The Rough Rider (41 page)

When Devaney had been ushered out of the courtroom by the guards, Simon Carwell knew the moment had come. In every trial or hearing, there is that single moment when the whole process hangs on the razor’s edge. Carwell was the finest lawyer in the state because he had an innate ability for recognizing those moments.
I’ve got a weak case—and nothing we can do is going to wipe out the fact that Jeb was present at the scene of the crime. It’s now or never—!

“Your Honor, I submit that Jeb Summers is not a criminal. He made a bad choice, and if he’d kept on, he might have continued in that direction. But he’s learned his lesson. We all know that reform school doesn’t ‘reform’ as many young boys as it corrupts. Unfortunate, but true. . ..”

Carwell made an impassioned plea for the court to be lenient with Jeb. The whole time, Aaron and Gail sat there on the edge of their seats trying to read the face of Judge Cross. Nothing showed in his chiseled features, however, and neither of them had any experience in court matters. As Carwell wound down, both of them sat there tense and praying silently.

“ . . . and so, Your Honor, I ask you to return this boy to his home. To send him to reform school would serve no purpose. The defense rests its case, Your Honor.”

Cross sat like a man of stone, his face stiff and unyielding. The silence that fell on the room was almost palpable. Finally he said, “I recognize that our reformatories are institutions that are not what they should be—no one knows that better than I. And I am aware that this young man seems to be a cut above many of the youth I see in this court.” He hesitated for one moment, then shook his head slightly. “But I am aware that only a technicality kept Jeb Summers from
being an active participant in the robbery. Punishment must be given as a deterrent to others. I therefore propose to give the minimum sentence in such cases.”

“Your Honor, isn’t there some way this can be avoided?” Carwell pleaded.

Judge Cross hesitated. “I have before me the record of the defendant’s stepfather. It is not a good record, and I could not release the boy into such a home with any hope. If there were a good home environment to place the boy in, I might be persuaded to permit that.”

“Your Honor!” Every eye turned toward Gail, who had leaped to her feet and walked toward the high bench. She stopped and went to Jeb, putting her arm around him protectively. She had heard the doom in the judge’s voice, and had not been able to bear it. Turning her eyes to the judge, she said, “Let me take him, Your Honor! I have a good job, and he’s my brother!”

“Why, Miss Summers!” Judge Cross was jolted out of his calm by the girl’s suggestion. Shaking his head sadly, he said in a voice that was not unkind, “You are a single woman, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“The boy needs a father. Part of his problem comes from not having one, I think.”

“I can take care of him, Your Honor. Please—let me have him!”

“If you were married, I’d agree to your offer, but it’s not possible. The law is against it.”

Aaron had been transfixed by Gail’s sudden action—and filled with admiration. He thought suddenly of Burns and turned to give him a sharp jab in the ribs, whispering, “Burns—tell the judge you’re marrying Gail!”

“I wish I could,” Burns shot back, “but she won’t have me!”

Aaron was aware that Gail was still pleading with the judge. He was shocked at Burns’s statement, and turned to stare at him. “Are you serious? You’re not in love with her?”

Pain touched Burns’s fine eyes. “Nothing I have to say about that—but she’s not in love with me.” Anger touched his voice, and he said, “It’s you she loves, you fool!”

Aaron stared at Burns, and then he turned his eyes back to the front of the room and was aware that the judge was beginning to pronounce Jeb’s sentence. “I therefore sentence you, Jeb Summers . . .”

“Your Honor—!” Aaron’s stentorian yell made everyone in the courtroom jump in their seats. Leaping to his feet, he cried, “Gail, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. Do you love me?”

Every eye turned to Gail, who had turned from the bench and was staring with her mouth open at Aaron. This was high drama indeed! Carwell, a veteran of hundreds of court battles, felt his jaw drop—and didn’t care!

Judge Cross practically fell over the bench as he leaned forward to see the girl’s face more plainly.

Gail stood there, her eyes enormous. Her face was pale, but she held her head high. “Yes, I love you, Aaron Winslow,” she said quietly.

Suddenly, a shrill yelping cry rent the air, and Lewis began beating on the sides of his wheelchair. “What a brother I’ve got! What a brother!”

Aaron smiled then, turned to the judge, and asked, “Can you marry us, Judge? I want to be the father of that boy and the husband of Gail Summers.”

Judge Cross stared at the tall young man, then let his eyes fall on the young woman, whose eyes were now filled with tears. “You two, I’ll speak with you in my chambers. Court dismissed!”

Carwell bent down and snatched Jeb up in a bear hug. “We made it, Jeb! We made it!”

Jeb struggled to free himself, and when he had broken free of the man’s embrace, he ran to meet Aaron. He threw his arms around the man and held him with all his might. Aaron put one arm around the boy, and the other he rested on the
lad’s fine brown hair. Leaning down, he whispered, “How’d you like to live on a farm in Virginia, son?”

Jeb lifted his head and his lips trembled. “That’d be great—Dad!” he said. He released Aaron and went to stand beside Lewis and Deborah. “I guess I can call you Uncle Lewis now, can’t I?”

“You can call me anything, Jeb!” Lewis turned to his father and mother, saying, “I hope you two are ready for a rash of grandchildren! Looks like the place is going to be cluttered up with wives and kids!”

Belle smiled and pressed Davis’s hand. “We’re ready, Lewis.”

Aaron then was standing before Gail. She was tall and strong—everything he wanted in a woman. Putting his strong arms around her, he whispered, “Will you have me for your lawful wedded husband?”

“I will—for ever and ever!”

The judge waited at the door, a smile on his thin lips, and as Aaron kissed Gail, a cheer went up, even the sour-faced bailiff joining in!

When Aaron lifted his lips from hers, he smiled at her. She was weeping openly, and he said, “We’ll cry together, Gail—but we’ll laugh, too.”

“Yes! Come on, Aaron—we can’t keep the judge waiting! We’ve got too much to do . . . !”

GILBERT MORRIS spent ten years as a pastor before becoming Professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. During the summers of 1984 and 1985, he did postgraduate work at the University of London. A prolific writer, he has had over 25 scholarly articles and 200 poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years has had more than 70 novels published. His family includes three grown children, and he and his wife live in Texas.