He that demands mercy and shows none, ruins the bridge over which he himself is to pass.
THOMAS ADAMS
The next morning
Do you even know why you hate each other?” The calm voice broke the silence in the jail.
From where Jack sat on the cot in the corner of his cell, he looked from Judge Swayze, dressed in his Sunday finest, to the Kents, then to Coral with her bright red-orange hair a startling contrast to that of her kin. All six cells packed with two or three people. While this wasn’t the first time he’d been in jail after an altercation with a Davies, it was the first time since his university days when he used to run head-first into any battle unconcerned with the consequence. Years of taming his temper and establishing his reputation as an upstanding citizen—as one of the town’s esteemed doctors—ruined in the blink of an eye.
In a mud puddle, to be more precise.
A steeple bell in the distance rang, calling worshippers to service.
Tin coffee mug in hand, Judge Swayze looked over the rims of his spectacles as he walked down the corridor between the two rows of cells. “Well,” he prodded, “you’ve been given the night to think it over. Surely you’ve figured it out.”
Murmurs and shrugs were the only response.
“In all my fifty-two years, I’ve never seen such a bunch of fools.”
“Sir, the reason the feud began doesn’t matter anymore.” Coral’s girlish voice came from behind her brothers Gil and Dan.
Richard sulked in another cell with two cousins. Whit was the Davies brother not involved in the mudslinging. Jack wasn’t surprised. Since the incident at the river four years ago, Whit had kept with his leatherworking business while also helping Mr. Davies manage their orchard. If anyone had the ability to end this feud, it was the oldest Davies son.
Coral pushed her brothers aside and made her way to the cell door, to where Swayze now stood. Her dress was more brown than blue, likely as ruined as his beige suit. Most of her lovely face was covered with dried mud, hair matted. Unlike Jack, she’d slept through the night, he knew because he’d watched her. She’d lain on her right side, using Dan’s coat as a pillow. Never stirred at any sound, which made him more assured of his diagnosis.
“I do think everyone has learned his lesson,” Coral said with a cheerfulness Jack never had until he’d been awake at least an hour. “This won’t happen again.”
Hiram walked to the door of the cell he shared with Jack. “I agree, sir. We’re all changed men.”
A humph came from the district attorney, the Honorable Lew Peters, standing at the entrance to the jail cells.
Judge Swayze sipped his coffee. “You are ever the optimist, Miss Davies, and you…” He scowled at Hiram. “Considering you’ve been away from Wathena these last four years, you no more know those sharing this jail with you than they know you. Besides, a man’s nature never changes, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Kent?”
All eyes, including Coral’s, turned on him.
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze on the brick floor. He steepled his fingers. Last Sunday the judge had sat in the same service as Jack, and every Kent save for Hiram, and listened to the same sermon on how believers were the temple in which the Spirit of God abided. That could only happen if a man’s sinful nature was removed. Crucified. Changed. Replaced with a new nature, one holy, blameless, and beyond reproach. It’d taken Jack almost seventeen months to finally understand God had forgiven all his sins—past, present, future—and made him a new man in Christ.
A sinner to a saint.
He looked at the judge. “God changes a man.”
“Indeed.” Swayze took a leisurely sip from his tin cup.
Jack would wager the man did it to hide a smile.
Coral’s head tilted as she stared at him. He wanted to say she looked impressed with his answer, but he no more knew her than she knew him. Her faith may be no more real than his had been prior to his uncle’s death.
Swayze cleared his throat.
Coral and Jack looked his way.
His gaze narrowed and shifted about, looking no more pleased than he had the moment he’d first questioned them all yesterday afternoon following their arrest. “Still, I’m neither convinced a lesson has been learned here nor hopeful this won’t happen again. Disturbing the peace is a misdemeanor criminal offense. Anyone charged can face jail time up to ninety days plus fines.”
“Ninety days,” echoed about the room.
“Plus fines,” muttered Jack.
“Your warning is duly noted.” Hiram grinned. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets with that devil-may-care attitude of his. “Since we’ve all agreed not to press charges against one another for assault and battery, you can let us go.”
Jack shook his head. University hadn’t changed his cousin one bit. Hiram still had that uncanny ability to keep criticism from getting under his skin.
Not a flaw, but not necessarily a virtue, either.
“Not so quickly, Mr. Kent,” the DA put in. “I have the paperwork ready to file charges against you all for creating a public disturbance. Trust me, you will be found guilty. Your families—every last one—are waiting outside to hear what the judge decides. You’re under his mercy at the moment.”
As murmurs and grumbles grew, Jack stared at the dried mud on his hands. Ninety days of no house calls. Mary Zeizer’s twins wouldn’t wait that long to be delivered. He’d promised Mr. McKinney he’d be by the man’s side when his wife passed. While misdemeanor conviction would be a black mark on them all, disqualifying them (especially Jack) in the forum of public opinion, its consequences were far greater and long reaching than likely any Kent or Davies realized.
No one would be in jail if he hadn’t made an attempt to apologize to Coral because he’d thrown her in the river. Because he was to blame for her hearing loss.
Fault—and responsibility—lay at his mud-caked feet. He had to make reparations.
Gil and Dan murmured, nodded, and then broke apart.
“You can’t keep us in here for three months,” Gil argued. “School starts soon for the teeners. The Kents don’t have enough workers, any more than we do, to bring in the harvest without us there to help. That financial loss would be greater than any fines.” He pulled his brother Dan forward. “Dan’s getting married in two months. He can’t miss his wedding.”
Swayze gave him a look of disdain. “You should have considered those things before you participated in a mud fight. Your own wife tried to stop you. Pride—arrogance—stupidity—they all go before a fall. Have the decency, Gil, to stop whining about why you can’t stay in jail. You are in here on your own making.”
Richard Davies’s eyes flashed with anger. “Dr. Kent pushed our sister into the mud,” he shot back. “The Kents started it. We just finished it. I will wear a misdemeanor conviction with pride.”
The other Kent and Davies teeners agreed.
“With pride you say,” began Swayze, brows raised. “You should know there are thousands of state and federal consequences to having a misdemeanor conviction on your record. It affects gun ownership, access to loans, adoption qualifications, university admissions, job applications, and even your ability to join the United States Armed Forces”—he gave Teddy a pointed look—“including the National Guard. What you think is a badge of honor is in reality a silent and continual punishment.” He turned to the exit, and District Attorney Peters stepped out of the way to give him room to pass.
Jack stood.
“Wait!” Coral said before he did.
Swayze stopped a few feet from the threshold. He looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Miss Davies?”
She gripped the bars, her knuckles whitening. “I can’t stay in here.” She sounded panicked. “I—I—I have job responsibilities and plans.”
“I cannot continue to employ you, should you be charged with a misdemeanor.”
Despite the mud splatters on her face, Jack could see her skin paling. “We had an agreement,” she said. “Your trip—shouldn’t you be leaving in a couple hours?”
“I should.” Swayze walked back to Coral’s cell. His hand wrapped around hers. “You have become the closest I have to a child. The feud between your families ruined an anniversary dinner with my wife. Other people are being harmed now because of this inability of both families to let go of a grudge. One day someone is going to be seriously hurt”—for a second, his gaze settled on Jack—“if it hasn’t already happened. I’m sorry, Coral.” He released her hand. “Peters, file the charges.”
“Wait,” Jack said, “isn’t there another solution?”
“Another solution?” Swayze repeated as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He coughed a breath. “Short of a Kent marrying a Davies, I can’t see one.”