the power of ridicule and stole a quick glance at the jurors. What did holding on to my land mean to them? Was there anything that Mr. Smith could say that would bring them to my side? They weren’t there now.

J
UDGE ROBSON STRUCK the table three times. The attorneys would now address the jury.

Richards rose and did his best to assure everyone that he was speaking, not just to the jury but to “all the honest, hardworking citizens in this land of steady habits.” He said these words as though Mr. Smith would be speaking only to the dishonest, lazy ones. Richards went on about lines drawn in the sand and laws of God. He didn’t mention any law of Minnesota that I had broken but instead offered his indignation as the true measure of my offense. He made it sound as though I carried some dreaded disease that would spread like pox among the children.

When it was his turn, Mr. Smith got up and walked in a slow circle. He spoke about “freedom” and “liberty.” About how they need to get stood for every now and then. Mr. Smith then asked the jurors if they thought that they had the right, the liberty, to choose their own clothes. Or did they want the sheriff to do it for them? There was some laughter as he said these words, but the judge didn’t move a muscle—he was letting him have his say. “We have come a long way since the days of the New Haven Colony,” said Mr. Smith by way of summation. “Liberty is the gift we have brought to the world. Let us defend it.”

Finished with the jury, Mr. Smith started back to our table. Then he stopped and turned to face Judge Robson. “Your Honor, I wish to petition the Court—”

The judge waved his hand for Mr. Smith to stop. “Counselor, you know—”

“What I know,” said Mr. Smith, raising his voice in outright defiance, “what I know is that this trial is a minstrel show! It's an embarrassment! A travesty!” The judge tried to say something, but Mr. Smith wouldn’t let him, as though Mr. Smith were the one wearing the black robe. I was surprised, for I had not seen this passion from my attorney before. And Mr. Smith was not speaking to the jury or anyone else in the room. It was down to just him and Robson, like they were going to finish it out on the street. “This woman,” said Mr. Smith, pointing to me but still looking hard at the judge, “has cheated no one! Defrauded no one! And violated no law of this state! I know this and you know this. I move for a summary judgment.”

The room was suddenly quiet. All eyes went to Judge Robson to see what he would do. And for all that had just happened the judge was strangely calm. “Are you done, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes,” said my attorney, now speaking in a normal voice.

“You may sit down now.”

Mr. Smith took his seat, and the judge turned to me. “Mrs. Slater,” he said, his eyes meeting mine like a scolding schoolmaster, “I am offended by your conduct and think you should desist from it or leave the protection of our society. But juries decide matters of fact, and judges decide matters of law. And it seems there is no matter of fact at issue here. It is for me to act, and I cannot wash my hands of it, though I would like to.”

The judge then raised his eyes and spoke to the whole room. “There have been in this trial references to the laws of God and man. Here, on Sundays, as you know, I pass on the Lord’s Word as best I understand it to those who would listen. If Mrs. Slater has violated a law of God, then she will stand as a defendant without counsel, as we all will when we face that moment of truth. But in this venue, I interpret the laws of the State of Minnesota and those of Meeker County. And so I must dismiss the case against Mrs. Lucy Ann Slater, because no offense has been proven against her.” He then brought down the hammer. “So be it.”

A murmur of disapproval ran through the room. Mr. Smith stood and shook my hand. I wanted to throw my arms around him. Out on the street, we faced a gaggle of women who seemed angry at the outcome. I heard the words “harlot” and “Jezebel.” With Dr. Blanchard and Mr. Wylie opening the path for us, Mr. Smith offered his arm.

The doctor’s house felt warm and safe. Mrs. Blanchard was roasting a chicken, and Mr. Wylie and Mr. Smith were invited to dinner. Then Noah White appeared, all smiles. He gave a bow to Mrs. Blanchard and shook hands all around.

“We were very glad to have your sympathies,” said Mr. Wylie.

Mr. Smith raised his eyes. “Yes. They almost cost us the case.”

Noah laughed because he knew Mr. Smith didn’t mean it. The he turned to me. Our eyes met and he took my hand. “Lucy Ann. Is it all right that I call you that? Or would you rather Joseph?”

I felt awkward. I was blushing. “We could try Lucy Ann,” I said, “and see if anyone’s at home.”

“Well, Lucy Ann,” said Noah with a grin, “I see that the Blanchard’s have a checkerboard. Are you up to the challenge?”

“Yes,” I said, “if I can be black.”

* * *

At dinner, Dr. Blanchard asked me to say the blessing. I folded my hands and bowed my head. “Lord, thank You for the true souls You have put in my path. I have never known such generosity. Bless the meal before us and bless us to Thy purpose.”

The food was passed, and then Mrs. Blanchard said that she and the doctor had been honored to have me as a guest in their home.

“I hope I haven’t cost you any friends,” I said.

The doctor laughed. “Oh, if I’ve ruffled any feathers, I’ll be forgiven in a week.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Smith, “because it’s you who stands between them and God, not Robson.” There was laughter at this remark, and I did my best to appear merry, but underneath I was afraid. Mr. Smith seemed to sense it. “What will you do tomorrow?” he asked.

“I will go back to my farm,” I said without much conviction. “I will tend to my garden and go to Manannah as little as possible. I just want to live in peace, if people will let me.”

“You’ll be surprised at how fast this will be water under the bridge,” said the doctor. “The people around here are decent, despite what you saw today.”

“And you needn’t fear anything from Willie,” said Mr. Smith. “We had a little conversation. He’s gone and won’t be back.” I had already told my attorney, days ago, that I didn’t want to file charges against Willie—I wanted the whole thing to be over. Now Mr. Smith had taken it upon himself to act on my behalf. I thanked him for his concern and his efforts. Then Noah asked if I would like him to come in the morning and walk with me on the road back home. I said yes.