Whispers in the Wind (22 page)

He shook his head at her audacity. “You’re quite the little sister, Tharyn. Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

She took a shaky breath. “It’s good to see you, too. I—” She put a hand to her mouth and her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“This awful place. I feel so bad for you. Its—so dingy. It’s worse than the alley. At least there we can see the sky and breathe fresh air.”

Dane nodded grimly. “Yeah.”

Tharyn’s eyes strayed past Dane to the bunk where his Bible
lay on the pillow. “I see Dr. Harris got here early, like he had planned.”

Dane turned his head and followed her line of sight. “Oh. My Bible. Dr. Harris said he asked Russell to give it to him when he was at the alley checking on all of you this morning. He figured since the church gave each of you a Bible the day you were baptized, I should have mine here in the cell with me. I’m glad he brought it. I was planning to ask him when he came to see me today, if he would bring it next time he comes.”

“Dr. Harris said when he was here this morning, he was going to try to find out when your trial will be.”

Dane shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was told by the officer who booked me for the crime that the trial is set for next Tuesday. With all the emotion that I was experiencing yesterday, I completely forgot to tell Dr. Harris. He stopped by the office before he came to see me this morning and asked about it. They told him it was set for ten o’clock next Tuesday morning.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Dr. Harris said he wished he had the money to hire a good lawyer to defend me. But he just doesn’t have it. He said the court is going to appoint a lawyer for me.”

She nodded. “Well, I can tell you right now that the whole colony is coming to the trial. We all agreed. We’ll walk all the way from the alley together.”

Tharyn could tell by the look in Dane’s eyes that this pleased him.

“This means more to me than I can ever say, Tharyn. I sure wish somebody could bring all of you in a carriage or a wagon, though.”

“We’ll be fine. And we don’t mind walking. We just want to be here for you. Dr. Harris told us he was going to go by the parsonage after leaving the alley and tell Pastor Wheeler about you being in jail.”

“He did. Pastor Wheeler was here to see me a couple of hours ago.”

“I’m sure he was a help to you.”

“Yes. I asked him why God would let this awful thing happen to me. He read a verse to me from the book of Romans. It was a real help.”

“What does it say?”

“I’ll show it to you.”

Russell hurried to the bunk and picked up the Bible. While flipping pages, he said, “It’s in Romans 8:28.” He extended it to her through the bars. “Read it out loud.”

Tharyn took the Bible, found the verse, and put her thumb next to it. “‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’”

“That’s talking about saved people, Tharyn. It’s talking about
us
.”

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the page.

“Pastor Wheeler told me that based on this verse, God has a purpose for this happening to me. He said when God is ready for me to be cleared of the crime and released from this place, He will see that it is done. And when it’s all over, it will have worked out for my good.”

Still looking at it, Tharyn said, “Sure enough. That’s what it says. It doesn’t say that all things that happen to us are good, but all things will
work together
for our good.”

Dane grinned. “That is exactly how Pastor Wheeler put it.”

At that instant, they heard heavy footsteps, and looked up to see the guard. “Time’s up. Let’s go, little lady.”

Tharyn stood up, handed Dane the Bible, and embraced him through the bars. “See you next Tuesday, big brother.”

“Sure enough,” said Dane, and pressing his face to the bars, kissed her forehead. “That will have to do until I get out and am back in the alley to kiss my little sister good night.”

She struggled to keep her composure. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The guard picked up the chair.

Tharyn smiled at Dane, then followed the guard down the corridor with prisoners in their cells looking on. She continued her brave front until she reached the big steel door and turned for one last look at Dane.

The guard set the chair down, jerked on the door handle, and pulled it open.

Tharyn’s heart seemed to turn over inside her chest, and unbidden tears dimmed her blue eyes. She waved to Dane, then squared her shoulders and moved through the door, her back straight but her heart aching.

Dane stood there for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the last spot where he saw her, then turned and sat back down on the bunk. He opened his Bible and read Romans 8:28 again. And again.

“Lord,” he whispered, “I’m such a young Christian. I really need You to help me to hold onto this. I know it’s true because it’s Your Word. Please help me not to have doubts.”

The handle of the door clanked again and it swung open. Dane looked that direction, and saw the guard enter the corridor with a man in a business suit. He looked back at his Bible and read the verse again. He heard the footsteps of the two men coming his direction and looked up again.

The guard said, “Someone else to see you, kid. Take all the time you want, Mr. Watson.”

The guard walked away, and the middle-aged man moved up to the bars, peering between them. “Dane Weston?”

Dane laid the Bible down, left the bunk, and drew up close to the cell door. “Yes, sir?”

“My name is George Watson. I’m the attorney the court appointed to represent you at your trial.”

“Oh. Glad to meet you, sir.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

Dane nodded.

“Tell me the truth about the murder of Benny Jackson.”

“I did not murder Benny Jackson,” Dane said levelly.

Watson sighed. “It’ll go a lot better for you if you will admit your guilt.”

“
What
guilt? I told you, sir, I did not murder that boy.”

“The state has three credible witnesses who have identified you as the person they saw stab Benny Jackson. When they testify to this in court, the jury is going to believe them.”

“The witnesses are mistaken, Mr. Watson. I swear to you, I didn’t do it.”

“But according to what the police told me, all three witnesses gave them a perfect description of you, even before you were brought in.”

Dane shook his head. “Not a perfect description, sir. They said the killer was seventeen years old. I’m fifteen.”

“That’s a minor point. The physical description they gave of the killer
was
perfect. I talked to Officers Thornton and Collins. They said the instant they heard the three witnesses give the description of the killer, they knew it was you. So they arrested you and took you before the witnesses. All three said you were the one they saw stab Benny Jackson. That’s all the jury will need to convict you. Now, if you will admit it, maybe I can get the judge to go easier on you. Instead of a life sentence, it may only be twenty or twenty-five years.”

Dane shook his head stubbornly. “Mr. Watson, I am not going to admit to something I didn’t do.”

Watson sighed. “Okay, kid. Have it your own way.” With that, he wheeled and headed down the corridor.

Dane went back to the bunk, sat down, and bowed his head, asking God to clear him of the murder charge.

That Monday night seemed an eternity to Dane as he lay on his hard bunk and stared unseeingly at the bottom of the bunk above him. He had not slept a wink when dawn came and the guards rolled carts along the corridor, handing out breakfast.

A guard stopped in front of Dane’s cell and placed a tray of food on the floor, sliding it through the six-inch space beneath the door. “Breakfast, kid,” he said, looking through the bars. “Just leave the tray right here after you eat so we can pick it up later.”

As the guard wheeled the cart away, Dane left the bunk, leaned over, and slid the tray into the cell. One look at the grease floating on top of the thin gruel caused his stomach to wrench. He made a face and shoved it back under the door. “Oh, dear Lord, help me.”

He went back to the bunk and lay down. His eyes were closed and his arm lay over his forehead an hour later when the guard came to pick up the tray. He heard the guard grumble something about the prisoners being unappreciative of the food as he pushed the cart on down the corridor.

It was almost 9:45 when two guards came to the cell. Dane was sitting up on the bunk, reading his Bible.

“Time to go to court, kid.”

They moved into the cell, and one of them handcuffed Dane with his wrists behind his back. His insides were churning, and his steps slow and measured as the guards led him through the huge Hall of Justice building to the courtroom. Still unable to believe the horrible events of the last few days, his spirits were lifted when he set his red-rimmed eyes on all his friends from the alley, and the four adults who sat just behind them. Pastor and Mrs. Alan Wheeler sat between Dr. Lee Harris and Bryce Clarkson. They were all watching him closely, and a reassuring smile was on every face.

Dane smiled thinly in their direction, then the smile faded as he saw the three witnesses sitting on the front row. His stomach soured at the sight of them. All three were looking at him with accusing eyes.

The guards led him to a table that faced the judges bench. One of them removed the handcuffs, and the other one shoved him down on a hard wooden chair. Both moved away a few steps, then stood looking at him sternly.

At that moment, George Watson appeared and sat down beside him. He leaned close and whispered, “If you plead guilty and show remorse for your crime, the judge will go easier on you, especially because of your age. Are you listening to what I am telling you?”

“I told you I’m innocent, Mr. Watson. I’m not going to plead guilty to a crime I did not commit.”

There was a stirring among the children of the colony, who had heard Dane’s words.

Twelve men came in from a side door and walked single file to the jury box. They sat down quietly, and when they were settled, the bailiff said, “All rise.”

Everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet, including George Watson and his client. As the judge came from a rear door and approached his bench, the bailiff said, “The honorable Judge Hector B. Rigby, presiding.”

Rigby sat down behind his bench, picked up the gavel, and banged it on the desk. “Court is in session. Please be seated.”

When all but the bailiff and the two guards had sat down, the bailiff read the charge against Dane Weston, and the trial began.

The witnesses gave their testimonies under oath one by one, and each pointed the defendant out as the person they saw stab Benny Jackson to death.

When the testimonies had been given, Judge Rigby spoke to the court-appointed attorney. “Mr. Watson, how does your client plead?”

Watson rose to his feet, gave Dane a fleeting glance, and said, “My client pleads not guilty, your honor.”

The jury was sent out and returned in less than fifteen minutes.

A deep feeling of dread assailed Dane as the men of the jury were filing in, their faces grim. He knew in his sore, hurting heart what the verdict would be.

When the jurors were seated, the judge looked at the man closest to him. “Mr. Chairman, has the jury reached a verdict?”

The chairman stood up. “We have, your honor.”

Rigby looked at Dane. “The defendant will please rise.”

Dane stood up, and George Watson stood beside him.

The judge looked at the chairman. “And what is your verdict?”

“We, the jury, unanimously find Mr. Dane Weston guilty as charged.”

George Watson turned and looked at his client. There was blank dismay in the boy’s eyes as he stared straight ahead. Then, he lowered his head, his chin nearly resting on his chest. A silent plea went heavenward:
Why God? Why are You letting this happen to me?

Judge Rigby set steady eyes on Dane. “Mr. Weston, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree in this court of law. Do you have anything to say?”

Dane’s features were like stone. He met the judges steady gaze and took a sharp breath. “I am innocent, sir. I did not kill Benny Jackson.”

Rigby nodded. “Notwithstanding your testimony, this court of law has found you guilty of murder in the first degree. I hereby sentence you to life imprisonment without possibility of parole. If you were not a minor, I would have sentenced you to be hanged for your crime.”

Dane licked his dry lips.

“This trial is over.” The judge banged the gavel on the desk. “Court dismissed.”

The two guards moved up to Dane. One of them told him to put his hands behind his back, and while he was putting the handcuffs on him, the street orphans and the adults gathered in a circle.

“Dane,” said Russell Mims, “we know you’re innocent.”

Dr. Harris spoke his agreement, and Bryce Clarkson moved up to face him. “Dane, I have no doubt of your innocence. Somewhere out there, the guilty party is on the loose. Because he strongly resembles you, he has the fortune of getting away with his crime. I’m—I’m sorry, son.”