Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (40 page)

Not even bothering to question Big George, the prosecuting attorney moved right on along to Idgie, who took the stand.

“Did you know Frank Bennett?”

“No sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes sir.”

“You mean to sit here and tell me you never met the man whose wife, Ruth Bennett, was your business partner for eighteen years?”

“That’s right.”

He twirled around, with his thumbs in his vest, to face the jury. “You mean to say you never came into the Valdosta barbershop in August of nineteen twenty-eight and had a heated conversation in which you threatened to kill Frank Bennett, a man you did not know?”

“That was me, all right. I thought you wanted to know if we had ever met, and the answer is no. I threatened to kill him, but we were never, what you might say, properly introduced.”

Some of the men in the room, who hated the pompous lawyer, laughed. “So, in other words, you admit that you threatened Frank Bennett’s life.”

“Yes sir.”

“Is it not true that you also came to Georgia with your colored man in September of nineteen twenty-eight and left, taking Frank Bennett’s wife and child with you?”

“Just his wife, the child came later.”

“How much later?”

“The usual time; nine months.”

The courtroom broke out in laughter again. Frank’s brother, Gerald, glared at her from the front row.

“Is it true that you spoke against Frank Bennett’s character to his wife and made her believe that he was not of good moral fiber? Did you convince her that he was not fit as a husband?”

“No sir, she already knew that for a fact.”

More laughter.

The lawyer was getting heated. “Did you or did you not force her to go to Alabama with you at knifepoint?”

“Didn’t have to. She was already packed and ready when we got there.”

He ignored this last statement. “Is it not true that Frank Bennett came over to Whistle Stop, Alabama, trying to retrieve what was rightly his—his wife and his tiny baby son—and that you and your colored man killed him to prevent her from returning to her happy home and giving the child back to its father?”

“No sir.”

The large, pigeon-breasted man was picking up steam. “Are you aware that you broke up the most sacred thing on this earth—a Christian home with a loving father and mother and child? That you defiled the sacred and holy marriage between a man and a woman, a marriage sanctioned by God in the Morning Dove Baptist Church, right here in Valdosta, on November first, nineteen twenty-four? That you have caused a good Christian woman to break God’s laws and her marriage vows?!”

“No sir.”

“I suggest that you bribed this poor weak woman with promises of money and liquor, and that she lost control of her senses, momentarily, and when her husband came back to get her and take her home, didn’t you and your colored man murder him in cold blood to prevent her from returning?”

He then turned on her and screamed, “WHERE
WERE
YOU ON THE NIGHT OF DECEMBER THIRTEENTH, NINETEEN THIRTY?”

Idgie really began to sweat. “Well, sir, I was over at my mother’s house, in Whistle Stop.”

“Who was with you?”

“Ruth Jamison and Big George. He went over there with us that night.”

“Can Ruth Jamison testify to that?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

“She died eight years ago.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s dead, too.”

He was coming down the mountain now, and stood up on his tiptoes for a second and then twirled toward the jury again. “So, Miss Threadgoode, you expect twelve intelligent men to believe that, although two witnesses are dead and the other is a colored man who works for you and was with you the day you abducted Ruth Bennett from her happy home, and is known to be a worthless, no-good lying nigger, you are asking these men to take your word for it, just because you say so?” Although she was nervous, the lawyer should not have called Big George those names.

“That’s right, you gump-faced, blowed-up, baboon-assed bastard.”

The room exploded as the judge banged his gavel in vain.

This time, Big George moaned. He had begged her not to stand trial, but she was determined to give him an alibi for that night. She knew she was his only chance. The odds of a white woman’s getting off were much higher than his; especially if his alibi depended on the words of another Negro. She was not going to let Big George go to jail if her life depended on it; and it very well might.

The trial was going badly for Idgie, and when the surprise witness was rushed into the courtroom on that last day, Idgie knew it had just gone from bad to worse. He came sweeping through the courtroom as pious and holier-than-thou-looking than ever … her old sworn enemy, the man she had tormented for years.

This is it, she thought.

“State your name, please.”

“Reverend Herbert Scroggins.”

“Occupation?”

“Pastor of the Whistle Stop Baptist Church.”

“Place your right hand on the Bible.”

Reverend Scroggins informed him that he had brought his own, thank you, and placed his hand on his Bible and swore to
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

Idgie became confused. She realized it had been her own lawyer who had brought him in. Why had he not asked her first? She could have told him that this man would have nothing good to say about her.

But it was too late, he was already on the stand.

“Reverend Scroggins, could you tell the court why you called me long distance and what you told me last evening?”

The reverend cleared his throat. “Yes. I called to tell you that I have information about the whereabouts of Idgie Threadgoode and George Pullman Peavey on the night of December thirteenth, nineteen thirty.”

“Were she and her colored man not over at her mother’s house that evening, as has been suggested here earlier in the trial?”

“No, they were not.”

Oh, shit
, thought Idgie.

Her lawyer persisted. “Are you saying, Reverend Scroggins, that she was lying as to her whereabouts on that evening?”

The reverend pursed his lips. “Well, sir, as a Christian, I couldn’t say for sure if she was lying or not. I think it is a question of being mixed up about the dates.” He then opened the Bible he had and turned to the back and began looking at a particular page. “It has been my habit through the years to write down all the dates of the activities of the church in my Bible, and while going through it the other evening, I show that the night of December thirteenth was the start of our church’s yearly tent revival, down at the Baptist campgrounds. And Sister Threadgoode was there, along with her hired man, George Peavey, who was in charge of refreshments—just as he has been every year for the past twenty years.”

The prosecuting attorney jumped up. “I object! This doesn’t mean anything. The murder could have taken place anytime during the next couple of days.”

Reverend Scroggins looked fiercely at him, then turned to the judge. “That’s just it, Your Honor: Our revival always lasts for three days and three nights.”

The lawyer said, “And you’re
sure
Miss Threadgoode was there?”

Reverend Scroggins seemed offended that anyone would doubt his word. “Of course she was.” He addressed the jury. “Sister Threadgoode holds a perfect attendance record at all our church activities and is the lead singer in our church choir.”

For the first time in her life, Idgie was speechless, dumb, mute, without a comeback. All these years the Dill Pickle Club had spent lying and telling tall tales, thinking they were so good at it, and in five minutes Scroggins had put them all to shame. He was so convincing, she almost believed him, herself.

“In fact, we think so much of Sister Threadgoode at our church, the entire congregation has come over in a bus to testify on her behalf.” With which the doors of the courtroom opened and in filed the oddest lot that God had ever put together on this earth: Smokey Lonesome, Jimmy Knot-Head Harris, Splinter-Belly Al, Crackshot Sackett, Inky Pardue, BoWeevil Jake, Elmo Williams, Warthog Willy, and so on … all with fresh haircuts from Opal’s Beauty Shop and wearing borrowed clothes … just a few of the many hoboes Idgie and Ruth had fed throughout the years and Smokey had been able to round up in time.

One by one, they took the stand and testified solidly, remembering in great detail the river revival that December, back in 1930. And last, but not least, came Sister Eva Bates, wearing a flowered hat and carrying a purse. She took the stand and almost broke the jury’s heart as she recalled how Sister Threadgoode had leaned over to her during the first night of the revival meeting and had remarked how God had touched her heart that night, due to Reverend Scroggins’s
inspired
preaching on the evils of whiskey and the lusts of the flesh.

The skinny little judge, with a neck like an arm, didn’t even bother to ask the jury for a verdict. He banged his gavel and said to the prosecuting attorney, “Percy, it don’t look to me like you’ve got a case at all. First of all, there ain’t no body been found. Second, we’ve got sworn witnesses ain’t nobody gonna dispute. What we got is a whole lot of nothing. I say this Frank
Bennett got himself drunk and drove himself into the river and has long been ate up. We’re gonna call this thing, here, accidental death. That’s what we’ve got ourselves a case of.”

He banged his gavel once more, saying, “Case dismissed.”

Sipsey did a dance in the balcony, Grady let out a sigh of relief.

The judge, the Honorable Curtis Smoote, knew damn well that there had not been any three-day tent revival in the middle of December. And from where he was sitting, he had also seen that the preacher did not have a Bible between the covers of the book he had sworn on. He had seldom seen such a scrubbed-up lot of down and dirty characters. And besides, the judge’s daughter had just died a couple of weeks ago, old before her time and living a dog’s life on the outskirts of town, because of Frank Bennett; so he really didn’t care who had killed the son of a bitch.

After it was all over, Reverend Scroggins came over and shook Idgie’s hand. “I’ll see you in church Sunday, Sister Threadgoode.” He winked at her and left.

His son, Bobby, had heard about the trial and had called and told him about that time Idgie had gotten him out of jail. So Scroggins, the one she had bedeviled all these years, had come through for her.

Idgie was floored by the whole thing for quite a time. But, driving home, she did manage to say, “You know, I’ve been thinking. I don’t know what’s worse—going to jail or having to be nice to the preacher for the rest of my life.”

Evelyn had been in a hurry to get to the nursing home today. She had badgered Ed to drive faster all the way there. She stopped, as she always did, in Big Momma’s room and offered her a honey-bun, but as usual, Big Momma declined, saying, “If I ate that I’d be sick as a dog. How you can eat that sticky, gooey stuff is beyond me.”

Evelyn excused herself and rushed down the hall to the visitors’ lounge.

Mrs. Threadgoode, who had on her bright green flowered dress today, greeted Evelyn with a cheery “Happy New Year!”

Evelyn sat down, concerned. “Honey, that’s not till three months from now. We haven’t had Christmas yet.”

Mrs. Threadgoode laughed. “I know that, I just thought I’d move it up a bit. Have some fun. All these old people out here are so gloomy, moping around the place something awful.”

Evelyn handed Mrs. Threadgoode her treat.

“Oh Evelyn, are these honey-buns?”

“They sure are. Remember I told you about them?”

“Well, don’t they look good?” She held one up. “Why, they’re just like a Dixie Cream Donut. Thank you, honey
 … have you ever had a Dixie Cream Donut? They’re as light as a feather. I used to say to Cleo, I’d say, ‘Cleo, if you’re going anywhere near the Dixie Cream Donut place, bring me and Albert home a dozen. Bring me six glazed and six jelly ones.’ I like the ones that are twisted, too. You know, like a French braid. I forget what they’re called …”

Evelyn couldn’t wait any longer.

“Mrs. Threadgoode, tell me what happened at the trial.”

“You mean Idgie and Big George’s trial?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that was something, all right. We were all worried to death. We thought they never were coming home, but they finally got a not-guilty verdict. Cleo said that they proved beyond the shadow of a doubt where they had been at the time the murder was to have taken place, so they couldn’t possibly have done it. He said the only reason that Idgie would have stood trial like that was to protect someone else.”

Evelyn thought for a minute. “Who
else
would want to kill him?”

“Well, honey, it isn’t a matter of who wanted to, but who
would
have. That’s the question. Some say it could have been Smokey Lonesome. Some say it could have been Eva Bates and that gang out at the river—Lord knows it was a rough enough bunch, and those folks in the Dill Pickle Club stuck together … it’s hard to say. And then, of course”—Mrs. Threadgoode paused—“there’s Ruth, herself.”