Worthy Brown's Daughter (16 page)

CHAPTER 36

O
n a blustery November Sunday, Reverend Mason stood in the doorway of his church chatting with his parishioners before shooing them next door to the assembly hall. Two days ago, news of Abraham Lincoln’s victory had been telegraphed to Oregon. The reverend was pleased by the election results but sobered by events on the other side of the continent. His service had started with a prayer for the president-elect and ended with a sermon condemning secession and preaching abolition.

A narrow alley separated the assembly hall from the church. By the time Orville entered the meetinghouse, many of the adults were warming their hands at the potbellied stove in the center of the hall while they talked politics and caught up on the latest gossip. The children made a beeline for the pies, ham, corn, and other edibles the wives had set out on a long table next to the wall. Orville looked forward to joining in the political discussions, but he decided to get a piece of pumpkin pie before it was gobbled up. A gentle touch on his forearm stopped him as he was reaching for his slice.

Heather Gillette was carrying a fur muff for her hands and wearing one of the tiny bonnets that were the current rage. Her cheeks were apple red from the cold, and the crimson color contrasted nicely with the blond ringlets that strayed from beneath the bonnet.

“Congratulations on Mr. Lincoln’s victory,” Heather said.

“Thank you.”

“There is talk that you may be offered a federal judgeship.”

“Is this an inquiry from a friend or from
The Spokesman
’s intrepid reporter?”

“Both.”

Orville laughed. “The rumor mills always grind after an election, but I’d be an ingrate to desert your father so soon after taking on his legal work.”

Heather looked like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Orville waited for her to gather her thoughts.

“Do you consider yourself Matthew Penny’s friend?” Heather asked.

“I do.”

“I’m worried about him. He’s changed since Caleb Barbour was murdered. Did you know that father asked Matthew to be his attorney before he offered the position to you?”

“Yes. Ben told me Matthew sent him a letter turning down the offer. He claimed that he didn’t feel up to the task and recommended me because I have more business experience.”

“We both know that Matthew could have handled the job.”

“Maybe he hasn’t fully recovered from his injuries,” Orville said.

“Something else is troubling him.”

“Representing a client who may be hanged is a heavy burden.”

“There’s more to it than that.” Heather looked frustrated. “I can’t explain it in words. I just know something’s wrong. Have you talked to him recently?”

“No, and now that I think about it, I have had the impression that Matthew has been avoiding me. When I’ve seen him on the street or in court, he’s seemed uncomfortable, and he’s made excuses to break away if I suggested a meal or just getting together to discuss Mr. Brown’s case.”

“About Mr. Brown’s case, I’m not a lawyer but . . . Orville, the night Barbour died, Matthew brought Roxanne to my house. She had been beaten, and she was in a state of shock, and . . .” Heather colored. “I’m certain she had been violated.”

“Yes?”

“If you were defending Mr. Brown, wouldn’t you want to call Roxanne as a witness?”

“Probably.”

“Matthew has made no attempt to talk to her.”

“That is odd.”

“All of his behavior for the past weeks has been odd,” Heather said. “At first, when he was recuperating at my house, he wasn’t withdrawn. He was injured, of course, and he slept a lot, but we went on walks together and he was at ease when we talked. I’m sure he was happy. Then everything changed suddenly, and I’m certain that the change has something to do with Caleb Barbour’s murder.

“Orville, can you talk to Matthew? Can you try to find out what’s troubling him?”

“I can try,” Orville promised.

Heather hesitated. “There’s something else I want you to do.”

“Concerning Matthew?”

“No. This concerns my father and that woman, Sharon Hill.”

CHAPTER 37

M
atthew woke up to the stench of a body he had not bathed in days. His face was covered by stubble. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin had the texture of thin, yellowed paper. He did not look well. He did not feel well, either.

Worthy Brown’s case was a wagon wheel sunk firmly in mud and he could think of no way to pull it out. Matthew had tried reason with Worthy, he had begged, he had played on Brown’s heartstrings by using Roxanne as an argument, but Worthy would not be moved. The only future Matthew could see for the ex-slave dangled from the end of a hangman’s noose. Matthew’s future was equally clear. If Brown hanged, Matthew would drag guilt and regret behind him like an anchor for the rest of his life.

Matthew’s body odor had grown strong enough to repulse him, so he forced himself to bathe and shave before going to the café across the street for breakfast. He was hunched over the remnants of his meal, sunk in his thoughts, when the grating sound of a chair leg drawn across naked boards made him raise his head.

“May I join you?” Orville Mason asked as he sat opposite his friend.

“Please,” Matthew said, though in truth he did not want company.

“I need your help,” Orville said, “but you must keep what I tell you confidential.”

Matthew nodded, grateful for anything that would distract him from his troubles.

“Tell me about the case you handled in Phoenix for the salesman,” Orville said.

“Why do you need to know about that?”

“Ben is spending a lot of time with Sharon Hill, and Heather is worried.”

“She should be. Hill is bad business.”

“Why do you say that?”

Matthew told Orville about Hill’s accusations and the consequences for Clyde Lukens.

“You believe Lukens?” Orville asked when Matthew finished.

“I don’t trust Hill, and Lukens is pathetic. I don’t think he’d be brave enough to sneak into an occupied room in the middle of the night.”

“If you’re right, the situation is serious. I’m going to follow some leads and see what turns up.”

“Good. I like Ben. I’d hate to see him hurt.”

“I feel the same way,” Orville said. “So how is Worthy’s case going?”

“Okay,” Matthew said, his tone guarded.

“I assume you’ll call Mr. Brown’s daughter at the trial.”

“Why do you say that?”

“To prove Barbour molested her. You are going to argue defense of another, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Have you talked to Roxanne about what happened before you rescued her?”

“Why is my case of interest to you?” Matthew answered defensively.

“I’d like to help if I can. Barbour was despicable, and what he did to Mr. Brown and his daughter was inexcusable. You can count on me to do anything I can to see that justice is done.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said, but his tone let Orville know that he would probably not hear from Matthew.

“Are you okay?” Orville asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You look exhausted.”

“I’ve just been working hard.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing else?”

“I’m fine,” Matthew said as he stood. “I’ve got to get back to my office.”

Matthew put some money on the table and walked away. As he crossed the street, he could feel Orville’s eyes boring into his back. Were Orville’s questions about Worthy’s case simple curiosity, or did Orville sense that something about the case was not right? Orville was very smart. Did he suspect that Matthew had killed Caleb Barbour? What a relief it would be if Orville proved that Matthew was responsible and Worthy went free, but there was no way Orville could prove his suspicions were true, assuming that he even had any. Matthew accepted the fact that no one could help him. This battle of wills was between him and Worthy Brown, and Matthew was being defeated soundly.

CHAPTER 38

T
he mind of Roxanne Brown opened like a budding flower. Heather tutored her in reading, writing, and mathematics then exposed her to history and geography when she saw how easily Roxanne absorbed any subject put before her. Little by little, the excitement and distraction engendered by her education helped banish the terror that had imprisoned Roxanne, but it did not make a dent in the pain caused by her father’s imprisonment.

During one of their walks, Roxanne gathered her courage and asked Heather if she could arrange a visit to her father. Heather had dreaded that question because she had already broached the subject with Marshal Lappeus, who had told her that only attorneys and clergyman could visit the prisoner in the jail. Roxanne’s shoulders and spirits had sagged at the bad news, but her mathematics lessons had taught her that there were solutions to even the most knotty problems.

One morning, Roxanne put on a pair of boots and a heavy coat and trudged down the winding road from Gillette House to the jail. It was a cold winter day, and the walk was several miles on a pathway turned into swamp by heavy rains. Roxanne turned up her coat collar, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and bent into the wind. She didn’t pass many people on the road down from Gillette House, but Portland’s population had swollen to three thousand souls by 1860, and she began to encounter its inhabitants as soon as she drew near the residential area that had sprung up on the edge of the city. A Negro girl was an oddity on the streets of Portland, but Roxanne was also the central figure in two of Portland’s most talked about trials. Even well-mannered passersby could be forgiven for staring. Those who were less refined directed cruel comments at her. Roxanne was focused on her mission and was oblivious to many of the comments, but some of the barbs struck home. Her fear and embarrassment increased with each insult, but nothing would deter her from carrying out her plan.

Marshal Lappeus had told Heather that Roxanne could not visit her father inside the jail. He had said nothing about talking to him from outside, so Roxanne walked behind the jail to the muddy lot that Worthy’s cell window overlooked.

“Daddy,” she called out.

Worthy was spending more and more time lying on his bed, his mind drifting as he tried to dream away his time in jail. At first, he believed his daughter’s voice was a figment of his imagination, but a lump formed in Worthy’s throat when it dawned on him that Roxanne was really outside. He climbed onto the edge of his bed on wobbly legs and gripped the bars on the window to steady himself. He had never fully recovered from his beating, and the conditions of his incarceration had further weakened him. Worthy started to say something when he remembered Amos Strayer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“The marshal told Miss Heather I couldn’t go inside the jail. He didn’t say anything about outside.”

“If Deputy Strayer sees you, he might arrest you.”

“If he tells me to go, I’ll go. Let’s just talk now. We . . . we might not get another chance.”

“You talk and I’ll listen,” Worthy whispered. “That way, there’s less chance the deputy will know you’re outside.”

ROXANNE TOLD HER FATHER ABOUT
her life at Gillette House, and Worthy’s chest swelled as she reeled off her accomplishments. He would be leaving this world soon, but he would be leaving behind a wonderful young girl who was growing into an accomplished young woman. Life would be hard for a Negro child in this world where color meant so much, but Roxanne could read and do sums—skills Worthy had never dreamed of mastering. The world was changing, and Roxanne gave him hope.

The day grew long, and Roxanne said good-bye because she had to return to Gillette House to finish her chores. Worthy lay down on his bed and tried to picture Roxanne in ten years. A big smile spread across his face as he imagined a fine young woman with a husband and children like his Polly had been, only free. Maybe Roxanne’s family would live on their own farm. There was a husband and wife in Portland—free Negroes—who owned a store. That was a wonder. Roxanne was smart. Maybe she and her husband would own a store some day.

Worthy could not imagine much more than that for a girl, but what if one of Roxanne’s children was a boy. Would he grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer? Wouldn’t that be something? A grandson he could call doctor!

Worthy sobered. If that did happen, he would never know about it. He would never know any of the truth about his daughter’s future past his hanging, and he was going to hang. Worthy’s heart seized up, tears clouded his eyes, and he cried for all the things he would never know: the wedding he would not attend, the grandchildren he would never get to hold.

Worthy’s face grew hot with sorrow, and he let go for the first time since he had been imprisoned. Seeing Roxanne had done this to him; but seeing her so happy made the pain worthwhile, and knowing in his heart that Roxanne would be all right was worth any sacrifice.