“I won’t be taking long, Judge,” whispered Thomas Blythe in a side-bar conference. As soon as the judge had entered, Blythe asked if they could approach the bench to take care of a few housekeeping matters. “I would say I have less than fifteen minutes with the sheriff, and then, as I mentioned in my opening, I have only four quick questions for Miss Pratt.” Blythe turned to Micah. “Of course, Mr. McConners seems to do a rather extensive job at cross-examination, so I’m not positive we will be finishing up our case by midday, but I should anticipate we will.”
Micah shook his head. “I won’t be long, Judge. I’ll take a little while with Miss Pratt, but I would think less than an hour.”
“Fine. We’ll finish the state’s case, take a noon recess, then come back and begin the defense case. How long do you figure that’ll take?”
“Not long, sir,” Micah said. His response was an honest one, since he did not plan to put on a case at all. There was nothing he could do in a case-in-chief that he couldn’t do as well on Polly’s cross-examination. He didn’t want to admit in front of the prosecutor, though, that he wasn’t putting on any evidence. He doubted it would make a difference, but it was something he didn’t want to do.
“Well, good,” said Walker. “Maybe we can let the jury go a little early this afternoon, and all of us can get together and work out the law I’ll be instructing them on. We can come back in the morning, I’ll charge the jury, you fellas can give your closings, and we’ll send them out to deliberate. How does that sound, gentlemen?”
Both Micah and Blythe agreed that would be fine, and everyone returned to their seats.
“Court’ll come to order,” Walker said. “I believe when we finished yesterday, Mr. Blythe, you were prepared to call your next witness.”
“That’s correct, Your Honor. The state would call Sheriff Bradley Collins.”
“Come forward to be sworn, sheriff,” said the judge.
Collins stepped up to the bench, and murmurs ran through the theater when everyone saw his red and swollen right eye.
Walker swore him in. “Take the stand there, please, sheriff,” he said.
“Gracious,” whispered Chester, “you did pop him, didn’t you? I thought you’d learned to deal with that nasty temper of yours.”
“He brought out the worst in me,” Micah said.
Chester grimaced. “Maybe I’ll start being nicer to you.”
“Good morning, sheriff,” said Blythe.
“Morning.”
“Would you state for the record and the jury your name and your occupation?”
“Brad Collins. I was elected sheriff in the last election.”
Blythe pointed out, “That’s quite a shiner you’re sporting there, sir.” When Collins didn’t respond, Blythe asked with a smile, “I suppose that is one of the many hazards of your job; is that right?”
“I reckon,” Collins said in a flat voice.
“Yes, well, tell me, you said you were elected sheriff of this county in the last election. Would that have been the election a little over a month ago, or did you mean the general election in ’98?”
“Ninety-eight.”
“So,” said Blythe, “I assume you held the position of sheriff of this county, then, on the twenty-eighth day of August, 1900.”
“I did.”
“Did you have occasion to make any arrests on that date?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell us who it was you arrested?”
“I arrested Dr. Hedstrom there.” He lifted his arm and pointed to the defense table.
Micah noticed Blythe did not ask the judge if the record would reflect that the witness had identified the defendant. A dog didn’t have to bite the clever Thomas Blythe more than once.
“And,” continued Blythe, “what were the circumstances surrounding that arrest?”
“I was called over to the county attorney’s office that morning.”
“How was that done?”
“Mr. Anderson sent a boy to my office with a message for me to come to the courthouse right away.”
“Did you do so?”
“Sure.”
“And once you arrived at the county attorney’s office, what happened next?”
“That Mrs. Eggers who was here yesterday, she was at Mr. Anderson’s office when I got there. Earl, he told her to tell me what she’d told him.”
“Yes?”
“So I listened to her story, and me and Mr. Anderson decided we should go talk to the doctor. We walked up to his place—his clinic there—and asked him a few questions.”
“Did you tell him your business—that is, the reason for your visit?”
“Yes—well, Mr. Anderson did.”
“Tell us what was said.”
“Earl told him we’d been informed that he had performed an abortion there in his clinic the day before.”
“What was the doctor’s response to that?”
“Well, he guessed right away who it was told us about it.”
“You mean he knew it was Mrs. Eggers, the woman he had thrown into the street the night before when she had confronted him with his crime?”
“That’s who he said, Mrs. Eggers, right.”
“What else was said on that day?”
“Mr. Anderson asked him if that information was true.”
“And what did the doctor say in response?” asked Blythe.
“He said that, yes, it certainly was true. He had performed the abortion.”
“He never denied it at all?”
“No, sir, he never did. He admitted it right away.”
“Thank you, sheriff,” said Thomas Blythe. “Nothing further at this time, Judge.”
“Mr. McConners, cross?” asked the judge.
Micah stood, but he stayed at the table rather than walk to the lectern. Collins gave him a scowl.
“Sheriff,” began Micah, “isn’t it true that the doctor asked what would happen if he did deny Mrs. Eggers’s accusations?”
Collins nodded. “Yes, now that you mention it, I believe he did.”
“What was either your or Mr. Anderson’s response to that?”
“Seems like Earl said he’d have to go ask the Pratt women some questions. Maybe investigate their involvement in the situation.”
“And wasn’t it at that time that Dr. Hedstrom gave his confession to you and the county attorney?”
“Yes, it was.”
Micah started to sit down but stopped himself. He couldn’t resist asking one more question. “So, sheriff, tell me, have you tried putting a steak on that eye of yours? I expect Mr. Anderson would be glad to buy you one.”
Everyone laughed except Collins and Anderson. Even Blythe was chuckling when he made his relevancy objection. And the judge smiled too when he said, “Sustained.”
“The state,” said Thomas Blythe, “would now call to the stand its third and final witness, Miss Polly Pratt.”
After Polly was sworn and gave her name, Blythe said, “Now don’t be nervous, Miss Pratt. Would you care for some water?”
Polly said in a strong voice, “I don’t need any water. Thank you, Mr. Blythe.”
“Miss Pratt, it is not my desire to embarrass you. I have known you since your childhood. I know what a fine young woman you are.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But as you know, there are certain questions I must ask.”
“I realize that. You may ask your questions.”
“Very well. Miss Pratt, were you with child on the date of August 27, 1900?”
Micah saw Polly swallow hard, but she turned to the jury and answered loudly, “Yes, Mr. Blythe, I was.”
“On that same date, August 27, 1900, here in Probity, Wyoming, was there an abortion performed to rid you of that child?”
“Yes, there was.”
“Did this pregnancy cause your health to be such that you were in danger of death?”
“No, Mr. Blythe, my health was fine.”
Blythe moved from the lectern to the witness stand, and in what Micah assumed was his most solemn of voices, he asked, “By whom was this abortion performed, Miss Pratt?”
For the briefest instant, Polly looked down at her hands; then she raised her head, took a breath, and said, “It was performed, Mr. Blythe, by my doctor and my friend, Chester Hedstrom.”
“Thank you, Miss Pratt. Your Honor, I have no further questions.”
“Polly,” Micah began, “I’ll not be as brief as the attorney for the state, but I’ll not take long, either. There are, however, a few things that I feel will help the gentlemen of the jury to put all of this in some kind of perspective.”
“I understand, Mr. McConners.” Polly’s voice was not as strong with Micah as it had been with Blythe. Although she was the state’s witness, Blythe had been an adversary. Micah was her friend, and with her resistance more relaxed, her nervousness showed.
Micah had given a great deal of thought to how he was going to handle this examination of Polly. Yet as he stood before the judge, the prosecution, and the heat of hundreds of eyes, he still was not sure of the best way to approach it. He knew that on a practical level it would not matter. In the end Polly would tell her story, and there would be a conviction. But perhaps Chester was right. We must establish our own personal lines, and once established, refuse to cross them no matter how impractical. It was odd. His conversation with Lottie last night hadn’t been so different than his discussions with Chester. Both divided the world into two categories: the practical and the ardent. Both, like Micah, were passionate, sometimes too passionate for their own good. But still both also had great respect and admiration for the practical, more down-to-earth side of things . . . Lottie with her fond example of lovers storing memories in a pantry, Chester with his excitement for all the practical advances the new century promised to bring about. Micah had learned in his own life that passion often had to give way to the practical, but he acknowledged sometimes it had to go the other way too.
“Polly,” said Micah, “let’s get right to the heart of the matter. How did you become pregnant?”
There was tittering and stirring among the spectators. For a moment Micah thought Polly was not going to answer. Finally, she said, “I was raped, Mr. McConners. I was raped on June 14, 1900.”
There was more stirring in the theater, but not the sound of even one voice.
“And, Polly, who was it who raped you last spring?”
Blythe was on his feet. “Your Honor, I must object. This is totally irrelevant to the matter before the court. Whatever happened to this poor young woman is unfortunate, but, Judge, it has absolutely nothing to do with the charge against Chester Hedstrom.”
“Response, Mr. McConners?”
“Your Honor, we’re dealing with a tragic situation here. It’s a situation in which a large number of lives were changed forever.” He waved his hand in the direction of the jury. “We are asking these men to make a decision that will also affect lives—not only my client’s life, but all of our lives to one degree or another. I will say to you, Your Honor, and as of this moment I will say to everyone who will care to listen—” He turned to face Earl Anderson and Brad Collins. “—that Probity has up to now not been a community in which the truth was welcome. It has been, in fact, a community that has hidden the truth—ignored the acts of certain individuals. Even, I’m afraid—” He faced Thomas Blythe. “—felt the truth was irrelevant.” He turned back to Judge Walker. “It’s sad, Your Honor, but right now this trial is the only forum the truth has in Probity, Wyoming. And I feel these jurymen must be provided all the truth before they’re asked to make their decision.”
Blythe was on his feet again. “That was a wonderful speech, Judge, but the fact remains that the question is irrelevant.”
Walker poured himself a glass of water, took a sip, and replaced the tumbler beside the pitcher. “Well, Mr. McConners, the prosecutor is right. That question is irrelevant to the specific charge against your client.”
Micah felt his insides drop. “Very well, Judge,” he said. He hoped the defeat he was feeling didn’t echo in his voice. “I’ll move on to something else.”
“Now, wait a minute. I haven’t made my ruling yet.” He took another sip of his water, again replaced the tumbler, looked down at Blythe, and said, “Overruled.”
Micah felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “You may answer the question, Miss Pratt. Who was it who raped you on June 14, 1900?”
“Hank Jones,” said Polly, “and my stepbrother, Sonny Pratt.”
This time there was more than a stirring in the room. There was the surprised exclamations of a couple of hundred voices.
Walker allowed it to go on for a few seconds. “All right,” he finally said, “everybody hold it down.”
“Polly,” Micah said, “I’ll not ask you details about the rape. But I do want to know, were there any threats made against you at that time?”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell us about that?”
“As they were leaving, Sonny took his knife and held it up to my face. He said if I ever told anyone what had happened, he would cut my throat.”
“Did you ever tell anyone, Polly?”
“Not right away, no. I was too afraid and ashamed.”
“Did you tell anyone later?”
“Yes, eventually I did.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
“At what point did you tell her?”
“A couple of months later, when I realized I was pregnant.”
“Why didn’t you go to the authorities, Polly? Why didn’t you inform the law of this crime against you?”
Polly turned her gaze on Earl Anderson. “Because nothing would be done, and Sonny would have carried out his threat.”
“Do you really believe Sonny Pratt would have killed you, Polly?”
“I am certain of it,” she said. And in a near whisper she added, “I expect he will yet.”
“Why do you say that, Polly?”
“Because I know he murdered Lester Jones, and last night he fired a shot into the house where I was sleeping.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” shouted Thomas Blythe. “This is irrelevant and absolute conjecture on the part of the witness.”
“Sustained,” ruled the judge.
“Polly,” asked Micah, “have you seen Sonny Pratt since the day he raped you?”
“My mother and I moved out of the house after I told her what had happened. I’ve seen Sonny only twice since.”
“Why did you move out?”
“My mother told my stepfather, Emmett, about the rape, and when he didn’t believe her and wouldn’t do anything about it, we moved into Mrs. Jordan’s.”
“You say you’ve seen Sonny twice since that time?”
“Yes.”
“What were those circumstances?”
“Your Honor,” said Blythe, “I have to object.”
“Overruled,” said the judge.
“The first time was on the day of your return, Mr. McConners. Late that afternoon, I left the party they had for you in the park to walk the few blocks back to our boarding house, and Sonny attacked me. He beat me so badly Dr. Hedstrom had to suture my face.”
“Again, Your Honor,” objected Blythe, “I must—”
“Overruled.”
“In addition to the beating, did he threaten you again at that time?”
“He did. He said no one had better ever find out what he and Hank had done.”
“Did he know of the pregnancy, Polly?”
“Yes, I told him that night. That’s when he started to hit me. He said I should leave the county to have the baby, and once it was born, he said I’d better either give it away or throw it in the river. He said if anyone found out, he would kill me.”
“He said he would kill you if anyone found out?”
“Yes, he did. He told me to leave town or he would kill me.”
“And, again, you believed him when he said that?”
“Objection,” said Blythe. “That question was asked and answered earlier.”
“Sustained.”
“All right, Polly,” said Micah. “The other occasion you had to see Sonny Pratt since you moved out of your stepfather’s house, when was that?”
“The afternoon Lester Jones’s body was discovered.”
“What were the circumstances surrounding that encounter?”
“We were all standing around the body, and I saw Sonny watching us from the alley. He looked right at me, and when he saw I had noticed him, he dragged his index finger across his throat in a cutting gesture.”
“Did you consider this a threat to you, Miss Pratt?”
“I did.”
Blythe started to his feet, but he seemed to reconsider his objection—or the likelihood of having it sustained—and sat back down.
Micah scanned his notes, turned to the judge, and said, “Nothing further, Your Honor.”
“Redirect examination, Mr. Blythe?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Miss Pratt, you say you were beaten by your stepbrother; is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did this beating take place relative to the abortion performed on you by Dr. Hedstrom?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a week before. Dr. Hedstrom agreed to do the abortion on the day my mother and I returned to have him remove my stitches.”
“Tell me, Miss Pratt, did this beating in any way affect your pregnancy?”
“I don’t understand.”
“By being beaten, as you say you were, did it affect your health in any way? I mean, other than the injuries to you from the beating itself, did that cause any complications in your pregnancy?”
Polly, obviously understanding where Blythe was going, shook her head and said, “No, sir, to be honest, it did not.”
“And Dr. Hedstrom never told you that the beating had affected your health in terms of your pregnancy, did he?”
“No, Mr. Blythe, he did not.”
“So, to your knowledge, the beating you allege was administered to you by Sonny Pratt did not affect your health and played no role in Dr. Hedstrom’s decision to perform the abortion on August 27, last; am I correct?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Polly said.
“Let me simplify it a bit,” said Blythe. “Would you agree that Sonny Pratt’s actions played no role in Dr. Hedstrom’s decision to perform the abortion on August 27?”
“I don’t know the answer to that,” said Polly, “but, no, he never said that the beating had affected the pregnancy in any way.”
“Thank you, young lady,” said Blythe with a satisfied smile. “No more questions from the state, Your Honor.”
“Any recross, Mr. McConners?” Walker asked.
Micah had not intended to ask any more questions of Polly, but the tenor of Blythe’s last question had caused a thought to cross his mind. He reached for his statute book, which was on the corner of his table. “May I have a moment, Your Honor?”
“You may.”
Micah turned to the abortion statute, which was titled, “Attempted Miscarriage.” It was a statute he had read many times over the course of the last four months, but now he wanted to read it again, perhaps in a different light. He did, and with his own satisfied smile, he stood, and to Judge Walker he said, “I do have one question, Judge.”
“One question, is that all?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Should I hold him to that, Mr. Blythe?” asked the judge.
Blythe laughed, “You’ll never get me to agree, Judge, that any lawyer should ever be held to just one question.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Walker said. “Proceed, Mr. Mc-Conners.”
“Polly, did you ever tell Dr. Hedstrom that you had been threatened by Sonny Pratt?”
“I didn’t,” Polly said, “but my mother did.”
Micah turned to the judge. “I guess Mr. Blythe is right, Your Honor. A lawyer shouldn’t be held to only one question.”
“I expected you to change your mind, young man,” said the judge. “Go ahead.”
“How do you know your mother told him your life had been threatened by Sonny Pratt?”
“Because I was there when she did it. I was begging her not to tell. I knew if she told, Sonny would kill me.”
“Well, Judge,” said Micah, “only two questions; that wasn’t too bad.”
“No,” agreed the judge, “it wasn’t. Anything further, Mr. Blythe?”
“No, Your Honor. We have no further questions of Miss Pratt.”
Walker turned to Polly. “You may step down. Call your next witness, Mr. Blythe.”
Blythe did a quick conference with Earl Anderson, stood, and said, “Your Honor, we have no further witnesses, and the State of Wyoming would rest its case at this time.”
“Very well, sir. Mr. McConners, are you prepared to proceed with the defendant’s case-in-chief?”
“Your Honor,” Micah said, “before we proceed, I would like the opportunity to make a motion outside the hearing of the jury.”
Walker scratched his chin. “I assume it’s the usual defense motion made at the close of the state’s case.” By usual defense motion, the judge was referring to the pro forma motion for acquittal as a matter of law on the grounds that the state had failed to prove all of the elements of the crime charged. Jackson had told Micah that Judge Walker, in order to save time, would often have counsel make the motion for the record; he would either take it under advisement or deny it outright and they would proceed with the defendant’s case. If defense counsel wanted to flesh out the record with some brief argument, Walker would allow them to renew the motion and argue in chambers later.
“It is the usual motion, Judge,” Micah said, “but I would like to be heard at this time, if I may.” Micah knew the old judge had not been expecting this. Argument now would slow things down, and if there was anything Walker hated, it was some frivolous lawyer throwing off his schedule. But Micah also knew in a criminal case such as this one, it was awkward for the judge to deny his request if Micah wanted to push it.
“All right, Sheriff, take the jury into the jury room.” As the jury filed out, Walker instructed them not to discuss the case among themselves nor with anyone else until they were told it was time to do so.
Once they were gone, Walker turned to Micah and said, “All right, young fella, make it quick.”
Micah stepped to the lectern, tried to gulp down the knot in his throat without much success, and said, “Judge Walker, I’d like to move the court to direct a verdict of acquittal in this case.”
Earl Anderson snickered. Blythe shhh-ed him and sat forward in his chair.
Walker slid his spectacles to the tip of his nose and looked at Micah over the top. “Of course you would, Mr. McConners. What specific element or elements do you feel the state has failed to prove?”
“Well, Judge, I feel it’s more than the failure to prove all the elements. I feel, Your Honor, that through one of the state’s own witnesses, it’s been shown that in fact no crime has been committed at all.”
This time Blythe also snickered.
It appeared to Micah that Walker too was about to snicker, but for decorum’s sake suppressed it. “All right, Mr. McConners, explain your position.”
“Judge, my position is really a simple one. Since the beginning of this case we have all recognized that there is only one defense to a charge of causing a miscarriage or performing an abortion. And, of course, that is if the woman’s pregnancy is causing such health concerns as to threaten her life.”
“I believe that’s the law, Mr. McConners,” Walker said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s the way the statute reads, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes, Your Honor, that is how I’ve read the statute as well.”
“So what is your point, young man? Let’s get to it.”
“My point, sir, is that is how I’ve read the statute—how we’ve all read the statute, but that is not what the statute says . . . not at all. We have always assumed that’s what it says, but we’ve been wrong. If you’ll allow me, I’ll read it to you verbatim.” He held up his statute book. “I have here, Judge, the Revised Statutes of the State of Wyoming, 1900 edition.”
“I see that,” said the judge. “Start reading, Mr. McConners.”
Micah’s index finger held his place. He set the heavy book on the lectern and opened it up. “The heading is, ‘Attempted Miscarriage.’ It says, ‘Whoever prescribes or administers to any pregnant woman, or any woman who he supposes to be pregnant, any drug, medicine, or substance whatever, with intent thereby to procure a miscarriage of such woman; or with like intent uses any instrument or means whatever, unless such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life, shall, if the woman miscarries or dies in consequence thereof, be imprisoned in the penitentiary not more than fourteen years.’ ” Micah repeated with emphasis, “ ‘Unless such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life.’ ” Closing the book, he said, “I don’t mean to play games or bandy words, sir.” He tapped on the book’s cover and repeated for the third time, “ ‘Unless such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life.’ ” That is what the statute says, and that is all that it says, Judge Walker.”
The theater was silent.
“It is our position, Your Honor, that Dr. Hedstrom complied with the law and did what he did in order to preserve Polly Pratt’s life.
“Your Honor, it is an undisputed fact. The evidence in the state’s case was that if Polly Pratt had been forced to carry this fetus to term, Sonny Pratt would have killed her. I admit this is a unique situation, but it is the situation before us. Mr. Blythe educed that testimony himself. Actually, Sonny would have killed her as soon as the pregnancy began to show. He’d already beaten her severely, threatened her with a knife after he and another man had raped her, and upon Lester Jones’s death, threatened her yet again. She was convinced he would kill her. So was her mother. And my client, the defendant, Dr. Hedstrom, was convinced of this as well. Because of the nature of law enforcement in this community, they were at a loss as to what to do.
“The statute does not say one word, Judge, about it’s being legal to perform an abortion only if complications of the pregnancy cause a risk of death to the mother. It simply says, ‘Unless such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life.’ No more, no less. It is we, Judge, the readers of the statute, who have always added that interpretation . . . complications of the pregnancy . . . and I say to you, sir, we cannot go outside the plain language of the statute and make our own inferences.”
“My statute book is in my chambers, Mr. McConners. Let me see that thing.” He snapped his fingers and motioned for Micah to approach the bench. Micah did and handed him the book.
“Your Honor,” said Blythe, “this motion comes as a complete surprise to the state. We would like to have the opportunity to brief this issue and argue it at a later time.”
“Did you forget we have a jury waiting in the jury room, Mr. Blythe? You’re more than welcome to make any arguments you can think of right now. I would welcome you to do so.”
Blythe straightened his coat and cleared his throat. He seemed to be searching for words and having difficulty locating them—a situation Micah had never seen the man in before. “Well, sir,” Blythe began, “I think it’s obvious that the statute is referring to the health of the mother in terms of complications of the pregnancy. I mean, it is so patently obvious that it goes without saying.”
“Mr. Blythe, things that are not said in statutes are not the law. But I will think about this over the noon hour.” Walker called a recess even though the time was only a quarter past eleven.
At one o’clock that afternoon, the parties sat at their tables waiting for Judge Walker to enter. All eyes were locked on the stage-left wing. The instant Micah saw Brad Collins flick a piece of lint from the brim of his hat, a gesture Micah had finally figured out was a signal to Blythe and Anderson that the judge was about to enter, Micah was on his feet and shouted, “All rise!” in a ringing voice that brought everyone in the theater to their feet.
Anderson glared across at him, and Micah returned his glare with a smile.
“You may be seated,” said the judge. Walker took even longer than usual to pull his spectacles from his pocket and slip the wire earpieces around his ears. He looked at Micah and said, “Here are your statutes, Mr. McConners. I neglected to return this to you before the break.”
Micah stepped to the bench, retrieved his book, and hurried back to his seat.
“Mr. McConners raised an interesting and imaginative point in his motion this morning. Some might say a little too imaginative, perhaps; others might be quick to agree with his position. I have given it a great deal of consideration over the last—” He checked his watch. “—hour and forty-five minutes. And I find myself somewhere in the middle. I think a reasonable man could very easily read that statute and come away with no opinion other than the one Mr. Blythe proposes. As a matter of fact, I consider myself a reasonable man, and I have read that statute many, many times, and I have never concluded anything other than it was referring to the woman’s physical condition as a result of complications in her pregnancy.
“Mr. McConners, though, with his youthful eye, has looked at what has always been obvious to this old lawyer and made at least an arguable point that this statute does not say what we who have spent our careers reading it have always thought it said.
“As a quick aside, let me mention that I have never liked this statute. I have always thought it was too narrow. At a minimum, in my opinion, it should allow for the termination of a pregnancy in a case of rape or incest. There are, I am sure, those who would hold an opinion contrary to that and could make compelling arguments in that regard.
“But that is not the question, and that is not what the defense is arguing. As much as I would like to see that language with respect to rape and incest in there, I cannot add it to the statute. Only the legislature can do that, and I would not presume to tell our legislators in their infinite wisdom what laws they should or should not enact.
“I can, I suppose, in a round-about way, tell them, however, how they should write the laws they choose to enact. In fact, arguably, it is my function to do so since I am the poor soul required to interpret their words’ meaning. And as I said, in making my interpretation of what they are trying to enact with their statutes, I cannot consider something that they have apparently chosen not to write down on the paper.
“The pertinent part of the statute with which we are dealing in this case says, essentially, that it’s a crime to abort a fetus by whatever means in a pregnant woman unless—and now I’m quoting. ‘—such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life.’ Period. That is the cause allowed by law for creating a miscar riage, the preservation of the pregnant woman’s life. Adding words to the statute, as Mr. McConners has said, is precisely what I would be doing if I were to include at the end of the phrase, ‘. . . to preserve her life due to complications in her pregnancy.’”
He pulled off his spectacles. “I cannot do that. As a matter of fact, I would not be doing my job if I did do that.
“Likewise, I am not here to determine whether Miss Pratt was in fact in danger of losing her life. As I sit here, I don’t know that Sonny Pratt planned to kill his stepsister. I have to assume that he would not. Sonny Pratt, like Dr. Hedstrom, is presumed to be innocent until proven otherwise.
“Also, if Miss Pratt’s life had been threatened as a result of complications in her pregnancy, I would be forced to accept her word and the word of her physician that they felt that was the case.
“In our present situation, all that is necessary is that I accept as fact that she, and more importantly, Dr. Hedstrom, believed she was in fatal danger, and because of that belief the abortion was performed.
“After hearing Miss Pratt’s testimony, I do believe that was their fear.”
He looked down at Micah and added, “So, for those reasons, Mr. McConners, and based on the language of the statute as written, I will grant your motion. I will direct a verdict of acquittal for Dr. Chester Hedstrom, and I will order this case dismissed as a matter of law.”
He turned toward the jury. “And I will also excuse the jury. Thank you, gentlemen, for your good service.
“Court will stand adjourned.”
With that the judge rose, stepped from his bench, and left the stage.
Even before his exit was complete, the spectators in the opera house came to their feet with cheers.