44
Mattawa Courthouse
MONDAY, JULY 12, 1909
The courtroom was packed. All available seating had been claimed moments after the doors opened. It hadn’t deterred people from crowding into every obtainable inch of the remaining space until they stood two- and three-deep against the walls. Everyone appeared willing to remain packed in like cattle for as many hours as court was in session.
Spectators were equally divided between men and women, much to the men’s consternation. Many had mounted a strenuous campaign to discourage the good women of Mattawa from attending the trial. Owing, they claimed in righteous tones, to the scandalous subject matter, which it was rumored would be thoroughly covered during the course of the case.
It was a battle they summarily lost. When a group of men clamored for the sheriff to do something about it, not only had the lawman given them a level look and said, “My wife is attending,” but nearly every woman over eighteen not dependent upon a male for their livelihood rebelled. Ignoring the mandates laid down by husbands, brothers, and fathers, they sailed from their homes in numbers, dressed in their Sunday best, to converge on the courthouse. As one woman was overheard to remark, “This is the biggest event Mattawa has ever seen. Let the men stay home if they’re too squeamish to hear testimony in mixed company.” A carnival atmosphere prevailed, an expectation of titillation as the gallery unabashedly gawked at the principal players in the drama about to unfold.
Opal, Hattie, Nell, Doc, Mirabel, Augusta, and, to Hattie’s surprise, Aurelia, seated directly behind the prosecutor’s table, watched Jake make his final preparations as they waited for the trial to begin. Aurelia didn’t know about Hattie’s vested interest, but the rest of their small group found the air of festivity disturbing when to them the outcome was of paramount importance. They sat quietly tense and sober, an island of stillness in a sea of craning necks, pointing fingers, and whispered opinions.
Opal clung to Hattie’s hand, crushing her fingers in her nervousness until Jake turned and beckoned the young woman forward. Reluctantly letting go, she rose to join him. She refused to look at Roger Lord as he arrogantly lounged in his chair at the other table.
Then the gallery was adjured to rise as the judge was announced. The crowd rustled into silence as the robed judge walked from his chambers to the bench. All eyes focused on him.
By the end of the session the myriad spectators were not as attentive. For many, the first day was disappointingly anticlimactic. Expecting high drama, they were treated to the dry process of jury selection. Men were called to the jury box and questioned extensively by both attorneys before being accepted or excused. The time-consuming process ate up the entire day.
When the judge’s gavel finally hit the bench to adjourn the session, grumbling was audible. The general consensus was that tomorrow’s show better be more interesting than today’s had been.
Mattawa Courthouse
DAY TWO
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Jake rose from his seat at the prosecutor’s table following Sheriff Jacobson’s swearing in. Jake consulted his notes, tapped the end of his pencil with a decisive rap against the pad, then abandoned both to approach the witness-box. With easygoing, professional competence, he led Sheriff Jacobson through his testimony.
The gallery of spectators was much happier with today’s activity. The sheriff was the first witness of the day, but already the opening statements from both lawyers had promised to unfold a drama of scandalous juiciness. Postures were attentive as the assembly avidly followed every question put to the sheriff and his firmly stated replies. “No further questions,” Jake finally said and resumed his seat. The defense attorney, Arthur Cleveland, a portly man with leonine white hair and a militarily erect carriage, rose to take Jake’s place.
He stood silently in front of the witness stand for an instant, holding his lapels and rocking gently from his heels to the balls of his feet and back. “Sheriff Jacobson,” he finally said in a quiet voice, and the gallery strained to listen. “You have testified Opal Jeffries came to your office to lodge a complaint against Roger Lord, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And she verbally described the alleged attacks?”
“Yes.”
“But you did not then proceed to arrest my client?”
“No, sir, not immediately.”
“Because you didn’t feel the word of a maid was an adequate reason to arrest a man of Roger Lord’s prominence?”
“No, sir, I didn’t doubt her testimony. But when I asked Jacob Murdock’s professional opinion—”
“He didn’t believe her story.”
“He absolutely believed her story. But he did warn her a trial would be very difficult for her and the only sure conviction in a case of this nature was to catch the offender in the act. She offered herself as bait to do just that.”
“I see.” Cleveland rocked some more. “What was your reaction?”
“I was . . . interested.”
“And Mr. Murdock?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Jake said. “Hearsay.”
“I could call you for a witness, so you could testify for yourself,” Cleveland said mildly.
The judge looked askance at Jake, who shrugged and sat down. The last thing he wanted was to be called to the stand, where, should the right questions be put to him, he could single-handedly ruin his wife’s reputation.
“Overruled.”
“Would you like the question repeated?”
“No, sir. Jake was against it.”
“Because he feared for her safety?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But she opted to go anyway.” He rocked once, twice. “So rather than being repulsed by my client’s attentions, she must have looked forward to more of the same.”
“Objection!” Jake roared. “He’s not even asking a question. And if that was a question, then he’s simultaneously calling for a conclusion and trying to put words in the witness’s mouth.”
“Sustained.” The judge looked at the defense attorney. “Mr. Cleveland, refrain from histrionics.”
“My apologies, Your Honor,” he replied meekly, but he was nonetheless clearly pleased with having raised a question in the jury’s mind. “No further questions.”
“You may step down, sir.”
Opal’s face was white. There was an omnivorous quality to the gallery’s collective regard, and she clenched her fists in her lap, hoping she looked more composed than she felt. Beneath the table, Jake patted her clasped hands reassuringly.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Murdock.”
Jake looked up from his legal pad. “The prosecution would like to call Mrs. Mabel Crockett.”
Roger stiffened and he stared down his nose at the plump woman who stepped into the stand and took the oath.
Jake approached. “Mrs. Crockett,” he said, “you have stated you are currently unemployed. Have you ever held a job?”
“Oh, aye, sor,” she replied in a lilting Irish accent. “’Tis a cook I am. Up until ’bout a week ago, sor, I worked for Mr. Lord. I was in his employ for nigh on eighteen months.”
“Are you a good cook, ma’am?”
“Oh, aye, sor, that I be!” she said fervently, making the gallery laugh.
“On the evening Roger Lord was arrested, were you in the house?”
“Aye, I was. You saw me yourself, sor, when the sheriff and you came through the kitchen door. Much to me shame, I was sittin’ at the kitchen table with me hands over me ears.”
“Why were you covering your ears, Mrs. Crockett?”
“To stifle the sound of Opal’s screams.”
“Was that the first time you plugged your ears to keep from hearing her cry out?”
“No, sor,” she whispered, and her chins trembled. “Nor was she the first girl whose screams I heard.”
Shocked murmurs ran through the gallery. Hattie clenched her fists in her lap and felt a resurgence of the nausea she’d awakened with this morning. She swallowed hard. How many girls had Roger Lord defiled over the years—and how many Mrs. Crocketts had sat with their hands over their ears to block out the sounds of the victims’ distress? Dear God above, let this be the end to Roger’s monstrous viciousness.
“Mrs. Crockett,” Jake asked, “did you ever protest Mr. Lord’s treatment of those girls?”
“Just once, sor,” she replied with a shudder. “He told me in no uncertain terms that it was not me place to be questionin’ me betters, and sure and he would be seein’ to it I’d be out on the street, findin’ meself unemployable elsewhere, should I speak out of turn again.”
“And you believed his threats?”
“Oh, aye, sor, that I did. He’s a powerful man.”
“Were you in the kitchen when Opal Jeffries came back from town on the day of Roger Lord’s arrest?”
“Aye.”
“The defense has suggested Miss Jeffries was anxious for Lord’s attention. Did she demonstrate an eagerness or even a willingness to attract his eye during the time between her return from town and his arrest?”
“No, sor. She gave me the items I’d sent her to pick up and then went straight to her room. She didn’t even see Mr. Lord.”
Over the next two days, Jake built a solid case against the defendant. He’d contacted every ex-employee willing to testify against Lord and put each one on the stand. The picture that emerged was of a man who viewed the working class as unworthy of basic human considerations.
Jake called Doc to the stand to testify to Opal’s condition on the night of Lord’s arrest. Her ripped dress and the photographs Doc had taken both of her and of the shattered bedroom door were presented as physical evidence that she in no way had encouraged Lord’s attention.
During Doc’s testimony Hattie noticed something was amiss with Moses. He wasn’t a regular attendee of the trial as so many were, but he slipped in now and again as his schedule permitted, conspicuous by his size and the well-worn leather apron he rarely bothered to remove.
Caught up in the trial, Hattie didn’t immediately notice Nell’s tension whenever he entered the courtroom. Then it began to register that Moses spent more time staring broodingly at Nell than he did attending to the trial. She saw Nell simultaneously light up and grow tense at his appearance, noticed too the way she smiled at him when their eyes met—and how he didn’t smile back. Hattie also registered the manner in which her own smile of greeting met with a blank stare the one and only time she caught Moses’ eye. Concluding she was somehow involved in Moses’ baffling behavior toward Nell, she determined to get to the bottom of it.
She and Jake had taken up residence at Augusta’s for the duration of the trial, and Hattie tackled Nell immediately after dinner. Having hoarded her unhappiness for some time now, Nell was only too happy to talk. By the time she finished, Hattie was furious.
“He’s punished you the past several weeks for not divulging what was told to you in confidence?” she demanded incredulously.
“He was hurt because he knew you told me something you wouldn’t tell him.”
“And meanwhile he’s hung you out to dry. What about your wedding plans?”
“I don’t know. They’re off, I guess.” Nell twisted her hands in her lap. Her dark eyes were filled with misery. “Hattie, what am I going to do? Moses and I only ever discussed marriage in general terms; we didn’t actually set a date or anything. But I assumed it would be in the not-too-far future, so I already informed the school board I’m to be married this year.” She stared at Hattie in pure misery. “They’ve found someone else to fill my position.”
“That worm!” Hattie was furious. “If he’s angry with me, fine . . . I can understand that. Kinda. But he’s making you pay for his hurt feelings, and for that I could punch his lights out. He has you over a barrel, Nell, and no matter what you do, you lose. Right now, he’s furious because I told you a secret that didn’t include him, which you won’t divulge. But I’d wager Belle against your graduation shoes he’d be angrier still if you had betrayed my trust by confiding a secret that wasn’t yours to confide.” She rose from Nell’s bed where they sat talking and paced furiously about the room. “He wants to know my secrets? Fine. I’ll just go on over to his house and tell him. And while I’m at it, I have one or two other things I’d like to get off my chest.”
“Oh, Hattie, I know how hard it is for you to talk about what Roger Lord did to you. Please, I will work this out somehow. You don’t have to—”
“I believe I do,” Hattie interrupted. “If this trial doesn’t accomplish anything else, it’s finally relieved me of the last shreds of shame I’ve shouldered for three long years. Listening to other people relate their helplessness dealing with Lord has made me believe once and for all there really was nothing I could have done to prevent him hurting me.” She smoothed her skirt, then met Nell’s eyes with utter seriousness. “I’d like to forgo the humiliation of seeing my rape become public knowledge, but I have reached a point where I can at least talk about it to my oldest friend. And while I’m at it, Nell, I’m going to also tell him what a horse’s ass he’s been in his treatment of you!” And with a swish and swirl of flying skirts, Hattie stormed from the room.