Mittman, Stephanie (47 page)

"He
had a parrot there?" Cabot asked.

"Mm-hmm,"
she agreed. "And we tried to teach it to say something new."

"This
parrot talks?"

"Does
it ever! Ashford said it belonged to a sea captain and had a very salty
mouth."

"Did
you succeed in teaching it to say anything?" Cabot asked.

The
girl nodded. "'See you soon,'" she said.

"And
this was when?" Cabot asked.

"The
night of February eighth. I remember because it took nearly the whole night,
and a woman in my position doesn't forget something like that."

There
were a few guffaws, but they ended abruptly when Ash turned and looked apologetically
at his mother. She shook her head as if it didn't matter in the slightest to
her. Perhaps it didn't, perhaps she knew the truth of it, but it mattered to
him, and he hung his head as Cabot continued.

"Your
Honor, I'd like to introduce Defense Exhibit A at this time, if it please the
court."

Hammerman
nodded and Cabot signaled to the back of the room, where Moss Johnson was
coming through the doors with Liberty perched on his shoulder.

"Oh!
Oh! Oh!" Liberty shouted. Ash slid down in his chair
with
the full
intention of slipping right on through the floor and pulling every piece of the
marquetry wood over him.

"That's
enough of that, Liberty " Cabot said.

"Shut
up, you stupid bird! Awk! Shut up!" Liberty shouted. The crowd behind him
roared their approval of the bird. On Moss's shoulder, Liberty nodded his head
vehemently as if he were taking bows.

"Now,
what was it you taught him to say?" Cabot asked the woman on the stand
when the crowd had quieted enough for him to continue.

"See
you soon," she said, her shoulders up and her back pressed into the chair.

"S-s-see
you s-s-s-soon! Oh! Oh! Oh! He's so big!" the parrot shrieked.

Cabot
put his hand up to his forehead. "Get him out of here, Moss," he
directed.

"S-s-see
you s-soon!" Liberty shouted. "Shut up, you stupid bird!"

It
took several minutes of gavel banging to restore order to Judge Hammerman's
courtroom. Finally the judge looked at the time and simply adjourned court
for
the day, but not before the crowd had subtly shifted into Ash's corner.

***

"Oh,
Charlotte, I wish you'd been there," Kathryn said over dinner. "I'm
quite sure I did him some good, didn't I, Cabot?"

Charlotte
was barely paying attention. She'd spent the day at home with Davis, going over
papers and looking for something to hang her hope on. Maybe she was seeing
things that weren't there, mirages in the distance on a landscape barren of
hope, but she was convinced that Davis knew something about Selma's case. She
wasn't sure what, or how much, he might ever be willing to tell her.

Naturally
she didn't want the boy to implicate his own father, but if he could just point
her in the right direction...

***

"And
then when Liberty started in," Kathryn was saying. "You know, at
first I didn't believe that girl. I mean, I'm fully aware that Ash hasn't led a
monk's existence, but that woman uses kohl on her eyelids, I've no doubt! Then
when the bird—"

"Liberty
was in court?" Charlotte asked. She had tried not to pay attention to
Kathryn's rattling on about Ash's exploits, but this bit of news was impossible
to ignore.

"Oh,
yes," Katherine said. "Cabot had him there to prove that Ash had
visited a friend on the night of the first fire and that the bird had been with
them."

"Really?"
Charlotte asked despite herself. Was that where the bird had learned to shout,
Don't
stop?

"Charlotte,
are you ready for the boy's appeal?" Cabot asked her, steering her
artlessly away from the subject of Ash's liaisons. "I've arranged for a
longer-than-usual luncheon break tomorrow, so that I could actually do the
argument if you want me to."

"What
was the point of all my training, then, if you are going to take my cases? Why
did we do all our hard work? You've given me wings, Cabot. It's time you let me
fly," she said.

He
ran his finger around the rim of his wineglass. "Do you see yourself
caged?"

Her
heart spent ifs nights in a barred cell with the man she loved. She was locked
out of the courtroom. "I'd like to do the argument," she said softly.

"And
so you shall. I'll be in the back of the room if you need me."

"You
have your own case to worry
about. I know you and Ash think that I'm
seeing things that aren't there, but Davis told me today that since the
accident his father has changed. Did you know that Ewing Flannigan was that
mysterious beau of Selma's? And Davis says that there are men at the bar who
are asking about him but he won't go there anymore. Don't you think there's
something
to it?"

Cabot
tipped his wine goblet slightly, watching the deep red liquid coat the glass.

"And
Davis says that his father asks after Eli. Don't you think that's
strange?"

"Well,
he liked
Selma. Selma loved Eli. What's strange about that?"

"Eli
hated him. And with good reason."

"That
doesn't make him a murderer," Cabot said.

"Will
you at least look into it?" Charlotte asked. "I went to the bar
myself today
,
but they wouldn't let me in."

"Women
aren't allowed in those bars," he said, shaking his head at her. "And
for good reason. A lot of drunken men can only
mean trouble. Don't you
have any fears?"

Charlotte
thought about Ash spending the rest of his life in prison, or worse.
She
thought of herself, spending night after night alone in her narrow bed. Lining
up her knife and spoon carefully with the edge of the table, she took a moment
to pull herself together before looking up to meet his eyes.
Had she no
fears?
Fear was her constant companion, her closest ally and her most hated
enemy. It was what she conquered every morning when she opened her eyes, it was
what fueled her energy when she wanted to give up working on Ash's case and
what left her hoping long into the night.

But
was she afraid of the men in McGinty's?

"Do
you want to go there, Cabot, or shall I try again?"

Charlotte
wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and stood up. This one was for all the
marbles, as Ash always put it. She smiled down at Davis and pointed out to him
that Cabot was in the back of the courtroom. Across from her table sat Ewing
Flannigan. Even spiffing up for the occasion, he looked a great deal worse than
he had the last time they had met in court.

"Mrs.
Whittier?" Judge Mallory asked. "It was my understanding that your
husband would be presenting the argument this time."

"Your
Honor," Cabot called from the back of the room, "as you undoubtedly
know, I'm trying a case next door and may be called away at any time. I beg the
court's indulgence and stand ready to answer any questions that may
arise."

Mallory
was clearly not pleased, but he nodded at Charlotte. "You may
proceed."

"First,
I'd like to apologize to the court and to Mr. Flannigan. I made a terrible
mistake at our last hearing and I want to acknowledge it."

She
came out from behind the desk and stood in front of Ewing Flannigan.

"I
made a great many assumptions I had no right to make. Having gotten to know
Davis better over the past few weeks, I want to apologize to you for assuming
that you didn't love or value your son. He couldn't be as wonderful a boy as he
is, as trustworthy, as honest and good natured, if you and his mother hadn't
put in the time that being a good parent takes."

Ewing
Flannigan acknowledged with a nod that they had done their best. She could see
the hurt on his face at just the mention of his wife, and she knew she was on
the right track.

"Times
are tough, Mr. Flannigan, and life can be unfair. Losing someone you love, love
desperately and beyond all reason, as you must have loved your wife, must leave
an emptiness that nothing can fill. I don't blame you for trying to dull the
pain with alcohol. I'm not some zealot who thinks that liquor is the instrument
of the devil or that your indulgence shows a weakness of character. I imagine
that I, too, could be driven to the bottle after a loss such as you have
suffered.

"But
when you are drunk, sir, you hurt the boy you love. And it is the duty of the
court system to protect that child. Indeed, if someone else raised a hand to
your son, you would turn to the courts to see justice done, I'm sure. And the
truth is that you cannot control your anger and your pain when you are
drinking. And further, it is true that you cannot control your drinking.

"And
because you love your son, I'm asking that you voluntarily give him into the
court's care with the stipulation that he come and live with Mr. Whittier. That
sweet child of yours has had to survive the loss of his mother. Don't make him
bear up to the betrayal of his father. If you truly love that boy, Mr.
Flannigan, and I believe you do, it has to be slowly killing you inside to see
him hurt. And to be the one inflicting that pain.

"Being
the one who loves him the most doesn't mean holding on the tightest. It means
wanting what's best for him, not what might be best for you. It means wanting
to see that child be all that he has the potential to become, and as happy as
he has the capacity to be. Can you give him that, Mr. Flannigan? Or can you
offer him work in the canneries ten hours a day when he's lucky, and a beating
every night when he's not?

"If
you love him, Mr. Flannigan, you'll let him go."

She
took her seat without looking at Cabot, and felt Davis's fingers slip into
hers. She squeezed gently and he squeezed back.

"Come
up here, Davis," Judge Mallory ordered, and with a quick look at her first
for permission, Davis slid from behind the table and approached the bench.
Charlotte was struck by how small he seemed in front of the massive judge's
podium. Of course, she wasn't more than an inch taller than him herself.
"How did you get that bruise on your face?"

Davis
turned to look at his father before answering the judge. "Banged into a
door," he said softly.

"A
door, huh?" the judge said. "Come around the side here and raise your
shirt, boy."

Davis
dragged his feet as he made his way around the witness chair and up the two
steps of the judge's dais.

"And
would I ever be seein' the boy again?" Ewing Flannigan asked in the quiet
of the courtroom before Davis had a chance to show the judge the bandages that
held his ribs.

"Dinner
is at three on Sundays," Cabot said from the back of the room. "If
you're sober, you're welcome."

"I'm
going to sign the order, Mr. Flannigan," Judge Mallory said. "Do you
understand that Mr. Whittier will then have custody of Davis Flannigan and will
be responsible for his upbringing and support until he reaches his eighteenth
birthday?"

"He
won't be workin' in the canneries, now, will he?" Flannigan asked Cabot.
"Had a brother that lost his hand there when he was a lad."

"No,
Mr. Flannigan," Cabot agreed, "he will never work in the
canneries."

"And
he's not one for vegetables," Flannigan added.

"He'll
learn," Cabot said softly, allowing Arthur to push him to the front of the
courtroom. "We'll all learn."

"Sign
it," Ewing told the judge, staring at his son while the sound of Mallory's
pen scratching his name onto the order filled the courtroom.

"Just
another minute, Mr. Flannigan," Cabot said as the beaten man turned to
leave the courtroom. "I believe this gentleman has something for
you."

Charlotte
held her breath as the court clerk handed Ewing Flannigan a summons.

"I
believe we're all wanted in courtroom number one," Cabot said, reaching
out for Charlotte's hand. "That was very eloquent, my dear.

"But
never settle for flying, Charlotte, when you may soar."

***

"Defense
calls Ewing Flannigan to the stand," Cabot said. It had taken Cabot a
while, but he'd convinced Ash that she ought to be in the courtroom to see what
all her work had come to. He'd even given in and allowed her to sit at the
table next to him. And so there she was, at the defense table, her leg inches
from Ash's, trying to keep her eyes glued to her husband when what she wanted
more than anything was to drink in the sight of Ash.

As
he swore on the Bible and took his seat in the witness box, Flannigan glared at
Cabot. Behind them Kathryn sat with Davis at her side and she could hear them
whispering.

Cabot
wheeled to a spot near the jury so that they would get a good look at
Flannigan's face as the man answered his questions. "Please understand,
Mr. Flannigan, that you are not on trial here. Would you state your occupation
for the record?"