Дэвид Балдаччи - Wish You Well

Cotton swung back and looked at his witness. “And given time she may very well fully recover.”

“The woman I saw was not likely to recover.”

“Are you a medical doctor expert on stroke victims?” Cotton said in a sharp voice.

“Well, no. But—”

“Then I’d like an instruction from the bench for the jury to disregard that statement.”

Atkins said to the cluster of men, “You are hereby instructed to take no notice whatsoever of Dr. Ross saying that Miss Cardinal would not recover, for he is most assuredly not competent to testify to that.”

Atkins and Ross exchanged glares at the judge’s choice of words, while Cotton put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

Cotton continued. “Dr. Ross, you really can’t tell us that today, or tomorrow, or the next day, Louisa Mae Cardinal won’t be perfectly capable of handling her own affairs, can you?”

“The woman I examined—”

“Please answer the question I asked, sir.”

“No.”

“No, what?” Cotton added pleasantly, “For this fine jury.”

A frustrated Ross crossed his arms. “No, I cannot say for sure that Miss Cardinal will not recover today or tomorrow or the next day.”

Goode heaved himself to his feet. “Your Honor, I see where counsel is going with this and I think I have a resolution. As of right now Dr. Ross’s testimony is that Miss Cardinal is not competent. If she gets better, and we all hope she does, then the court-appointed representative can be dismissed and she can handle her own affairs from then on.”

Cotton said, “By then, she won’t have any land left.”

Goode seized upon this opening. “Well, then Miss Cardinal can surely take comfort in the half a million dollars Southern Valley has offered for her property.”

An enormous gasp went through the crowd at the mention of this ungodly sum. One man almost toppled over the balcony rail before his neighbors pulled him back to safety. Both dirty and clean-faced children looked at one another, eyes popping. And their mothers and fathers were doing the exact same thing. The jurors too looked at one another in clear astonishment. Yet George Davis just sat there staring straight ahead, not one emotion showing on his features.

Goode continued quickly, “As I’m sure others can when the company makes similar offers to them .”

Cotton looked around and decided he would much rather be doing anything other than what he was. He saw both mountain dwellers and townsfolk gaping at him: the one man who stood in the way of their rightful fortune. And yet with all that weighing down upon him, he shook his mind clear and roared, “Judge, he’s just as good as bribed this jury with that statement. I want a mistrial. My client can’t get a fair shake with these people counting Southern Valley dollars.”

Goode smiled at the jury. “I withdraw the statement. Sorry, Mr. Longfellow. No harm intended.”

Atkins leaned back in his chair. “You’re not getting a mistrial, Cotton. Because where else you going to go with this thing? Just about everybody from fifty miles around already’s sitting in this courtroom, and the next nearest bench is a day away by train. And the judge there isn’t nearly as nice as I am.” He turned to the jury. “Now listen here, folks, you’re to ignore Mr. Goode’s statement about the offer to purchase Miss Cardinal’s land. He shouldn’t have said it, and you are to forget it. And I mean what I say!”

Atkins next focused on Goode. “I understand you have a fine reputation, sir, and I’d hate to be the one to taint it. But you pull something like that again, and I got me a nice little jail cell in this building where you’ll be doing your time for contempt, and I might just forget you’re even there. You understand me?”

Goode nodded and said meekly, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Cotton, you have any more questions for Dr. Ross?”

“No, Judge,” Cotton said and dropped into his seat.

Goode put Travis Barnes on the stand, and though he did his best, under Goode’s artful maneuvering, the good doctor’s prognosis for Louisa was rather bleak. Finally, Goode waved a photograph in front of him.

“This is your patient, Louisa Mae Cardinal?”

Barnes looked at the photograph. “Yes.”

“Permission to show the jury.”

“Go on ahead, but be quick about it,” said Atkins.

Goode dropped a copy of the photo in front of Cotton. Cotton didn’t even look at it, but ripped the photograph into two pieces and dropped it in the spittoon next to his table while Goode paraded the original in front of the jurors’ faces. From the clucks and muted comments and shakes of head, the photo had its intended effect. The only one who didn’t look upset was George Davis. He held the photo especially long and seemed to Cotton to have to work awfully hard to hide his delight. The damage done, Goode sat down.

“Travis,” said Cotton, rising and coming to stand next to his friend, “have you ever treated Louisa Cardinal for any ailments before this last one?”

“Yes, I have. A couple of times.”

“Can you tell us about those instances, please.”

“About ten years ago, she was bitten by a rattler. Killed the durn thing herself with a hoe, and then she come down the mountain by horse to see me. Arm swollen to about the size of my leg by that time. She took seriously ill, ran a fever higher’n I’d ever seen. In and out of consciousness for days. But she came out of it, right when we thought she wasn’t going to make it. Fought like a durn mule she did.”

“And the other time?”

“Pneumonia. That winter four years ago when we had more snow than the South Pole. Y’all remember that one?” he asked the folks in the courtroom and they all nodded back at him.

“No way to get up or down the mountain then. It was four days before they got word to me. I got up there and treated her when the storm ended, but she was already past the worst of it all by herself. Would’a killed a young person with medicine, and here she was into her seventies and not a drop of anything except her own will to live. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Cotton went and stood over near the jury. “So, she sounds like a woman of indomitable spirit. A spirit that cannot be conquered.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Goode. “Is that a question, or a divine pronouncement on your part, Mr. Longfellow?”

“I hope both, Mr. Goode.”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” said Barnes, “if I were a betting man, I wouldn’t bet against the woman.”

Cotton looked over at the jury. “Neither would I. No further questions.”

“Mr. Goode, who you calling next?” asked Atkins.

The Commonwealth’s attorney rose and looked around the courtroom. He kept looking and looking until his gaze reached the balcony, moved around its edges, and then came to rest on Lou and Oz. And then finally on Oz alone.

“Young man, why don’t you come on down here and talk to us.”

Cotton was on his feet. “Your Honor, I see no reason—”

“Judge,” broke in Goode, “now, it’s the children that’s going to have the guardian, and thus I think it reasonable to hear from one of them. And for a little fellow he has a mighty fine voice, since everybody in this courtroom has heard it loud and long already.”

There was muted laughter from the crowd, and Atkins absently smacked his gavel while he pondered this request for six rapid beats of Cotton’s heart. “I’m going to allow it. But remember, Goode, he’s just a little boy.”

“Absolutely, Your Honor.”

Lou held Oz’s hand and they slowly walked down the stairs and passed each of the rows, all eyes in the courtroom upon them. Oz put his hand on the Bible and was sworn in as Lou went back to her seat. Oz perched in the chair, looking so small and helpless that Cotton’s heart went out to him, even as Goode moved in.