Blessed are the Merciful (11 page)

“Yes, darling?” she said, smiling sweetly.

“I want to talk to you about something very important.”

“All right. I’m listening.”

“You remember Dr. Manfred Welles, my Harvard prof? Well, he told me just a few days ago that he has resigned from Harvard to become a partner with an old friend in a law firm in Grand Island, Nebraska.”

“He what? Adam, you’re kidding!”

“No. He was excited about it when he told me.”

Philipa laughed and shook her head in amazement. “Well, you never know what some people will do. How could he ever give up his position at Harvard and leave the Boston area for such a remote, dried-up, dismal place like the plains of Nebraska?”

Adam was quiet for a moment as he stared into his coffee cup. Then he said, “Philipa, I … I have something I want to discuss with you.”

“Good,” she said. “Let’s get our minds off Nebraska.”

“Well, we can’t exactly do that.”

“Do what? Get our minds off Nebraska?”

“Yes. I have a letter from the chairman of the town council in North Platte, Nebraska, that I want to show you.”

“You know someone in North Platte?”

“Not exactly. But I’m going to get acquainted with him when we move there.”

Philipa squinted at him. “When we what?”

“Let me tell you what I’ve had in mind for some time, then I want you to read the letter.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this.” Philipa squeezed her hands together until the knuckles were shiny white.

“Please, Philipa. Hear me out, will you?”

She made an effort to relax and nodded.

Slowly and carefully, with his heart in his throat, Adam told his fiancée about the dream that had long been in his heart to go to the West and establish his own law firm. He explained about the trip he had taken with Uncle Sidney and how the West had captivated him with its ruggedness and wide open spaces. Dr. Welles’s decision to move to Grand Island and his mention of North Platte needing a law firm had encouraged him to look into it seriously. With that, he placed William Dauntt’s letter into her hand and said, “Now, read this.”

Philipa’s mouth went dry as she read the letter. She swallowed with difficulty and struggled to keep her outward calm as she placed the letter back in Adam’s hand and said, “It … was nice of Mr. Dauntt to write to you.”

“Do you see what I’m saying, honey? I need to cut a new swath in life. Philadelphia has lots of lawyers. I’d like to go where I’m really needed. And you saw what Mr. Dauntt said about the people of North Platte having to make a hundred-and-twenty-mile trip to Grand Island for legal advice and help. That’s a two-hundred-and-forty-mile round trip! I’m needed in North Platte. Can you see that?”

Philipa stared at him but did not reply.

“Look,” Adam said, “I’m tired of big city life. Philadelphia is stifling me. I need the wide open spaces. You’ve never been out west but I’m sure you’d love it, too. A person can … can breathe out there!”

Suddenly Philipa broke into a laugh. “It’s not April first, but you
really are pulling a joke on me, aren’t you, Adam? I know you couldn’t pass up the opportunity that’s going to come from Daddy if Mr. Benson doesn’t make you a partner. Either way, you’ll have a wonderful career ahead of you. You are kidding me, right? Either partnership will be much more lucrative than having your own law firm in North Platte or any of those smelly, dried-up Western cow towns.”

“No, Philipa, I’m serious. Sure, getting started in North Platte would be a little tough, maybe, but you saw what Mr. Dauntt said about my having plenty of clients in a hurry. It wouldn’t be long till I was bringing in a very good living. And even if I never make the kind of money I would in a partnership here, I’d still rather live out west. Besides, as far as money is concerned, I have a third of the estate Mom left my sisters and me. We’ll never hurt financially with money coming in from Boston Clothiers for the rest of our lives.” Adam leaned closer. “Honey, here’s what I want to do. Let’s move the wedding date up to mid-September. I’ll write to Mr. Dauntt and tell him we’ll be there shortly after we get married. How’s that sound?”

Philipa put a hand to her mouth and pressed the tips of her fingers tightly against her lips.

“Now, honey, I know you’re worried that North Platte might not have the kind of house we’d have if we stayed here. But as soon as we get to North Platte, I’ll draw a chunk of cash out of the bank and build you a big, beautiful house that’ll knock your eyes out! What do you say?”

Philipa took her hand away from her mouth, drew a shaky breath, and said, “Adam, I … I need some time. This is all so sudden.”

“Of course. I understand. You take a day or two to think it over.”

At the same time Adam and Philipa were having their conversation at the restaurant, Philip and Millicent Conrad were sitting in their library while rain beat against the windows.

Millicent was crocheting, and Philip had just picked up the
evening edition of the
Philadelphia Enquirer
. He scanned the front page and said, “Looks like they’re finally going to hang that killer, Jake Wilson.”

Millicent looked up from her work. “Oh? Well, it’s about time. How long has it been since he was arrested?”

“Says here the murders were committed on the night of July 8. He was arrested on the eleventh. That’s more than six weeks ago. He went to trial on the twenty-fourth and was told by the judge that he’d be executed at the state prison within a week. But you remember … there were some legal complications that developed right after the trial.”

“I never did understand what they were. So when is Wilson going to hang?”

“Six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Millicent nodded. “Sometimes the wheels of justice turn slowly, but eventually they do turn.”

“You’re right about that, dear.”

As the evening moved on, the sound of the storm eased off.

Philip was on the last page of the newspaper when the front door opened and closed. Delmar’s voice was heard in conversation with Philipa, then all was quiet. Philipa’s parents waited for their daughter to enter the library, but when several minutes had passed and she had not appeared, Philip left his chair and went to the hall. When there was no sign of his daughter, he called out, “Philipa?”

There was no response. He called to her again, then started toward the staircase. He halted when he saw Delmar coming from the kitchen area.

“Didn’t I hear Philipa come in, Delmar?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Burke walked her to the door and left immediately. Miss Philipa spoke to me but seemed upset. Didn’t she come into the library?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She probably went up to her room, then, sir.”

Philipa paced from one end of her spacious and lavishly decorated bedroom to the other. “Adam Burke, how could you do this to me? Do you really think I would leave Philadelphia for some dusty little cow town in Nebraska? How dare you! Do you really think I would leave my family, my friends, and my social life to shrivel up and waste away in the dull, boring existence you have planned for me out there in that no-man’s land? Well, Mr. Burke, you’ve got another think coming!”

There was a tap on the door. Philipa stopped pacing and forced herself to calm down. She hurried to open the door when a second knock came.

“Oh, hello, Mother … Daddy.”

“Honey, are you all right?” Philip asked.

She put fingertips to her temple and said, “Well, I developed a headache at the restaurant, so I came on up here to take some powders. I was going to come down to the library in a moment.”

“We were worried,” Millicent said. “Delmar said you seemed upset when you came in.”

“I’m sorry. It was just the headache. Adam just walked me to the door but didn’t come in. He told me to tell both of you good night. I didn’t mean for Delmar to think I was upset.”

“Well, just so we know you’re all right, dear,” Millicent said.

They kissed her good night and left.

Philipa lay awake till the wee hours of the morning. Before finally falling asleep, she decided that the next time she and Adam talked she would just lay it on the line, tell him she didn’t want to live in Nebraska. Tell him straight out that if he loved her he wouldn’t take her away from Philadelphia.

T
O
J
AKE
W
ILSON, THE
P
ENNSYLVANIA
S
TATE
P
RISON
was not merely quiet, it was eerily still. He lay on his cot in the tiny cubicle on death row, staring into the darkness. The silence about him seemed to have substance. He sat up and put a trembling hand to the nape of his neck. When he took his hand away, his palm was moist and cold.

He got up from the uncomfortable cot and went to the barred window that overlooked the rolling hills beyond the prison walls. A slight breeze touched his face, and the few clouds that drifted overhead were a pale silver with reflected light from a half-moon. Countless stars twinkled against a vast reservoir of darkness.

Nausea knotted Wilson’s stomach. This was the last time he would ever see the night sky, the moon, the stars. Shortly after sunrise they would come for him and take him to that dismal corner of the prison yard where the gallows stood like an evil monster, waiting to drop him through a trap door to the end of a rope.

Jake Wilson wasn’t sure what would happen to his soul, but somehow he knew down deep inside that he had to go out into eternity and face God. He felt a strong desire to clear his conscience before they hanged him.

He turned away from the window and shuffled back to the cot and sat down. No sense in lying down. He couldn’t sleep.

He thought of the plunge through the trapdoor of the gallows. He fought the terror churning in his stomach and folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and rocked back and forth. He lost track of time, and when he finally opened his eyes, dawn was a pale
ghost light on the eastern horizon. His last day on earth. Where would he be this time tomorrow?

The sound of a steel door opening at the end of the long corridor brought Jake’s head around. The door closed, then echoing footsteps grew louder. Presently, a guard bearing a food tray stopped in front of Jake’s cell. Jake could barely make him out in the vague light coming from the outside window. The guard peered through the door and said, “Got some breakfast for you, Jake.”

“I ain’t hungry, Arlie.”

“Some of ’em eat heartily before—well, you know. And others don’t want anything. Prison rules are that we bring your last meal. But there’s no rule that says you have to eat it.”

“Arlie, listen. I’ve gotta see Warden Miles.”

“You’ll see him. He always walks a man from his cell to the gallows. Along with the chaplain, that is.”

“No, I mean I’ve got to see him before then. I … I have somethin’ very important to tell him.”

“Chaplain Donaldson will be here first. You can talk to him.”

“No! I’ve got to talk to the warden, Arlie! I’m telling you, it’s important!”

“He’s still in bed at this hour. I can’t disturb him.”

“You’ve got to! Please. Get him here so I can talk to him!”

“All right! All right. His house is about two miles away. I’ll send someone over there.”

A half hour later, Arlie appeared, stuck his key in the lock of the cell door and said, “All right, Jake. The warden’s in his office. Let’s go.”

Jake picked up the copy of the
Philadelphia Enquirer
that lay on the small table in his cell, folded it, and stuck it under his arm. “Thanks, Arlie, I really appreciate this.”

Warden Chester Miles was standing at his office window, looking at the sunrise, when Arlie ushered Jake through the door. Miles turned from the window and set steady eyes on the condemned man. “I understand you have something important to discuss with me before you die.”