No Defense (32 page)

I got Glory from the field. I didn’t bother
with grooming her, just put on her bridle and saddle and shortened
the stirrups three holes. I walked her around the course once,
letting her get familiar with it. At the first four-foot fence, she
turned and looked at me, as if she wondered what I thought I was
doing. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t interfere,” I said, stroking
her neck. I hopped on her back.

There are different schools of thought on
jumping. One is that each horse has his own jumping speed and pace,
and the rider should interfere with the horse as little as
possible. The other is that the rider should regulate the horse’s
stride and pace as well as choose the takeoff spot. To do this, the
horse has to be slowed between jumps to a slow canter. Like most
people I’d ridden with, I preferred the first approach. My father
preferred the second.

As we came up on the first jump, Glory
lowered her head, measuring the height and distance of the
obstacle. She shortened her stride as she positioned herself for
takeoff. I leaned forward, pressed my heels down, and held the
reins with my thumb and index finger. Her neck flexed as her front
legs left the ground and her hind legs pushed off, pushing me up
off her back and farther forward. My hands advanced along her neck.
We went over the jump, her head and neck stretching out as her
front legs reached for the landing. On landing, her head raised but
her neck extended even farther, her hind legs touched the ground,
and her front legs started the new stride, a canter to the next
Jump.

My heart raced as we cleared each jump and
cantered to the next. I adapted myself to the rhythm of Glory’s
every movement. At the next-to-the-last jump, the first of the two
four-foot jumps, I looked out and over it, toward Miss Edwina’s
magnolia trees. Looking at an obstacle sometimes causes involuntary
tensing before takeoff, and I couldn’t risk confusing Glory on our
first four-foot jump together. I felt her hind legs extend and her
body reach up and forward. I followed. Together we soared over the
jump. After the last jump, we cantered off into the field, then
returned to take the course several more times. Maybe jumping was
better than falling in love, I thought, especially considering my
recent experiences.

When I got off Glory’s back, my legs were
shaking and my back was sore. Despite predictions of an early fall,
the October evening was warm and muggy. A rainstorm earlier in the
day had lasted just long enough to raise the humidity to
ninety-five percent. My shirt was drenched with sweat. I took off
my hard hat and ran my fingers through my wet, matted hair.

I pulled up the stirrups, loosened the
girth, and walked Glory in the field to cool her off When she
stopped sweating, we went into the barn, where I hung her saddle
and bridle on their pegs. I dried her with one of the old linen
cloths I kept in her tack box, smoothed her coat with the dandy
brush, and combed out her mane and tail with a metal comb.

By the time I finished grooming and feeding
Glory, it was growing dark outside. I left the barn and walked
toward the car. A slight breeze had driven off the clouds and the
humidity. I looked up. The sky was filling rapidly with stars. I
dropped the clothes I’d worn to court and lay down on the grass
where I watched the stars pop out, one after the other, until the
sky was lit from horizon to horizon.

At the house, I took off my boots in the
kitchen and tiptoed into the living room. Jolene was asleep on the
couch. I apologized for my lateness. She was understanding as
always.

I peeked into Jessie’s room. “Mom,” her
sweet voice said. “You still up?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“It’s late,” I said.

“I wanted you to lie down with me,” she
said.

I went in. There was no need to feel my way
in the dark, I’d been in the room so many times. I lay down in bed
next to her. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see
that she had on Eddie’s
Star Wars
T-shirt again.

“Sorry I was so late,” I said.

“Were you at the Steak House?”

“No. I went to ride Glory. I needed some
exercise. What did y’all do?”

“Jolene and I bathed Will and Hank.”

“You’re a big help, to Jolene and me.”

“Then we watched ‘Mork and Mindy’ and ‘One
Day at a Time.’”

Shit. I’d forgotten to tell Jolene not to
let Jessie watch “One Day at a Time.” Lately Jessie had managed to
control her distress about Eddie’s absence by viewing it as
temporary, but whenever she watched “One Day at a Time,” where a
single mother struggled to raise her children alone, she’d worry
anew that her father would never, ever return.

“Do you think Daddy will move back soon?”
she asked.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I
said. “I hope so, but sometimes things don’t work out the way I
want. Not lately, anyway.”

“Daddy came by today,” she said.

“He loves you very much.”

“I know.”

“We all love you,” I said. “Don’t you forget
that.”

We lay there quietly, and in a few minutes
she was asleep. I kissed her cheek and lightly touched her
hair.

The boys were sound asleep in their cribs.
Will lay on his back, his arms and legs wide open, his pacifier
tight in his mouth. Hank was on his side. His right hand gripped a
fuzzy little gray, black, and white whale that Eddie had given
him.

Until midnight, I puttered around the house,
successfully avoiding thinking about what had happened in the
courtroom that day. Once I went to bed and closed my eyes, though,
Jane kept coming back to me: that look of complete betrayal, her
flushed, bloated face, her sobs.

I dreamed about a pretty young woman who had
been poisoned. I didn’t know who the woman was, but hundreds of
people were busy trying to figure out what to do about the
poisoning. One of the men in the dream decided he had to operate.
He put the woman on the dining-room table, where he cut her in half
as if she were an avocado, cleaned her out, and sewed her back up.
“Good as new,” he said. “Otherwise she would rot from the inside
out.” He explained to her and to his assistants that the procedure
had to be concealed at all costs, that no one could ever know. When
the woman on the table sat up, I recognized her: it was me.

Saturday morning I called Jane, anxious to
talk to her about everything that had happened in court.

My mother answered. “Your sister is in the
hospital,” she said, her voice shaking. “She might lose the
baby.”

“Oh, no!” I started to cry.

“It’s not surprising. Her health before what
she was put through yesterday was bad enough.”

“I don’t understand why Jane would take the
stand when she knew she might have to testify about all that other
stuff,” I said.

“She was subpoenaed, LuAnn.”

“I know, but to risk being cross-examined
like that ...”

“She never, ever, thought your father would
do that to her,” Mother interrupted.

“He didn’t do it, Mother. Chip did.”

“You absolutely refuse to see what’s right
in front of your nose,” she said in a weary voice.

“You sound exhausted,” I said.

“I am.”

“I had no idea, Mother. I mean, Jane had a
baby! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We didn’t tell anyone. Even Buck didn’t
know about that baby.”

“Buck! I assumed he knew.”

“Now he does. So does everyone else in the
world.”

“Should I go see Jane?” I asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mother
said. “I’m going over to the hospital in a bit. I’ll be sleeping
over here at Jane’s awhile.”

“You left Daddy?” I asked, astounded that
she would have that much gumption.

“We’ll see,” she said. “Whether I do that or
not, he’ll be very sorry for what he did to Jane. I can promise you
that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I’d never heard
her sound so resolute.

“Just wait,” she said. “Buck’s expecting me
at the hospital now. I need to go.”

“Call me as soon as you know anything about
Jane. Please.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Trial reconvened at nine on Monday morning. I
had faced the full gamut of emotions since the day I saw the FBI
documents at the Steak House. On this last day of the trial, I felt
only sadness and fatigue. No matter what happened, my sister was
lying in a hospital bed fighting to keep her baby, my husband was
living with another woman, my mother had lost all faith in me, and
I could not fathom why my father wouldn’t tell his story. Was
anything worth the price we were all paying?

Judge McNabb entered the courtroom and took
his seat. I turned my attention to the man who held my father’s
fate in his hands.

“Good morning. Our plans have changed for
today, ladies and gentlemen. Last night Mr. Fuller, on behalf of
the State, paid me a visit. He has moved to dismiss the charges
that were brought in the case,” the judge said.

The courtroom erupted. From across the aisle
came shouts of anger. One black man stood up and screamed, “White
mother fucker, you’ll die!” He was wrestled to the floor and out of
the room by two deputies. Some members of the boys’ families cried.
Behind me, a few people clapped, others embraced. Several reporters
ran out of the room. The rest were writing furiously. My father
looked at Chip. Chip looked at my father. Clearly they, like the
rest of us, had no idea what was going on.

The gavel came down several times until
peace was restored. Judge McNabb continued, “I heard the reasons
behind the State’s motion and decided to withhold my decision on
the motion
until
you, the public and the press, and I had a
chance to hear live the testimony I heard in a summary fashion last
night. I think it’s only fair to everyone that the record fully
reflect all the facts relating to this sad episode in our State’s
history. This conclusion has been a long time coming, but I believe
we will finally be able to close the book on the murders of Jimmy
Turnbow and Leon Johnson. Mr. Fuller, you may bring in your
witness.”

Junior met my eyes as he walked past me out
of the courtroom. Seconds later he opened the door to come back in.
All eyes were on him as he held the door for someone. In came a
woman, a breathtakingly beautiful, self-assured woman in her
mid-thirties. She was tall, at least five eleven, with dark brown
hair, light makeup, and a glowing tan. Everything about her hair,
makeup, silk dress, even her shoes and purse made of exotic
leather-subtly announced style, fashion, and money. No one like her
lived anywhere within one hundred miles of Tallagumsa.

“What’s the meaning of this?” my father
shouted. He jumped up. “I will not have this.”

“Mayor Hagerdom, please sit down,” Judge
McNabb said.

Ben caught my eye. “Who is that?” he
mouthed.

I shrugged. I had no idea, although she did
look somewhat familiar. I racked my brain, searching for where I’d
seen her before.

When the woman approached my father he
grabbed her arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

She stood for a minute in front of his
table. The way they looked at each other took my breath away. There
was something deep-seated and strong between them. “Yes, I do,” she
said firmly. “This has gone on too long. Don’t try to stop me,
Newell.”

She turned and walked to the witness stand.
I heard Chip ask my father, “What the fuck is going on?”

“You’ll see,” my father said, shaking his
head in dismay.

“State your name,” the bailiff said to the
woman.

“Elizabeth Ross Kenney,” she said.

She was sworn in and then she sat down.

Junior stood to question her. “What is your
address?” he asked.

“434 Lakeview Drive, Chicago, Illinois.”

“Are you married?”