Worthy Brown's Daughter (3 page)

“Whose money did Harry Chambers find in your socks?”

“My money, the company money.”

“And you stole nothing from Miss Hill?”

“Nothing. I swear to God, it was mine.”

“Your witness, Mr. Barbour.”

Barbour looked at Lukens with contempt. “I will not waste the time of the court or this jury by questioning this . . . man.”

Several jurors shook their heads to show their agreement with the prosecutor, and Lukens slunk back to his seat.

“Any more witnesses, Mr. Penny?” the judge asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then you may make your closing argument, Mr. Barbour.”

CHAPTER 5

T
he arguments were short and the jury deliberations shorter. Clyde Lukens had barely reached the inn when he was summoned back to hear his guilt pronounced.

“You are one of the lowest specimens I have ever encountered,” Justice Tyler told the quivering defendant. “You crept into the bedroom of a defenseless woman and stole from her. Then you compounded your crime by trying to sully her reputation before this assemblage.

“Hanging would be a fit punishment for you. Unfortunately, it’s not prescribed for the crime of theft. There is no jail in Phoenix where you can be incarcerated, and I will burden Mr. Chambers with your unsavory company no longer. Therefore, I sentence you to receive fifty lashes in public on your bare back.”

Lukens blanched. “But that will kill me.”

“You should have thought of that possibility before you broke the Eighth Commandment.”

“It’s my money. Send word to my company. Please. I can prove it.”

“You’ve had your day in court, sir. Now you shall have judgment.”

Tyler turned toward Abner Hardesty, who was standing on the edge of the crowd.

“You may have the honor, Mr. Hardesty. You will tie the prisoner to the oak and commence punishment. If he passes out, revive him. I want Mr. Lukens to savor the fruits of his wrongdoing. Court is adjourned until this afternoon, when we will select a jury for
Farber v. Gillette
.”

Lukens begged for mercy as he was dragged to the tree, but Tyler turned away. As he walked toward the inn, hands slapped the judge on the back. Matthew followed Tyler until he was clear of the crowd.

“Your Honor, if I may have a minute.”

“Yes, Mr. Penny.”

“Mr. Lukens has a frail constitution. Fifty lashes may kill him.”

Tyler thought for a moment. Abner Hardesty was headed to the livery stable to secure a whip. Tyler called to him, and he turned back. The judge took him aside.

“I’m charging you with Lukens’s punishment, but I’m also charging you with his safety. Theft, no matter how vile, doesn’t carry a death sentence. If it appears that fifty lashes are too much for him, stop and come to me at the inn.”

Hardesty nodded and went on his way.

“Does that satisfy you, Mr. Penny?” the judge asked.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Tyler felt a presence at his side and turned to find Benjamin Gillette and Sharon Hill.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Benjamin Gillette asked the judge.

“I’m afraid I must beg off. I have some work I must do before the afternoon session.”

“Are you returning to Portland soon?” Sharon Hill asked.

“Not for a while. There are sessions of court in three more towns after I’m through here.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps I’ll see you when you’re finished riding the circuit.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Tyler answered.

AS SOON AS HE FINISHED
talking to Justice Tyler, Matthew went in search of Glen Farber. He spotted the Farber family among those who gathered around the oak in eager anticipation of the judicially mandated flogging.

“Do you think our jurors will hold it against us that you defended Lukens?” Farber asked anxiously when Matthew walked up.

“No, Glen, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they’re not biased.”

Farber could see that Matthew was upset. “He deserves what he gets,” the farmer assured his attorney.

“He may have been innocent.”

“If you believe what he admitted to, he’s a fornicator and a cheat.”

“You have a point,” Matthew agreed. “And Mr. Lukens is going to pay, no matter what I think, but he’ll need help when Mr. Hardesty has finished with him. Do you think your boys can help me carry Lukens to the river after the flogging so I can clean him up?”

“I don’t know,” Farber said, looking around nervously.

“Look, Glen, no one will think less of you if you help me. I’m your lawyer.”

“It ain’t you. I don’t want nothing to do with that scum.”

“No lawyer in Portland wanted anything to do with your lawsuit when they heard you wanted to sue Benjamin Gillette,” Matthew reminded his client.

Farber looked embarrassed.

“The boys will help,” Millie Farber said firmly. Millie was taller and heavier than her husband. Her wide hips and large breasts offered domestic comfort, but Matthew knew that her unwavering faith in God and the fortitude she required to raise her brood and deal with her husband had coalesced to form a will of iron.

“Thank you,” Matthew said after waiting a beat to see if Glen would protest. “Do you think one of the boys could drive Lukens to a doctor in Portland in your wagon? I’d pay,” he heard himself say, knowing that he could ill afford any extra expense given the precarious nature of his financial situation, which provided barely enough money for rent and food. But the Farbers were poorer than he and could not afford to let an able-bodied worker go for the time it would take to go from Phoenix to Portland and back. And there was the matter of the guilt Matthew felt for failing to save Clyde Lukens from the lash.

Glen cast a worried look at his wife, but she laid a hand on his forearm.

“Mr. Penny’s gone out of his way to help us, Glen.”

“I know, but I’m worried what everyone will think.”

“They’ll think we’re good Christians. It’s easy to help someone who obeys the Lord’s word. But Jesus instructed us to show compassion to the sinner so he could be redeemed.”

Farber didn’t look convinced, but he knew better than to argue with his wife on matters of religion.

“I’ll talk to John and Peter about taking Lukens to the doctor,” Glen said.

“Thank you,” Matthew answered, just as Abner Hardesty reappeared, alerting the crowd to his presence by cracking his whip for practice. Lukens, who was already stripped and secured to the oak tree, looked over his shoulder and began to weep in anticipation of the pain.

“Excuse me,” Matthew said, walking away from the Farbers to position himself where Lukens could see him. He felt it was his duty to bear witness, and he wanted Lukens to know that there was at least one sympathetic soul in the mob.

Matthew forced himself to watch every minute of the whipping, even though he wanted to close his eyes and cover his ears to block out Lukens’s screams. He suffered with Lukens, and every crack of the whip and cry of pain brought home how badly he had failed his client.

Lukens did not stand up well. He fainted frequently and whimpered or begged while conscious. When it was clear that he’d had enough, he was cut down and left like a dog in the field. Matthew waited until most of the crowd had drifted away before nodding to Farber. Two of Glen’s sons—one sixteen and one seventeen—carried Lukens to the river while the youngest ran to the inn to fetch the salesman’s possessions and the eldest went for the wagon.

Matthew was no doctor. Millie Farber, who had patched up her husband and most of her children at some time, stepped in when Matthew’s incompetence became obvious. While Millie worked on the salesman, Matthew penned a note to Dr. Raymond Sharp, explaining the situation and offering to pay for his client’s care. When Millie had done all she could, the Farber boys lifted the moaning victim onto the straw in the back of the rig, placing him on his stomach and giving him a rolled blanket to use as a pillow. Lukens had been delirious or unconscious since the whipping, but he came to just as Farber’s boys prepared to drive off.

“Wait,” Matthew shouted.

Lukens turned toward the sound. He seemed dazed at first. Then he focused on Matthew, who gave him a drink from a canteen he’d placed near Lukens’s hand.

“God, it hurts,” Lukens moaned.

“Bear it as best you can,” Matthew said. “I’ve paid these boys to take you to a doctor in Portland. He’ll treat you.”

A breeze brushed Lukens’s back and brought a new spasm of pain. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Damn you,” he swore at Matthew. “This is your fault. You were seduced by that witch like the rest of them. If you’d fought for me—”

More pain brought Lukens up short, and he started to weep. His client’s ingratitude stung Matthew, but he told himself it was the pain talking. He signaled to the boys, and Peter Farber snapped the reins. Lukens gasped as the wagon bounced along the hard ground. Matthew turned back toward the field and noticed a crowd regrouping. He’d spent his lunch hour caring for Lukens and would have to pick Farber’s jury on an empty stomach. He remembered an old adage about no good deed going unpunished as he trudged back toward the makeshift courtroom.

CHAPTER 6

H
arry Chambers’s establishment stood near a narrow bend where the river slowed before rushing forward as a short stretch of white water. There were no windows in the rear wall of the inn and no moon to light the way, so Matthew used the muted sound of sluggish water churning around the debris that choked the passage to guide him to the riverbank. A log had washed ashore behind a stand of cottonwoods. Matthew sat on it and waited to see if Worthy Brown’s information was correct. The gentle
shush
ing of the river made his eyes heavy, and the sultry night air worked like a sleeping potion. Matthew had almost dozed off when the sound of men approaching jerked him awake.

“Do you have the money?” came the nervous inquiry of a clearly inebriated individual known to Matthew as Otis Pike, a slender man in ill health who had been chosen earlier in the day to sit as a juror in
Farber v. Gillette
. Pike had seemed sympathetic to Farber’s cause, and Matthew had been surprised when Barbour left him on the jury.

“Will I have my verdict, Pike?” asked a voice Matthew had no trouble identifying as Caleb Barbour’s.

“I said I’d deliver, and I will.”

“Have the others agreed?”

“Yes, yes. Now let me have my money. I don’t want us seen together.”

Matthew’s initial impulse was to rise up and face the conspirators, but he was armed only with his knife, and he had heard that Barbour was a mean shot. After a moment of indecision, Matthew moved deeper into the shadows and crouched down. He listened to the clink of coins changing hands and a promise that more would be forthcoming when Gillette won his verdict.

Matthew’s legs were beginning to cramp, and he worried about making noise if he moved, but Pike saved him by walking off. Barbour followed soon after, leaving by a separate path so as not to be seen with his coconspirator. Matthew considered following Pike to discover the identity of the other felonious jurors, but Pike had too much of a head start, and Matthew knew that there was a risk that he would be discovered eavesdropping. As he waited in the shadows for Barbour to get far enough away that he could risk standing, Matthew wondered if he should confront Benjamin Gillette. He had never heard a word that would suggest that Gillette was the type of man who would try to subvert justice, but Matthew could not be certain that Gillette was not in on Barbour’s scheme.

When he could stand it no longer, Matthew rose up and stretched his cramped muscles. He had not slept well since leaving Portland, and he reckoned that there was only a slim chance that he would sleep tonight. As he headed back to his canvas room at the Hotel Parisian, he hoped that some miracle would bring him relief from his fatigue and a solution to his dilemma.

CHAPTER 7

M
atthew Penny remained awake for most of his second night in the Hotel Parisian as he tried to devise a plan to deal with Caleb Barbour’s treachery. If he went to Justice Tyler, Barbour and Pike would deny his accusation. His word alone would not win the day. Worthy Brown was a witness to Barbour’s dishonesty, but no judge would take a Negro’s word over a white man’s, assuming that Justice Tyler would even listen to Brown. When the sun rose to signal the imminent opening of court, Matthew was still not certain what he would do, but an idea had begun to germinate in his sleep-deprived brain.

The trial in
Farber v. Gillette
took up the morning session, and the evidence in the land-sale case clearly favored Farber. When both sides rested, Matthew had no doubt that he would win the trial if the jury was untainted. As the plaintiff’s lawyer, Matthew had the honor of giving his closing argument first. Then he was allowed to rebut Barbour when Gillette’s lawyer finished arguing the defense case. In his first appearance before the jury, Matthew reviewed the evidence, establishing for jurors and spectators alike that Glen Farber’s cause was just. He made certain to direct many of his remarks to Otis Pike, whom, he noted with pleasure, would not meet his eye. When he finished his opening argument, he took his seat and waited to see what Caleb Barbour would say.

Though the evidence supported few of his points, Barbour looked supremely confident as he argued Gillette’s position, and there was a swagger in his step when he returned to his client’s side. When Matthew rose for rebuttal, he planted himself directly in front of Otis Pike and addressed the jury.

“Gentlemen, Mr. Farber has relied solely on the evidence to maintain his rights in this case. He has not endeavored to influence your judgment by approaching you secretly.”

Matthew watched with satisfaction as Pike and two other jurors lost color.

“The other side has not acted accordingly. They have not been content that you should weigh only the evidence. They have endeavored to corrupt your minds and pervert your judgments. Although you have sworn to Almighty God to render a verdict according to the evidence, they believe some of you to be so low and debased as to be willing to decide against the evidence for pay and let perjury rest on their souls.”

Matthew paused. Behind him, he heard murmurs and movement in the crowd. The three jurors who had been caught out stirred uneasily. The other jurors looked confused or offended. Matthew pointed at Otis Pike.

“I know you have been approached, Mr. Pike. I know you agreed to accept a bribe on behalf of yourself and other jurors because I sat in the dark by the river behind the inn while you conspired with Caleb Barbour. You didn’t guess that anyone else was privy to your cowardly conversation, but I overheard your foul bargain.”

There was the click of a pistol cocking from the vicinity of the defense table and an answering click from Glen Farber’s gun. Matthew had told Farber about Barbour’s actions and what he planned to do. Farber had come prepared to do violence to protect his lawyer. Matthew turned and faced Barbour, who was on his feet.

“There is no terror for me in your pistol, sir,” Matthew said, though in truth his insides were roiling from fear. “You won’t win your argument by shooting me. You can win in only one way—by showing that you deserve to prevail under the laws of this state. You will never win this case by bribery or threats of violence.”

Justice Tyler slammed the butt of his revolver onto the table several times and shouted for order. Then he pointed his pistol in the direction of both counsel tables.

“Put down your weapons, gentlemen. Remember, you’re in a court of law.”

Barbour hesitated for a moment before holstering his gun. Farber lowered his as soon as he was certain Matthew was safe.

“Mr. Penny has made a serious charge, and we need to settle this matter before I can instruct the jury,” the judge said. “I’m going to adjourn court. All of the parties will meet with me in the back room of the inn in fifteen minutes.”

Tyler told the jurors to stay in the field, but he forbade anyone to approach them, and he forbade the jurors to discuss the case until he had charged them. Then he walked toward the inn. A crowd surrounded Matthew and Caleb Barbour.

“I demand satisfaction, you bastard,” Barbour said as soon as the judge was out of earshot.

Glen Farber took a step toward the attorney, but Matthew held out his arm and blocked his client.

“You tried to play dirty, and I caught you out,” Matthew said. “Take your medicine like a man.”

“I said I demand satisfaction.”

“Demand away.”

“So you’re a coward as well as a slanderer.”

Matthew was opposed to dueling, but he couldn’t risk being branded a coward. In Ohio, if a man was rude, you could turn away from him, but Matthew had learned quickly that men in Oregon were likely to take liberties with someone who did not stand up for himself. The only way to get along was to hold every man responsible and resent every trespass on one’s rights.

“Very well,” Matthew answered softly. “And since it’s your challenge, it’s my choice of weapons.”

“Choose, then.”

Matthew drew his knife from under the folds of his coat and held it up for all to see.

“We’ll fight with bowie knives in a sealed room.”

The color drained from Barbour’s face. Though deadly with a pistol, he had no skill with a knife. He was also a natural coward and a bully, and the idea of a knife fight terrified him.

“I won’t fight with knives. They’re not a gentleman’s weapon,” Barbour responded, managing to keep the fear from his voice.

“True, but you’ve accused me of being no gentleman.”

“An accusation we know to be groundless, Mr. Penny,” said Benjamin Gillette.

A large, dangerous-looking man stepped out of the crowd and moved in behind Gillette as soon as the businessman inserted his considerable bulk into the argument. Matthew had never met Francis Gibney, but he recognized the bodyguard, who accompanied Gillette everywhere.

“Come, Caleb,” Gillette said, “let this matter be decided by law. Nothing will be served by dueling.”

“But . . .” Barbour started.

Gillette closed his hand on Barbour’s forearm. “Enough,” he said forcefully.

Barbour’s fear of losing Gillette’s retainer decided the question.

“Why don’t you wait for me at the inn,” Gillette said. Barbour didn’t like the idea of leaving his client with Penny, but it was clear that Gillette wanted him gone, so he cast a disdainful look at Matthew and walked away.

“You know my reputation, do you not?” Gillette asked Matthew.

Matthew nodded, uncertain where this conversation was going.

“Then you know that I am very well connected in this state. If your argument to the jury is a trick to gain an advantage for your client, I will destroy you.”

Matthew knew that his career depended on meeting Gillette’s eye.

“Last night I saw Caleb Barbour pay a bribe to Otis Pike. The money was for Pike and some of the other jurors, with more to come if you prevailed.”

“If you knew about this last night, why didn’t you come to me?”

“I’ll be blunt, Mr. Gillette. I didn’t come to you because I didn’t know whether Caleb was acting on his own or was following your orders.”

Rather than get angry, Gillette looked suddenly tired. “If there was a bribe, I can assure you that it was not my doing. This case may be important to your client, but the amount involved is a pittance for me.”

“Then why have you fought so hard against our claim?”

“If I give in to your client, every son of a bitch in the state will think he can back me down, and I’ll spend my every waking hour in court defending frivolous lawsuits.

“But that brings me to something that’s had me puzzled. Why would Caleb risk his career over such a minor matter? That’s what’s got me wondering about your accusation.”

Matthew remembered what Worthy Brown had told him. “Caleb Barbour might risk everything to win this case if he felt that losing it could cost him your business. Farber’s claim isn’t frivolous, but Barbour convinced you it was. He gave you bad legal advice. That’s why he bribed Pike. He doesn’t want to look bad to you.”

Gillette mulled over Matthew’s answer, and Matthew was certain he’d scored a point.

“Would Mr. Farber be willing to settle his case?” Gillette asked.

“He might. I would certainly advise him to do so if the sum you offered was sufficient.”

“Then I’ll settle for the amount of your demand plus your attorney fees on the condition that Mr. Farber agrees to keep the settlement secret and you agree to let this bribery allegation die. Your accusations have tarnished my reputation as well as Caleb’s, and I want the matter buried.”

Gillette’s offer was far more than Matthew had expected, but he did not show that he was surprised.

“I’ll talk to my client,” Matthew said.

GLEN FARBER WAS JUBILANT WHEN
Matthew told him what his conference with Gillette had accomplished. Matthew was as elated as his client. The attorney fee would go far toward digging him out of the financial hole in which he found himself.

With Farber in tow, Matthew followed Benjamin Gillette to the inn. When they were almost there, he noticed Worthy Brown tending Barbour’s horse and a mule he guessed was the servant’s mount. Matthew was tempted to send a signal of gratitude to Brown but wise enough to do nothing that would put the Negro at risk.

Inside the private dining room, Benjamin Gillette told Justice Tyler that both parties wanted the matter of
Farber v. Gillette
settled. Matthew avoided looking at Caleb Barbour, who stood apart from the others, scowling angrily, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Do you plan to pursue your accusations against Juror Pike and Mr. Barbour?” Tyler asked Matthew.

“Mr. Farber and I see no reason to go any further with the matter now that the case is settled.”

Matthew thought the judge looked relieved. The Oregon legal community was small and tight knit, and Matthew suspected that Tyler had not been looking forward to conducting an inquiry into the honesty of one of its members.

“Very well, Mr. Penny. Will you prepare the papers?”

“I’ll get on it as soon as I’m back in Portland.”

Tyler stood. “I’ll tell the jury that the case has been settled. There’s no need for you gentlemen to accompany me.”

“Thank you, Judge,” Gillette said. “I’m giving Miss Hill a ride back to Portland, and I know she’s eager to continue her journey.”

WITH COURT ADJOURNED FOR THE DAY
, Harry Chambers’s bar was packed. Glen Farber stood Matthew to drinks at the inn to celebrate their victory, and several others customers who had been thoroughly entertained by the afternoon’s proceedings also treated the jubilant attorney. By the time Farber left for home, Matthew was tipsy and it was too late for him to start for Portland.

Matthew ordered dinner and settled in a corner of the barroom while Harry fetched his meal. His lack of sleep had caught up with him now that the adrenaline that had kept him going in court had worn off. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his arms, snapping to when Harry waddled over with a steaming bowl of stew.

“This meal is on the house,” Harry said as he set the bowl on the table. “We were all rooting for Glen.” Harry laughed. “You sure showed up Barbour. It’s all anyone’s talked about since you backed down that coward.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Matthew answered with a smile, which vanished as soon as Harry turned his back. Matthew had been elated after his rout of Caleb Barbour and the settlement he’d won for Glen Farber, but he suddenly remembered Clyde Lukens and the injustice the salesman had suffered. Matthew sighed. Law was like that. Victory and elation one minute, and a crushing defeat the next.