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Brad Williams shifted his weight from one leg to the other and looked up into the grave blue eyes of Barfield Hutchinson.
It was Monday morning, and the courthouse was jammed. Brad scanned the courtroom. Just beyond the big double doors, the press, a good deal of the Amish community, and hordes of curious paparazzi-filled the halls outside.
Inside, the benches were full as well – at least on Jemima’s side of the room. Caldwell Morton and his attorney sat on one side, and Jemima, her family, and what looked like at least forty Amish friends and family filled the other side.
“How did you meet Miss King?” Hutchinson asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
Brad leaned toward the microphone in front of the witness box. “I was in downtown Serenity to cover a fair for my employer, the Ledger newspaper.”
“You’re a reporter there, are you not?”
“That’s right.”
“And what happened on the day that you first met her?”
“I went into the Satterwhite Gift Shop to grab a bite to eat before the fair opened, and Miss King was just walking out. We bumped into one another by accident, and the clock she was holding fell to the ground and a piece of paper fell out of it. I reached down and picked them up for her.”
“But neither you, nor Miss King, saw what the paper was?”
“I didn’t, and Miss King didn’t even look at it. She took the clock and left immediately.”
The lawyer nodded. Brad allowed his eyes to wander momentarily. Jemima was sitting on the defendant’s bench. Her huge father – who seemed crammed into his black coat – and her mother, a very pretty blonde woman, were in the row immediately behind her.
Brad’s glance flitted beyond them, to the people sitting on the back rows. He noticed the guy with the black hair and was gratified to see the remains of a truly epic shiner on his left eye. The guy with the silly straw hat was also there, and a third guy – a blonde – looked as if he might be the last of the Duchess’ admirers.
Because all of them were staring at him like they wished they could jump the rails and swing at him.
“And what happened after Miss King left?”
Brad cleared his throat. “I went into the shop and bought something to eat. There was no place to sit, so I stood in the doorway. Then Mr. Morton came in, and nearly knocked me down.”
“And why was that?”
“He was in a hurry,” Brad replied, throwing Morton a dry glance. “He asked the shop owner if he’d bought an antique clock recently, and the man said he had. Morton was very anxious to get it. He asked the shop owner if he could get the name of the person who had bought it, but the man wouldn’t give it to him.”
Brad paused, and glanced over at the jury to see how his words were going over. The people in the jury box looked like local people, and to judge from their expressions, they were sympathetic to Jemima. Though Brad couldn’t imagine how anyone could avoid that.
He glanced at her. She was sitting with her hands clasped in her lap. She hadn’t looked up at all during the previous testimony, but her eyes had been trained on his face from the moment he sat down in the box.
Hutchinson pursed his lips and nodded. “So it was clear that Miss King had bought the clock earlier?”
“Yes.”
“And that Mr. Morton wanted the clock urgently?”
Brad shot Morton a withering glance. “Oh yeah.”
“What happened after that?”
“Morton left, and I thought it was funny that he wanted the clock so badly. I figured there might be a story in it, so I asked around for the directions to Miss King’s house. I wanted to see if the clock was valuable, or something. I suspected that was why Morton wanted it.”
“And so you went out to the King farm?” Hutchinson pressed.
“Yes.”
“What happened then?”
“When I got there, Morton was ahead of me. I saw Miss King and Morton standing on the front porch of her house. He seemed agitated. He was talking loudly and pointing to the clock. When I got closer, I introduced myself and asked if I could talk to Miss King.”
“How did Mr. Morton react?”
“He got mad. He told me that it was a private matter between him and Miss King and that he was about to buy the clock from her. I told her that she shouldn’t sell it until she at least found out what the paper was. That made Morton even more upset. He said that Miss King had promised to sell the clock to him.”
“And what did Miss King say?”
“She told him that she had not promised to sell the clock to him. Only to show it.”
Hutchinson lifted his eyes to the jury box. “Can you repeat that, please, Mr. Williams?”
Brad leaned to the mic and stared into Caldwell Morton’s face. “She said that she had only promised to show it to him.”
“How did Mr. Morton react?”
“He flipped out. He threw money on the floor and said that the clock had belonged to his mother, that was rightfully his. When I told him that she had a right to keep it, he came at me.”
Hutchinson raised his snowy eyebrows and affected surprise. “Mr. Morton became physically violent?”
“He pulled his fist back like he was going to slug me. I probably would’ve had to fight him, if her father hadn’t shown up and thrown him out.”
“I see. Thank you, Mr. Williams,” Hutchinson smiled. “I have no more questions.”
He walked away and sat down beside Jemima. He leaned over and whispered something in Jemima’s ear. She nodded.
Mr. Morton’s attorney stood up. He was a small, thin man, with iron-gray hair, square glasses, and a mustache. He walked over and seemed to be reading from papers inside a manila folder.
“You said that you’re a reporter for the Ledger, Mr. Williams?”
“Yes.”
“Would you call yourself an objective reporter?”
Brad looked up at him. “I try to be.”
“How well would you say you succeed?”
Brad gave the man a direct look. “I don’t understand the question.”
The lawyer lifted a newspaper over his head for the room to see. “I am holding a copy of the Ledger newspaper from last Friday. It contains an editorial entitled, ‘My Epiphany.’ Did you write this editorial, Mr. Williams?”
Brad looked at him. “Yes.”
The lawyer walked over and placed the folded paper on top of the witness box. “Would you be so good as to read it, so we can all hear it?”
Brad could feel himself going red, and shot Hutchinson a questioning look, but the older man remained unmoved. Brad took the paper reluctantly, uncrossed his legs, and cleared his throat.
“As a reporter, it’s necessary to be objective – to distance yourself from the events that you describe.” He coughed, and slowly read the entire editorial in a voice that he hoped sounded neutral. It was odd, but it had been far easier to write those words for the whole world to read than to read them in front of Jemima and her family.
When he was finished, he looked up, folded the paper, and placed it back on top of the witness box. The lawyer walked over, took it in his hand, and held it up again.
“Mr. Williams has just said that it’s important to be objective,” the lawyer told the courtroom. “But it doesn’t sound as if he’s at all objective about Miss King! In this editorial” – he adjusted his glasses – “he calls her an ‘angel,’ a ‘generous, selfless person,’ ‘remarkable,’ and ‘physically beautiful.’” The lawyer turned to face him.
“You did write those things, didn’t you, Mr. Williams?”
Brad met his eyes steadily. “Yes, I did.”
The lawyer turned to address the jury. “And yet, you expect us to believe that a young man so clearly smitten with Miss King can be a reliable witness in a case that concerns her?”
Hutchinson stood up. “Objection—argumentative!”
The judge turned to face the lawyer. “Sustained.”
The lawyer nodded slightly toward the judge and shrugged. “Mr. Williams, you admit that Miss King tried on two occasions to give you a great deal of money?”
Hutchinson bounced up again. “Objection!“
The judge glanced at him. “Overruled.”
Brad set his jaw. “She told me at the beginning that she had no wish to be rich, and mailed me the original letter, as a gift, and without any conditions attached. And just last week, she offered to give me the rest of the money she had.”
“That is remarkable,” the lawyer agreed. “An Amish girl offers an outsider a fortune, when it’s unusual for an Amish woman to even speak to a non-Amish man. Why do you suppose she did that, Mr. Williams?”
Brad turned to look at Jemima. Her face was raised to his, and her eyes on him were like stars, like green gems glittering under a jeweller’s lamp.
“I have no reason to doubt her own explanation,” Brad replied. “She has no desire to be rich, and her actions since then have proved it on multiple occasions.”
“I see. But isn’t there another, equally simple explanation, Mr. Williams? One that would certainly explain her desire to give you gifts, and your willingness to come here, and to testify on her behalf? Isn’t it possible—and in light of this information—even likely, that Miss King is smitten with you?”
Hutchinson rose again, wearily. “Objection!“
“Sustained.”
The lawyer glanced at the jury, smiled, and sat back down again. “I have no further questions, your honor.”
