Little Sacrifices (30 page)

A middle–aged man stood at the side door, surveying us suspiciously. He put a hand up. ‘You don’t need to be here. Go on over through the other door.’

‘No, sir. We’re with Dora Lee here. She’s to keep an eye on us. My parents said so.’ Dora Lee kept her quiet head lowered.

He let us all in and we hurried along the hallway to the gallery stairs. There was room for maybe fifty people in the hot space. We slid into one of the back rows, well out of sight, I hoped, of the witness stand below.

The courtroom participants were already in place. The defendant fidgeted and pulled his collar while his lawyer addressed him quietly. Mark Seibert was a lot littler in person than the vicious monster I’d imagined. His lawyer was a paunchy man whose wispy follicles stood on end each time the floor fan oscillated in his direction. He didn’t look like much of a success, all rumpled with his shirt buttons straining to contain his belly, but in his case, looks were deceiving. He’d successfully defended quite a few of the city’s fine citizens. Jimmy and his parents sat directly behind them in the front row, his father joking easily with the man beside them. Over at the prosecutor’s table, Harvey looked lonely. He shuffled and reshuffled his papers. Evidently neatness counted. The jury sweated politely in their box, despite the tall fans encouraging the air to stir around them. Three among them were black. Harvey had worked hard to make sure the trial wasn’t over before it started, Duncan told us. He’d used all his challenges for cause to keep the cast iron racists out of the box. The defense must have run out of peremptory challenges before the city’s jury roll ran out of black voters. It seemed in some small way evidence of social progress. It took me a few minutes to locate Ma. She didn’t talk to anyone or even turn her head right or left. Her only ally, besides those of us in the balcony, was sitting in the hall, waiting for the judge to call him to the stand.

We stood up when we were told to and the judge lumbered in, his robes masking a multitude of sins against the dinner table. The trial was only in its second day, and the prosecution called Duncan as its first witness. When the bailiff announced his name, the courtroom doors swung open rather dramatically. My father strode to the witness box and managed to take his oath without sneering at its so–help–you–God ending. He looked easy in the witness chair, and had a smile for everyone. His eyes scanned upward, but settled on Missus Johnson. I saw her gray head nod. Once he focused his attention on Harvey again, I craned my neck for a better look. Harvey asked him a lot of questions, to establish where he was on the night in question and what he was doing there. He spent an awful lot of time on the particulars of the scene. Bit by bit the young lawyer dropped his nervousness like pennies from his pocket.

‘You say the windows were open?’ Harvey asked of the schoolhouse on the night in question.

‘Yes.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes, all of them.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I opened them all myself when I came in.’

The court stenographer tapped my father’s words into history. She never took her eyes from him.

‘What time did you arrive?’ Seven thirty. ‘And was it dark outside at seven thirty?’ Duncan said it was dusk. ‘When the lesson ended, was it dark then?’

‘Yes, it was full dark.’

‘Were there lights on inside?’

‘Gas lamps, yes.’

‘How many lamps were lit?’

‘Six, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘Six.’

‘And the windows were open?’

‘Yes.’

Harvey paused and looked at the jury. ‘It was dark outside. The windows were open and six lanterns illuminated the room. Is that right, Mister Powell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was there any way someone from outside couldn’t have known you all were in there?’

‘Objection, your Honor, calls for speculation.’

‘Sustained.’

Harvey nodded to the judge and smiled. ‘Please tell the court what happened from the time the lesson ended.’

‘Zeppy, that’s Zeppy Harris, finished his reading, and everyone started talking, like you do when class is over.’

‘Were you talking?’

‘No. I was collecting some of the books, straightening up, that sort of thing. We always make sure we leave the place tidy.’

‘Where, precisely, were you in the room when the lesson ended?’

‘At the front, the end farthest from the door. Then I walked around all the desks to collect the books.’

‘And where in the room were you when you heard the shotgun blast?’

‘Objection. The question assumes facts not yet in evidence.’

‘Sustained. Mister Darnell ...’

‘Okay, Mister Powell. Please go on in your own words.’

‘Uh. I was collecting the books. I was near the front of the room, near the blackboard, when I heard a loud bang. I looked over and saw Mister Johnson jerk backwards.’

‘What made him do that?’

‘The gun, the shot did.’

‘How did you know he was shot?’

‘Uh, from the blood that exploded behind him. It hit the board.’ More than one spectator groaned.

‘And then?’

‘The men rushed over to help him. I heard a noise outside, so I ran to the door.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘I saw a dark colored pickup truck driving fast away from the schoolhouse.’

‘Was there anything in particular you noticed about the truck?’

‘It was a flatbed with low sides.’

‘Which direction did it go?’

‘Toward the plantation.’

‘Is that toward the main road?’

‘No, it was away from the highway.’

‘Did you see anyone in the truck?’

 ‘Yes I did. I saw two people.’

‘Are they in the courtroom now?’

‘One of them is.’

‘Will you point him out please?’

Duncan pointed to the defense table. ‘Let the court show that the witness has identified the defendant, Mark Seibert, as one of the people in the pickup truck. Okay, Mister Powell. How far away would you say the truck was when you saw it?’

‘Forty or fifty feet away.’

‘And you said the truck was driving away from the schoolhouse.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,’ he said, looking as clear–headed as could be. ‘How could you have seen the man inside the truck when he was moving away from you?’

‘He wasn’t inside the truck. He was sitting on the windowsill of the passenger side, leaning on the roof.’

‘Sounds like a bumpy ride. He must have been hanging on for dear life.’

‘No, sir. He only held on with one hand. He had one hand flat on the roof of the truck.’

‘One hand?’ He hammed it up for the jury.

‘Yes, sir. He held a gun in the other.’

‘Did you see what kind of gun?’

‘It was a long gun.’

‘A long gun. Not a handgun?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. And which direction was the defendant facing while he was holding on to the roof of the truck that was driving away?’

‘He was facing the schoolhouse, facing me.’

‘And that’s why you saw him clearly.’

The judge held his hand up to the defense’s table. ‘Let me save you the trouble. You haven’t established that the witness saw the defendant clearly, Mister Darnell.’

‘Did you see him clearly, Mister Powell?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I am.’

‘Then what happened?’

Duncan told how the truck drove out of sight, how he got Mister Johnson into our car and drove with him and his son to the colored hospital. The defense didn’t do any more objecting, and Harvey finished with Duncan.

The judge gave everyone fifteen minutes to stretch their legs and give their voice boxes a rest. Movement in the gallery was somewhat more urgent than downstairs. Dora Lee stood up and smoothed her skirt. ‘Now, you two stay right here, you hear me? I’ve got to go down to the restroom, and if I can’t get back in time I will meet you outside near the monument. All right?’

‘Why wouldn’t you get back in time? The bathrooms are right downstairs.’

‘Not for us, they aren’t. They’re in the janitor’s quarters. I’ll see you in a few minutes.’ She hurried off to join the others making their way to the basement.

Missus Johnson didn’t leave her seat, and I went down to say hello. ‘Missus Johnson, how are you? I’m May Powell, Duncan’s daughter. We met one Saturday at the hospital.’

‘Yes, I remember.’ Missus Johnson grasped my hand and held it strong. ‘Your father is a good man, May. A good man. Thank you, and your family, for doing the right thing.’ She gave me a squeeze and let me go, occupying herself once again with the scene downstairs. I settled back next to Jim feeling proud all out of proportion. Dora Lee scooted back into her place just as we all rose to greet the judge again.

It was the prosecution’s turn to spend some time with Duncan.

‘Now, Mister Powell, I want to understand a little bit about you, if you don’t mind.’

Duncan said he didn’t mind at all. ‘Good. Are you and your family natives of Savannah?’

‘No, sir, we aren’t. We come from Massachusetts.’

‘Massachusetts.’ He stopped and looked at the jury as if that fact alone gave sufficient grounds to dismiss Duncan’s testimony. ‘And what did you do in Massachusetts?’

‘Objection. Irrelevant.’

‘Overruled.’

Harvey looked cross, and a little hurt.

‘I was a history professor at Williams College.’

‘That’s a prestigious college, isn’t it? Were you tenured?’

‘Objection, your Honor. Compound question.’

‘Were you a tenured professor at Williams College?’

‘Yes.’

‘When did you leave that position?’

‘A year ago in August, nineteen forty–seven.’

‘Did you leave that job for another position?’

‘Yes, I took the job here at Armstrong.’

‘That’s Armstrong Junior College, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did Williams College give you a reference, Mister Powell, to help you find another job?’

‘No, they didn’t.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Wasn’t it because the dean didn’t trust you?’

‘No.’

‘Because of your history of agitation there?’

The judge broke in. ‘Mister Darnell, are you asleep over there? Isn’t it about time you objected?’

Harvey looked sheepish and made his objection.

Duncan started jiggling his knee. I didn’t know exactly what took place between Williams College’s dean and my father, but he didn’t teach any classes the last semester that we were in Massachusetts. At the time my parents played it down, but over the years I suspected that the two men had come to an arrangement; Duncan would try his best to get to another school and the dean wouldn’t make it too hard to do so.

‘Mister Powell, for how long have you been teaching the men out at the schoolhouse?’ About a year, Duncan said. ‘And has Walter Johnson been in those classes all along?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you say he is a friend of yours?’

‘Yes, I’d say that.’

‘A good friend?’

‘He’s a friend.’

‘Do you consider yourself to be very loyal to your friends?’

‘Yes, I’d say so.’

‘Loyal enough to lie for them?’

‘I don’t lie for anyone.’

‘I’d like to revisit the night of the shooting, if I may. You said you saw the defendant in the truck holding a long gun. Is that right?’

‘No, I said I saw him sitting on the window of the truck holding a long gun.’

‘And that truck was driving away from the schoolhouse. Was it driving fast, would you say?’

‘As fast as it could over those potholes. I’d estimate it was going ten or fifteen miles per hour.’

‘Yet even though the truck was, what did you say, forty or fifty feet from you, driving away fast, you say you saw the defendant clearly?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Mister Powell, how dark was it when you alleged you saw the defendant?’

Duncan hesitated. ‘It was pretty dark.’

‘In fact, you said it was full dark, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t remember my exact words.’

The defense lawyer turned to the stenographer. ‘Can the court please read back the witness’s testimony about how dark it was?’

‘The prosecution asked, “When the lesson ended, was it dark then?” and the witness answered “Yes, it was full dark.”’

‘Thank you. You said it was full dark, Mister Powell. In fact, on the night of September sixth, the sun set at seven forty–three. It had been full dark for forty–five minutes.’

‘There was a moon.’

‘Yes, there was. But it was less than half a moon on that night. Are you telling me that you clearly saw the defendant in a speeding truck, from fifty feet away, in full dark, when the moon was less than half full?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever met the defendant, Mister Powell?’

‘Yes, he’s one of my students.’

‘And isn’t it true that you had a run–in with the defendant in September last year?’

‘I wouldn’t call it a run–in. We, I objected to his views and told him so.’

‘His views on what?’

‘On Negroes.’

‘What did you say to him?’

‘I don’t remember, exactly.’

‘Didn’t you call him a racist and a bigot?’

‘Probably.’

‘And now you are sitting here, a year later, accusing Mister Seibert of shooting a Negro.’

‘Objection. Where’s the question?’

‘Withdrawn. Thank you, Mister Powell.’

‘Counsel, would you like to re–direct?’

‘No, your Honor.’

‘Mister Powell, you may step down.’ Duncan looked relieved to do so.

Harvey called Earl Carron next, the alleged driver of the truck. He sauntered down the aisle, stopping at the defendant’s table to share a smile. The bailiff swore him in, and Harvey concerned himself with Mark and Earl’s friendship. They were lifelong friends Earl said, ever since kindergarten. And they were indeed together on the evening of September sixth.

‘From what time?’ Harvey asked.

‘From what time what?’

‘From what time were you and the defendant together on September sixth.’

‘About six, I’d say.’

‘Until what time?’

‘After eleven.’

‘And where were you and the defendant from six pm until eleven pm?’