Memories of Another Day (16 page)

Jimmy grinned. "I was doin' all right in the whiskey business before this started. I kin alius go back to it."

"We can use men like you in the union," Morris said. "You can come up to New York with me. They said they would find a place for you."

Jimmy shook his head. "That's not fer me. I'm a small-town boy. I belong here with my own kind. But I'm grateftil fer the consideration."

He went back into the building. The attorney fol-

lowed him. A moment later, Roscoe Craig came out into the alley. He looked up at the rooftops across the alley and waved his hand.

The guards he had posted up there to protect Jinmiy waved back at him, then slung their rifles under their arms and started down to the street.

At the general meeting that night, the vote was unanimous to continue the strike. Even if it meant that the mills would move out and that they would all lose their jobs forever.

The day of the trial dawned bright and clear. The early-May breeze brought a fresh spring fragrance to the air that came softly through the open windows of the kitchen, where they were having breakfast.

Morris Bernstein took out his watch and looked at it. ''Time to go," he said. ''Court begins at ten o'clock." ^

"Fm ready," Jimmy said, getting to his feet. Roscoe Craig and Morris rose with him.

"FU git yer jacket an' tie," Molly Ann said.

Jimmy looked at Morris while she was out of the room. "How long do you reckon the trial should take?"

"A few days," Morris answered. "One or two days to pick the jury, another couple of days for the trial and then you'll be a free man."

"I hope so," Molly Ann said, coming back into the room.

"Can't go any other way," Morris said confidently. "We have a hundred witnesses to prove it was self-defense."

"They'll have witnesses too," Molly Ann said.

"Pinkertons," Roscoe said contemptuously. "Ain't nobody down here goin' to believe 'em."

Jimmy finished knotting his tie and slipped into his jacket. He walked over to the mirror in the hallway

and inspected himself. *'Don't look bad in my store-bought clothes/' he said.

'*You look real handsome, honey," Molly Ann said.

He came back into the kitchen and, opening a drawer, took out his revolver. He started to put it in his belt.

''No," Morris said. ''Put that back."

Jimmy looked at him. "I don' feel comfortable 'thout my piece."

"You can't go into court packing a gun," Morris said. "It's not respectful. Besides, they're not going to try anything in front of all those people. The whole town is going to be there."

Jimmy looked at Roscoe doubtfully. "What do you think?"

"Mebbe he's right," Roscoe answered, but he didn't seem sure.

"I am right," Morris said. "Do you know the judge can hold you in contempt if you take a gun in there?"

"Do I have to leave my gun too?" Roscoe asked.

"What you do is your own affair," Morris answered. "I have to worry about my client, that's all."

"Leave it, then," Roscoe said. "Me an' the boys'll be there. Ain't nothin' goin' to happen."

Jimmy put the gun back into the drawer. Molly Ann took off her apron and folded it neatly across the back of a kitchen chair. "I'm ready," she said.

Jimmy looked at her. She was in her sixth month and noticeably pregnant. "Don' you think it would be . better if'n you stayed home?" he asked. "Mebbe too much excitement won't be good fer the baby."

"I'm goin'," she said firmly. "A wife's place is by her husband's side."

"Let's go, then," Morris said. "It's getting late."

Courthouse Square was in the exact center of the town. By the time Jimmy and Molly Ann got there, it

was filled with people all in their Sunday best. There was almost a picnic air about it. Children were running around yelling and playing; the adults were talking excitedly. They clustered around Jimmy and Molly Ann as they made their way to the courthouse. All eager to touch Jimmy, to slap him on the back and wish him well. It was easy to see whose side they were on.

Sam Fitch and the sheriff stood in the doorway of his store and watched the crowd across the street. The sheriff shook his head. "I don' know," he said, ''I don'like it."

Fitch looked at him. ''I don' like it neither, but you got a better idee?"

The sheriff took a deep breath. "Too many people. Could turn into a riot."

''We got no choice," Fitch said. "You heard the man with your own ears. Or would you ruther be sher'f of a ghost town?"

The sheriff looked back across the square. "I still don' like it," he said. "Lookit there. He's got Roscoe Craig an' some of his boys aroun' him an' the people aroun' them. Ain't no way we goin' to be able to git to him."

Fitch followed the sheriff's gaze. "Sooner or later he's got to be standin' alone. Even if it's only fer a moment. Jes' hope yer boys are ready fer it."

"If'n that happens," the sheriff said grimly. "My boys'11 be ready."

With the backslapping, handshaking and good-wishing, it took them almost twenty minutes to make their way across the square to the courthouse steps. The doors of the building opened just as they reached the foot of the steps. The mad rush of people who janmied up in front of the doors was slowed by the four deputy sheriffs who checked each man entering the building for arms.

The large wooden boxes on either side of the door-

way slowly began to fill with guns. The deputies were polite but firm. *'No guns in the courthouse," they explained. "You kin pick 'em up at the sher'fs office after court."

Some of the men grumbled, but if they wanted to get into the courthouse they had to give up their guns. Roscoe stared up the steps. "I don' like that," he said.

Morris looked at him. "Nothing's going to happen once we're inside."

"I'm not worried about inside," Roscoe said. "I'm worried about when we come out."

"We'll wait inside until you go pick up your guns an' come back fer us," Jimmy said.

"That makes me feel better," Roscoe replied.

Jimmy looked at the crowd pushing their way into the courthouse. "You an' the boys better git on in, else'n they won't be any room fer you all."

Roscoe glanced around the square. "You come up the steps with us," he said. "I'll feel better if we git off the street."

Roscoe and his men had already passed through when the deputies stopped Jimmy. "You don' go in this way, Jimmy," one of them said. "You're s'posed to go in th'u the court clerk's office on the. side portico."

Jimmy stared at him. "Why?"

"Got somethin' to do with yer pickin' up yer bail receipt. You don' wanna lose five hunnert dollars, do you?" the deputy answered.

Roscoe overheard them. "I'll go with you," he said, starting back.

"Never mind," Jimmy said. "I'll see you inside." Molly Ann had entered the courthouse just ahead of him. Now she turned back. "You git Molly Ann an' follow me," Jimmy said to Morris, and started off.

"Wait a minute," Morris said, and turned to reach for Molly Ann. By the time they cleared the doorway, Jimmy was twenty steps ahead of them, almost at the comer of the portico.

It was then they came at him from around the corner. There were three of them, two Pinkertons and Clinton Richfield, one of the sheriff's deputies. He was not in uniform.

Jimmy never saw them, because they came with guns blazing. Seven bullets tore into him and slammed him, already dead, against a comer post, from which he fell, face downward, half on the porch, half on the steps.

The three men fired again. Jimmy's body jumped with the impact of the bullets and slipped farther down the steps. The men stood there waiting for Jimmy to move.

''Jimmy!'' Molly Ann screamed. She broke from Morris' grasp and ran toward him, throwing herself across his body. She pulled him toward her, his blood staining her dress. She stared up at the men, her eyes filled with horror and streaming tears. "Please!" she begged. ''Please, don't shoot my Jimmy no more."

Jimmy's body shook in a last convulsive spasm. Automatically the men opened fire again. They tore Molly Ann from her husband and sent her rolling, dead, down the white concrete steps to the street. Her own blood mixed with that from her husband's body, staining red the simple white dress she had freshly washed and pressed just hours before.

"My God! What have you done?" Morris shouted, staring at them.

"He came at us with a gun," Richfield said.

"What gun?" Morris shouted. "He had no gun. I made him le^ve it home."

Richfield raised his pistol and pointed it at Morris. "Jew boy, you callin' me a liar?"

"Yes, goddamn you!" Morris shouted, his anger and revulsion overcoming the fear that was knotting 'his stomach. "You're a liar and a murderer!"

The bullet from the deputy's .38 tore into Morris' shoulder, throwing him backward on the stone floor. Through eyes hazy with pain, Morris saw the deputy

raise his gun again and take careful aim. It was over. There was nothing more he had to lose. ''Liar! Murderer!" he screamed defiantly.

But the shot never came. Suddenly the sheriff was there and there were deputies all over the place, keeping the crowds away. The sheriff came over and looked down at him. ''Jew boy," he said in a cold voice, "there's a train leavin' here in an hour. Because we're good Christian folk, I'm gonna have a doctor patch you up afore we put you on it. An' you take this wamin' back No'th with you. If you or any other No'the'n Jew agitator an' anarchist shows up here, we're goin' to kill you on sight."

He turned to a deputy. "You an' Mike git him over to Dr. Johns, then put him on the train."

Morris almost fainted with the pain as the deputies unceremoniously hauled him to his feet. They started down the steps, the crowd staring at him with curiosity but makmg a path for them.

Behind him, he heard the sheriff's voice. "Now all you good folk clear the square an' go home. Leave the law to take its rightful course."

The minister, a tall, heavyset man, climbed down from the wagon and came toward him. "I got bad news feryou, Jeb."

Jeb looked at him, then up at Roscoe. Roscoe's face was gray and weary. Without speaking, Jeb walked around to the back of the open wagon and looked in. The two coffins, covered by a tarpaulin, lay side by side.

He heard the minister's heavy footsteps as he came to his side. Without looking at him, he asked, "Molly Ann an' Jimmy?" He didn't need an affirmative answer. He already knew.

Still staring at the cheap pine coffins, he asked in a dull voice, ''What happened?"

The minister didn't answer. It was Roscoe who turned to him from the front of the wagon. "They were shot in front of the courthouse, the day before yesterday." His voice was bitter. "We would've brung 'em before, but the coroner wouldn' release u& the bodies. We figgered you'd want 'em buried t'home ruther than in town."

Jeb nodded. "That's right. Thank 'e kindly." He looked up at Roscoe. "Who done it?"

"Clinton Richfield and two Pinkertons," Roscoe said. "They was layin' fer him, aroun' the comer of the porch. He didn' stan' a chance. He didn' even have no gun on him. Molly Ann ran to he'p him an' they shot her too."

The lines of Jeb's face were stonelike. He climbed into the wagon and lifted the tarpaulin from the coffins. He raised tlie lid of each coffin in turn and looked inside. He took a deep breath, his mouth suddenly dry. Slowly, his hands trembling, he lowered the lids. He looked up at Roscoe again. "The sheriff that done this in jail?"

Roscoe shook his head. "It was self-defense, they claimed. He got off."

"But you said Jimmy had no gun," Jeb said.

''He didn't. I was there when he put it in the drawer in his kitchen," Roscoe said quickly. "They Hed."

Jeb's pale eyes were cold. "Where are they now?''

"The Pinkertons lef town," Roscoe said. "On'y one around is Clint."

Jeb nodded. He turned and looked down at Preacher Dan, standing in the road behind the wagon. "You come with me up to the house to tell Miz Huggins. Then while you're comfortin' her, Roscoe an' me'U prepare the graves."

Preacher Dan returned his gaze. "I don't want you to be thinkin' evil thoughts, Jeb. There's been too much killin' already. Remember, 'Vengeance is mine,' saiththe Lx)rd."

Jeb climbed down from the wagon without answering. "I'll fetch my mule an' we'll go up to the house," he said, going toward the west field. He paused at the edge of the field and looked back. "Nail the coffins shut," he said. "I don' want fer Miz Huggins to see Molly Ann all shot up like that." His voice broke. "She was sech a purty girl."

The last shovel of dirt fell on the graves. Slowly, Jeb picked up the two small wooden crosses and pressed them into the earth, one at the head of each grave. He stepped back and looked at them.

The language burned into the wooden crosses with a hot iron poker was simple. One read, MOLLY ANN SIMPSON, OUR daughter; the other, next to it, said simply, JIMMY SIMPSON, her husband.

He looked at Marylou, standing at the foot of the graves, the children around her. Her face was lined and filled with pain. Unconsciously her arms had spread out, seeming to draw the children to her. She raised her eyes and met his gaze. "I'll fix Mr* Craig and the minister some lunch before they start back."

Jeb nodded.

*'Come, children," she said. The children began to follow her. All through the service they had been very quiet. Jeb wondered if they really understood what had happened. Now they all began to chatter almost at the same time.

Only one question stood out in Jeb's mind. It came from Alice, the youngest girl, who was now eight. "Does it mean now that Molly Ann's in Heaven, she cain't no longer come to visit us?"

Richard, with the superiority of his eleven years, answered, ''When they're dead, nobody comes back, 'cept if n they're a ghost."

''Will she be a good ghost or a bad ghost?" Alice wanted to know,

Rachel, now the oldest daughter, answered in an annoyed tone of voice, "There is no sech things as ghosts. Besides, Molly Ann is now an angel in Heaven at God's side. An' he ain't about to let her come back."

By that time Marylou and the children were down the hill out of earshot. Jeb turned to the two men. "I think a bit of squeezin's mought be of he'p."