Maureen McKade (30 page)

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Your Honor,” he said, his voice husky.

Judge Blair nodded. “I see you’re defending your wife. I’d be remiss if I didn’t suggest she get another lawyer.” He turned his shrewd gaze to Kit. “Would you prefer other counsel?”

She shook her head. “I trust my husband implicitly.”

“All right, then let’s get on with it,” the judge said.

The prosecutor and Jake gave their opening statements, then David Preston was called to the stand.

Kit stared at his expression, full of thinly veiled hostility, and she wondered why no one else could see the evil in him. His face was pale, his steps short and deliberate as he held his slinged arm close to his side. He milked his injury for all the sympathy he could get.

Kit locked her fingers together and laid her hands in her lap. Her insides churned with the remembered terror Preston had caused her. Jake’s jaw muscle clenched, but he gave her a reassuring smile before returning his attention to the proceedings.

After Preston was sworn in, the prosecutor began his questioning. “Would you tell us what happened three days ago?”

David Preston grimaced with theatrical flourish. “I rode out to the Cordell ranch to visit Mrs. Cordell. Kit and I were old friends, and I wanted to be sure she was all right with her husband out of town. After I got there, she invited me into the house for a cup of coffee. I accepted her invitation and followed her into the kitchen. There I found out she had more than coffee on her mind. She told me she was unhappy in her marriage to Jake Cordell. She asked me to hold her.”

Kit closed her eyes against his vicious lies.

“Did you?” the prosecutor pressed.

Preston sighed. “Yes. I know it wasn’t proper, but I
thought she only wanted comfort, and we had been friends.”

“She wanted more?”

“I had never believed the rumors about her.”

“What rumors were those?”

“That she gave her favors freely. I believed she was a decent woman despite her choice of clothing.” Preston paused melodramatically. “She wears trousers.”

Jake jumped to his feet. “Objection. What Kit prefers to wear has no bearing on the charge.”

“Sustained,” the judge said.

“So you comforted Mrs. Cordell?” the prosecutor prompted.

“Yes. Then she began to kiss me. I tried to tell her it was wrong, that she was a married woman, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Kit stared at her white knuckles, and her fingernails cut into her palms. She couldn’t look at Jake. Did he think there might be some truth to Preston’s testimony?

“So you tried to dissuade her?”

Preston nodded. “Then she got angry because I wouldn’t do what she wanted me to. At that point I decided I should leave, so I turned around and that’s when she shot me.”

Kit couldn’t hold back her indignant rage any longer. She jumped to her feet. “You’re lying! You were the one who tried to—”

Judge Blair banged his gavel on the table. “Sit down, Mrs. Cordell.”

Jake grabbed her shoulders and leaned close to her. “Kit, do as he says.”

Jake’s voice brought some control back to her outrage. Bile inched up her throat, and she clasped her palm to her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

He turned to Freda, who sat directly behind them. “Take her outside to get some air.”

The petite woman put her arm around Kit’s waist and helped her out of the saloon. Kit made it to the alley before she lost what little was in her stomach. Freda rubbed her back with circular soothing motions, and after a few minutes, Kit wiped her damp brow with her forearm. With some embarrassment, she saw that Patrick had joined them.

She mustered a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. I thought I could handle Preston’s lies.”

“It’s all right, lass,” Patrick said. “I’ll take you back to your cell so you can lie down. Jake’ll be along in a bit. He’s goin’ to cross-examine Preston, then the judge will probably be adjournin’ for lunch.”

With Patrick and Freda flanking her, Kit returned to the jail. She lay on her lumpy cot and closed her eyes.

A little later, Jake joined her in the cell, concern in his rugged face. “How’re you feeling?”

She nodded and sat up. Jake lowered himself to the thin mattress beside her.

“How does it look, Jake?” she asked, unable to hide a tremor in her voice. “And don’t lie to me.”

“Judge Blair has a reputation for being fair.” Jake sighed. “But Preston did a damn good job of making himself look like the injured party.”

“And the bullet wound helped,” Kit added. “What’s going to happen this afternoon?”

“The prosecutor will call in character witnesses for Preston.”

Kit worried her lower lip between her teeth. “The things Preston said about me—I couldn’t bear it if you thought any of it might be true.”

“You know I believe you, Kit.” Jake’s face turned stormy. “Preston’s a lying son-of-a-bitch who’s going to get his due when I get my turn to call witnesses for the defense.”

She looked up, alarmed. “You aren’t going to put Johnny on the stand, are you?”

Jake glanced down at their twined hands. “I don’t know.”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

He captured her with an intense gaze. “Were you telling the judge the truth when you said you trusted me implicitly?”

Kit searched his eyes, finding nothing but concern. With jerky motions, she nodded. “Yes.”

“Then trust me.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and Kit leaned into his embrace, resting her cheek against his suit jacket. His heart pounded with a steady comforting rhythm.

“I want to go home, Jake,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want this nightmare to end.”

“It will, honey, it will,” he said softly.

An hour later, Kit sat in the same chair at the front of the courtroom. For the entire afternoon, she listened to Mayor Walters, Bertie Wellensiek, and others extol the virtues of David Preston until she thought she’d be sick again. When the judge adjourned for the day, she was actually relieved to return to her cell.

She urged Jake to go home, tuck Johnny into bed, and make sure the boy said his prayers.

“He asks God to bring you home every night,” Jake said as he left.

Kit kept her tears at bay until she was certain Jake was gone. Then she buried her face in her hands and allowed the wave of homesickness to overcome her. She missed Johnny so much that she physically ached to hold him. She had promised she’d teach him how to work with the yearlings, and now she might not be able to keep that promise.

Her only consolation was that his father was with him. Two months ago, Kit wouldn’t have believed Jake
would be able to handle fatherhood, but he’d proved her wrong. A powerful bond existed between him and Johnny, a bond that would never be broken.

In the solitude of her cell, she offered a prayer of thanks to God for bringing Jake home and for giving her the courage to reveal the truth. If she was convicted, she’d be comforted by the fact that her son would be loved and protected.

After Johnny had cried himself to sleep, Jake restlessly wandered downstairs. The house seemed lifeless without Kit’s presence, and desolation filled his chest. He wanted her home, lying beside him at night. If it weren’t for those sanctimonious hypocrites Bertie Wellensiek and Mayor Walters, Kit wouldn’t be sitting in a jail cell. For the first time, Jake wished he was more like the fictional hero.
That
Jake Cordell wouldn’t be fretting his defense.

Wandering into the library, Jake sank into the chair behind the desk. Kit’s floral scent drifted around him, deepening his loneliness for her. Hoping to divert his thoughts, he opened the desk drawer to find the box that held his father’s Colt—the gun Johnny had used to shoot Preston.

He reached for the weapon, but his gaze settled on a stack of envelopes tied together by a frayed piece of cloth. Picking up those instead, he held them up to the moonlight streaming in the window behind him. They were addressed to him.

Puzzled, Jake lit a lamp and settled back in his seat. The neat handwriting was obviously a woman’s. It wasn’t Maggie or Kit’s penmanship. What other woman would’ve written him? He glanced at the date on the first envelope: 1870, nearly twenty-five years ago. Unease prickled through him.

His fingers trembling, he plucked the tie from the letters.
He opened the top one and carefully unfolded the brittle yellow parchment. Silently he began to read.

Jake’s throat closed, and moisture filled his eyes. He picked up the next letter and read that. Two hours later, he set the last one down on the desk. He scrubbed his wet face with his palms.

His mother hadn’t abandoned him; she’d loved him all these years, and he hadn’t even known. The last letter was dated six years ago, right before his father had been killed. She had probably continued to write, but the letters had been undeliverable.

He seethed with anger and pain. Why had his father hidden them from him? Perhaps it the same reason Kit hadn’t told him about Johnny. Maybe Jake’s father been afraid he’d lose his son, just as Kit had been fearful he would take Johnny from her.

Judge Blair’s words drifted through his thoughts:
he was mighty proud of you
.

His eyes burned anew. He had believed neither one of his parents had loved him. Now he knew he’d never been without love. He couldn’t blame his father; he was
only doing what he thought best. But could he put twenty-five years of bitterness behind him?

He resolved to write his mother tonight and hoped it wasn’t too late.

But first, he had to give Johnny the choice Jake hadn’t been given: the choice to keep his mother.

Chapter 21

K
it had slept little the night before, and the stench of the courtroom triggered her nausea again. She had eaten little supper and no breakfast, so she was able to hold the sickness at bay. Jake, looking as exhausted as she felt, greeted her with a smile and kiss.

“It’s our turn today,” he said.

Kit tried to muster a measure of confidence, but all emotion seemed to have been drained from her. How could Jake prove her innocence? The only witness was Johnny, and Kit didn’t want the young boy subjected to the probing questions and accusations that might lead to the truth.

As if living someplace between reality and dreams, Kit rose when the judge entered. After four nights in jail and being under the constant scrutiny of narrow-minded townsfolk, she wanted it over.

Jake took hold of her arm and urged her to sit. “Trust me, Kit.”

She blinked, and the fog cleared. Taking a deep steadying breath, she nodded.

After one last concerned look at Kit, Jake called his first witness. “Defense calls Henrietta Jacobs.”

Kit frowned, wondering what Mrs. Jacobs had to do
with Preston’s attack. The mousy, brown-haired woman took the stand. She kept her gaze lowered as if afraid to look anyone in the eye.

“State your name,” Jake said.

“Henrietta Lolita Jacobs.”

“Mrs. Jacobs, do you know the defendant Kit Cordell?” Jake asked in a gentle voice.

She nodded, and smiled shyly at Kit. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl.”

“Has she ever exhibited the type of behavior Mr. Preston accuses her of?”

The woman’s eyes saucered. “Heavens, no. She was such a quiet girl, always fixing up hurt animals and helping folks.”

“Has she ever helped you?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Jacobs finally raised her head and met Jake’s gaze. “When my youngest was sick, Kit came over every day to tend her.” She glanced at the judge. “My husband had died a few months earlier, and I had six other children to care for.”

Jake smiled at the woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“Cross examination?” Judge Blair asked the prosecutor.

He shook his head.

“You may step down,” the judge said.

The woman returned to her seat.

“Next witness.”

“Defense calls Abraham Zoller,” Jake said.

Kit frowned. What was Jake doing?

After the preliminaries, Jake asked. “How do you know the defendant, Mr. Zoller?”

“She come and helped me with my young’uns after my wife died,” the big overalled man said. “If she hadn’t, I woulda lost my farm.”

“How’s that?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to get my crops in.”

“Do you believe Mr. Preston’s claim that Kit Cordell is not a decent woman?”

The prosecutor jumped to his feet. “Objection.”

“Your Honor, he opened this line of questioning by denigrating Mrs. Cordell’s reputation,” Jake argued.

Judge Blair thought for a moment, then nodded. “Overruled. You may continue, Cordell.”

After Zoller’s statement of support, he left the stand. Jake continued to called a parade of witnesses to defend Kit’s character. There was Mr. Brown, whose doctor bill she’d paid; Jenny Darling, whom she’d taken to a nearby town to visit her dying sister; and Joseph Landowers, to whom she’d given food and clothing when his cabin had burned down. Astonished by the number of people who’d come forward to testify on her behalf, Kit wondered how Jake had learned of all of them.

Jake called his next witness. “Defense calls Freda Finster.”

Holding her head up, Freda took the stand and was sworn in.

Jake stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets. “When did you meet Kit Cordell, Mrs. Finster?”

Freda smiled at her. “After my husband died. I was alone and not knowing a soul. Helped me she did, when I had no money or place to go.”

“How did she help you?”

“She helped me buy my house and start a bakery.”

“What did she demand in return?”

Freda shook her head. “Nothing. Out of the kindness of her heart she did it.”

“Would you say that Kit has ever behaved indecently?”

“No.” The single word echoed in the expectant silence. “She is a good woman.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Finster.”

Freda returned to her chair, giving Kit a quick pat on the shoulder as she passed.

Embarrassed and touched by the testimonies, Kit kept her teary gaze on Jake. He winked at her and announced the next person.

“Defense calls the Reverend Wellensiek.”

“You can’t do that,” Bertie said indignantly.

Judge Blair pinned her with a sharp gaze. “And why not?”

Bertie sputtered in protest.

“That’s enough, Englebertina,” the reverend said firmly to his wife.

She stared at him as if he’d never spoken to her in that tone before, and Kit doubted the mild-mannered man ever had.

“How long have you known the defendant, Reverend?” Jake questioned.

“Twenty-three years. Ever since I came to Chaney.”

“Does she attend Sunday services regularly?”

The minister nodded. “More often than most.”

“Do you think she’s capable of the type of behavior Mr. Preston accuses her of?”

“Objection,” the prosecutor spoke up. “The question is subjective.”

Jake arched his dark brow. “On the contrary, the Reverend Wellensiek deals with sinners all the time. I would think he would be an expert at picking one out.”

A few chuckles greeted his words, and Kit found herself admiring Jake’s quick wit.

“Overruled,” the judge decided. “Answer the question, Reverend.”

“Based on my experience, I would have to say Kit Thornton Cordell could not have done what Mr. Preston described.”

Kit wondered if Bertie had fainted yet.

“Thank you, Reverend.” Jake glanced at the opposing
counsellor. “Would you like to cross-examine?”

The prosecutor stood. “Reverend Wellensiek, have you ever been wrong?”

The minister blinked owlishly. “Only God is perfect, but Mrs. Cordell—”

“Thank you, Reverend,” the prosecutor interrupted.

“You may step down, Reverend,” Judge Blair said. He glanced at his pocketwatch. “How many witnesses do you have left, Mr. Cordell?”

Jake grinned. “How many do I need?”

Blair harrumphed. “I believe you’ve made your point.”

“Then I have only one more.”

“In that case, we’ll adjourn for an hour, then come back for the last witness and closing arguments.” Judge Blair pounded his gavel on the table, ending the morning session.

After he left the room, Kit faced Jake. “How did you find out about all of them?”

He shrugged, although a boyish pride lit his handsome face. “Freda told me about most of them, and Patrick and Charlie gave me a few more names. A couple of them had to be persuaded to be witnesses, but most of them wanted to help you.” Jake gazed at her, his eyes quizzical. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turned away. “Tell you what?”

“That you’d put Bertie Wellensiek to shame with all the good deeds you’ve done,” he replied. Gently, Jake captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and raised her head. “I knew you were kind-hearted, but I had no idea how loving and generous. What did I ever do to deserve you, Kit?”

Tears, which lately seemed ready to flow at the drop of a kind word, rolled down her cheeks. “You were just you, Jake. That was more than enough.”

Holding Kit’s hand, Jake walked her back to the police
station. Patrick followed at a discreet distance until Kit and Jake were in the cell. Leaving them alone, the Irishman returned to the office.

“Pretty soon it’ll all be over,” Jake said.

She nodded. “For better or for worse. Even with all the testimonies this morning, it still doesn’t look good, does it?”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if I could poke some real holes into Preston’s story.” He paused. “Johnny is my last witness.”

She didn’t want Johnny on the stand, but a part of her had expected Jake would need his eyewitness testimony. “You can’t let him admit to shooting Preston.”

“It wasn’t my decision.”

“Yes, it is. Johnny’s too young to make that choice.”

Jake grasped her shoulders. “I want our son to grow up with a mother. I gave him the choice I never had.” Time-weary pain shimmered in his eyes. “I found a stack of letters in your desk.”

Kit frowned. “What letters?”

“They were in the same drawer as my father’s gun.”

She nodded, remembering tossing them in there the night of the shooting. “They must’ve been in the gun case. I’d never seen them before.”

Jake swallowed. “They were letters from my mother addressed to me. My father must’ve gotten them and hid them.”

Sympathy tugged at her heart, and she asked softly, “What did they say?”

“You were right, Kit. She never stopped loving me.”

“I’d wondered how she could’ve abandoned her own child.”

“I wrote her a long letter last night I hope she’s still alive to get it.”

“I wonder why your father didn’t just throw the letters away?”

He shrugged. “Maybe deep down he wanted me to have them someday. I know now that he loved me—he just didn’t know how to tell me.”

Kit hugged him. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you and Johnny,” she whispered, in a voice filled with unshed tears.

He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you to say those words again. I love you, Kit.”

In spite of her uncertain future, she savored a peaceful contentment. Even if she had no more time with Jake, she would always remember this moment.

Kit barely picked at her lunch, both fearful and anxious to see her son for the first time in four days. It was longer than they’d ever been apart. Returning to the courtroom, she couldn’t sit still in her chair. She swiveled around, looking for Johnny.

“Freda will bring him in when I call his name,” Jake whispered.

Disappointment welled in Kit. She’d wanted to hug him and talk to him before he got up on the stand. Forcing herself to relax, she eased back in her seat. Judge Blair entered, and Kit stood, then resumed her place.

Jake remained standing, and he unbuttoned his suit coat. “Defense calls Johnny Cordell.”

Her heart hammering in her throat, Kit saw the door at the back open and Johnny entered, holding Freda’s hand. He looked neither right nor left as he walked down the aisle. Kit spied his black-and-blue eye and nearly cried aloud. She looked over at Preston, her hatred so strong she could taste it.

Johnny finally looked around, and his face beamed when he spotted her. He made a move toward her, then he glanced at Jake, who seemed to send him a silent message. Licking his lips, Johnny continued up to the front. He appeared small and vulnerable in the large chair, and Kit ached to reassure him.

“Do you know what we’re here for?” Jake asked his son.

He swung his feet back and forth a few inches above the floor. “Ma’s trial.”

“Do you understand that you have to answer truth-fully, no matter how much it might hurt?”

He bobbed his head up and down.

“Can you tell everyone here your name?”

“Jonathan Jacob Cordell the third,” he replied proudly.

A few gasps and murmurings sounded from the audience. One glare from the judge and the exclamations ceased.

Jake stood close to Johnny. “Can you tell us what happened the day Mr. Preston came to visit?”

“Me and Ma let Jasper go.” He looked at the judge. “Jasper’s a raccoon. He got hurt and we fixed him.”

Blair smiled.

“Go on, Johnny,” Jake urged gently.

“Well, after that, I played with Toby, my dog.”

“Where was your mother?”

“She was on the porch cleaning potatoes and watching us.”

“Is that when Mr. Preston showed up?”

Johnny nodded, squirming on the wide seat. “He and Ma talked for a few minutes and then I guess they went in the house, because when I looked again, they were gone. I stayed outside for a little while, but I got hungry so I went in to find Ma.”

“Was she in the kitchen?”

“No. I yelled, but she didn’t answer, so I went looking for her.” He paused, and swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down.

“Where did you find her?” Jake asked, in a voice so quiet Kit could barely hear it.

“She was in her bedroom, with Mr. Preston.” Johnny
lifted his accusing gaze to the reporter who stared back at him without a hint of emotion. “He was hurting her.”

“How do you know he was hurting her?”

Kit leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table, and pressing her fisted hands against her mouth. She didn’t want him to have to relive the horrible scene. How could Jake make him do this?

Johnny licked his lips nervously. “I opened the door and saw Ma on the floor crying. She told me to go downstairs.”

“Did you?” Jake prompted gently.

“No. Then Mr. Preston grabbed me, and Ma hit him, trying to make him let me go. He got mad at her and pulled her hair.” His eyes filled with tears. “I jumped on him and bit his leg, but he hit me.”

The saloon had grown hushed with expectancy.

“Is that how you got your black eye?”

Johnny nodded, and a tear spilled down his pale cheek. “He was too big. I couldn’t stop him.”

Kit closed her eyes, fighting her own tears.

“So what did you do then?” Jake asked.

Kit’s eyelids flew open, and she leapt to her feet. “Stop it! Leave him alone. He’s only a child.”

Jake laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and gazed at Kit. “I let him make the decision. He wants his mother to come home.”

The raw pain in Jake’s eyes staggered Kit. She stumbled back and sank into her chair. How could she blame him? How could she deny Johnny his decision to protect her, when she’d done the same for him?

“Tell us what happened then, Johnny.”

The boy drew his forearm across his damp face. “Ma told me to run. I went and got my grandpa’s gun from Ma’s desk.”

“Had you ever shot a gun before?”

Johnny shook his head. “Ma didn’t want me to until
I was older. She said guns weren’t toys. That they hurt people.”

“Your mother’s a smart woman,” the judge approved.

“I put some bullets into it and went back to Ma’s room.” He looked at Jake. “I was scared, but you told me to take care of her. I heard her scream and went inside.” Johnny pointed a finger at Preston. “He was on top of her on the bed. She was crying and trying to get away. He had his hands around her neck and her shirt was ripped. I told him to stop, but he just laughed at me.”