Deep in the Valley (28 page)

The courtroom didn’t have space for spectators because it was packed with prospective jurors. John
Cutler, Leah’s public defender, and three lawyers from the prosecutors office interviewed them one by one. The three prosecutors were led by Marge Glaser, a righteous young woman with a stiff face who had not appeared before Judge Forrest before. Ms. Glaser was moved by the letter of the law, and obviously convinced that if Leah Craven had held the shovel that hit Gus Craven in the back of the head, she was guilty of a crime. But Ms. Glaser was having a little trouble.

John Cutler was young, fresh faced, quick to smile and anything but rigid. While Ms. Glaser was impeccably groomed, lint free with every hair in place, Cutler’s shirttail kept creeping out of his pants, his hair was longish and floppy, and he might have slept in his suit.

But he was having better luck, and the jury hadn’t even been selected.

“Do you have any history of domestic violence in your family, Mr. Schuck?” Ms. Glaser asked a prospective juror.

“No, ma’am,” he answered.

“Have you ever been called on to intercede in a domestic argument that had gotten, shall we say, rough?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And let me ask you one more question. Do you think it’s the job of law enforcement officers to make arrests in the event of a domestic situation? A family fight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you very—”

“If they can get there in time,” Mr. Schuck said. “If
it was me, I don’t know if I’d wait on the police. Know what I mean?”

“That’s all, Mr. Schuck.”

“If anyone laid a hand on my daughter, for example, I’d likely beat him to a bloody pulp and take my chances.”

“Your honor!” Ms. Glaser pleaded.

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Schuck,” Judge said. Then he looked pointedly at Ms. Glaser. “Would you like to try again?”

“Yes, I would!” she shot back.

John Cutler slowly smiled. He hadn’t been able to ask very many questions so far.

Ms. Glaser quietly conferred with her legal team while the bailiff called another potential juror to the stand. This was the fifteenth interview in an hour, and it was clear that the prosecutor had not yet selected one juror she was completely satisfied with.

“Your name please?” Ms. Glaser asked.

“Mrs. Melba Leaver.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Leaver,” Ms. Glaser said, trying to be pleasant, but her smile was strained and her patience was thin. “I have just a couple of questions for you this morning. First, have you or anyone in your family ever been arrested for a felony?”

“No.”

“Do you work outside the home?”

“No, my husband wouldn’t like that.”

“I see. And you’ve been married how long…?”

“Thirty-six years. Five children.”

“Who would you say is the final authority in your home? You or your husband?”

“Oh, my husband, most definitely.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Glaser said, looking pleased at last.

John Cutler stood. “Mrs. Leaver, has your husband ever, in anger, struck you?”

“What? No! He wouldn’t dare! I’d shoot him in his sleep!”

Marge Glaser dropped her head heavily to the table in utter frustration. “Mrs. Leaver works for me,” Cutler said, sitting down again.

“Your
honor!
” Ms. Glaser begged.

“All right, all right. Ms. Glaser, Mr. Cutler, my chambers. Leave your entourage here, if you don’t mind. It’s a small chamber.” Judge stood and left the bench, followed by the lawyers. He took off his robe, hung it on the rack just inside his office door and sat behind his desk. He waited for them to take their seats. Cutler was all loose and goosey, trying not to grin too wildly, while Marge Glaser was clearly miserable.

“Mr. Cutler, may I suggest you wipe that silly grin off your face? Your apparent success in this case has nothing whatsoever to do with your skill as an attorney.” Judge Forrest hoped that would make what he had to say to Ms. Glaser go down a little easier.

“Ms. Glaser, by the same token, you are undoubtedly a brilliant attorney and I would say your boss was a thinking man when he sent you to take on this case. The problem is, I don’t see any way you can make it work.”

“But your honor, if we had a change of venue—”

“You could move this trial to Australia and you would still have these facts to deal with—you have a
woman who was, for better than sixteen years, severely beaten by her alcoholic husband. Her children were beaten. He was repeatedly locked up for violence directed at his family. And only after sixteen years, countless arrests, endless bruises and dozens if not hundreds of witnesses to the abuse, she whacked him in the head as he pummeled her child.”

“And hid the body!”

“Then charge her with unlawful burial without a permit! Ms. Glaser, there is no doubt she killed him out of fear for her life and the life of her child. Half the town saw their bruises the next morning as they both showed up for their jobs in the café. Your witnesses amount to sheriff’s department investigators and a county coroner, while Mr. Cutler here has a witness list the size of the Grace Valley phone book.”

“Your honor, I’ve offered to plead out with Mr. Cutler, and I’ll go as wide as manslaughter—”

“He can win this, Ms. Glaser, and I’ll tell you why. Self-defense is not against the law. Not here, not anywhere. But here’s an offer I’ll make you both. If you can agree to involuntary manslaughter, I’ll give Leah Craven a probation and community service sentence that will allow her to go home and take care of her family.”

“Your honor, this is most irregular. It’s clear judicial prejudice. It’s grounds for a change of judge.”

“Ms. Glaser, are you stupid or just stubborn? I’m giving you a break here! Leah Craven’s supporters are having a barbecue on the courthouse steps! If you manage to lose, and cost the county an extraordinary amount of money, do you think you’ll be in the same
job next year? Now think about this, you two. You have thirty minutes to decide what to do. Out. Out!”

An hour later Leah Craven walked down the courthouse steps with her young attorney and wept openly as she was cheered by a riotous crowd. From coast to coast her face was seen on television, and her quavering voice heard as she said, “I hope Gus is finally at peace…because I am.”

Part of Tom Toopeek’s job was to drive around the back roads of Grace Valley and be familiar with every old abandoned logging road, farm path, orchard access road, crossroad and highway. If he ever had to chase someone, he’d better know every possible route of escape. And not just in daylight.

He was making a routine survey of the area to the east of town when he happened upon a darkly painted late model Ford truck parked off of an old abandoned road not far from June’s house. He parked his Rover down the road, got out his flashlight and rifle and had a look around.

He was an expert tracker, but he simply followed a footpath from the truck’s parking place to June’s backyard. He saw a flickering in her kitchen window and heard something squeaking. As he got closer he saw the flickering was candlelight and the squeaking was music.

He shouldn’t have, but telling himself he just had to be sure, he peeked in the dining room window. The table was set with candles and china; there was wine in glasses, an opened gift box with ribbon, tissue paper and bows spilling out. June was wearing a slim, sexy
black dress with a slit up one thigh and she danced in the arms of a large man in a flannel shirt. She laughed and tossed her head seductively as he lifted her off her feet and twirled her around. Tom had never seen her like this.

Dancing?

He shook his head in bemusement and escaped to his Rover as quietly as possible.

“S
adie!” June called. “Hurry up, we’re late!”

The dog came running up the back porch steps, and if a dog could smile, this one was smiling. June, in her nicest summer dress, crouched down and fastened a flower wreath around her best friend’s neck.

In Grace Valley, at that moment, someone took a metal cutter to the padlock on the Presbyterian Church and opened it up. In through the large double doors flooded people—men, women and children dressed in their finery, smiling and greeting each other, laughing, joking, even singing.

June and Sadie rode to town in the ambulance. Whoever was “on call” had the ambulance and stayed with it. Today was her day, since John had another commitment.

When she got to the church, she had to park across the street at the clinic, there were so many cars. “Damn,” she muttered. “I bet they’ve started. Now, you remember to be very good.”

June and Sadie jogged across the street and into the
church. Music filled the air, candles glittered at the altar, and flowers, more flowers than she’d ever seen in a church at one time, were displayed everywhere.

She and Sadie slipped into a pew at the back of the church, right beside Jessica. “Have you ever seen her more beautiful?” Jessica whispered.

June looked up the aisle. The church was full to bursting, so it wasn’t easy to see everyone, but by craning her neck she could get a wide-angle view. There stood Sam and Justine before Judge Forrest. Elmer was the best man, then Burt, then George, then John Stone. To the bride’s left were her four sisters. And standing behind her, having just given her away, was Standard Roberts. Witnessing was the town. And when Judge said, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together…” all that came to June’s mind was,
Yes, we are gathered here together.

All together.

Dear Reader,

It was such an honor to be asked to create a Christmas story that would take place in Virgin River, especially because, in my mind, the miracle of Christmas is synonymous with that special town. Virgin River seems to be a place of kindness, friendship, love and miracles.

In this story you’ll meet Ian and Marcie, two courageous people who have weathered too many storms in their young lives. Both need two things to help them get to a place of peace and happiness: namely, faith and love. Between them they have a lot of history, but at the same time they’re just getting to know one another. And what they find in their renewed relationship could bring them closer to the peace and serenity they need so much.

The Virgin River novels are part of an ongoing series, and
A Virgin River Christmas
is a special addition to that series. While many of the well-known Virgin River characters are present in this book, you don’t have to read the first three in the series to feel at home here. But for those of you who have started at the beginning, and have waited patiently for this next book, let me put you in the time frame.
A Virgin River Christmas
takes place just a few weeks before Christmas—right in the middle of
Whispering Rock
—the third book in the continuing series.

Christmas can mean many different things to each of us. For Marcie and Ian, I’ve tried to create a special time for two people who couldn’t be more deserving.

It was a privilege to create this story. I hope you’ll treasure it.

My best wishes to you and yours,

Robyn Carr