Jacob's Way (29 page)

“Why, he didn't have no cause at all. He just up and hit him.”

“And what did you do?”

“Why, I think he would have beat poor old Alf to death if I hadn't jumped in and stopped him.”

“So you attempted to restrain Ben Driver?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And then what happened?”

“The sheriff, he come and arrested Driver.”

“Very good.” Danvers turned and said, “Your witness, Colonel.”

Fisher arose and walked leisurely toward the box. He looked Fears squarely in the eye for such a long time that Fears began to fidget. “Mr. Fears, have you ever been in jail?”

“Objection!” Danvers called out at once.

“Objection overruled,” the judge declared. “The witness will answer the question.”

Fears twisted around. “Yes, I have. Once or twice.”

“It's more like seven times, isn't it, Mr. Fears?” The colonel said easily, “I have the records here if you'd care for me to read them to the court.”

“Maybe it was seven.”

“Was it seven, or was it not?” the colonel snapped, his eyes suddenly flashing.

“Well, it was seven.”

“And on four of those charges you were convicted of beating men almost to death.”

“I get into a fight now and then.”

“And in two of those fights the men were permanently injured because you used, in one instance, the butt of a gun on one victim's head. And then another time you kicked the man nearly to death. Is that correct?”

“You know how it is in a fight.”

“No, I don't. Not if it means kicking a man who's flat on his back.”

“Objection!” Danvers shouted. “This trial's about Ben Driver, not Mr. Fears.”

“Are you going somewhere with this, Colonel Fisher?” the judge asked.

“I will change my line of questioning, Your Honor.” Fisher turned and said, “How long have you known the defendant, Ben Driver?”

Fears shot a baleful glance across the room at Driver. “A long time,” he said.

“You've had trouble with him before, haven't you?”

“I never liked him. He never liked me neither.”

“In fact, you got into a fight with him several years ago in which you were badly beaten. Is that correct?”

“I'd been drinkin' that day.”

“But you were badly beaten.”

“I reckon I was.”

“And you threatened to get even with him. Is that true?”

Fears looked quickly across the room at the sheriff, where-upon Fisher said, “Look at me, please, and answer the question. And I must remind you that the penalty for perjury is severe. I have witnesses who have heard you threaten to get revenge on my client. Did you threaten him or not?”

Fears had nothing to say except to grunt, “Yes. I did.”

“No further questions.”

As soon as Fears left the witness box, the district attorney called for two other witnesses, both friends of Honey Fears. They both swore dutifully that Ben Driver had started the fight.

In both cases Colonel Fisher said, “No questions, Your Honor.”

The next witness for the prosecution was Alf DeSpain himself. He wore a white bandage on his head and used a cane as he made his way to the box. As soon as he was sworn in, the district attorney immediately began to question him. DeSpain sat in the box answering briefly. Yes, Driver had struck him with a rifle. No, there had not been any provocation. He didn't know what came over the man.

“Your witness,” Danvers said.

Colonel Fisher moved to the front and began firing questions. “Have you ever been arrested? What were the charges? Have you ever spent time in jail?” The questioning was brief, and DeSpain got angry. When he was dismissed he quickly left the witness box. The colonel watched and said loudly, “You do very well without that cane, don't you, DeSpain?”

Laughter went up all over the courtroom, and DeSpain's face flushed as he was forced to return and get the cane. He had hobbled up to the stand as a man badly injured, but on leaving he had forgotten to limp.

“That concludes the case for the prosecution, Your Honor. I think the evidence is clear,” Danvers declared.

“Colonel Fisher, are you ready?”

“Oh, yes, we are, Your Honor.”

“The first witness I call will be Mr. Jack Connerly.”

Jack Connerly, a tall well-dressed man of some fifty years, approached the bench. He was the mayor of Richmond and had served in the Confederate Army with great distinction under General Hood. He was a popular and well-known man noted for his integrity.

“Mr. Connerly, you were at the celebration under discussion.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Did you observe the conflict between my client and Mr. DeSpain?”

“Yes. I had attended the shooting contest, and I saw the whole thing clearly.”

“Would you describe what you saw to the jury.”

Connerly turned to face the jury. He had clear blue eyes and a ringing voice. “Ben Driver received the prize and was walking away. Alf DeSpain came out of the crowd and started cursing him and abusing him.”

“Did Mr. Driver respond?”

“No. He turned and tried to walk away, but DeSpain hit him in the face.”

“And what did Ben Driver do?”

“He didn't strike back. He said, ‘I don't want trouble.' But he was knocked to the ground. And then Honey Fears joined in, and the two started beating him. He was pulled to his feet, and he struck out with the rifle in his hand and hit DeSpain.”

“Then my client did not start the argument?”

“He did not.”

“Your witness, Mr. Danvers.”

Danvers was a politician above all things. He knew that most of the men on the jury were Confederate veterans who admired Jack Connerly. He also knew that Jack Connerly was incapable of lying, so he had no choice but to get rid of this witness as quickly as possible. “I have no questions.”

“My next witness is Mr. Sidney Taylor.”

In rapid order Fisher called five men, all men of prominence in the community noted for their honesty. Each had seen the fight clearly, and they reiterated what Jack Connerly had said. When the final man sat down, Fisher said, “I call Charles Giles to the stand.”

A murmur went over the courtroom as Sheriff Giles, his face flushed, made his way to the front. He took his place in the witness box and was sworn in. When he sat down he twisted nervously as Fisher approached him.

“Sheriff, did you witness the fight in which Alf DeSpain alleges he was struck without cause by my client?”

“Well, I didn't exactly see it—”

“You didn't
exactly
see it! How can you not
exactl
y see something? You either saw it or you didn't. Which was it?”

Giles's flush became even more pronounced. “I got there right after it happened.”

“And what did you see?”

“I seen Alf DeSpain on the ground, and Ben Driver with a gun in his hand, so I assumed—”

“You assumed!” Fisher said in disdain. “Did you ask anybody what had happened?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I've known Driver a long time, and he's a bad one.”

“How long have you known him?”

“I knew him before the war.”

“You served in the army, I take it?” Fisher knew very well that the sheriff had escaped active duty by serving as a guard at Andersonville Prison.

“Objection!” Danvers screamed. “That has no bearing.”

“I withdraw the question,” Fisher said. He gave the jury a wry smile. “If a man doesn't want to testify as to whether he served the Confederacy or not, that's his business.” Since he knew that every man in the jury box was well aware of Giles's record, he knew that he had made his point.

“So, you did not see anything, and you did not ask anyone what had happened. You simply arrested a man because he had been in the penitentiary.”

“I guess so.”

“Did you know that Alf DeSpain had been in the penitentiary?”

Giles was trapped. “Well, not exactly.”

“You didn't
exactly
know. Well,
inexactly
what did you know?”

“I heard he had been, but I didn't know it.”

“I see. So two men with records get in a fight, and you just choose one. Is that about the size of it, Sheriff?” He waited as Giles stumbled to come up with an answer. Finally he said, “I think the jury will know how to assess your evidence. Your witness.”

Danvers jumped up and tried to make something more out of Giles's part in the affair, but the more he talked, the worse it got. Finally he sat down sullenly.

“Do you have any more witnesses or any more evidence?” the judge asked.

Colonel Fisher said, “No, Your Honor, the defense rests.”

“Then the jury will retire,” the judge said. He gave them a few instructions. As they trooped out, he got up and left the room.

“What happens now?” Reisa said.

“The jury will talk about the case, and they'll decide whether Ben is innocent or guilty,” Mrs. Driver said.

“How long will it take?”

“There's no way of telling. It could be more than a day, but I don't think so.”

To Reisa's relief, Mrs. Driver was right. In less than ten minutes the jury came trooping in. Many of the spectators, thinking the jury would be out for some time, had gone outside to smoke and to get refreshments, so the courtroom was only two-thirds full when the jury returned.

The judge took his position, and he said, “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

A lanky man with a sunburned face and a pair of steady blue eyes said, “We have, Your Honor.”

“How find you?”

“We find Ben Driver innocent.”

Sam Hall let out a loud screech, and the judge at once said, “Order in this court!” He turned to Ben, who had stood to hear his sentence. “You are found innocent and are released from this court. Court adjourned!”

Reisa found that Marianne's arm had gone around her as the verdict was being rendered, and suddenly she turned and threw her arms around the older woman. They stood there for a moment, and then Reisa whispered, “This is your doing. Thank you! Thank you!”

“I can't go to Ben,” Marianne said. “But you must.”

Reisa hesitated, but as she moved out, Ben saw her. He looked past her and saw his mother, and for one moment their eyes met. He went to her at once and whispered, “Thank you, Mother.”

He embraced her, and she whispered, “God bless you, Ben. But it was Reisa who did it all.”

Reisa was watching this. She saw Ben turn, his eye filled with something she could not quite understand. He came to her and took her hands, and for a moment the two stood there isolated in the busy courtroom. Then he smiled and said, “Well, you've made a habit of saving my life, Reisa. Thanks again.”

Reisa wanted to reach out and touch his face, but she knew she must not. “I'm so glad, Ben—I'm so glad, Ben!”

Twenty-One

F
or the week following the trial, Reisa was aware of a sense of well-being and happiness that seemed to go deep down into her spirit. Perhaps it had been Ben's decision to give her most of the prize money that he had won in the shooting contest. He had come to her the morning after the trial and said briefly, “I don't like to be in anybody's debt, so I'm going to use the money I won to convert that wagon to whatever it is you want for your peddling.”

Reisa had tried to refuse, but he had smiled at her crookedly. “Don't worry about it. I'll get it back. We're going to be partners.”

“Partners!” Reisa had exclaimed. “What do you mean, Ben?”

“I mean that I'm the only one that can fix that wagon up, and I'm the only one who can drive those ornery mules. So we're partners. Right?”

Reisa remembered that time warmly, and all week long remodeling the wagon had been the chief activity around the homestead. Sam and Phineas had thrown themselves into it. Phineas actually helped to do the work, and Sam mostly got in the way and offered a multitude of suggestions.

They worked all day on it, and at night sat around the table drawing up plans for new modifications. It had been a happy time, and Reisa had seen that Ben had somehow been changed by the trial. She suspected that it was the sight of his mother and the love she had shown to him. Whatever it was, he had thrown off the dark spirit that had possessed him and had spoken no more of going to California.

As soon as Reisa awoke on Thursday morning, she shoved Boris aside. Ignoring his protests, she dressed quickly and went at once into the kitchen. The air was fragrant with the odor of bacon, and Reisa wondered what it would be like to eat such good-smelling food.

Phineas looked up and said, “Breakfast is ready. Sit and eat.”

Reisa went to the table where the others were all waiting and patted Dov's shoulder as she sat down beside him. “How are you this morning, Dov?”

“Good. How are you?” Dov said the words carefully, pronouncing each syllable. He was not quick with English, but all four of his companions were coaching him constantly so that he was getting better each day.

As usual, Sam asked Jacob to say the blessing, which he did, and then they all began to eat hungrily. Reisa looked over at Ben and asked, “How much longer will it take to finish the wagon, Ben?”

“Well, the way suggestions have been coming in from all sources”—Ben paused to grin at Phineas and Sam—“I expect in about six months we ought to be almost finished.”

“Oh, Ben, don't be foolish!” Reisa exclaimed. “Really. How long will it be?”

“We're ready for sunup tomorrow, I guess,” Driver remarked, smiling at her enthusiasm.

Reisa clapped her hands in anticipation. “Let's go out and see it one more time.”

“All right,” Driver agreed. He got to his feet and headed to the door, Reisa following him.

As they walked to the wagon, Driver asked, “Do you think your grandfather will be able to make the trip?”

Reisa shook her head sadly. “He wanted to go, but he's not strong enough yet. I'm praying that he'll be able to go with us soon.”

When they reached the wagon she began to go over it. “This little compartment will be just right for jewelry,” she said, opening a hinged door. Ben had found some seasoned walnut and had it planed. She saw again what a good carpenter he was, and exclaimed as she went over all of the compartments. Some were large enough to hold clothes; others were designed just the right height for spices. Along both sides of the wagon there were small modules, and compartments had been fitted together all the way to the top of the sides. The top of the wagon itself had a sort of fence built around it where other boxes or chests could be fitted. At the very back he had fitted in a false rear that would drop and was held into place at waist level by two sturdy cords. There Reisa could lay out her goods on the improvised table for prospective buyers. Also on the back was a single board across the high top of the wagon into which could be inserted brooms or other long articles which would be awkward to carry.

“I'm glad you made it so nice for traveling, Ben,” Reisa said. She was on her knees looking at a small cabinet which would hold their food and cooking supplies. “We can carry all the food we need and the cooking equipment on top, and I can sleep in here. It'll be so nice to have a place to sleep.”

Ben had insisted that Reisa make a mattress for herself, and Phineas had shown himself able in this way. They had fashioned a cotton mattress small enough to pack away in one of the compartments but just right for Reisa. She also had a small pillow and blankets, for the weather was growing cooler.

“It's just wonderful, Ben!” Reisa exclaimed. She got to her feet and came to stand by him. “God is good to give us such a thing.” She turned to look at him, and she said sincerely, “Thank you, Ben.”

He returned her gaze. Something serious in his eye, something hungry and lonely and mysterious, caught at her.

“Why are you looking at me so strangely, Ben?” Reisa asked.

Ben blinked and looked away. “I guess I just always wonder what you'd look like with your hair down. “

Reisa flushed, for he had mentioned this before. “Jewish women don't do that. We always wear kerchiefs in public.”

“Then I guess your husband will be the only man that'll ever see it.”

“I suppose so.” The words disturbed Reisa, as had Driver's intent gaze. Now she nervously moved away, leaving Driver standing there looking after her. She had been aware for some time of his attention to her, and it had troubled her. She tried to put the gaze of that one attentive eye of his out of her mind. She did so by thinking,
We still don't have enough money. I've got to find enough to stock our wagon—especially with gold wedding rings for the women who want them so much.

Aaron Coats had been a banker most of his life. He had started out by sweeping the floors of the bank, and had gradually moved into the position of teller. He had moved rapidly ahead, being interrupted by the war when the banking business had crashed. But since the war he had prospered, not becoming rich but at least becoming comfortable. Now as he sat there looking across at the young woman who had come in, he wished somehow that he could help everyone that came into his office.

The young woman had introduced herself as Reisa Dimitri, and there was something about her accent and her appearance that appealed to Coats. He had seen her at the festival, and remembered how distraught she had been when Ben Driver had been arrested by the sheriff. She wore a scarf and looked very young, but there was something most appealing in the way she had simply asked for a loan. She said, “I do not know how to do this, but my grandfather and I want to expand our business, and I need money.”

Coats listened as she explained their venture with excitement. She told how Ben Driver had fixed the wagon up, and now they were ready to go, except they had no money left for stock. Finally she said, “I do not know about banks and borrowing money. I have never borrowed any, but if you could help us, Mr. Coats, it would be God's blessing.”

Coats was touched by her appeal, but he had no choice. “Miss Dimitri,” he said gently. “You must understand one thing. The money in this bank is not my money. It belongs to the people who deposit their money here. One day”—he smiled encouragingly—“you will be successful, and I trust you will let us handle your funds. If you do, you would want me to lend money only to enterprises that are certain. And your business has not proven itself.”

Coats went on for some time trying to break the news as gently as he could. But after he had finally made it plain that he could not grant the loan, he saw disappointment touch her fine eyes. “I'm so sorry, Miss Dimitri,” he said. “I wish it were different.”

Reisa tried to smile and rose at once. “I understand,” she said quietly. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Coats.”

Coats watched the young woman leave. Suddenly he struck his rosewood desk with a gesture of anger. “Blast it all,” he muttered. “Sometimes I hate being a banker!”

Crushed, Reisa left the bank. She realized that it had been a wild idea, but she had known nothing else to do. Now she would have to go on the first trip without much more stock than she and Dov could have carried in their packs. She had sold her inventory down until there was little left, and she and Jacob had insisted on paying Sam and Phineas something for their room and board, despite their objections. Now as she left the bank and turned down the walk, she was absolutely devoid of ideas.
We'll just have to go with what we have
, she thought.
We'll sell a little, come back and buy a little bit more—but it will take a long time.

“Reisa, how good it is to see you!”

Reisa, who was deep in thought, suddenly looked up and saw Marianne Driver standing in front of her smiling. She was wearing a light brown dress with gold piping along the round neckline, and once again Reisa was struck with what an attractive woman she was. “Hello, Mrs. Driver,” she said. “It's good to see you, too.”

“What are you doing in town? Buying supplies? Did Ben come with you?”

“No. He didn't come this time. He's home putting the finishing touches on our wagon.”

“Walk along with me, and tell me about what you are doing.”

Reisa, willingly enough, fell into step with the woman, and began to outline what she and Jacob hoped to do. She found Marianne Driver an interested listener, and before they had walked a block along the wooden sidewalk, she had told her a great deal of how Ben had thrown his lot in with her. “We're partners, you see. We couldn't have done it at all without Ben. He'll be going with Dov and me on the trip. He's the only one that can handle Samson and Delilah.”

“Samson and Delilah?”

“Oh, they're the mules that Ben bought. Nobody can handle them but him. They're the meanest things you ever saw!”

“Come inside and have a cup of tea. I often stop at the restaurant here. They make excellent tea and usually have good tea cakes.”

The two women turned inside the Elite Cafe. They were greeted by a tall smiling man who nodded. “Good morning, Mrs. Driver. Good to see you.”

“Do you have any of those good tea cakes and some fresh tea, David?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Bring us a platter full and an ocean of tea.”

“Yes, ma'am. Right away.”

The restaurant was pleasant with the hum of quiet talk, for several customers had scattered themselves among the tables that filled the floor. Marianne led Reisa to a table beside the window where they could look out and watch the traffic. “It's such a pleasant place,” Marianne said as they sat down. “Now, go ahead and tell me about your venture.”

Reisa had discovered that talking to this woman was a pleasure, and as she leaned forward, she lost herself telling all the plans that she had. The tea came and the cakes, and Reisa found that they were very good indeed. She ate four of them and drank three cups of tea.

Marianne seemed to get caught up in Reisa's excitement. “So you and Ben and Dov, is it, will be going out selling gold rings to the ex-slaves. I think that's a marvelous idea.”

“Well, that's not quite the way it is, Mrs. Driver.”

“Couldn't you call me Marianne?”

Reisa gave the woman a rather startled look. “Why, yes, ma'am, if you'd like. Anyway, we won't be selling any gold rings—not for a while.”

“Why not?”

“They're very expensive, and we don't even have enough money to stock the usual things: ribbons, thread, spices. We'll just have to go with what little we have and save up.”

Marianne looked down at her teacup, quiet for a moment. Then she lifted her head and looked directly at Reisa. “Would you consider a silent partner, Reisa?”

“A silent partner? What is that?”

“Someone who puts money into a business but doesn't actually take part in it. In other words, I would advance you the money to buy the rings and the supplies. But, of course, I would never see any of them or go on any of the trips. Mercy, wouldn't I be a sight in a peddler's wagon!”