Alex Cross's Trial Part 6

I GOT TO MY FEET, a little wobbly in the legs. The dumb-founded faces of my father, Loophole Lewis, and his three murdering clients gave me at least some pleasure.It took my father only a moment to make the calculation: I had the right to speak, and there was nothing he could do about it. He smiled, crossed his arms, and sat back in his chair."I wondered if we were ever going to hear from Counselor Corbett," he said. "Of course, as his father, I have heard a great deal from him over the years, and I look forward to sharing that pleasure with the rest of you."Appreciative laughter rolled through the room. I had no choice but to smile and try for a little joke of my own. "And, of course, as the proud son of my father, I can only say I have done at least as much listening over the years as talking," I said. "I have learned a great deal that way.""Please proceed, Mr. Corbett," my father said, "and let us decide for ourselves if that is true."The audience laughed again. My old dad had definitely won the first round.I wondered what he saw, peering down at me from his bench. Did he see a Harvard Law graduate, a well-known Washington defense lawyer? Did he see a man of pa.s.sion, righteousness, ambition?No. He saw a boy crying when he fell off his rocking horse, a child furiously resisting a spoonful of the hated mashed carrots. He didn't see me. He saw a powerless boy.So I was determined that when I finished speaking, he would see a man; he might even see the real Ben Corbett."Thank you, Your Honor," I said. "I will try not to disappoint you."

Chapter 121.

BENJAMIN E. CORBETT'S SUMMATION to the jury:"Judge Corbett just told you that you have to let the facts speak for themselves. The only problem with that is, facts do not have voices of their own; they can't actually speak. So I'm the one who is standing here to give voice to the facts. That is my job today, and I appreciate your willingness to give me an ear."It's the middle of the night in the Eudora Quarters. Three men ride up to execute a search warrant. It's two o'clock in the morning-hardly the most traditional time to conduct a search of private premises-but that is what these men have decided to do."Ah, but wait. There's a girl in the house, granddaughter of the old dying man. She reads the warrant and accepts it. She doesn't like it, she says, but it's the word of the law, so she will not resist. Come on in, she says. Search our house. Torment us. Question us. Rifle through our belongings. We have committed no crime, there is no actual legal reason for you to want to search here. But she allows it. She opens the door. She lets them in."And yet even her total submission, her complete and immediate cooperation, are not enough for these men. The search warrant was simply a ruse to get in the door. They have not come here to do anything legal."They are here to torture and torment, and to kill, because they think it's their right to kill anyone who gets in their way. To skirt around the law and execute anyone they decide is guilty. To evade juries like the one you gentlemen are sitting on today. They are there to kill the idea of fair trial, a jury of a man's peers. They have come to get their way by using the gun, the knife, the rope. And the terrible rule of the mob."Calmly, meticulously, I began to lead them through the events of that night-the shooting and wounding of the guards at Abraham's house, the death by kicking of Luther Cosgrove, the fatal shooting of Jimmie Cooper up on the roof, the spectacle of poor Abraham with a gun to his head.And finally, I told them about my part in the whole thing: why I'd gone to Abraham's house that night, how I knew the Raiders were coming, what I did and thought and felt at every moment. I explained how lucky Abraham and I had been to avoid being killed and to manage to bring these three Raiders to Phineas Eversman so the law could work as it is supposed to work."Now, Chief Eversman did his duty that night as an officer of the law. Not only that, he stuck his neck out, gentlemen. He did the honest, moral, upright thing-and that's not always easy to do. He arrested these men and charged them, and he saw that they were brought to trial. He may have changed his mind since then about some things, but the fact remains that Chief Eversman knew instinctively that these men had to be stopped."He had no choice. He saw the blood. He smelled it-that's how fresh it was. The blood of their victims was on the defendants' hands when we brought them to him. It was on the toes of their boots."Now you gentlemen are in the same position the chief of police was in that night. You have heard the truth from the people of the Quarters who witnessed these brutal attacks, these murders. You have seen the blood."Let me put it to you frankly: the evidence has not been refuted, because it cannot be refuted."Gentlemen, outside this courthouse, there is a whole nation watching us. Reporters from all over the country have come to Eudora to see if our little town can rise above itself, rise above the customs and prejudices that have held sway down here."But that's not why I want you to deliver the verdict you know to be right: a verdict of guilty on all counts. I don't want you to do it because I think you should rise above your prejudices, whatever they may be. Or because I want you to show the world that Mississippi is not a place where murderers get away with their awful crimes."I don't want you to consider what the outside world thinks. Who cares about them? I want you to think about your own soul, your own self, inside, where you live, when there is no one else around."I hope that you will find these men guilty, because it has been proven beyond any reasonable doubt that they are. The only thing that might prevent your rendering such a verdict is fear-fear that some of your neighbors will think less of you if you send these guilty men, these murderers, to prison. You must conquer that fear. The people of this country are depending on you to prove yourselves worthy of the grave responsibility they have invested in you. Show them that here in Mississippi, the light of justice is still shining."I saw Jonah and L.J. smiling at me. I glanced up to my father. For a moment I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on his face too. Or maybe I just wanted to see it.I turned back to the jury."There's someone who said it better than I ever could. And he said it in the first book of Samuel."I recited from memory. "For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart."Now it was Maxwell Lewis's turn.

Chapter 122.

MAXWELL LEWIS'S SUMMATION to the jury:"Eloquence like young Mr. Corbett's has rarely been heard in any courthouse in our nation," he said.Then he turned to face the judge. "Wouldn't you say that's right, Your Honor?"This time my father withheld his smile. "Let's just get on with it, Counselor."I was anxious to see what tone Lewis would take now. Would he appear as the mighty Darrow? Would he try to play humble country lawyer? Would he be a preacher hurling fire and brimstone, or a kindly old grandpa proffering wise advice?Of course he would be all those things."Gentlemen, I begin with a simple question... Where is the evidence? What the prosecution calls evidence is not what I would call evidence. If it seems to you that Mr. Curtis and Mr. Corbett have paraded the entire population of the Eudora Quarters in front of you, one after the other accusing these citizens of Eudora of murder, rioting in the streets, and general mayhem-well, sir, that's because that is exactly what they've done."But now, when you consider charges of this magnitude and gravity, you must, as Mr. Corbett told you, consider the evidence. The prosecution's evidence, mainly the statements of various witnesses, is like any kind of evidence: it's only as good as the people who give it."And where does this so-called evidence come from? Who are the people giving this testimony? What is the quality of these people that would lead us to believe their testimony? Well, I'll tell you."These allegations come from people who wash your clothes, and chop your weeds, and clean out your barns. They come from the old uncle who sits in front of the store all day, shooting the breeze. From the people who pick cotton all day. This is testimony from people who resent you because you happen to have the blessing and good fortune to be white, and therefore you have more privileges than they have."A dramatic pause. Then he whipped around."And you are being asked to take their word as truth."Why on G.o.d's green earth would anyone suppose that you would take the word of this bunch of worthless rabble-rousers over the word of three gentlemen from Eudora?"I shot a glance at my father, who was watching Lewis with the same contemptuous expression he'd been aiming at me since the trial began.I wanted to shout, "The people who wash your clothes and pick your crops can tell the truth. The truth is not based on how much money you have. It's based on... the truth."Of course, I did not interrupt the summation."Gentlemen," Maxwell Lewis continued. "Be aware. There are forces at work here that would like nothing better than to take away your freedoms, your right to live life the way you have always lived it here. I warn you to do what you must to make sure that does not happen. Gentlemen, be alert. And acquit these three innocent men."I turned to Jonah. He shrugged.Lewis went on in a quiet, humble voice."Gentlemen, I am sorry for the rough times the people in the Quarters have had. But that gives them no license to come here and lie to you. And it gives you no license to ignore the plain facts in front of you."What facts? I thought. Moody's dramatic lie had undercut the entire thrust of the Raiders' argument. They had no facts on their side. Lewis wasn't anything like a great lawyer; he hadn't even bothered to counter that revelation. He was counting on the famous prejudices of white juries to carry the day for him."Mr. Corbett quoted the Good Book to you. He quoted a verse from First Samuel. Well, I too would like to leave you with a phrase from G.o.d's holy word. The book of Exodus."He paused, and then spoke in a clear, loud voice: "Thou... shalt... not... lie!"That was it? That was Lewis's big dramatic finish?I wanted to laugh, and I could swear I saw my father roll his eyes.

Chapter 123.

JUDGE CORBETT'S INSTRUCTIONS to the jury:"All right, that brings the evidentiary phase of this proceeding to a close," said the judge.He rubbed his chin, then adjusted his spectacles. He took a sheet of paper from a folder and placed it in front of him."Gentlemen of the jury, I need not remind you that many people outside Eudora are watching our little town now, because of this case. You have seen the signs of it-the streets of our town are filled with strangers, including, but not limited to, the so-called gentlemen of the press. And I understand that over at the Slide Inn Cafe they keep running out of chocolate pie as fast as they can make it."He paused, waiting for a laugh.It didn't come.The courtroom was too tense for frivolities now.The sight of all those soldiers outside had made everyone nervous."You heard the testimony as it was presented," he said. "And now it is up to you to decide the truth as you see it, using the laws of our great state of Mississippi as your guide."Once you decide this case," he went on, "those reporters will write their stories, and then they'll leave. Once the circus is gone and the streets are quiet again, we folks in Eudora will be left with... each other."I had heard my father give his charge to a jury many times. Usually his words were dry, precise, legalistic. Today, for some reason, he was being unusually lyrical."And what you decide in that jury room will influence... for a very long time... the way we live our lives in this town."Suddenly he seemed to snap out of it. When he spoke again, he was all business."You will adjourn to the jury room now. I'll have the bailiff standing right outside your door, if there's anything you need."The jury members looked at one another, waiting for a signal that Judge Corbett had finished his instructions.But he was not quite done."One other thing, gentlemen.... I know you enjoyed hearing the defense counsel just as much as I did, but I do want to give you my point of view on a matter he chose to address."He claimed to be speaking to the jurors, but his eyes stayed on Maxwell Lewis the whole time."The people who wash your clothes and pick your cotton are every bit as capable of telling the truth as any other kind of people."Lewis's face flushed so red I thought he might explode.But I knew exactly what my father was up to. For the spectators and journalists, some of whom he had allowed into the courtroom to hear the closing arguments, Judge Corbett was showing himself to be a courageous man, boldly making a statement of racial tolerance.I was neither a spectator nor a journalist, however. I wasn't buying his act for a minute. I had sat through fifty-four objections that were overruled fifty-three times. My father had systematically sabotaged the prosecution's chances of getting a fair trial in his court.The judge banged the gavel I had given him. "Gentlemen, kindly repair to the jury room and do your job."

Chapter 124.

I TRIED TO HURRY past the mob of reporters. I was becoming quite adept at avoiding them, but the more skilled ones-the fellows from New York and Washington-were relentless. They pulled at the sleeve of my jacket. Some actually planted themselves in the middle of my path.Finally, I had to push them out of my way. It was the only way to get past these rude and opportunistic fellows."Mr. Corbett, do you think you have a chance?""Jonah, why'd you let a white man give your summation for you?""Mr. Stringer, what's your angle? What's in it for you?"I felt someone push something into my hand and looked down to find a twenty-dollar bill.A reporter I recognized from Washington was grinning at me. "That's for a private interview, and there's more if it's really good!" I wadded the bill and tossed it back at him.I heard Jonah calling to me across the throng: "See you at the War Room, half an hour."The reporters lost interest in me and turned on Jonah. TheWar Room? What War Room? What war? Do you think of this trial as a war? Do you think you will lose?I used this opportunity to escape. I crossed Commerce Street and hurried downtown, to the platform by the nearly deserted depot. One old colored man was attaching a feedbag to a fine brown horse hitched to a flat truck.I found a bench in the shade near the stationmaster's house from which I could survey most of Eudora.The mob was still swirling around the courthouse, a jam of horses and wagons and honking automobiles.Out on the edge of town, on the dirt road leading out to the Quarters, I saw columns of smoke rising into the sky, the camp-fires of Negroes who'd come from all over southern Mississippi to await the verdict. I had ridden through their camp yesterday, smelling the smoke of fatback, hearing the hymns they sang."Sing loud so He can hear you," I said to the distant columns of smoke.This was the first time in weeks I'd been alone, without the trial looming in front of me. It was time I did something I had put off for too long.I took out a sheet of paper, turned the satchel over my lap, and started to write.Dear Meg,I have waited weeks to write this letter.I have waited because I kept hoping that you would reply to my last. I envisioned an envelope with your return address on it. I imagined myself tearing it open to discover that you had changed your mind, that the thought of us living apart was something you had come to believe was a mistake. That you once again believed in the two of us. But that letter never arrived. I am alone, as separated from you and Amelia and Alice as if I were dead-or, perhaps, as if I'd never existed.Meg, much has happened in the time we have spent apart. I have been involved in a highly provocative trial here in Eudora. I'm sure you've read about it in the newspapers. I will not waste time in this letter describing the trial, except to say that as I write to you now, the jury is deliberating the outcome.I know that this might anger you, but I must tell the truth. I am convinced beyond any doubt that I am doing the right thing when I try to use my skills as a lawyer to help those who can't find justice anywhere else.Meg, I know that I alone cannot right the wrongs of this society. But I cannot and will not stop trying. I know you feel that effort takes too much energy and time away from you, our girls, and my love for the three of you.Should you decide to continue our marriage, I promise I shall try to be a better husband and father.But I must also warn you that I will not (and cannot) abandon my ideals. As much as you may long for it, I cannot become just another government lawyer.Please, Meg, give it another chance. We have so much to lose if we abandon each other. We have so much to gain if we try to move forward together.My time here in Eudora is drawing to an end. Soon I will be coming back to Washington, and to you. I know now-I have learned-that Washington is my home. You are my home, Meg. The girls are my home.I pray that when I open that front door, I will hear your sweet voice again, and you will speak to me with love.Till I see you again, I remainYour loving husband,Ben

Chapter 125.

THE JURY HAD A VERDICT.My father banged his gavel furiously, but it did no good. "Quiet!" he bellowed. "I will clear this courtroom!"Spectators pushed this way and that, tripped over one another, stumbling to find seats. My father continued hammering away at his bench. The jurors began to make their way to the jury box, blinking nervously at the uproar their appearance had provoked."I will clear this courtroom!" my father shouted again, but this had no effect at all on the level of noise and excitement in the room."Very well," he said. "Bailiff, get 'em all out of here. Get 'em all out!"Those were the magic words. Instantly the courtroom came to perfect attention. The crowd fell silent, and everyone sank into the nearest available seat."Very well. That's much better," said Judge Corbett. "Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?""Yes, Your Honor, we have."The foreman handed a white slip of paper to the bailiff, who handed it up to my father. Though this took only seconds, it seemed much longer than that. Time was slowing, and my senses were unbearably acute.My father opened the paper and read it with no visible emotion. He raised his head and looked my way, still betraying nothing about the verdict.Then he spoke. "Mr. Foreman, in the matter of the State of Mississippi versus Madden, North, and Stephens, how does the jury find?"In that moment, it seemed to me, all life stopped on this earth. The birds quit chirping. The ceiling fans stopped spinning. The spectators froze in midbreath.The foreman spoke in a surprisingly high-pitched whine."We find the defendants not guilty."As he uttered those impossible words, I was staring at the piggish face of Henry Wadsworth North. The hardest thing of all was seeing the joy that broke out all over his hateful visage.A smattering of cheers went up from the white audience. Reporters rose and sprinted for the doors. A collective groan, and then sobs, arose from the Negroes in the gallery.My father banged his gavel again and again, but no one seemed to care.

Chapter 126.

AFTER THE COURTROOM HAD CLEARED, I sneaked out a side entrance to avoid the crowd of journalists out front, and did what I had done so many times lately. I got my bike and headed for the Eudora Quarters.The first person I saw was the old man in the blue shack who had showed me the way to Abraham's house the first time I came out here."You done your best, Mist' Corbett," he called. "n.o.body coulda done better.""My best wasn't good enough," I called back. "But thank you."He shook his head. I continued down the dirt road.A large brown woman was coming the other way, balancing a wicker basket of damp clothes on her head and carrying another under her arm. She picked up the conversation in midstep: "Aw, now, Mistuh Corbett, that's just the way things goes," she said."But it's not fair," I said.She laughed. "Welcome to my life."There I was, trying to explain the concept of fairness to a woman carrying two huge baskets of other people's washing.At the crossroads in front of Hemple's store, I saw the usual two old men playing checkers. I stopped in front of their cracker barrel. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," I said.One man looked up at me sadly. The other one said, "Well, suh, ain't n.o.body strong enough to beat 'em. And so what they did was, they got off scot-free. Nothin' new 'bout that.""Ben." A soft voice, a hand on my arm. I turned. It was Moody.She was wearing her white jumper again. She even had a little smile on her face."You planning to go door-to-door, explain to everybody in the whole Quarters what happened in the white man's courtroom?" she asked."I would," I said."Don't you worry your purty head about it," she said. "All the explaining in the world won't change a thing." She took me by the elbow, leading me away. The men watched us go."Papaw is worse sick," she said. "I think the excitement of the trial done it. You want to see him? He wants to see you."

Chapter 127.

ABRAHAM LAY in the narrow iron bed in the front parlor, just the way he was lying there the night the White Raiders attacked. His voice was so faint I barely heard him. His lips were cracked and dry. "I imagine you been going around beating yourself up pretty good about this verdict, eh, Ben?" he asked."I thought I could accomplish something," I said. "The country was watching, from the president on down. I thought we could make a little bit of progress.""Who's to say we didn't?" he asked.Moody gently dabbed his forehead with rubbing alcohol, then blew lightly to cool his skin. Every time she touched his face, Abraham's eyes closed in grat.i.tude. I thought he must be seeing clouds, getting ready to dance with the angels."When you get to be as old as me, Ben, you can't help but remember a lot of things. I was thinking about my mama... one time I stole a nickel from her purse. She knew it before she even looked in there, just by peering in my eyes. She said, 'Abraham, I don't know what you guilty of, but you sho' nuff guilty of somethin', so you might as well go on and confess.' I cried for an hour, then I give back that nickel."Moody kept rubbing his face, rhythmically ma.s.saging the skin with her fingers. His eyes closed, then opened. He went on."I was just a young man during the war," he said. "You ever heard that expression, how they say the ground ran red with blood?"I said I had heard it."I saw it with my own eyes," he said. "I saw the ground run red. I was up at Vicksburg, just after the fight. I saw... oh, Lord. Hurts to remember. I saw legs, you know, and arms, and feet, big heaps of 'em outside the hospital tent. All rottin' in the sun."I could see the horror of it all in my mind's eye."But bad as it was," Abraham went on, "that's when things begun to change. A big change at the first, then they took it back. But what happened in that courtroom... that'll change it. You just wait. You'll live to see it."He fell into such a deep silence that I thought he might have fallen asleep. Maybe he was beginning his pa.s.sage into the next world.But he had a few more words to say."Moody said you told the jury a saying from the book of Samuel," he said.I nodded."That's one of my favorite pa.s.sages," he said. "I sure hated to miss you. Would you say it out to me now?""Of course, Abraham," I said.I cleared my throat."For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart."Then Abraham spoke the last words he would ever say to me."You did fine, Ben. You did just fine."

Chapter 128.

"HE'LL SLEEP NOW," Moody said. "Maybe he won't wake up this time."I followed her out to the little front porch. We sat in the chairs where L.J. and I had spent a long hot night waiting for the Raiders to come.The worst heat had finally broken. You couldn't call it a cool day, exactly, but the wet blanket of humidity had lifted."I'm glad I got to talk to him," I said. "His words mean a lot to me."Moody said nothing."I feel terrible about the way the trial turned out," I said.I was hoping, I suppose, that Moody would say something like Abraham had said: that I had done my best and it wasn't my fault.She turned to face me. "I know you're going to think I'm nothin' but a cold, ungrateful girl. But I don't just feel bad-I'm angry. d.a.m.n angry. Oh yeah, you did your best. And Mr. Curtis did his best. And Mr. Stringer spent all that money... but those murderers walked away free.""You're right, Moody," I said. "They did.""Papaw keeps saying it takes a long time for things to change. Well, that's fine for him-he's almost run out of time. I don't want to be old and dying before anything ever starts to get better."I nodded. Then I did something I didn't know I was going to do until I did it.I reached over and took Moody's hand.This time she did not pull away.We said nothing, because finally there was nothing left to say. After a few minutes she leaned her head on my shoulder and began to weep softly.Then she pulled away and sat up. "Listen, Ben, do me a favor. I'm afraid Papaw's going to get bedsores, and Hemple's is all out of wintergreen oil. You reckon you could go into town and bring some?""Gladly," I said. "But only if you go with me. You've been trapped in this house for days.""You are plain crazy, Ben Corbett," she said. "You think the people of this town want to see you and me parading together downtown? You want to get yourself lynched again?""I don't care," I said. "Do you care about what the people of Eudora think?"She pondered that a moment. "No. I s'pose I don't."She wiped her eyes with a corner of the dishtowel. "Oh, h.e.l.l, Ben, what goes on in that crazy brain of yours?"I was wondering the same thing."Will you go with me?" I said. "I need to do something in town."

Chapter 129.

I HELPED MOODY DOWN from the handlebars of the bicycle. She had hollered most of the way into town, threatening bodily harm if I didn't let her down off that contraption this instant! The noise we made was enough to turn heads all the way up Maple Street, onto Commerce Street, and into the center of town.Eudora had just begun to settle down again. The last of the photographers and reporters had gone away on the one o'clock train.I heard the rhythmic clang of iron from the blacksmith shop, and the pop-pop report of a motorcar doing a circuit around the courthouse square.A few hours ago the eyes of the nation were upon Eudora. Now it was just another sleepy little southern town, happy to go back to living in the past, looking toward the future with nothing but suspicion and fear."Shall we?" I asked Moody."You're gonna start a riot," she said. "You know that, don't you?"I clasped her hand tightly in mine. Then we began to walk down the sidewalk of the busiest street in Eudora.To anyone who didn't know us, we would seem like lovers out for a romantic stroll on a late-summer afternoon.But of course there was a complication: I was white, Moody was black. My hair was blond and straight, hers was black and tightly curled.The citizens of Eudora had never seen anything like the two of us.They stopped in their tracks. Some got down off the sidewalk to put some distance between us. Others groaned or cried out, as if the sight of us caused them physical pain.Corinna Cutler and Edwina Booth came out of Miss Ida's store, a couple of plump old hens cackling to each other-until they laid eyes on our joined hands.Both their jaws dropped."Afternoon, Miz Cutler," I said. "Afternoon, Miz Booth."Their faces darkened and they hurried away.Ezra Newcomb saw us through the window of his barber-shop. He abandoned his lathered-up customer in the chair and stalked to the door. "Ben Corbett," he shouted, "I oughta take this razor to your d.a.m.n throat!"I relinquished Moody's hand and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. "Nice to see you too, Ezra."Word of our coming spread down the street before us. About half the town stepped out onto the sidewalk to see what was causing the commotion.At the drugstore I held the door for Moody.Doc Conover stared down at us from his pharmacist's bench at the rear. "What do you want, Corbett?""A bottle of wintergreen oil, please," I said."We're fresh out," he said."Aw now, come on, Doc," I said. "It's for Abraham Cross. He's dying, and it would bring him relief. You've known Abraham all your life.""I told you we're out," he said. "Now clear out of here.""There it is, up there next to the camphor." I pointed to the row of bottles on the shelf above his head."You callin' me a liar?" said Conover. "Take off, or I'll have the police throw you out of here."Moody pulled at my sleeve. "Let's go," she said.I followed her toward the front door.There was a crowd waiting outside to point and jeer at us. We turned left and headed down the block. "Let's go to the Slide Inn and have some iced tea," I said."I can't go in there," she said."Sure you can. Who's going to stop you?""Get out of here, n.i.g.g.e.r-lover!" called a man in the crowd.We came to Jenkins' Mercantile, pa.s.sing the bench where Henry North and Marcus had carried my mother after she had had her stroke.We walked the rest of the way to the Slide Inn, trailing our little mob of catcalling spectators.Lunch service was over. There were only three customers in the cafe-two young ladies sipping coffee and an old woman chewing on a cheese sandwich.I'd hoped Miss f.a.n.n.y was on duty today, but it was another waitress who approached us. "Can'tcha read?" she said, poking her thumb at a brand-new sign posted above the cash register:WHITES ONLY"I'm white," I said.Without a pause the waitress said, "You got a n.i.g.g.e.r with you. Now go on, get outta here.""Where's Miss f.a.n.n.y?" I said."She don't work here no more," the woman said. " 'Cause of you."We turned to the door. I felt something hit my sleeve and I glanced down. It was a gob of spit, mixed with what looked like cheese. It could only have come from the little old lady.When we stepped out the door our audience had swelled to a couple of dozen angry people.They gawked at us. They yelled. They mocked."Kiss me," I whispered to Moody.She looked up at me as if I were insane, but she didn't say no.I leaned down and brought my lips to hers.A cry of pain ran through the crowd.A woman's voice: "Look, he got what he wanted-a n.i.g.g.e.r girl to take to his bed."A man's voice from behind me shouted, "Y'all goin' to h.e.l.l and burn for all time!""n.i.g.g.e.rs! You're both n.i.g.g.e.rs!""You make me sick in my gut!""Get out of here! Just get out!"I whispered, "You ready to run?"Moody nodded.And we ran, and ran, and ran.

Chapter 130.

WE WERE HALFWAY to the Quarters before the most persistent of our pursuers gave up. We stopped to catch our breath, but I kept an eye out, in case anyone was still following.As it dawned on me what we had done, I realized that I was-well, I was delighted. Who would have thought two people holding hands could make so many wrong-minded people so very unhappy? We had put the citizens of Eudora in an uproar, and that realization warmed my heart.I had abandoned my bicycle downtown. Maybe the mob had strung it up in a noose by now.As Moody and I walked the muddy boards that pa.s.sed for a sidewalk, folks began coming out of their houses to have a look at us. As fast as we'd run, news of our public display seemed to have preceded us."Y'all d.a.m.n crazy," said one old lady."Naw, they in love," said a young man beside her."Well, h.e.l.l, if that ain't crazy, I don't know what is!""No, ma'am," I said. "We're not crazy and we're not in love, either.""You just tryin' to cause trouble then, white boy?" she demanded."All I did was kiss her," I explained. "But we did cause some trouble."The old lady thought about it a moment, then she cracked a smile.It was like a photographic negative of our march through Eudora. By the time we got to the crossroads by Hemple's store, we had a crowd of spectators tagging along with us.One of the old men looked up from his checkerboard, his face grim. "Now see what you done," he said to me. "You done kicked over the anthill for sure. They comin' down here tonight, and they gonna lynch you up somethin' fierce. And some of us, besides.""Then we'd better get ready for them," Moody said."Ready?" said the other checkers player. "What you mean ready, girl? You mean we best say our prayers. Best go make the pine box ourselves.""You got a gun for shootin' squirrel, don't you?" said Moody. "You got a knife to skin it with, don't you?"The old man nodded. "Well, sho', but what does that-""They can't beat all of us," Moody said. "Not if we're ready for them."The people around us were murmuring to one another. Moody's words had started a brushfire among them. "Let 'em come!" cried a young man. "Let 'em come on!"Moody looked at me with soulful eyes. And then she did something I will never forget. I will carry it with me my whole life, the way I have carried Marcus's kindness to Mama.She took my hand in hers again. Not for show, because she wanted to. We walked hand in hand to Abraham's house.

Chapter 131.

I THOUGHT I would be standing guard alone on the porch that evening, but at midnight Moody appeared-wearing a clean white jumper, of course."I couldn't sleep, thinking how you hadn't had nothing to eat the whole day long." She set before me a plate of b.u.t.ter beans, field peas, and shortening bread.The minute I smelled it, I was starving. "Thank you kindly," I said."You're welcome kindly," she said, easing down to the chair beside me.I dove in. "There was this old colored lady who raised me," I said, "and she always sang, 'Mammy's little baby loves short'nin'-' ""Hush up, fool!" Moody said.I held up both hands in surrender. "All right, all right," I said, laughing."You can't help it, I reckon," she said, shaking her head. "No matter how hard you try, you are always gonna be a white man, the whole rest of your life.""I expect I am," I said, taking a bite of bread.We watched the moon rising over the swamp from Abraham's front porch. We heard the gank, gank of the bullfrogs and the occasional soft call of a mourning dove staying up late.We sat in silence for a while. Then Moody spoke."You think they coming tonight?"I sighed. "You know they'll want to teach us a lesson."We heard a groan from inside. Moody leaped up and I followed her into the parlor.Cousin Ricky was there, at Abraham's bedside, reading from the open Bible on his lap. Abraham looked too peaceful to have given out that groan just a moment before."You are the light of the world," Ricky read. "A city set on a hill cannot be hid."We crept back out to the porch. After a time Moody said, "You made Papaw's last summer a good one.""He's one of the finest men I've met," I said. "Of course, you know that."She touched the back of my hand. It crossed my mind that we might kiss each other now. Also it crossed my mind that we might not.I'll never know what could have been.Suddenly there was a gunshot, then another, the clatter of hoofbeats, lots of horses.We stood up, unable to see the men yet, but we could hear their voices in the darkness. We hurried inside before they could drop us where we stood."There they go, Sammy," a man yelled. "n.i.g.g.e.r-lovin' Yankee and his n.i.g.g.e.r wh.o.r.e."It was unfolding just like the first White Raiders attack: gunfire everywhere, men jockeying their horses into position in the dark, the hatred in their voices.This time though, there was a difference.The Eudora Quarters was ready-at least I hoped so.

Chapter 132.

THERE HAD NEVER BEEN A FIGHT like this one in the state of Mississippi, and maybe anywhere else in this country. One way or the other, we were about to make some history.The Raiders must have thought we were too stupid to know what was going to happen or too scared to defend ourselves. It never occurred to them that Moody and my little stroll down the sidewalk might have been deliberate, a provocation, and that they were riding into a trap.There were nine of them this time. That's how confident they were that we wouldn't resist. What arrogance-to come into the Quarters with this pack of their friends, nine of them among hundreds of Negroes."Ricky, go around!" Moody yelled through the window. "We'll meet you on the other side!""You stay here," I told her. "Your job is to guard Abraham." She started to argue but gave up when I placed a snap-load pistol in her hand.I stuck a loaded pistol in each of my trousers pockets, lifted the shotgun, and swung around just in time to stop three men dead in their tracks at the door.I recognized them at once. There was Roy, who'd been shot in the arm in the first White Raiders attack, and Leander Purneau from the cotton gin. Best of all was the fat redheaded man in the middle, the surprised-looking fellow at whose nose both barrels of my shotgun now pointed. This was none other than Henry Wadsworth North, former defendant, murderer.In my mind I squeezed the trigger and watched his limited supply of brains spatter all over the screen door behind him. I felt a jolt of pleasure at the prospect of being the one to end Henry North's life.But I couldn't shoot the man like this. It just wasn't in me.His mouth twisted up into a smile. "What you gonna do, Corbett, have me arrested again?"From out of nowhere he brought up a small pistol.My finger tightened on the trigger. "Drop it or I'll blow your head off," I said. "Do not doubt me for a second! I want to shoot you!"He let the pistol drop to the floor. All at once hands seized him and dragged him over backwards-Here they were, the people of the Quarters, bearing guns and knives, pitchforks and sharpened sticks, clublike lengths of straight iron. A dozen men swarmed in from the porch, seizing the Raiders and dragging them outside.Gunfire echoed, and I heard more horses-a second wave of Raiders. But here came our reinforcements too, pouring out of nearly every door in the Quarters, bearing weapons or no weapons at all, swarming down the street and around Abraham's house. They dragged Raiders down off their horses and set upon them with clubs, rocks, and farm implements.Every blow they struck was violent payback for a lynching, a hanging, a beating, a murder. I heard the thud of club against flesh, the crack of rock striking bone. Terrible cries erupted as the colored men overwhelmed the Raiders, avenging the lynchings of their brothers, the oppression and torture and murder of fathers and friends.I saw Doc Conover swinging a long rifle like a club at a woman who was down on her knees, covering her head with both arms. Then I saw a man knock Conover senseless with a fireplace poker to his skull.Lyman Tripp, the undertaker, was on the ground, surrounded by men kicking him in the ribs. I remembered how happy he had been to hang a Jew, so I didn't feel sorry for him. Not for any of them.But then, over the racket of punches and shouts, I heard more horses approaching. There were many horses, bearing reinforcements for the other side.

Chapter 133.

"CORBETT!" A MAN SHOUTED at the top of his lungs.I stepped out onto the porch to see none other than Phineas Eversman on a fine black mare, wearing his black cowboy hat with the badge pinned to the brim. "You are under arrest," he said, "and that n.i.g.g.e.r girlfriend of yours."The fight was swirling all around us, defenders chasing and shouting, new waves of attackers coming in from the woods. It seemed unbelievable that Eversman would be trying to make an arrest in such a setting.I trained my shotgun on his chest. "Get your a.s.s down off that horse, Phineas.""You put your gun down, Ben," said a voice behind me.I turned to find a revived Doc Conover with a nasty twelve-gauge shotgun leveled at me."Hey, Ben," Doc said. "I meant to bring your oil of winter-green, but I forgot." He chuckled.A shot rang out and the gun flew from his hands. Conover screamed and grabbed his elbow. Ricky ran up and scrambled after his gun.I glanced around to see who had fired the shot. Good G.o.d!-It was ancient Aunt Henry in the doorway of Abraham's shack, blowing smoke from the long barrel of a Colt revolver. She nodded at me and went back inside.I heard a loud crack and turned to find Eversman down off his horse with a big bullwhip in his hand, a whip straight out of Uncle Tom's Cabin. It had a black leather-wrapped stick for a handle and three little stinger-tips at the end of the whipcord. Eversman cracked it again, with a report louder than a pistol shot.His arm swept around, and the whip shot out and wrapped around my ankles with a sting as fierce as yellowjackets. It s.n.a.t.c.hed me off my feet, and I landed hard on my back in the dirt. I felt blood running down where the whip was cutting into flesh and then Eversman was on me, hitting with both fists at once. But I was stronger, and angrier too. I managed to roll over and fling him on his back. Seizing the slack end of the whip, I wrapped it around his neck so tight that with one hard tug I could break his windpipe. He gurgled and coughed like the two men I had seen lynched-like the sound I must have made when they lynched me.Eversman's eyes bugged out horribly. The leather cord bit into his neck, making a deep red indentation.And then...I let go of him. He would kill me if he could, but I couldn't kill him.He fell into the mud. Somehow I had opened a big cut on his cheek just above his mouth. Blood oozed out. I began unwinding the whipcord from my ankles.I stood over him, breathing hard. "You've cut your face, Phineas. Ask Doc if he's got any wintergreen for that."

Chapter 134.

IN THE BACKYARD I FOUND the old checker players from Hemple's store tying up Byram Chaney, the retired teacher in whose wagon I'd been taken to the Klan rally. That rally and the lynching that followed seemed to have taken place a hundred years ago.I heard an odd glunking sound behind me and turned to see two men with kerosene cans working their way along the side of Abraham's house, splashing fuel on the foundation.The one nearest me was the renowned legislator Senator Richard Nottingham, Elizabeth's husband. The military jacket he wore for this night's action was too small for him; the fabric gaped open around the b.u.t.tons."Bring a match to that fuel," I called out, "and I'll shoot you dead. Be my pleasure."The other man was bent over, facing away from me. He whirled and pulled a handgun. To my horror, it was Jacob Gill."Drop your gun, Ben," he said. "I would shoot you dead too."Around us swirled a madness of yelling, fighting, and dust, screaming, cursing, and gunfire. Yet at that moment it felt as if Jacob and I were facing off all alone in the middle of a giant, empty room."Why, Ben?" he croaked. "Why'd you have to come back and ruin our nice little town?"

Chapter 135.

JACOB JUST KEPT walking toward me.Finally, my face hovered inches from his, so close I could smell whiskey and bacon grease on his breath. His face was covered with stubble, the skin on his nose peppered with gin blossoms.I lashed out and grabbed his gun hand and twisted it hard until the weapon dropped. Jacob had always been smaller, but he could whip me at least half the time when we were boys. He was wiry and strong, and not afraid to fight dirty. I remembered the venom he could turn on our enemies when we got together in a schoolyard sc.r.a.p."G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Ben!" he yelled. Then I saw he had a knife. I took his arm and held it with all my strength. It felt as if we stayed that way for hours, grappling, neither of us gaining an advantage, the razor edge suspended between us. My arms ached.I looked Jacob in the eye. "Jacob!" I yelled at him. "It's me, G.o.dd.a.m.n it! It's Ben!"But his eyes were bulging with rage, one hand now gripping my throat, the other inching closer with the blade. If he killed me here, amid all this noise and insanity, no one would ever know it was Jacob who'd done the deed. I would just be Ben Corbett, another victim in another senseless attack in a small town.And then I knew that was not how it was going to happen. I was not going to die here, at the hand of Jacob Gill. That knowledge gave me strength, just enough to jerk his arm sideways and break his hold on the knife.I kicked Jacob hard and wrenched the knife away. I got on him, kneeling on his chest with the blade an inch from his neck. I could have slit his throat right then, but instead I poked the knife into his Adam's apple, hard enough to draw blood. Jacob's eyes widened. G.o.d, I knew those eyes."You gonna kill me, Ben?" he said.I flung the knife away and heard it crash into the bushes beside the smokehouse. Then I got up. There were no words for this. So I turned and walked away from the man who had once been my best friend in the world.

Chapter 136.

WHILE I WAS FIGHTING JACOB, the rest of the fracas had begun to die down.I watched Sam Sanders, owner of the general store, jump off his horse and run away into the darkness. I saw two other White Raiders flee in his wake, one of them limping badly."We'll come back for you, n.i.g.g.e.rs," one yelled as he ran."You ain't won. You just think you won," another called.A flurry of hoofbeats, and the Raiders were gone.Colored people were scattered all over the yard, nursing wounds. Four white men lay trussed up in the dirt in front of Abraham's house. I remembered Abraham talking about the earth running red with blood-and I saw blood, tiny rivers of it, here on his home ground.On the porch near the tied-up men, Aunt Henry was dressing the leg wound of Lincoln Alexander Stephens, another of the original White Raiders who'd come calling tonight. Aunt Henry would take care of anyone, I reflected, regardless of race, creed, or degree of idiocy.There seemed to be only one fatality-Leander Purneau, who lay flat on his back in the mud across the road from Abraham's house. I wouldn't miss him for a second.Cousin Ricky told the captured Raiders he could kill them. Or he could tar and feather them. Or he could do what he was going to do: drive them into town and leave them, tied up, for the citizens of Eudora to find in the morning. "Tell 'em what we did to you," he said. "Tell 'em there's as many of us in the Quarters as there is of you in town. Don't come out here again, not unless you're invited. Which ain't likely."Richard Nottingham brought his flat-wagon out of the woods. Brown hands helped him lift Leander Purneau's body up into the bed. Nottingham's shoulder was bandaged.The battle was over. Eudora Quarters had won-at least for one night. It would not help me or the people of the Quarters to shoot one more bullet. It was finished.And if I needed more proof, from around the house came Jacob Gill, his shirtfront stained red with blood from where I'd nicked his throat. He walked between two colored men to the wagon and climbed in the back without looking at me. So be it."Mr. Corbett!" I looked up. It was Ricky, standing at the front door."Come on back in," he said. "Abraham has pa.s.sed."At the door, Ricky put his hand on my shoulder. "You all right?""I am."Moody glanced up as we came in, then went back to reading from the Bible:"And he said, 'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingly power.' And Jesus said to him, 'Truly I say to you, this day you shall be with me in Paradise.' "Moody closed the Bible. She looked up and our eyes met.We had already spoken our last words to each other.

Chapter 137.

"ARE YOU STAYING for Abraham's funeral?" L.J. asked. "I'll go with you, Ben.""I don't think so," I said. "Moody already knows how I feel about him. And it's definitely time for me to head back... you know...""North!" L.J. said. "Go ahead, say the word! You're headed back up to d.a.m.n Yankeeland to become a d.a.m.n Yankee again!"We were standing near the table in the War Room, where we'd spent so many hours plotting our strategies for the White Raiders Trial. I was just finishing packing."I've gone around and around in my mind, L.J., and for the life of me I don't know what I would do differently," I said. "If I had the luxury of doing it over again.""You did as much as you could, Ben. Most men wouldn't even have tried to help."I slipped my razor and shaving brush into the little leather kit and tucked it in my valise. "Help," I said. "Is that what we did? I think some of the help I gave ended up hurting them.""Go ask 'em. Go to the Quarters," L.J. said, "and ask 'em if they're worse or better off for what you did."I can have a man drive you up to McComb so you can get the earlier train to Memphis," L.J. went on."No need for that. I'll just take the good old two-oh-five." I snapped the catches on my valise. "I might stop over in Memphis tonight and hear a bit of that music I told you about.""Sure you don't want to stay here a day or two more?" L.J. asked. "Rest up?"I shook my head. "It's time to go. I've said my good-byes, and I suspect I've worn out my welcome in Eudora. In fact, I'm sure of it. My own father said as much."

Chapter 138.

THREE DAYS LATER I stepped off the train in Washington. My soles squeaked on the station's marble floors when I walked across them, and I once again admired the acres of gold leaf and ranks of granite arches like victory gates. A man entering Washington through this portal was glorified and enlightened by the pa.s.sage.But one man, Ben Corbett, coming home after all these months, felt as lowly and insignificant as a c.o.c.kroach scurrying along an outhouse floor.My mind was a jumble, a clutter of worries. I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had pa.s.sed, and all the terrible things that might yet happen.Meg had never answered my letters. I thought it likely that I would return to an empty house, shuttered and forlorn, my wife and children having gone off to live with her father in Rhode Island.I could imagine the walls empty of pictures, white sheets covering the furniture, our modest lawn overgrown with foot-high gra.s.s and weeds.These were my dark thoughts as I made my way through happy families on holiday, returning businessmen, flocks of government workers, Negro porters in red coats, and bellboys in blue caps."Mr. Corbett, sir," a voice rang out down the platform. "Mr. Corbett! Mr. Corbett!"I stopped, searching the oncoming faces for the source of the greeting-if indeed it was a greeting."Mr. Corbett. Right here. I'm so glad I found you."He was a young man, short and slight, with wire-rimmed gla.s.ses and an intensely nervous stare. I had seen him somewhere before."Mr. Corbett, I'm Jackson Hensen. The White House?""Ah, Mr. Hensen," I said. "What a surprise to see you here."He smiled hesitantly, as if not quite sure whether I'd made a joke. "Will you come with me, sir?""I'm sorry?" I looked down at his hand cupped on my elbow."The president would like to see you immediately.""Oh. Yes. Of course," I said. "And I would like to see him. But first I thought I would see my family.""I'm sorry, Mr. Corbett. The president is at the White House right now. He's waiting for you."So I followed Hensen outside to a splendid carriage drawn by the handsomest quartet of chestnuts I'd ever seen. All the way to the White House I kept thinking, Dear G.o.d, please see to it that Teddy Roosevelt isn't the only person in Washington who wants to see me.

Chapter 139.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT JUMPED UP from his desk and came charging at me with such high spirits I was afraid he might bowl us both over."Welcome home, Captain!" he roared. When he pumped my hand I recalled that Roosevelt didn't consider a handshake successful unless it resulted in physical pain."And all congratulations to you, sir, on a difficult job extremely well done," he exclaimed. "The White Raiders Trial was a smashing success.""But Mr. President, we lost the case.""Of course you did," he said. "I knew you would-technically-lose the case. But you won a tremendous victory all the same.""I don't think I understand."He sank onto the sofa to the left of his desk and patted the seat cushion next to his, as if I were a faithful dog being summoned. I sat. The president continued."I don't know how much of our press you've seen while you've been away, Ben, but you've become something of a hero up here. The more progressive citizens see you as a kind of abolitionist, a figure of progress in the march of civilization toward full equality. And the coloreds in the South see you as some kind of protector, a hero. It's d.a.m.n good!""Mr. President, I was just in the South," I said. "Believe me, I'm n.o.body's hero there.""I'm meeting the newspaper boys in a few minutes," he said. "You'll be with me. I'll announce that I masterminded your adventure in the South. I'll disclose to them how I supported your efforts against the White Raiders. I'll pick up votes in New England, and I'll have the colored vote from now until the end of time.""But you sent me to Eudora to investigate lynchings.""Indeed I did. And if you'd reported back to me that lynching was a way of life among the leaders of the white South, I would have had to do something about it. Something that would enrage some white people, no matter how much it endeared me to the Negroes.""That's why you didn't answer my telegrams?""It wasn't convenient for me to hear from you yet," he said. "But then we had the most magnificent stroke of luck when the Raiders Trial came along!"He was bubbling, but I couldn't keep silent any longer."Luck? You call it a magnificent stroke of luck? People died. A town was torn apart."He ignored me completely, and he was still grinning at his good fortune."I know there was pain, Captain. That's to be expected. Progress requires a certain amount of suffering. You did well, you worked hard, and eventually you managed to bring it all under control. I certainly chose the right man for the job." He stood up from the sofa.I stood as well. "Is that all, Mr. President?" I said."The reporters are waiting, Ben. I need you to help me explain what happened.""Is that an order, sir?" I asked.He looked surprised. "Well, no," he said. "Don't you want to come?""No, sir," I said. "If I may, I respectfully decline."

Chapter 140.