The Last Confederate (35 page)

“It happened like I said,” Mellon whispered.

Duke had exquisite timing. He always knew the exact second when he had milked the last drop from a hostile witness, never making the mistake of lesser lawyers who kept pounding the witness until he became an object of sympathy.

He said quietly, “I have no further questions.” But as Mellon half rose, Duke said, as if a new thought had hit him, “Oh, just one perhaps. Private Mellon, are you aware of the penalty of the court for perjury—lying under oath?”

“I object!” Abraham leaped to his feet with a scream. “You’ve gone too far this time, Duke! Sir—I demand that remark be stricken from the record!”

Before the colonel could answer, Duke raised his hand and said mildly, “Oh, I withdraw the remark, Captain Abraham—and I certainly trust that the officers of this court will give my remark no heed.”

The officers might not have paid heed, but they all noticed that the words had struck Mellon a hard blow. He gave an agonized look at Abraham, who ignored him, and when dismissed scurried from the room like a sheep-killing dog.

“Do you have other witnesses, Captain Abraham?”

“No, sir.” Abraham took a deep breath and said slowly, “The prosecution rests.”

“Very well. You may make your opening statement, Captain Duke.”

Duke walked back and forth, slowly pointing out the inconsistencies in the testimonies from many witnesses. His phenomenal ability to remember word for word everything that had taken place during the week kept the court spellbound. As he spoke, he had one of those flashes of insight
that came to him sometimes when he was fighting for a client. He had planned to call a long string of witnesses testifying to Thad’s character, including the Winslows—but suddenly he realized that Abraham would only make the point that it was not a question of whether or not Thad Novak was a respectable young man, but whether he deserted and led the enemy to his unit.

Thad is his own best witness,
he thought, and jettisoned his original plan. If he had one ounce of hope that the girl Patience would get back with the Yankee captain, he would not have chanced it; but he knew that he could not hold out for long, and Mellon’s testimony had been Abraham’s best shot.
Got to try it—it’s the boy’s last chance!

When he finished his statement, he caught them all off guard by saying, “I will call only one witness—Thaddeus Novak.”

The officers stared at him, but McClain thought,
Always catches people off guard—like Robert E. Lee!

Thad was sworn in, and for almost an hour Duke skillfully led him to tell his story, including how he came from New York and why. The boy spoke well, he saw, and he let him choose his own words. When Thad related how Toby had saved him from freezing, Duke saw a light of sympathy on the face of Colonel Andrews. Then later Harrison asked, “How much money did you get for joining the army, Thad?”

“A thousand dollars.”

“I see,” Duke replied, then asked mildly, “What did you do with all that money? Put it in the bank?”

“Why, no, sir. I never actually
got
any money.”

“Who did?”

“Well, I guess nobody, sir. Mr. Speers owned Toby—and he needed somebody to go to the army in his boy’s place. So I said I’d do it if he’d give Toby his freedom.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why?” Thad stared at him in surprise. “Toby was my friend,” he answered simply. “He saved my life, like I’ve
already told about, but he helped me in lots of ways. Taught me how to farm and how to fish—everything.”

There was a simple dignity in Thad’s face, and finally he told his version of the escape, adding nothing to it.

“You’ve heard what Private Mellon says, Thad. How do you answer it?”

Thad said evenly, “It’s not true.” He did not protest or argue.

McClain nodded slightly, thinking,
Much better than arguing and probing. We either believe him or not.

Finally Duke turned Thad over to Abraham, and the swarthy lawyer rose. And for the rest of the afternoon he tried to make Thad lose his temper, but by four o’clock, he saw that he was not going to get the job done. He ended his interrogation in frustration: “No more questions.”

“The defense rests,” Duke stated.

“The prosecution has nothing more,” Abraham added.

Colonel Andrews looked around at the other officers and said slowly, “It’s very late. I propose that we adjourn until tomorrow. Would that be acceptable to you gentlemen?” Taking their nods he rose, saying, “This court will reconvene at eight tomorrow morning.”

They’ll talk it over tonight—bring the verdict first thing in the morning,
Duke thought; but as the guard came to escort Thad to his cell, he only voiced, “I’ll stop by for a while tonight. You play chess?”

“No.”

“Good—I hate to lose!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A MINOR MIRACLE

Harrison Duke’s guess that the verdict would come early the next morning was off by four hours. Two of the officers, Major McClain and Major Jason Stillwell, asked for several witnesses to be recalled, and as they repeated their testimonies, Duke thought he understood the reason for the recall. “Those two are trying to find some way to make your case look better,” he whispered to Thad.

But by eleven-thirty, however, the two fell silent, and Colonel Andrews said, “I believe we have no more witnesses. The courtroom will be cleared. You will all be recalled when the decision is reached.”

The next two hours were the longest of Thad’s life as he sat alone in his cell—waiting. He paced the floor the entire time, unable to sit or lie down on his bunk. Finally the guards returned, saying, “It’s time, Thad. Court is ready.”

When he entered the courtroom, everyone else was already in place. Harrison Duke touched Thad’s arm as he came to stand at the table. Colonel Andrews nodded, “You may be seated.” His face was void of all expression as he spoke. “This court has heard a great deal of testimony concerning the actions of the defendant, Private Thaddeus Novak. We hope that we have given every opportunity for a proper defense. . . .”

As he droned on Duke could not look at Thad. Duke knew the signs. A verdict of “not guilty” would not have called for a long preamble such as the colonel was giving.

And he was correct. Colonel Andrews paused, cleared his
throat, and said, “It is the unanimous decision of every man at this table that the defendant, Thaddeus Novak, is—guilty as charged.”

A silence fell on the room, and Captain Aaron Abraham stared at the youthful face of the defendant—and felt a shock of admiration.
By the Lord, the boy didn’t bat an eye!
It was Abraham’s job to prosecute to the best of his ability, but as he had felt on several other occasions, he now experienced a sudden poignant sadness. He discovered, to his surprise, that he had wanted to lose this one—a rare thing indeed for Aaron Abraham!

“The prisoner will rise,” Andrews said quietly. And when Thad rose, with Duke at his side, the colonel declared: “It is the sentence of this court that you will be taken from this place tomorrow morning at ten o’clock and be shot to death.”

The words hung in the air, a palpable presence, and every man felt the chill of them. Every member of the court had seen men die in action. Most of them had ordered troops to their death. But it was one thing to fight in the heat of battle, another thing altogether to take a man out to a wall and shoot him to death as he stood there helplessly.

Andrews announced abruptly, “This court is adjourned!” He rose and left the room quickly without a look at Thad. The others followed, with one exception. Major Jason Stillwell came directly to where Thad stood, and tried to speak. There were tears rising in his eyes, Thad and Duke saw, and he said huskily, “I’m sorry!” Then he wheeled and left the room.

Thad stared straight ahead. He had expected the verdict, but when it came, it was as if everything in the world had jerked to a halt. He had been conscious of the activities in the room, of the officers leaving, and of Stillwell coming to speak to him—but it was as if he were in a huge bottle of some sort, a silent place, and everything else was far off.

Duke stood beside him, feeling worse than he had ever felt in his entire life. Putting his hand on Thad’s arm, he choked, swallowed. “I’m sorry, boy. I—I should have done better!”

Thad turned and said evenly, “No, Captain. You did better than anyone else could have done. Don’t you ever have any regrets about this.”

Then the guard came up quietly and said apologetically, “Time to go, Thad.”

“I’ll be by later, Thad,” Duke promised, and watched while they filed out. Thad had his head high, and his back was straight. “By the good Lord!” Duke groaned, “I hate to lose!”

****

Duke did not come by. Instead, he got drunk. For several hours he tried to screw up his courage so that he could make the visit, but he drank so much in the process that he passed out in a chair in his room.

Sky and Rebekah came at dusk, and they sat beside him silently for several hours. At midnight, Thad broke the silence. “I want you to go now.”

They looked at him, both startled, and Rebekah asked, “Why, Thad?”

“I . . . guess I just want to be alone for a while. And . . . I don’t like to see you tearing yourself apart.”

“Thad!” she cried out, but he shook his head.

“I want to say something, and as soon as I finish—please go. Will you do that?” He waited until they both nodded, then he said quietly, “I hate to die. I’d like to be around to learn more about farming at Belle Maison. But I can’t, so I want to tell you how much I—love you both.” He stumbled over the words, for he had never said them to anyone in his whole life. He had felt love, but things like that were not said in the world in which he grew up. Even as he spoke them out, it seemed to release something inside him, and he took a deep breath and smiled. “I never told anyone that before.”

“Oh, Thad, we love you too—as if you were our own!” Rebekah whispered. Sky found his lips were trembling, so he only nodded, unable to say anything.

“Anyway,” Thad went on, “I want you to know that being
with you and the whole family has been—more wonderful than I could ever put into words. I felt like it was my family, in a way.” He stood up and said, “Tell them all how much I appreciate the way you all took me in—Mark and Tom and Dan. And Belle, too. And . . .” His voice suddenly grew husky, and he could not seem to say the name. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Tell Pet—tell her she’s been more than a best friend. Tell her—I love her!”

He got up and whispered, “Please go now!”

Rebekah threw her arms around him, and he held her as she wept deep sobs that racked her body. Finally he released her, and Sky Winslow, his face contorted, held out his arms and embraced the boy. He whispered, “My boy! My boy! My dear boy!”

Then Thad pulled back. “Goodbye—thank you for everything.”

He turned his back and went to stare out the window into the darkness. He heard the rap on the door, then the sound of it opening and the final slam, but did not move. The lock was thrown noisily into place, and he turned and fell on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, his shoulders heaving.

Much later a guard called out, “Chaplain to see you, Thad.”

“No! I don’t want to see him,” he answered.

“A real hard one, Chaplain,” the guard said. “Most men would be ready to listen to a preacher. Must be a real bad sinner.”

Chaplain Boone stared at the guard wordlessly, shook his head, and took a chair in the hall. He waited until the rosy traces of dawn began to show in the east through the window at the end of the hall—but there was not a single sound from the cell of Thad Novak.

****

The morning guard brought a big breakfast tray, and while the night man was opening the door, he said to the chaplain, “He ready to go, Brother Boone?”

Boone did not answer, and the guard walked in and set the tray down. He looked at Novak, who was standing quietly at the window. Thad was wearing his uniform and did not look around until the guard said, “Nice breakfast for you, Thad.”

Thad turned and gave a brief smile, saying, “I hear eggs are hard to get in Richmond these days, Henry. Guess I better not waste these.”

Henry stood there and watched him sit down and begin to eat. “Let me know if you want more, Thad—and—good luck to you.”

“Thanks, Henry.” Thad looked up and put out his hand. “You’ve treated me real good. Thanks a lot.”

“Why—sure!” The guard swallowed as he took the hand, then turned hastily and left the room. He said to the night man and the chaplain, “He ain’t got no nerves! In there eatin’ like he was going on a vacation.” He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. “Look at that! I’m worse off than he is!”

“Henry, ask if he’ll see me,” the chaplain said urgently.

“Sure, Parson.” Henry threw the bolt, stuck his head in, and said, “Thad, Chaplain Boone—he’d like to see you.”

“Let him come in, Henry.” Thad stood up as Boone came in hurriedly, saying, “Thanks for coming by, Chaplain. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, my boy.” He sat down and found himself speechless. It was a little after eight, and he knew the execution was scheduled for ten. All night long he had prayed for a chance to see Thad, and for wisdom to use the right words to bring him to God. Now he sat there, helplessly unable to say a word.

Thad said, “I know you want me to pray, Chaplain, but I can’t do it.”

“Why not, Thad?”

“I just can’t.” Thad’s dark eyes were large in the thin face, and there was fear in them—but he spoke firmly. “I can’t abide a man who’ll ignore God all his life; then when he’s about to die, he goes running to Him.”

Boone had thought this might be the problem, and he said, “My boy, you’ve not got this thing right. Let me help you.” He began reading scripture, trying to get the young man to see that God was anxious to show mercy. After about ten minutes, they were interrupted by a commotion. Thad rose up and went to stare out the window.

“What’s going on?” Boone asked.

“Don’t know. A crowd of people over at the courthouse. Must be news of the war. Maybe we’ve won at Manassas.” He watched for a time, and finally came and sat down. “Do you think the South will win this war?” he asked.