Morning Glory (54 page)

Miss Beasley was the prosecution’s last witness. Then it was Collins’ turn.

He spent thirty seconds boosting himself from his chair, sixty gazing out over the gallery and fifteen removing his glasses. He chuckled, nodded at his toes and called, “Defense calls Mrs. Lydia Marsh.”

Lydia Marsh, looking pretty as a madonna with her coal black hair and pale blue dress spoke her oath and stated that she was a housewife and mother of two whose husband was fighting “somewhere in Italy.” A careful observer might have seen the almost imperceptible approval in the softening of the jurors’ mouths and the relaxing of their hands over their stomachs. Certainly Robert Collins saw and set out to capitalize on the sense of patriotism running rife through every American in that jurors’ box.

“How long have you known Will Parker, Mrs. Marsh?”

The questions were routine until Collins asked Lydia to relate a story about what happened the day Will Parker left for Parris Island to be inducted into the United States Marines.

“He came by the house,” Lydia recalled, “and called from down by the gate. He acted slightly nervous and maybe a little embarrassed—”

“Objection, your honor. Witness is drawing a conclusion.”

“Sustained.”

When Lydia Marsh continued it was with the avid determination to paint things accurately. “Mr. Parker refused to meet
my eyes at first, and he wiped his hands nervously on his thighs. When I went down to wish him goodbye, he gave me a green towel and a fruit jar full of honey. He told me he’d stolen them from me nearly a year and a half before, when he was down and out and had no money. At the time he stole the fruit jar it had been filled with buttermilk—he’d taken it from our well. And the green towel he’d taken from the clothesline along with a set of my husband’s clothes, which had, of course, been worn out long before that day. He apologized and said it had bothered him all that time, stealing from us, and before he went off to war, he wanted to make it right. So he was bringing me the honey, which was all he had to repay us with.”

“Because he thought he might not get the chance again? He feared he might die in the war?”

“He didn’t say that—no. He wasn’t that kind. He was the kind who knew he had to fight and went to do it without complaint, just like my own husband did.”

“And more recently, Mrs. Marsh, since William Parker’s return from the Pacific, have you been aware of any marital discord between him and his wife?”

“Quite the opposite. They’re extremely happy. I believe I would have known if he’d had any reason to seek the company of a woman like Lula Peak.”

“And what makes you believe he didn’t?”

Lydia’s eyes swerved to Elly’s and took on a glow. “Because Elly—Mrs. Parker, that is—recently confided in me that she’s expecting their first baby.”

The shock hit Will as if he’d been poleaxed. He twisted around in his chair and his eyes collided with Elly’s. He half-rose, but his attorney pressed him down gently. A rush of joy warmed his face as his glance swept down to his wife’s stomach, then lifted once more to her blushing cheeks.
Is it true, Elly?
The words went unsaid but everyone in the courtroom sensed them with their hearts instead of their ears. And every person present saw Elly’s answering smile and the merest nod of her head. They watched Will’s dazzling, jubilant hosanna of a smile. And twelve out of twelve in the jury who were mothers and fathers felt their heartstrings tugged.

A murmur spread through the gallery and was silenced only when Collins excused the witness and announced the reading by the bailiff of Will Parker’s military record into evidence. The bailiff, a small, effeminate man with a high voice, read from a file with eyebrows raised in approval. The records of the United States Marine Corps characterized William L. Parker as a tough recruit who knew how to follow orders and command men, thus earning him the honor of being named squad leader in basic training and in combat, and promotion to the rank of corporal before his medical discharge in May of 1943. Also on record was a citation from Colonel Merritt A. Edson, Commander of the First Marine Raiders, commending Will’s bravery in battle and delineating the courageous acts that had won him the Purple Heart in what by now the war correspondents had dubbed “the bloodiest battle of the Coral Sea, the Battle of Bloody Ridge.”

The courtroom was respectfully silent when the bailiff closed his file. Collins had the jury in his hand and he knew it. He’d gotten them with respectability, honesty and military valor. Now he’d get them with a bit of levity.

“Defense calls Nat MacReady to the stand.”

Nat left his place beside Norris and hustled forward. Though his shoulders were stooped, he walked with amazing agility for one of his age. Nat looked spiffy, dressed in the woolen blouse of his World War I army uniform with its tarnished gold stars and lieutenant’s stripes. It was obvious at a glance that Nat was proud to be called upon to help justice prevail. When asked if he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, he replied, “You bet your boots, sonny.”

Judge Murdoch scowled but allowed the chuckles from the gallery as Nat, eager-eyed, seated himself on the edge of his chair.

“State your name.”

“Nathaniel MacReady.”

“And your occupation.”

“I’m a retired businessman. Ran the icehouse out south of town since I was twenty-six, along with my brother, Norris.”

“What town is that?”

“Why, Whitney, of course.”

“You’ve lived there all your life, have you?”

“I most certainly have. All except for them fourteen months back in ‘17 and ‘18 when Uncle Sam give me a free trip to Europe.”

Titters of appreciation sounded. Collins stood back and let the uniform speak for itself; not a soul in the place could mistake Nat’s pride in wearing it again.

“So you’ve been retired now for how many years?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years...” Collins scratched his head and studied the floor. “You must get a little bored after fifteen years of doing nothing.”

“Doing nothing! Why, sonny, I’ll have you know my brother and I organized the Civilian Guard, and we’re out there every night enforcing the curfew and watching for Japanese planes, aren’t we, Norris?”

“We sure are,” Norris answered from the gallery to another ripple of laughter that had to be silenced by Murdoch’s gavel.

“Defense counsel will instruct his witness to direct his responses to the court and not the gallery,” Murdoch ordered.

“Yes, your honor,” replied Collins meekly before scratching his head again and waiting for the room to still. “Now before we get into your duties as a volunteer guard, I wonder if you’d take a look at something for me.” From his baggy pocket Collins withdrew a small wooden carving and handed it to Nat. “Did you make this?”

Nat took it, replying, “Looks like mine.” Turning it bottom-side up, he examined it myopically and added, “Yup, it is. Got my initials on the bottom.”

“Tell the court what it is.”

“It’s a wood carving of a wild turkey. Where’d you get it?”

“At the drugstore in Whitney. Paid twenty-nine cents for it off their souvenir counter.”

“Did you tell Haverty to mark it in his books so I get credit?”

The judged rapped his gavel.

“I certainly did, Mr. MacReady,” Collins answered to the accompaniment of soft laughter from the spectators, then
rushed on before drawing further wrath from the sober-faced Murdoch. “And where did you make it?”

“In the square.”

“What square?”

“Why, the Town Square in Whitney. That’s where me and my brother spend most days, on the bench under the magnolia tree.”

“Whittling?”

“Naturally, whittling. Show me an old man with idle hands and I’ll show you the subject of next year’s obituary.”

“And while you whittle, you see a lot of what goes on around the square, is that right?”

Nat scratched his temple. “Well, I guess you could say we don’t miss much, do we, Norris?” He chuckled, raising a matching sound from those in the room who knew precisely how little the pair missed.

This time Norris smiled and restrained himself from replying.

Collins took out a pocket knife and began cleaning his nails as if the following question were of little consequence. “Have you ever seen Lula Peak coming and going around the square?”

“Pret’ near every day. She was a waitress at Vickery’s, you know, and our bench sets right there where we got a clear shot of it and the library and pretty much everything that moves around that square.”

“So over the years you saw a lot of Lula Peak’s comings and goings?”

“You bet.”

“Did you ever see her coming and going with any men?”

Nat burst out laughing and slapped his knee. “Hoo! Hoo! That’s a good one, isn’t it, Norris!” The whole courtroom burst into laughter.

The judge interjected, “Answer the question, Mr. MacReady.”

“She come and go with more men than the Pacific fleet!”

Laughter burst forth and Murdoch had to sound his gavel again.

“Tell us about some you saw her with,” Collins prompted.

“How far back?”

“As far back as you can remember.”

“Well...” Nat scratched his chin, dropped his gaze to the tip of his brown high-top shoe. “Let’s see now, that goes back quite a ways. She always did like the men. Guess I can’t rightly say which one I saw her with first, but somewhere along when she was just barely old enough to grow body hair there was that dusky-skinned carnie who ran the ferris wheel during Whitney Days. Might’ve been back in twenty-four—”

“Twenty-five,” Norris interrupted from the floor.

Slocum leaped to his feet—“Objection!” just as the judge rapped his gavel. “Lula Peak is not on trial here!” put in the Solicitor General. “William Parker is!”

Collins pointed out calmly, “Your honor, the reputation of the deceased is of utmost importance here. My intent is to establish that because of her promiscuity, Lula Peak might have gotten pregnant by any one of a dozen men she’s been known to have consorted with.”

“By implying her fetus was sired in 1925?” retorted Slocum irately. “Your honor, this line of questioning is ludicrous!”

“I’m attempting to show a sexual pattern in the deceased’s life, your honor, if you’ll allow me.”

The objection was overruled, but with a warning to Collins to control his witness’s penchant for speaking to the gallery and soliciting answers from them.

“Did you ever see Lula Peak coming and going with Will Parker?”

“I seen her try. Whoo—ee, that little gal sure did try, starting with the first day he come into town and went in there where she was workin’.”

“In there, meaning in Vickery’s Cafe.”

“Yessir. And every day after that when she saw him come to town and cross the square, she’d make sure she was out front sweeping, and when he didn’t pay her any mind, she’d follow him wherever he went.”

“Such as...” encouraged Collins.

“Well, such as the library when he came in to borrow books or to sell milk and eggs to Miss Beasley. It wouldn’t
take Lula two minutes before she took off her apron and hotfooted it after young Parker. I’m an old man, Mr. Collins, but I’m not too old to recognize a woman in heat, nor one that’s been refused by a man—”

“Objection!”

“—and when Lula came spittin’ out of that library—”

“Objection!”

“—she didn’t have no matted fur that I could see—”

“Objection!”

It took a full minute for the din to die down. Though the judge ordered Nat’s opinions stricken from the record, Collins knew they could not be stricken from the minds of the jury. Lula Peak was a slut and before he was done they’d all recognize the fact and indict her instead of Will Parker.

“Mr. MacReady,” Collins explained quietly, “you understand we have to deal with facts here, only facts, not opinions.”

“Sure—sure enough.”

“Facts, Mr. MacReady. Now, do you know for a fact that Lula Peak had licentious affairs with more than one man around Whitney?”

“Yes, sir. At least if Orlan Nettles can be believed. He told me once he nabbed her underneath the grandstand at the ballpark during the seventh-inning stretch of the game between the Whitney Hornets and the Grove City Tigers.”

“Nabbed her. Could you be more specific?”

“Well, I could except there’s ladies present.”

“Was
nabbed
the word Orlan himself used?”

“No, sir.”

“What word did he use?”

Nat blushed and turned to the judge. “Do I have to say it, your honor?”

“You’re under oath, Mr. MacReady.”

“All right, then—screwed, your honor. Orlan said he screwed Lula Peak underneath the grandstand at Skeets Hollow Park during the seventh-inning stretch of a game between the Whitney Hornets and the Grove City Tigers.”

In the rear gallery a gasp was heard from Alma Nettles,
Orlan’s wife. Collins noted the eyes of the jurors swerve her way and waited until he’d regained their full attention.

“How long ago did he claim to do this?”

“It was the night the Hornets won seven to six in the top of the ninth when Willie Pounds caught a grounder stretched out on his belly and threw a scorcher into home for the last out. Norris and me never miss a game, and we keep the scorecards, don’t we, Norris?” Norris nodded as Nat handed Collins a scrap of white paper. “Here it is, last summer, July eleventh, though I don’t know why it was necessary to bring this. Half the men in Whitney know the date ‘cause Orlan he told a whole bunch of us about it, didn’t he, Norris?”

“Strike that last question,” Judge Murdoch ordered as the weeping Alma was escorted from the room in the arms of a solicitous matron.

Above the murmurs from the gallery, Collins inquired of Nat, “Did you ever
see
Lula Peak with a man, under... shall we say, a compromising position?”

“Yessir, there was an engineer on the L and N Railroad who used to lay over at Miss Bernadette Werm’s boarding-house. I’m not sure of his name, but he had a bushy red beard and a tattoo of a serpent on his arm—Miss Werm would remember his name. Anyway, I caught ‘em one day, in the act you might say, down by Oak Creek where I was fishin’. Naked as jaybirds they were, and when I come upon ‘em, Lula she throws back her head and laughs and says to me, ‘Don’t look so shocked, Mr. MacReady. Why don’t y’all come and join us?’ “