The Ballad of Frankie Silver (11 page)

This was my one chance to be a spectator in the drama. Henceforth I would be playing a supporting role on stage, prompting the lawyers and keeping track of the progress of the trial. I would be too busy with my duties then to be able to savor the action for its own sake. Only now could I sit among the crowd and observe the faces of the principals in the drama. Only now could I listen to their stories as a mere observer. It was not to be missed.

I arrived early, but already there was a goodly crowd milling around outside. They seemed cheerful enough—not the angry mob that Butler and I had feared only three days before. All I saw in the faces of the men was a happy anticipation of an afternoon’s entertainment. Perhaps it was unfeeling of them to think so lightly of an event that could mean life or death for a fellow human being, but the Stewarts were strangers among us. Also, there could be no real grief over the death of Charlie Silver, for he was not known to anyone in the town. Only the circumstances of his death had acquainted us with him, and the only feelings stirred by his passing were a general regret that a young man had died a terrible death, and a wish that justice should be served on the perpetrators of that foul deed. Life was hard enough for everyone. Death was nothing out of the ordinary. Indeed, it was a regular visitor in every family I knew. There was nothing remarkable about a young man cut down in his prime, as the sorrowful passing of my brother Alfred had taught me not two years ago.

I pushed my way into the courtroom with the general rabble from town and contrived to take a place next to my wife’s kinsman Colonel James Erwin, a tall and powerful man of fifty-six, renowned for his horsemanship. Colonel Erwin, who was himself the county’s clerk of the Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions, was not a lawyer, but he was the squire of lands totaling twenty thousand acres, stretching all the way from the Catawba River. Like me, he was present at the hearing not in his official capacity, but as a pillar of the community taking an interest in all events that touch the welfare of its citizens. The other thing we had in common was the way in which we secured our positions in county government: Colonel Erwin’s father had been the clerk of Pleas and Quarter Sessions for more than a decade, and he had resigned to let his son take over the job. There was talk in the family that the process would be repeated within the next few years, for just last year Colonel Erwin’s son Joseph had graduated from Washington College in Lexington, Virginia, and now he was preparing to become a lawyer.

“Good afternoon, Colonel,” I muttered as I squeezed in beside him. “A grim business, this.”

“Indeed. All Morganton wants a look at the devils who would defile a man’s body after depriving him of his soul.”

The crowd parted a bit to allow the two justices of the peace to take their places on raised chairs at the front of the courtroom. I saw that the two gentlemen presiding were John C. Burgner and Aaron Brittain. Burgner had signed the warrant for the habeas corpus hearing, but Brittain had taken the place of Thomas Hughes, the other signing justice of the peace. The five witnesses were escorted in, and I studied them closely, trying to guess at who they were, for all of them were strangers to our part of the county. There were three men, a somber-looking matron, and a wide-eyed young girl, who looked no more than fifteen. Her hands plucked continually at the folds of her skirt, betraying her nervousness, and she huddled close to the other woman, evidently a relative, nodding solemnly at the other’s urgent whispers—exhortations of courage, I thought, for the girl looked as if she needed encouragement to endure the proceedings. Her eyes were red and swollen. She stole occasional glances at the crush of spectators, which seemed to frighten her so much that I was afraid she would faint before the hearing could even begin. Another maiden who is unused to town ways, I thought. This bedlam was indeed an ordeal for a young girl, especially one who had suffered a shocking bereavement not many days ago.

“That young girl is a sister of the murdered man!” I murmured to Colonel Erwin.

“And the other one—her mother?”

“No. There is little likeness between them. Besides, she has not a sufficient look of grief to be closely involved in the tragedy. She is a neighbor, perhaps, or another kinswoman. We’ll know soon enough, for here comes Gabe Presnell with the prisoners.”

A sudden hush fell over the spectators, and I turned to view the entrance of the principals in the drama. Our local constable Gabriel Presnell had escorted the prisoners on the short walk from the jail, for they were no longer in Constable Baker’s jurisdiction. He herded before him a scrawny, faded woman and a scowling, fair-haired youth shackled together, more for show than security, I thought. They made their way along a path that had opened up on their account, for the crowd shrank back from them, not so much, I thought, from the stink of unwashed confinement, as from the thought of the deed of which they stood accused. The prisoners ignored the silent throng. With their heads high and their backs straight, they made their way to their appointed positions before the judges. There was no hint of madness or craven guilt in their demeanor, and I could tell from the silence that the crowd was puzzled by the forthright look of them. The hostility lessened by degrees.

Another murmur began when Mr. Thomas Wilson strode through the crowd and took his place at the rail beside the prisoners. Wilson is one of the town’s most prominent lawyers, although he has been in Morganton just over a year. He is a former state legislator, and another of my kinsmen by marriage, though he came to it late, as befits a prudent man, I suppose. Thomas Wilson is forty, while his wife Catherine is but twenty-two. She is the first cousin of my Elizabeth, for their mothers are sisters, daughters of the late William Sharpe, an Iredell County patriot and statesman who served in the Continental Congress.

Wilson, in his black suit and silk cravat, made an elegant and poignant contrast to the two shabbily dressed prisoners he represented. Here was the majesty of the law reaching out to the lowest and least of its citizens. He took his place beside them, courteously distant, as if to make it clear that duty alone had placed him in their company. I was glad that Isaiah Stewart had found such distinguished counsel for his wife and children, but I did wonder what town sentiments would be toward the Wilsons at the coming trial, and Wilson’s demeanor suggested that he, too, worried about the unpleasant association. These thoughts reminded me to look for Isaiah Stewart in the crowd, but I could not spot him in the crush of more than a hundred avid spectators.

When the assembly began to close ranks behind the principals, I suddenly realized that something was amiss.

“There are only two of them!” I said, rather louder than I had intended. Fortunately, a rising tide of muttering covered our conversation. “The victim’s widow is not with them,” I told the colonel. “Frankie Silver herself is not present. Can you see beyond the crowd, sir? Is there another constable approaching?”

“None that I can see. Perhaps the widow will wait to take her chances in court.”

I thought about it. “That is certainly possible. This is a hearing to determine if there is enough evidence to keep the prisoners in jail. From what I have heard from Constable Baker, there are witnesses aplenty to see that Mrs. Silver will stay confined until the trial, for she has lied to every one of them in saying that her husband had not returned home when—”

“Yes. I have heard the tales,” said the colonel hastily. “No doubt you are right. Why should she demand evidence of her complicity when half the neighborhood stands ready to condemn her? Her trial is inevitable. What about the others?”

I thought back to Charlie Baker’s recital of the facts of the case. “The others were scarcely mentioned,” I told him. “Perhaps he has left out some details of the events.”

John Burgner called the hearing to order, adding an acerbic warning to the rabble that he would have order and silence in his court, or else he would empty it. He needn’t have worried. When the witnesses began to testify, those eager to listen would enforce the silence.

The first witness called to the stand was Thomas Howell, a kinsman by marriage of the oldest Stewart son, Jackson. I wondered if the family tie was close enough to cause difficulty for the young couple. Howell seemed ill at ease on the stand, but he took his oath in a clear voice and began his testimony without flinching. His story echoed the one I had heard from Charlie Baker: Frankie Silver reports that her man has gone missing, followed by days of searching through forest snowdrifts, only to be summoned to the missing man’s own cabin by Jack Collis.

At the end of Howell’s recital, the defense attorney rose and approached the witness. “Did the Stewarts have anything to say about the disappearance of Charlie Silver?”

“Never saw them,” said Howell. “They didn’t come help us search, that’s certain.”

“But they did not lie to anyone about the whereabouts of Charlie Silver?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And did you see them near the cabin of Charlie and Frankie Silver?”

Tom Howell answered, “I did not.”

William Hutchins, Elendor Silver, and Miss Nancy Wilson said much the same. I missed some of their testimony because it was after Howell’s turn on the stand that I noticed a flash of red among the spectators and turned to see a familiar but formidable lady caped in black. She was thrusting her way forward in order to get a better look at the proceedings, and her expression suggested that if matters were not handled properly, the court would hear about it. I nudged Colonel Erwin.

He looked in the direction I indicated, and groaned. “Damn! Cousin Mary is poking about, is she? Never a moment’s peace, is there?”

“She does take an interest in civic matters,” I said tactfully. I was, after all, a rather new connection to the Erwin clan.

Colonel James Erwin snorted. “Your father-in-law ought to marry her off, Burgess. Preferably to someone heading west.”

I permitted myself a discreet smile. “It would serve the Indians right, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe having a house to run would keep Mary’s nose out of everyone else’s business. She would have made a lawyer for sure, if she hadn’t been born female. Be glad you didn’t marry that one, Burgess!”

Mary Erwin is an elder sister of my Elizabeth, but I can see little resemblance between them. Where Elizabeth is gentle and reticent, Mary is a strong-minded woman with intellectual pretensions and more opinions than God gave Congress. If she was taking an interest in this cause célèbre, then all her connections in the legal profession would be grilled upon the matter at great length, probably at the next dinner party. Heaven help us all—her list of victims included the colonel, Mr. Wilson, and myself. I wondered what Miss Mary made of this case, and from which quarter she planned to stir up trouble.

The young girl was the last witness to be called. There was a murmur of sympathy from the crowd as the slight, fair-haired girl stood up to take the oath.

Thomas Wilson turned to Magistrates Burgner and Brittain. “I consider Miss Margaret Silver the most important of my witnesses, sirs. I would like her to tell her story in her own words, without being interrupted by questions from me. The witness is understandably nervous to be speaking before such a congregation, and I think she will come through it better if she can lose herself in the telling of her testimony.”

The justices of the peace had a brief whispered conference. Then John Burgner said, “We’ll allow it. This is merely a hearing, and we may relax the rules a bit, especially to accommodate a young lady in distress.”

Mr. Wilson turned to the witness and gave her a reassuring smile. “Now, Miss Silver, just a word or two to begin with, so we’ll know where we are. Would you state your age, please?”

“Sixteen.”

“And your relation to the deceased?”

“Sister. Well, half. Half sister, that is, but we didn’t take any notice of that. We were all just family. Our daddy was a widower when he married my mother, Nancy Reed, that was, in October of 1814, when he first came into the Carolina backcountry to settle. Charlie was two years old. That first wife in Maryland, she had died in 1812, giving birth to Charlie. I was born on December 2, 1815.”

Young Margaret seemed to be reciting these facts to herself, for she did not so much as glance at the audience. Wilson must have decided that he had let her ramble enough to put her at ease, for he stopped the flow of family reminiscences. “Now, Miss Margaret, I’d like you to remember the events of just a few short weeks ago, when your big brother Charlie went missing. Can you speak up loud and clear now and tell us exactly what happened?”

The girl took a deep breath and nodded, closing her eyes for a moment to compose herself before relating the difficult tale. Thomas Wilson handed her his linen handkerchief and she wound it around her fingers, tugging and picking at it until I thought it would unravel into threads.

“Tell us about your brother Charlie going missing,” Wilson prompted.

“Reckon it was two days before Christmas when Frankie showed up at our log house with the baby on her hip, and Charlie nowhere to be seen.”

“The day before Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, sir. I wasn’t thinking on it being nearly Christmas Eve at the time, mind you. We don’t make much of Christmas up home, so there was no decorating or presents, no fancy dinner being prepared. Menfolk mostly use it as an excuse to get liquored up. They shoot their guns in the air to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, I reckon.”

There was a ripple of amusement in the audience, but the witness ignored it and plunged ahead into her story. “Us women didn’t pay Christmas much mind, unless there was a church service near enough to go to, so it was just an ordinary day in the dead of winter, but real cold. The ground was hard as slate under drifts of snow, and the Toe River that runs brash past our mountain land was so hard froze that a body could walk on water. It was a day to run for shelter, if you had any call to be out in the elements at all, but I watched her coming, and Frankie Silver was walking slowly down the track in the frozen hillside, in no hurry to reach our place. And she may have been shaking, but we would have blamed that on the cold.”