Coal River (30 page)

CHAPTER 29

T
he exterior of the Carbon County Courthouse looked more like a castle or a church, with turrets, four-story walls built from sandstone quarried in the northern part of the county, and a corner bell tower with a four-sided clock surrounded by an ornamental iron frame. After Nally’s hanging, a dozen journalists had descended on Coal River to cover the mining accident and the shootings. Now they waited with the townspeople on the court steps, anxious to hear the results of the trial. Inside the courthouse, imported Minton tiles graced the imposing hallways, and oak wainscoting lined the courtroom walls. Gas chandeliers provided lighting, and a stained-glass portrait of the Goddess of Justice looked down from the vaulted ceiling.

Emma sat in the witness box in the main courtroom, her hands clasped in her lap while she waited for the prosecution to ask the next question. Her defense attorney, Jacques Bonnet, a thin, gray-haired man with liver-spotted hands, watched from a narrow table in front of the audience. Since the mining accident nine days ago, a jury had been assembled of mostly Welsh and German miners who barely spoke English and didn’t get along with their native-born American and Irish neighbors. The judge, who happened to be an old family friend of Hazard Flint’s, had come in from Scranton. Now he sat hunched over the bench like an aged mountain man, heavy bags under his eyes, his long, white sideburns hanging past his double chin. He had allowed only two reporters inside the courtroom, and they sat in the front row, taking notes and making sketches.

Next to the defense attorney, Clayton watched with his arm in a sling, his face the color of ash. His eyes were bleary and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to put his head on the table and go to sleep. On her way to the witness stand earlier, Emma had walked behind him. She brushed her fingers along the back of his shoulders, and felt the heat of fever burning through his shirt. She couldn’t believe they were making him stand trial. Clearly, he was unwell and in pain. Then again, why would they care? They only meant to hang him anyway.

In the second row, Uncle Otis sat next to Aunt Ida, his expressionless gaze locked on the judge and jury, as if refusing to acknowledge Emma’s existence with so much as a glance. Aunt Ida fidgeted in her seat, fingering her brooch and chewing on her lip. Every now and then, she glanced down the row of spectators and scanned the audience behind her, no doubt worried what people were going to think. Beside her, Percy sat with a worried look on his face.

With shaking fingers, Emma combed her short bangs away from her forehead, trying to ignore the burning stares of the dead foreman’s widow and a good number of miners and their families. She imagined Sawyer, Jack, Edith, Sadie, and Violet were somewhere in the crowd, but she couldn’t bring herself to search for their small, heartbroken faces. Her body felt limp as a dishrag, the sharp claws of guilt tearing at her insides. Not only were the orphans possibly on the verge of losing Clayton, but six miners were still missing.

According to Frank, Mr. Flint had collapsed in his driveway the day after he attacked Emma in the jailhouse, and he had been confined to bed ever since. The doctor suspected a weak heart and a mental breakdown. Mr. Flint refused to eat or speak, but in his dreams, he cried out for Viviane and Levi. Over the last few days he had rallied somewhat, but the doctor had advised him not to attend the trial, claiming him too weak to relive the day his son was shot. But Mr. Flint had insisted on getting out of bed and being driven down to the courthouse. Now he sat in the front row, his gray hands gripping his cane as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His face was thin, his skin the color of clotted cream. He looked like he had aged ten years. Every now and then he fixed his weary eyes on Clayton and frowned, as if trying to remember what was going on, or who he was. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor, took out a handkerchief, and wiped his forehead and cheeks.

“On the morning of Friday, October twenty-fifth, 1912, were you aware that Nally O’Brian was carrying a firearm?” the prosecutor asked Emma.

“No, sir,” Emma said.

“Did you know he was a member of the Molly Maguires?”

“Objection!” the defense attorney said. “There is no proof the Mollies exist. How would my client know if Nally was a member of a made-up, secret society?”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Answer the question, Miss Malloy.”

“I’d never heard of the Molly Maguires until my uncle told me who they were,” she said. “Uncle Otis seemed to know a lot about them.” In truth, she couldn’t remember if it was Otis or Mr. Flint who told her about the Mollies. And right now, she didn’t care.

Aunt Ida’s mouth dropped open, and she glared at Emma with withering eyes. Everyone directed their attention to Uncle Otis, who sat with his arms crossed, his face straight ahead, no change in his expression.

“Your uncle is not the one on trial for causing an explosion at the mine, murdering Levi Flint, and conspiring to kill Hazard Flint,” the prosecutor said. He turned and strolled past the jury, his chin high, fingering the watch chain hanging from his vest.

Emma took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Speaking of trials, Your Honor,” she said. “Did you know the Coal and Iron Police and the mine supervisors hanged Nally O’Brian without a proper hearing?”

“Strike that last statement!” the judge bellowed. “Miss Malloy, refrain from speaking unless you’re asked a direct question by me or one of the lawyers present.”

“But that’s not the way it’s supposed to work!” she said. “In this country—”

The judge banged his gavel on the bench. “Miss Malloy!” he said. “You will either do as I say or be held in contempt of court! Now refrain from speaking and try to remember you’re on trial for your life!”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said.

“Miss Malloy,” the prosecutor continued, “please tell the jury where you were living before going into the mine on that fateful day.”

“In the mining village.”

The prosecutor turned. “Where in the mining village?” he said. “In whose house?”

“Hazard Flint’s,” she said.

The prosecutor furrowed his brow, looking confused. “Hazard Flint’s?”

“Hazard Flint owns all the houses in the miners’ village,” she said.

A murmur passed through the audience. Just then, four men slipped into the courtroom and stood at the back wall. One was in a suit and tie, and the other was in a black uniform and bobby helmet. The other two wore state police uniforms. Emma had never seen any of them before. The judge noticed them too. He started to open his mouth as if to ask who they were. But the men stood quietly, and the judge said nothing.

The prosecutor sighed and moved toward the witness box. “All right, but who was paying rent on the house you lived in, Miss Malloy?”

Emma looked down at her hands. Telling the truth would only reinforce their theory that she and Clayton had planned the whole thing.

“Please sit up and speak clearly,” the prosecutor said.

She put her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and looked at Clayton. He gave her a weak smile, but his eyes were sad. “Clayton Nash,” she said.

Aunt Ida put a lace hankie to her mouth, shaking her head.

“Were you aware that Mr. Nash had brought in a member of the Molly Maguires to conspire against Hazard Flint and the Bleak Mountain Mining Company?”

“That’s not what happened,” Emma said.

“Isn’t it true that you and Nally O’Brian arrived in Coal River on the same day? Not only on the same day, but on the same train?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t know Nally then. It was just a coincidence that we were on the same train.”

“Was it also a coincidence that you were living with Clayton Nash, the very man who hired Nally O’Brian to murder Levi and Hazard Flint?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes! My uncle kicked me out and . . . Clayton didn’t hire anyone!”

“Did you, along with the help of Nally O’Brian and Clayton Nash, put coffin notices on Hazard Flint’s door the night of September second?”

“No!” she said. “We were as surprised by them as everyone else!”

“Did you cause the explosion in the mine?”

She shook her head. “It was an accident. There was a cave-in, and Nally dropped a torch.”

“The torch he used to start the fire?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, the torch started the fire, but we didn’t mean for it to happen. Nally only had the torch because I needed the light to take pictures.”

The prosecutor gripped the railing in front of her. “You expect us to believe that Nally had a torch because you were taking pictures inside the mine?”

“Yes, sir.”

The prosecutor chuckled. “Then where is the camera? Why hasn’t it been entered into evidence?”

She nodded once toward Frank, who was standing at one end of the judge’s bench. “Frank Bannister has it,” she said. “He was supposed to—”

Just then, the man in the suit and tie started up the center aisle, a newspaper in his hand. The trio of police followed. “Your Honor,” the man said. “If I may address the court, please!”

The judge scowled, the corners of his mouth pulling down his fleshy cheeks. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion?”

The man held up a copy of the
New York Times,
its front page filled with grainy black and white photos. “I’m Lewis Hine, a photographer with the National Child Labor Committee,” he said. “I’m looking for the woman who took these pictures of boys working inside the coal breaker. Emma Malloy?”

All eyes turned toward Emma.

CHAPTER 30

T
he judge banged his gavel on the desk. “I insist you leave my courtroom this instant!” he said. “Miss Malloy won’t be speaking with reporters until after the trial.”

“Let’s hear what Mr. Hines has to say!” one of the reporters in the front row shouted. He stood and went over to Mr. Hines, his note pad ready. “You said Miss Malloy took pictures of breaker boys and they were printed in the
New York Times
?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hines said. “She also sent the
Times
a letter. The people outside on the courthouse steps said we could find Miss Malloy and Hazard Flint in here. We’d like to speak to them and find out what’s going on in this town.”

The judge pounded his gavel again, harder this time. “Do as I say, or I’ll hold you in contempt!”

The man in the black uniform and bobby helmet moved past Mr. Hines and stopped between the lawyers’ tables in the center of the room. The state policemen followed and stood beside him, one at each shoulder. The man in the black uniform pulled out a badge.

“I’m the state constable with the Pennsylvania Office of Factory Inspection,” he said, addressing the judge. “Miss Malloy has brought it to our attention that Hazard Flint and the Bleak Mountain Mining Company have violated the state child labor law, which states no child under the age of twelve is allowed to work in the breaker, and no child under the age of fourteen is allowed to work inside the mines. We’ve also been informed that the mine owner is not following mining laws, and has covered up several deaths.”

The judge glanced nervously at Mr. Flint, then stood. “Mr. Flint is not on trial today,” he said. “Now exit my courtroom at once, or I’ll have you all arrested for obstruction of justice!”

Everyone started talking at once. The judge beat his gravel on his desk again, demanding order in the courtroom. No one listened. The judge motioned the bailiff forward, his face boiling red.

In the front row, Mr. Flint shifted forward in his seat and pushed himself to his feet, using his cane for leverage. His face and hands shook as he steadied himself and gripped the railing in front of him. He sighed heavily, then looked around, his lips pinched as if to keep them from trembling. Several people noticed him standing and, one by one, they stopped talking. They nudged their neighbors and pointed at him. Little by little, the crowd settled and stared at Mr. Flint, wondering what he was going to do. The judge banged his gavel two more times, then noticed Mr. Flint looking at him and sat back down. He instructed the bailiff to hold back. The room grew quiet.

“Your Honor,” Mr. Flint said, “if I may, I’d like the opportunity to speak. I’ve got something important to say. A good story for all the reporters here.”

The judge lowered his bushy eyebrows. “What’s this all about, Mr. Flint? We’re nearly finished with today’s proceedings and—”

“I’m the one who hired Nally O’Brian,” Mr. Flint said.

The crowd went wild, gasping and talking and yelling, and the judge picked up his gavel again. But the audience went silent before he had to use it, eager to see what would happen next.

“You’re not on trial here, Mr. Flint,” the judge said. “And if you insist on being a witness at this point, I’ll have to declare a mistrial.” He pointed his gavel at Emma and Clayton. “Are you one hundred percent sure you want to risk letting those two go free?”

“You’d better let the man finish speaking,” the state constable said. “We all heard what he said.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hines said. He jerked his chin toward the other reporters. “And it’s all being recorded. You don’t want it to look like you were obstructing justice, do you?”

The judge opened his mouth to reply when someone in the audience shouted, “Let him talk!”

Others joined in with demands to hear out Hazard Flint. The judge held up a hand to quiet them, then directed his attention to Mr. Flint. “Go ahead.”

“I need to do this, Your Honor,” Mr. Flint said. “It’s my fault Levi is dead.” He hesitated, his chin trembling. Then he took a deep breath and gazed at the miners and their families, tears glazing his eyes. “And now that I know what it’s like to lose a son, I want to apologize to the parents of the deceased breaker boys, and any other boys who have died in the mine. I now know the horrible agony you’ve been living with, and I can’t say how sorry I am that my greed was the cause.” He looked at the judge. “I have to set things right, once and for all.”

“I understand,” the judge said. “But are you sure you don’t want to save it for your Sunday morning confessional?”

Mr. Flint shook his head, then shuffled out of the row of seats, and, leaning hard on his cane, made his way to the front of the courtroom. He picked up the Bible, handed it to the defense attorney, put one trembling hand on it, and raised the other. The defense attorney recited the oath.

“This is not proper procedure!” the prosecutor shouted.

The judge waved a hand to silence him, and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “The man’s son is dead,” he said. “Let him speak.”

Mr. Flint took his hand from the Bible, cleared his throat, and began to talk in a gravelly voice.

“Several months ago, I hired Nally O’Brian to go undercover and infiltrate the miners. I paid him to uncover murder plots and possible strikes, and pass along the information to me so I could have the troublemakers arrested. I had no idea he was a member of the Molly Maguires.”

The judge sat forward. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But Nally O’Brian has already been tried and hanged for the murder of your son. How does this information change anything for the two defendants? I insist you cease and desist with this public incrimination of yourself. You’re the owner of the mining company that employs nearly every citizen in this village. It will be a social and economic calamity if your company shuts down!”

“I’m not the rightful owner any longer, Your Honor,” Mr. Flint said. “My late wife’s family owned the Bleak Mountain Mining Company, not mine. Viviane’s son is the rightful owner.”

The judge’s brows shot up. “What on God’s green Earth are you talking about, man?” he said. “I’m sorry to remind you of your loss, but Viviane’s son Levi is dead. That’s why we’re here!”

The audience mumbled and whispered behind their hands, shaking their heads in pity and disbelief.

Mr. Flint held up a shaky hand, waiting for the crowd to go silent. “I know this is going to sound like an old man who’s gone off his rocker, but hear me out. I’m not talking about Levi. I’m talking about Viviane’s other son. You’ve all heard the story about the kidnapping of our second born. How my sweet Viviane was so distraught over losing her baby, she hung herself in the cupola.” He paused, his mouth twisting as if holding back a sob. “And now I understand why she ended her life when she lost that boy. Forgive me, Lord, I surely do. The pain of losing a child is unbearable. Except, I’m here to tell you it was all a lie. My beautiful Viviane died for nothing because the kidnapping never happened.”

Gasps and shocked murmurs rippled through the courtroom.

“And what, pray tell, does this have to do with what’s going on here today?” the judge said.

“Have patience with me, please,” Mr. Flint said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “You see, I found out all those years ago that Viviane was having an affair. When she grew heavy with child a second time, I knew right well the baby wasn’t mine. So I ordered my hired man to do away with the newborn. Then I blamed the kidnapping on the nursemaid and used the ransom money to pay her off so she would disappear.”

More murmurs and gasps came from the audience. The judge’s face went dark. “Hazard Flint, are you confessing to murder right here in my courtroom?”

Mr. Flint shook his head. “No, Your Honor,” he said. “God knows, I’m guilty of a lot of terrible things, and I have to live with every one of them. You can arrest me for breaking laws, taking shortcuts, and covering up the deaths of breaker boys, because that’s what I deserve. Miss Malloy was right about that. But I never murdered an innocent baby or paid anyone to do it either. I instructed my hired man to drop the infant off in the miners’ village on the porch of the most honest, hardworking miner I knew at the time, Charlie Nash.”

A collective gasp filled the room. Emma gaped at Clayton, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Clayton’s eyes were locked on Mr. Flint, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows raised.

“Viviane’s son Clayton Nash is now the rightful owner of Bleak Mountain Mining Company,” Mr. Flint said. “And I’m passing the company over to him, hoping he’ll do a better job than I did.”

Just then, the courtroom door flew open, and a young boy rushed in, breathing hard. “They found the rest of the miners alive!” he shouted.

In a noisy flurry, the miners and their families stood and fought their way toward the door. They flooded out while the upper class of Coal River stayed in their seats, whispering behind their hands, their shocked eyes darting back and forth between Clayton and Hazard Flint.

The judge banged his gavel on his desk one last time. “Case dismissed!” he shouted.

Emma hung her head, tears of relief flooding her eyes.