LaVyrle Spencer: Morning Glory

"So fast?"

"Don’t underestimate that old bird, especially not when he’s got your wife workin’ with him." Hess sauntered away, stopped and grinned back at Will. "There’s a joke goin’ around, only it’s not really a joke at all, it’s-" Hess scratched his head. "Well, you might say it’s a sprinklin’of respect that’s about fifteen years late in comin’. Folks’re sayin’, "Look out, here comes Elly Parker with her honey!’" Turning away, Hess added, "Nobody’s sure if she really gave a quart of it to Judge Murdoch or not, but word’s out he’s the one who married you two and he’s also the one scheduled to preside at your trial." With a last chuckle drifting down the corridor as he opened the far door, Hess added, "I’ll get word to your wife, Parker." Then the far door slammed.

Elly didn’t come back again. But she sent a brand-new Calcutta cloth suit and a striped tie and white shirt with cuff links and Will’s military dress shoes all spit-polished for him to wear the day of his trial. And a note: We’re gonna win Will. Love, Elly.

He dressed early, taking great care with his hair, wishing it were shorter above the ears, returning to the mirror time and again to run his fingertips over his shaved jaw, to tighten the knot in his tie, adjust his cuffs, unbutton and rebutton his jacket. At the thought of seeing her again a wedge of expectation tightened deep within him. He paced, cracked his knuckles, checked his reflection once more. Again he ran his knuckles over the hair above his ears, worried that it didn’t look trim enough-not for a jury, but for her.

Staring at his own eyes, he thought of hers. Hang on, green eyes, don’t give up on me yet. I’m not the horse’s ass I’ve been acting like lately. After we’ve won this thing I’ll show you.

Elly, too, had taken great care dressing. Yellow. It had to be yellow, her color of affirmation. The color of sunlight and freedom. She’d made a tailored suit in gabardine as pale as whipped butter, its shoulders built up, its pocket flaps buttoned down. She, too, returned apprehensively to check her reflection in the mirror: she’d had her hair sheared so that when she appeared in public Will would have no cause to feel ashamed. Staring at her shaped eyebrows and coral lips, she saw a woman as sleek and modish as the pictures on the coffee table at Erma’s Beauty Nook. Just wait, Will, when this is over we’re gonna be the happiest two people on the face of the earth.

Sitting in the courtroom waiting, she kept her eyes fixed on the door by which she knew he’d enter.

When he did their eyes met and their hearts leaped. She had never seen him in a civilian suit before. He looked stunning, his hair combed with hair oil that made it appear darker than usual, his tie crisp, his dark face a sharp contrast to the white shirt collar.

He lifted his eyes as he entered and his collar felt suddenly tight. He knew she’d wear yellow. He knew it! As if to point it out, the nine A.M. sun had seen fit to slash through a high window and fall directly across her. God, how he loved her, wanted to be free for her, with her. As he moved across the varnished floor their gazes remained locked. Her hair, what had she done to her hair? She’d had most of it cut off! It was sheared up high on the neck and above the ears, with a side part and a fluffy top. It brought her cheekbones into prominence in a wholly attractive way. He wanted to go to her, tell her how pretty she looked, thank her for the suit and the note and tell her he loved her, too. But Jimmy Ray Hess was at his side, so he could only walk and gawk. She smiled and discreetly waggled two fingers. The sun seemed to turn its warming rays on him. He felt a great rush much like that he’d experienced in the Augusta train station when he’d seen her approaching through the crowd. He smiled in reply.

The woman to Elly’s left nudged her and leaned over to say something. For the first time he noticed it was Lydia Marsh. And on Elly’s right sat Miss Beasley, stern-faced and sober as ever. Her eyes caught Will’s and he nodded, his heart in his throat.

She gave a barely perceptible nod and a tight moue, releasing him to breathe again.

Friends. True friends. Gratitude swamped him but again he had no way to convey it but to nod to Lydia, too, and cast a last lingering gaze over Elly as he reached the defense table and turned his back on them.

Collins was already there, dressed like a dotty museum curator in crinkled puce wool, smelly yellowed cotton, and a silk tie decorated with…pink flamingos! When the handcuffs were removed, Collins rose and shook Will’s hand.

"Things are looking good. I see you’ve got a cheering section."

"I don’t want my wife on the stand, Collins, remember that."

"Only if necessary, I told you."

"No! They’ll tear her apart. They’ll dredge up all that stuff about her being crazy. You can put me on but not her."

"That won’t be necessary. You’ll see."

"Where were you yesterday? I sent word I wanted to see you."

"Pipe down and have a chair, Parker. I’ve been out saving your hide, chasing down witnesses your wife dug up."

"You mean it’s true? She’s been-"

"All rise, please," the bailiff called dryly. "The Gordon County Court is now in session, the honorable Aldon P. Murdoch presiding."

Will gaped as Murdoch entered, garbed in black, but he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to see Elly’s reaction. Murdoch’s eyes scanned the courtroom, paused on Will and moved on. Though his expression was inscrutable, Will had one thought: by whatever miracle, he’d been delivered into the hands of a fair man. The conviction stemmed from the picture of two little boys in a swivel chair sharing a cigar box of jelly beans.

"All be seated, please," ordered Murdoch.

Seating himself, Will leaned toward Collins and whispered, "She didn’t really bribe him, did she?"

A pair of half-glasses hung on Collins’ porous nose. He peered over them at the papers he was withdrawing from a scuffed briefcase. "Are you kidding? He’s unimpressible. He’d’ve had charges brought against her so fast it would’ve spun her honey."

The trial began.

Opening statements were given by both attorneys. Collins’ was delivered in a slow drawl that gave the impression he hadn’t had enough sleep the previous night.

Solicitor General Edward Slocum’s was delivered with fire and flourish.

He was half Collins’ age and nearly twice his height. In a neat blue serge suit, freshly laundered shirt and crisp tie, he made Bob Collins look dowdy by comparison. With his ringing baritone voice and upright stature, he made Collins look ready for the boneyard. Slocum’s eyes were black, intense, direct, and the wave standing along the top of his dark head gave the appearance of a cocky rooster who dared anyone in his roost to cluck without his approval. Vocally eloquent and physically imposing, Slocum promised, through undisputable evidence, to show the jury beyond a glimmer of a doubt that Will Parker had cold-bloodedly, and with malice aforethought, murdered Lula Peak.

Listening to the two men, Will couldn’t help but think that if he were a member of the jury, he’d believe anything Slocum said and would wonder if the attorney for the defense was as senile as he appeared.

"The prosecution calls Sheriff Reece Goodloe."

While questioning his witness, Slocum stood foursquare to him, often with his feet widespread, knees locked. He knew how to use his eyes, to pierce the witness as if each answer were a fulcrum on which the outcome of the trial hinged, then to pass them over the jury at the appropriate moment to inculcate upon them the most incriminating portions of the testimony.