The Glorious Prodigal (21 page)

“Fly right at it, Tom. If I can call you that.”

“Sure. Well, just start in talking and tell me about you and Stuart.”

“We was always best friends. Grew up together, hunted together—deer and girls and everything else, I guess. . . .”

Winslow listened carefully, not taking notes, but soaking it all in. A picture had emerged of Stuart Winslow, and he had the feeling that this tall, homely man probably knew him as well as anyone. From what he had heard, the two had been quite the characters a few years back, raising all kinds of deviltry, playing together at dances, chasing women, drinking, and gambling. Now as he listened and noted the change in the man, Tom found himself liking Devainy very much.

“I’m a tame coon now,” Ace shrugged. “Got a good wife and three young’uns. Twin boys. You’ll get a look at ’em before you leave. I think they’re gettin’ their bath right now.”

The grandfather clock ticked loudly as it gave a syncopated air to the room. Over the mantelpiece was a painting of Custer’s Last Stand with the general dressed in yellow buckskin in the midst of the Battle at the Little Bighorn. Custer was shooting an Indian off a horse, but it was obvious that the general’s doom was certain. Tom studied the picture for a moment and then said, “I need some advice, Ace. I don’t know which way to go.”

Ace started to answer, but at that moment a woman entered, and Ace said as the two men stood, “This is my wife, Ellie, and these are my boys, George and Henry.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Devainy.” Tom smiled and stepped closer to peer into the twin faces that stared up owlishly at him. “Which is George and which is Henry?”

“It doesn’t make any difference. They’re just alike,” Ace said, winking at Winslow.

“What a thing to say!” Ellie said. She had grown heavier, but there was a peace in her face that had not been there when she was a young woman. Marriage agreed with her, and having children even more so, and now she said quickly, “Take one of these lumps, Ace.”

“Here, let me hold George,” Tom said quickly.

“Do you have children of your own?”

“A boy eight and a girl six,” Tom said. “Would like to have about half a dozen more, but Helen says I’m not quite ready for that yet. I’ll talk her into it, though.”

The three sat down, and Tom enjoyed balancing the baby on his knee. “He’s a fine one,” he said. “I know you’re proud of your children.”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably and said, “We’ve heard you’re trying to get Stuart set free.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Devainy.”

“I wish you well. But if you do get him out, make it clear to him that he needs to leave Leah alone. He’s brought nothing but misery to her, and now she’s got a chance to have something better.”

“You ought not to talk like that, Ellie,” Ace said uncomfortably.

“Why not? It’s true enough! Mott Castleton wants to marry her. He’s got money and could take care of her. He could be a good father to her kids, too.”

Ace shook his head but argued no more. Tom sensed the discomfort between them and understood that these two differed strongly on the matter of Leah Winslow. He rose quickly and handed the baby back to Ellie, saying, “Thanks for your time. You’ve got fine children here.”

“I’ll see you out,” Ace said.

The two men walked outside, and when they were clear of the house, standing by the picket fence that surrounded the yard, Ace said, “Me and Ellie don’t quite agree on this
thing. I don’t know what’s happened to Stuart in prison. It’s like he just faded off the face of the earth. But I worry about him every day. Do what you can for him, Tom.”

“I’ll do that and thanks, Ace.”

****

Sheriff Luke Garrison studied the young man across from him and nodded. “Yes, I was the first one there after the shootin’.”

“How did you know to come?”

“Stuart came in and got me. We picked up Doc Morton and went on out there.”

“What did you find, Sheriff?”

Shrugging his beefy shoulders, Garrison said, “Well, Carter was dead, and Cora had taken a shot high in the shoulder. Stuart had bandaged it up and stopped the bleeding but wouldn’t let her leave. It was fairly serious, and Doc had to give her something to let her sleep, so I didn’t get to talk to her much. She was hysterical about it, anyway.”

Tom leaned forward in his chair and considered what Garrison had told him. “What did you think, Sheriff? I mean it’s all over now, but I guess everybody knows I’m tryin’ to get Stuart another chance.”

“I hope you can do it, Mr. Winslow. I always liked Stuart. He was wild, but he comes from a good family. I think he’s got good stuff in him. I’ve heard from the warden that he’s kind of straightened up in the pen.” He shifted in his chair and looked across his desk. “A lot of men in jail get jailhouse religion. They just want out, so they’re bein’ good, but I know Warden Armstrong pretty well. We grew up together, and he tells me that’s not the case with Stuart.”

“Yes. I’ve talked with Warden Armstrong, and I’ve talked with Stuart. My family owes a lot to Richard and his wife. I’m gonna bust a gut trying to get Stuart out of there, so tell me everything you can.”

“I’ll do that. The first thing was that Richard made a big
mistake hiring Mordecai Frasier to defend Stuart. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Mordecai’s a great man, but he was really out of it. A sharp lawyer, I think, would have gotten Stuart off. . . .”

****

Tom’s interview with the Reverend Charles Fields was short but convincing. He listened as Fields expressed his eagerness to help, and finally he said, “Leah Winslow’s a member of your church.”

“Yes. She has been ever since she came to Lewisville. Fine woman. Very fine!”

Feeling that he might be treading on shaky ground, Tom said carefully, “I’ve heard a rumor that she might marry another man.”

“Mott Castleton. Yes, it’s more than a rumor, I’m afraid.” A worried look crossed Fields’s features, and he shook his head. “The Bible’s pretty plain about that. In Mark eleven, verse ten, Jesus said, ‘Whosoever shall put away his wife, and marry another, committeth adultery against her. And if a woman shall put away her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery.’ That’s always been pretty plain to me, but this country’s changing. More and more divorce all the time. I hate to see it.”

“I think it’s terrible,” Tom said soberly.

This matter had apparently weighed hard on Charles Fields. He shook his head and said, “Do you know, Mr. Winslow, there are some kinds of physical problems that we can get over and some we can’t? For example, if we get a case of the flu, we can recover and live just as if it had never happened. But if we have an auto wreck and lose a leg, we may live, but we’ll have to limp around the rest of our lives. I think divorce is like that. From what I’ve seen, people never really get over it. It leaves a wound that just won’t heal up. Don’t get me wrong. They go on with life, but it’s never the same.”

“I agree, and I was a little surprised at Mrs. Winslow. I was expecting something else.”

Reverend Fields put his hands together, squeezed them, and then shook his head. “I’m very concerned about her. She had such a wonderful, happy spirit, but after the tragedy, she seemed to lose some of her faith. Oh, she still comes to church and brings the children, but there’s not any joy in it for her anymore.” He got up, walked over to the window, and stared out for a moment, then turned back and locked his hands behind him. “I think she’ll marry Mott Castleton for the children’s sake. She’s very concerned about them not having a father.”

“But if we get Stuart out—”

“It wouldn’t make any difference. She’s adamant about that. She doesn’t want him back. As a matter of fact, the last time I talked to her, she seemed more afraid of that than anything else.”

“You’ve talked to her since I came to town?”

“Yes. She came to me last Tuesday. I can’t reveal what she said, of course, but it’s really nothing new. She’s trying to make up her mind which way her life should go, and it’s very hard for her. She’s being pulled to pieces, I’m afraid.”

Tom left shortly after that, and as soon as he was gone, Charles Fields sat down at his desk. He picked up his Bible, thumbed through it, then shook his head. “No one knows what Leah will do, not even she herself, but it’ll be a tragedy if she can’t open her heart to Stuart again and forgive him.”

****

When Tom Winslow came downstairs for breakfast, he found that his uncle had already left. He sat down and filled his plate with eggs and country ham and grits and some hot biscuits that Diane had just pulled out of the oven. He ate heartily as Diane sat across from him sipping her coffee but eating nothing.

“I ate with Richard. He’s so busy,” she said. She hesitated
for a moment, then said, “You’re not making much progress, are you, Tom?”

“Oh, it takes a while,” Tom said evasively. He put a layer of apple butter on a fresh biscuit, bit into it, and said, “You just have to keep on turning over rocks and hoping you’ll find something underneath. And I will. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“But your practice. What about that?”

“It’ll be there when I get back, Diane. Don’t worry about it. I got a letter from Dad yesterday, and I could tell he’s very anxious for me to get this thing worked out.”

“Bless his heart. I wish I could see him. He’s such a fine man.”

“The best one I know,” Tom said.

The two sat there for a time, and finally Tom saw that something was troubling Diane. “What is it?” he asked. “Have you got something on your mind?”

“Well, you’ll probably hear about it. Maybe you already have. Cora Simms came back to town. She’s been gone to Europe, I think. Switzerland or somewhere. She’s been traveling a lot since Carter was killed.”

Instantly Tom sat up straight. “She’s the one I need to see. She’s the only witness to what happened. I was about ready to leave the country and go run her down.”

“You won’t have any trouble. She lives in the big stone house out by the Old Military Road, just past the cotton gin.”

“I’ll go see her this morning,” Tom said. He sat for a moment thinking, then he said, “Why don’t you and I just pray that God opens a door?”

“I think that’s exactly what we should do,” Diane said.

The two did pray—Diane passionately—and Tom left feeling a stir of excitement. It was the last day of November and was very cold, and the car was hard to start. Finally he got it going, though he almost broke his arm getting it cranked. “I wish I could afford one of those new self-starters for these contraptions,” he grumbled. Sailing down the road,
he followed Diane’s instructions and soon pulled up at an imposing stone house. A Cadillac sedan was parked outside, and he got out of the car, shook his shoulders against the cold, and advanced to the steps. When he rang the bell, the door was opened almost at once by a small young black woman.

“Yes, suh?”

“I’d like to see Mrs. Simms, if I might. My name is Tom Winslow.”

“Yes, sir. Would you wait in the foyer? I’ll see if Mrs. Simms will see you.”

Tom stood looking around the foyer. It was an opulent house with the mark of wealth everywhere. The walls were painted a bright white with gold accents highlighting the trim, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and the floor was made out of highly polished white marble with gold swirls running through it. Mahogany shelves and tables lined the walls and were covered with vases of fresh flowers, books with bright leather bindings, and crystal and gold knickknacks of all kinds.

Hearing footsteps, Tom turned to find a woman approaching him and was impressed by the beauty of Cora Simms. She was wearing a dark burgundy dress made of satin with an overlay of black lace that fell to her ankles. The neckline was low, the sleeves long and tight fitting, and the skirt had black beads along the edge of the hem.

“My name is Tom Winslow, Mrs. Simms. I apologize for calling without making an appointment.”

“Are you related to Stuart?”

“Yes. He’s a cousin of mine. You may not have heard, but I’ve come to see what I can do for Stuart. I’m a lawyer.”

“Come into the drawing room, Mr. Winslow.”

The two went into the drawing room, where a fire was blazing in the fireplace. A tall black man was putting logs on it, and Cora said, “That’ll be fine, Ralph.”

“Yes, Miz Simms.”

As soon as the man was gone, Cora turned to Tom and said directly, “What have you done so far?”

It was a direct question, and Cora Simms was watching him carefully. Tom Winslow knew that he had to be very careful. This woman had been in the back of his mind ever since he had heard the story, and now he felt a sense of excitement growing in him. “I found out that there are elements in the trial that might lead to a new examination of the case.”

“You mean another trial for Stuart?”

“Yes. I don’t want to speak unkindly of anyone, but Mr. Frasier was in no condition to try that case, and he did not bring facts in that could have altered the verdict. I’m looking for all the evidence I can to prove that the trial was not fair for Stuart.”

“And what do you want from me?”

Tom decided to take a chance. He had the spirit of a gambler deep in him, although his gamble was never with cards or dice. He gambled with people. Now something in Cora Simms’s eyes and expression, her whole demeanor, in fact, compelled him to say, “I think you could do more than anyone else to help Stuart, Mrs. Simms.”

“How can I help?” Cora said as she sat down.

He noticed that her hands were unsteady. Sitting down across from her, he said, “I read your testimony at the trial, but I’m afraid the district attorney twisted a few things.”

“I was frightened,” she said. “I’m usually not an easy woman to frighten, but I was worried about Stuart.”

“How did it happen? Tell me exactly.”

“Stuart never even had a gun,” she said. She twisted her hands together, and words began to flow out of her. “Stuart and I had had an affair when he was first married but hadn’t seen each other for four years. That night we were together again. Carter had always been suspicious of Stuart. He never believed our affair was really over. When he came through the door that night, I knew I was a dead woman. He had always said if he caught me with a man, he’d kill me.”