A Time for Mercy

by John Grisham

  Late in the evening, Libby said to Sedgwick, “I doubt you’ll be needed in this trial.”

  “Oh really. Feeling pretty confident, huh?”

  “No,” Jake quipped. “We have no grounds for confidence.”

  Libby said, “I see a trial that will be difficult for either side to win.”

  “You don’t know these jurors,” Jake said. “In spite of what you heard today, there will be a lot of sympathy for the deceased, and no small amount of resentment for the way he’ll be portrayed at trial. We have to be careful.”

  Carla said, “Enough of that. Who wants peach cobbler?”

  30

  The following Saturday, Jake and Carla dropped off Hanna in Karaway to spend the day with her grandparents. She saw Jake’s parents every week but it was never enough. After a quick cup of coffee and a brief visit, they left her there and it was impossible to tell who was more excited, Hanna or Mr. and Mrs. Brigance.

  They headed to Oxford, a town they would always love because of their college days. They had met at a fraternity party when they were juniors and had been together ever since. One of their favorite day trips was to spend a Saturday at an Ole Miss football game and tailgate with old college friends. Several times a year they made the hour drive for no reason other than to get out of town, to park on the picturesque square, visit the bookstore, and have a long lunch in one of the many good restaurants before returning to Clanton.

  In the backseat were the housewarming gifts—a toaster and a platter of Carla’s chocolate chip cookies. She had wanted to bring baby gifts because Kiera would have nothing, but Jake said no. As a lawyer, he had witnessed firsthand the damage that could be done once a young mother saw her baby, held it, and immediately got attached to it. They often changed their minds and refused to go forward with the adoption. He knew that Josie would not let that happen. Nonetheless, Jake insisted that they do nothing that might arouse the powerful feelings of motherhood.

  Two years earlier he had spent an entire day at the hospital in Clanton, waiting with the paperwork as a fifteen-year-old mother agonized over her final signature. His clients, a childless couple in their early forties, sat in his office and stared at the phone. Late in the day, the hospital administrator informed Jake that, with such indecision, she could not sign off. The administrator felt as though the mother was being coerced by her mother, the new grandmother, and any decision was not being freely made. As Jake lingered, he was eventually told that a decision had been made and the child would not be given up for adoption.

  He drove to his office and broke the news to his clients. The scene was still painful to recall.

  He and Carla were not yet committed to an addition to their family. They had discussed it for hours and had agreed to keep talking about it. They had a doctor friend in town whose phone rang at four o’clock one morning. He and his wife hustled over to Tupelo and returned home at noon with a three-day-old baby, their second adoption. Their decision had been instant, but then they had been searching for a long time. They knew what they wanted and were committed. Jake and Carla weren’t there yet. Before Kiera, they had not thought about adopting for many years.

  The idea was laden with complications. Though Jake claimed not to worry about the town and any appearance of impropriety, he knew that they would be criticized by some for seizing the opportunity to take a baby from a client. To this, Carla pushed back with her belief that any criticism would be temporary and would go away as the years passed and the child prospered in a good home. Besides, wasn’t Jake being condemned enough already? Let ’em talk. Their families and friends would be thrilled for them and would circle the wagons. Who else really mattered?

  Jake worried about raising a child in a community where his DNA might become known. He would be the product of a rape. His real father had been murdered. His real mother was just a kid herself. Carla pushed back with the argument that the child would never know it. “No one gets to pick their parents,” she liked to say. The child would be sheltered and loved as much as any lucky kid, and with time folks would accept him for what he was. The DNA couldn’t be changed.

  Jake didn’t like the fact that the Kofers would always be close by. He doubted they would have any interest in the child, but that was not a certainty. Carla believed they would not. Besides, neither she nor Jake had ever met the Kofers. They lived in another part of the county and their paths had never crossed. The private adoption would take place in Oxford, in a different judicial district, and in a closed proceeding where the file could be sealed, and there was a good chance that most of the townsfolk, the very people Jake claimed to now care nothing for, would never know the details.

  Though he avoided discussing it, Jake was concerned about the expense. Hanna was nine and they had not yet started saving for her college. Indeed, their meager savings had just been raided and their financial future looked grim. Adding a child would require Carla to stay at home for at least the next year or two, and they needed her salary.

  The Gambles could damn well bankrupt him. Notwithstanding Noose’s rather screwball scheme to get him compensated for the trial, he expected to be paid very little. The first loan to Josie was for $800 and a new transmission. The second was $600 to cover the deposit on the apartment, the first month’s rent, and hooking up the utilities. The landlord wanted a six-month lease, which Jake signed in his name. Same for the phone, gas, and electricity. Nothing was in Josie’s name, and he advised her to find a job as a waitress and work for cash and tips. The bill collectors would have trouble finding her. There was nothing illegal about this arrangement but he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with it. Under the circumstances, though, he had no choice.

  When Josie left Ford County two weeks earlier, she was working three part-time jobs and had proven adept at hustling for low wages. She promised to repay every dime, but Jake had his doubts. Her rent was $300 a month and she was determined to pay at least half of it.

  The next loan would be to cover Kiera’s medical care. She was almost seven months along and so far there had been no complications. Jake had no idea what it would cost.

  On a troubling note, Josie had mentioned, on the phone, the issue of money for the adoption. Jake had explained that the adopting parents always cover the costs of the delivery and the lawyer’s fees. Josie would be expected to pay nothing. She then beat around the bush for a few minutes and asked, “Is there anything in the deal for the mother?” In other words, exchanging money for the baby.

  Jake had anticipated this and quickly replied, “No, that’s not permissible.”

  Although it was. He had handled an adoption years earlier in which the prospective parents agreed to pay an additional $5,000 to the young mother, which was not unheard of in private adoptions. Agencies charged a fee and some of the money was quietly routed to the mother. However, the last thing he wanted was for Josie to get wild ideas and dream of making a profit. He had assured her that he and Pastor McGarry would find a nice home for the baby. No need for her to go shopping around.

  * * *

  —

  THEY PARKED ON the square and did a loop, checking the windows of the shops they had known in college. They browsed through Square Books and had coffee upstairs on the porch while gazing at the courthouse lawn where Mr. Faulkner once sat alone and watched the town. At noon they went to a deli and bought sandwiches for lunch.

  The apartment building was a few blocks off the square, on a side street crammed with cheap student housing. Jake had lived nearby for three years during law school.

  Josie answered the door with a huge smile, obviously delighted to see someone she knew. She invited them in and proudly showed off her new coffee machine, one given to her by the ladies of Good Shepherd. When Charles McGarry informed them that Josie and Kiera would be moving away and into their own apartment, the entire church gathered a collection of used bedsheets, towels, dishes, more clothing, and a
few small appliances. The apartment was furnished with the bare basics—sofas, chairs, beds, and tables that had been abused by long-forgotten college students.

  As they sat at the kitchen table and had coffee, Kiera appeared and gave them hugs. In a T-shirt and shorts, her pregnancy was becoming obvious, though Carla later said she was showing little to be that far along. She said she felt fine, was bored with no television, but was reading a lot of paperbacks donated by the church.

  Not surprisingly, Josie had already landed a job waiting tables at a diner north of town. Twenty hours a week, cash and tips.

  Carla had spent four hours with Drew that week and gave a glowing account of his progress. After a slow start, he was showing an interest in science and Mississippi history, though he had no use for math. Talk of him saddened Josie and her eyes watered. She planned to drive to the jail on Sunday for a long visit.

  All four agreed that they were hungry. Kiera changed into jeans and put on sandals, and they drove to the Ole Miss campus, which on a Saturday in June was deserted. They parked near the Grove, the shaded, park-like expanse that was the heart of the school. They found a picnic table under an ancient oak, and Carla unpacked sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks. As they ate, Jake pointed to the law school over there, the Student Union not far away, and described the Grove on game day, when it was packed with tens of thousands of tailgaters. And over there, under that tree near the stage, was where he surprised his girlfriend with an engagement ring and asked her to marry him. Luckily, she said yes.

  Kiera loved the story and wanted all the details. It was obvious that she was enthralled with the idea of such a future, of going to college, of having some handsome boy propose to her, of having a life far different from what she had known. She got prettier each time Carla saw her. The unwanted pregnancy agreed with her, at least on the surface. Carla wondered if she had ever set foot on a college campus before. She adored Kiera, and her heart ached at what the girl was facing. The fear of giving birth, of letting go of her child, the stigma of being raped and pregnant at fourteen. She needed counseling, and plenty of it, but it wasn’t happening. The best scenario was that she would give birth in late September, then enroll as a freshman at Oxford High School as if nothing had happened. A law school buddy of Jake’s was the city attorney and would facilitate matters.

  After lunch, they took a long walk through the campus. Jake and Carla alternated as tour guides. They passed the football stadium, the Lyceum, the chapel, and they bought ice cream in the Student Union. On a sidewalk along Sorority Row, Carla pointed out the Phi Mu House where she had lived as a sophomore and junior. Kiera whispered to her, “What’s a sorority?”

  Several times during the languid walk, Carla wondered what would happen if they adopted the baby. Would they be forced to forget about Kiera and Josie? Jake felt strongly that they would. He believed the safest adoptions were those where all contact with the real mother was cut off. At the same time, though, he feared that the Gambles would be a part of their lives for years to come. If Drew got convicted, Jake would be tied up with appeals forever. A hung jury, and there would be another trial, then perhaps another. Only an acquittal would rid them of the family, and that was highly unlikely.

  It was all so complicated, and unpredictable.

  * * *

  —

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, the Brigance family dressed in their finest and left for church. At the edge of town, Hanna asked from the backseat, “Hey, where are we going?”

  Jake said, “We’re visiting another church today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you always say that the sermons are boring. Half the time you fall asleep. There are at least a thousand churches around here and we thought we’d try another one.”

  “But I didn’t say I wanted to go somewhere else. What about my friends in Sunday school?”

  “Oh, you’ll see them again,” Carla said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Going to church is an adventure?”

  “Just hang on. I think you’ll like this place.”

  “Where is it?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Hanna said nothing more and sulked as they drove through the countryside. When they parked in the gravel lot next to Good Shepherd, she said, “This is it? It’s so small.”

  “It’s a country church,” Carla said. “They’re always smaller.”

  “I don’t think I like it.”

  Jake said, “If you’ll be sweet, we’ll take you to lunch at Nana’s.”

  “Lunch at Nana’s? All right!”

  Jake’s mother had called that morning with the invitation they were always anticipating. She had picked fresh corn and tomatoes from her garden and was in the mood to cook.

  Some men were finishing their cigarettes under a shade tree to one side. Some women were chatting at the front door. The Brigances were met in the vestibule by an usher, a woman who greeted them warmly and gave each a bulletin for the service. Inside the handsome sanctuary, the pianist was playing as they found a seat in a padded pew halfway to the front. Charles McGarry quickly spotted them and walked over with a warm hello. Meg was at home with the baby, who had a cold but was otherwise doing fine. He thanked them for coming and was genuinely happy to see them.

  As city folks, they immediately felt overdressed, but no one seemed to care. Jake noticed only one other dark suit among the pews. He couldn’t help but notice the stares. Word was out—Mr. Brigance was in the house—and others began stopping by for friendly welcomes.

  At eleven, a small choir in blue robes filed in from a side door and Pastor McGarry stepped to the pulpit for his opening announcements. He offered a short prayer, then yielded to the choir director who asked them to stand. After three stanzas they sat and listened to a solo.

  When the sermon began, Hanna moved to a cozier spot between her parents and seemed ready for a nap, determined to prove she could sleep through any service. For a preacher so young and without a lot of training, Charles was at home in the pulpit. His sermon came from Paul’s letter to Philemon and his theme was forgiveness. Our ability to forgive others, even those who are undeserving, is indicative of the forgiveness we received from God through Christ.

  Jake enjoyed sermons and all other types of speeches. He invariably timed them. Lucien had taught him that anything beyond twenty minutes, especially final summations to juries, and you risked losing your audience. In Jake’s first jury trial, an armed robbery, his closing argument lasted all of eleven minutes. And it had worked. His minister at the Presbyterian Church, like most preachers, tended to run long, and Jake had suffered through too many sermons that ran out of gas and became boring.

  Charles was finished in eighteen minutes and closed nicely. When he sat down, a children’s choir lit up the place with a lively song. Hanna perked up and enjoyed the music. Then Charles was back as he asked the worshippers to share their joys and concerns.

  It was definitely a different type of service, far less stuffy, much warmer, and with a lot more humor. After the benediction, Jake and Carla were surrounded by the members, who wanted to make sure they felt sufficiently welcomed.

  31

  In what felt like a never-ending string of bad days, Monday promised to be one of the worst. Unable to concentrate, Jake watched the clock until 9:55, then left his office for a quick stroll to the other side of the square.

  There were three banks in Clanton. Stan, at Security, had already said no. The Sullivans ran not only the largest law firm in the county, but some cousins held a majority interest in the biggest bank. Jake would not subject himself to the indignity of asking them for money. They would say no anyway, and gleefully. He walked past their law firm and cursed them, then cursed them again as he walked past their bank.

  The third, Peoples Trust, was run by Herb Cutler, a chubby old curmudgeon Jake had always avoided. He wasn’t a bad guy, j
ust a tightfisted banker who demanded more than enough collateral for any loan. The nerve. To get money from Herb, one had to show enough collateral to prove that one didn’t really need a loan to begin with.

  Jake entered the lobby as if someone was holding a gun to his head. The receptionist pointed to a corner and he entered a huge, messy office at exactly ten o’clock. Herb, in his standard bright red suspenders, was waiting behind his desk and did not stand up. They shook hands and went through the usual preliminaries, though Herb didn’t waste many words and was known for his bluntness.

  He was already shaking his head as he got down to business. “Jake, I just don’t know about the loan, this idea of refinancing your mortgage. This appraisal seems awfully high, I mean, three hundred thousand? I know you paid two-fifty for the place two years ago, but it looks to me like Willie Trainer clipped you on it.”

  “Naw, Herb, I got a good deal. Plus, my wife really wanted the place. I can handle a new mortgage.”

  “Really? Three hundred thousand for thirty years at ten percent? That’s a monthly nut of twenty-five hundred bucks.”

  “I know that and it’s no problem.”

  “The house ain’t worth it, Jake. You’re in Clanton, not north Jackson.”

  He knew that too.

  “Plus taxes and insurance and you’re looking at three thousand. I mean, hell, Jake, that’s a big mortgage for anybody in this town.”

  “Herb, I know that, and I can swing it.” Such a number made him nauseous and he suspected he wasn’t faking it very well. For the month of May his quiet little office had grossed less than $2,000. June was on track to see even less.