Hindsight

by Rhonda Taylor Madge

  “He would have a fit if he knew I paid that much money for a bra.”

  We didn’t have to worry now.

  My name was called for the top five. I joined the other four on the stage as I looked down to see all my family lining the front rows. Tears glistened in their eyes, and Mother gave me a thumb’s up.

  “And the winner is…Rhonda Taylor!”

  I was on a roller coaster of emotions. Only two days prior, I was burying my father and now I was on a stage surrounded by fellow contestants covering me in congratulations. Surely I’m dreaming, I thought to myself.

  The following Monday morning, I walked back into school. It seemed as if society wanted me to quickly move forward as though nothing had happened. No one seemed to understand that I had a gaping hole in my heart. The old saying “Time heals all wounds” was my only hope. At this point, I had one path—to become a world-class actress.

  Of course distractions, such as Bruce, helped keep me busy and my mind occupied. Timing was not ideal for a budding romance. I’m sure he had a really hard time knowing what to say most days, but he continued to make me laugh in the midst of it all.

  Bruce and I continued to date through the summer as I prepared to start my senior year of high school and he started college.

  It was good to have a boyfriend, and I couldn’t wait for basketball season to start. The Friday-night games caused much excitement in small town USA, plus Mother loved to watch me play.

  The fall season came and went as winter hastened the removal of the beautiful colors adorning our trees.

  Mother and I were learning to live a life with just the two of us. It wasn’t ideal, but it was our new reality. When tragedy strikes, you’re left to pick up the pieces or the rest of the world moves on without you.

  It was hard to believe she was a thirty-seven-year-old widow, married since she was fifteen. She and Daddy had lots of friends, but they were all married and did things with other married friends, leaving her alone.

  If I had a date, she would say, “Go have fun. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” It was hard to leave her sitting alone in Daddy’s brown recliner.

  The holidays were especially hard that year, not only because we were alone, but looming ahead was the dreadful murder trial.

  **********

  “Rhonda, it’s time to go. They’re waiting for us at the courthouse,” Mama called from the front door.

  I glanced at myself once more in the mirror before meeting Mama at the car. I wore a simple dress and curled my hair the best I could, all the while repeating to myself over and over, “I can do this. I can do this.”

  It had almost been a year since Daddy died. Amos Ingle had spent all that time in the county jail, awaiting trial because bail had been denied. The trial had to be moved to Montgomery County in order to find an impartial jury to give him a fair trial, so it took some time to get this accomplished.

  It was a day that we had waited for—to see justice served. We drove in silence as there was not much left to say. I knew I was about to be face-to-face with the man who had shot my father to death.

  As soon as my feet touched the floor of the Montgomery County Courthouse, I felt as though I had entered an Alfred Hitchcock movie in the twilight zone. Nothing felt real, except for the tear that slipped from the corner of my eye.

  The floor squeaked as we walked. The old hardwoods looked as though they had been installed at the start of the century. I followed the well-worn path to the front row, to a wooden bench that looked like the pews from church. I slid my bottom into place; the cold surface sent a chill throughout my body.

  At once, all the anger, anxiety, and grief I had experienced over the past year collided within me. I felt Mother tug at my sleeve, pulling me back into the moment. I lowered my head, trying to conceal the flow of tears.

  “Ma’am,” a man with a stern voice said, glaring. “If you can’t control your emotions, you will need to leave the courtroom.”

  I can do this. I can do this. No, I can’t. No, I can’t, I repeated to myself.

  “Get a hold of yourself right now, Rhonda,” Mama whispered firmly.

  The man walked away, satisfied that my mother had taken control of the situation.

  I slowly inhaled a deep breath and closed my eyes. As I regained my composure, my eyes cut across to the corner of the courtroom. A door slowly opened and in walked Amos Ingle, handcuffed and accompanied by a court officer. Dressed in gray from head to toe, he walked slowly to his seat with his head bowed. Is this really happening?

  “All rise,” we were instructed, as the Honorable Sam Boaz entered the courtroom.

  The first order of action was to select a jury. Forty-eight were called and questioned before the final twelve and one alternate were chosen. Fortunately, there was not sufficient time to proceed with the first witness.

  “We will adjourn until 9:00 tomorrow morning,” the judge declared.

  The drive home was a silent one. I could tell Mother just needed time to think, as she appeared deep in thought. We both went to bed early in order to start the day rested, if that were possible.

  **********

  Walking back into the courtroom wasn’t as bad as the day before, until Mother was asked to take the stand.

  I watched her walk as though she were in a trance before taking her seat beside the judge.

  “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  Mother answered, “Yes, Your Honor. I do.”

  She had chosen to wear a black pantsuit that day and her red hair was pinned up in a French twist. Our attorney had told her to dress nicely, but not to wear anything that would draw the attention away from her testimony. The eyes of the jury were upon her as the morning of April 19 replayed from my mother’s lips.

  “Mrs. Taylor, did you see Amos Ingle the morning of the nineteenth?” the prosecutor asked.

  “No, sir. I did not. Boyd and I were both in the bathroom getting dressed when we heard the front door open. He quickly left me in the bathroom to see who had entered our home.”

  “What time was this, Mrs. Taylor?”

  Mother replied that it was 5:30 a.m.

  “Did Boyd get upset?” asked the attorney.

  She said, “I heard Boyd tell him in a very firm voice that he was never to enter our home without knocking.”

  The attorney asked if she heard Amos say anything.

  Mother said, “Amos replied, ‘I’m sorry, Boyd. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ And then left our house.”

  “Mrs. Taylor, did you or the deceased have any idea as to why Amos came into your home that morning?”

  “No, sir. We had no idea,” she replied.

  She held it together as long as possible, but when asked about how long they had been married, her shoulders began to shake and tears fell as mother said, “Twenty-one years.”

  “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  There was not a bone in my body that would have traded places with her. I knew it was agonizing, yet she managed to do her best. I was so proud of her and I knew Daddy would have been, too.

  The prosecuting attorney painted a well-crafted picture of what an outstanding man my daddy was. He had been a good friend to Amos Ingle and even shared vegetables from his own garden with Amos’s mother.

  Allen Page was called to the stand next. It was not easy for him to recount the memories of that dreadful day. You could have heard a pin drop as he relived the truck ride home with his friend on April 19 of the previous year.

  The prosecution rested.

  “The defense calls Amos Ingle to testify.”

  All eyes were upon him as he took the stand. When asked about his relationship with the deceased, he said that Boyd Taylor was a good man and had been a good friend. He testified that he was pawning the gun, because he needed money badly.

  “When I lifted the gun to pass it through the window of my truck, it accidentally fired, shooting the best f
riend I ever had.”

  The defense said that there were no further questions. Judge Boaz then asked the prosecution if they would like to cross-examine.

  “Your Honor, I would now like to introduce the material evidence that Mr. Ingle stated was the gun he was pawning to the deceased, Boyd Taylor.”

  The attorney leaned over and pulled out the gun.

  I stopped breathing at the sight of that weapon.

  The prosecuting counsel handed the gun to the foreman of the jury and asked him to pull the trigger. He placed his finger on the trigger, and with great intensity he pulled it back. I shuttered as a loud click rattled through the room.

  The attorney said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, Amos Ingle has indicated that the gun fired accidentally, insinuating that the gun possessed a hair trigger, meaning with the slightest touch it fired.” The prosecutor refuted that the gun did not have a hair trigger, making it impossible for the gun to fire without any effort. He exclaimed, “The trigger pulled by Amos Ingle was done with force by a man who had a mission, a solitary intent, and that was to kill Boyd Taylor.”

  It was over. Judge Boaz stated to the jury, “I charge you, members of the jury, that before you find the defendant, Amos Ingle, guilty of any degree of homicide you must be satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt that the death of Boyd Taylor resulted from some unlawful act of the defendant, and was not accidental. Furthermore, the verdict of the jury must be the unanimous, concurring will and agreement of all twelve members. The verdict must not be the result of any gambling or speculative process.”

  The jury recessed for a short while before the verdict was announced.

  The jury reentered the courtroom and all took their seats. Judge Boaz asked, “Have you reached a verdict?”

  The foreman replied, “We have, Your Honor.”

  Judge Boaz asked Amos to stand as the verdict was announced.

  “Amos Ingle is found guilty of first degree murder!”

  Faint cheers and sighs of relief echoed throughout the courtroom.

  The judge sentenced him to ninety-nine years and a day, which meant he was not eligible for parole. Freedom was taken from Amos that day, but it wasn’t a give-and-take situation. Yes, justice was served and retribution seemingly occurred, but that did not mean peace found its way into my grieving, angry heart.

  “You okay?” Mama asked as we left the courthouse.

  “Yeah, I am…um, just glad it’s all over,” I answered with resolve and an attempt to sound normal.

  She pulled me in close to her and whispered, “I love you.”

  The whole ordeal was finally over. But it didn’t change the fact that people whispered when we walked into the local store followed by glances full of pity, daily reminders of our pain. I knew I needed to move on, but I didn’t know how. Something in the back of my heart told me I needed God.

  But how can God be trusted? He has taken so many people I’ve loved away from me. Who would be next?

  SIX

  “…And the two shall become one flesh.”

  Ephesians 5:31

  “All right, ladies, two more laps around the gym and practice will be over!” shouted Coach Jobe. The familiar squeaking sound of sneakers pounded the wooden gym floor.

  Coach Jobe was the son of my grade-school principal in Bumpus Mills. Everyone knew the Jobe family because they had a reputation of being passionate educators and sports fans. Coach Jobe quickly became a mentor in my life and offered the solid guidance I needed.

  As basketball practice ended for the day, I hurriedly gathered my belongings from where I’d left them on the bleachers. Bruce and I had plans that night to see a movie with friends and I needed time to turn from basketball player to girlfriend.

  “Rhonda, c’mon here real quick!” Coach Jobe shouted as I was about to walk out of the gym.

  I jogged over to him. “Yes, sir?”

  He pulled out a photo from behind a notebook on his clipboard. “Who do you think is the prettiest girl in this picture?” he asked. It was an action shot of me during a recent basketball game. I was the only one in the picture.

  “I don’t know what you are asking because there is no one else other than me,” I answered as I squinted my eyes, looking more closely at the photograph.

  Coach Jobe pointed to my mother sitting within the crowd. “It’s that woman, right there,” he said confidently. “What do you think about me asking her out on a date?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. Something inside of me was saying it was the right thing. My mother had been so lonely in recent months. She deserved the happiness that a new relationship could bring.

  “I think that’s a great idea, Coach Jobe,” I replied.

  He smiled. “Ok then. I’m asking her out.”

  I drove home thinking about Howard Lee Jobe. He was a handsome, twenty-eight-year-old man who had never been married, and he had eyes for my beautiful mother. He taught history and coached girls’ basketball and varsity football for the high school. All the students loved him, even though he was tough when he needed to be.

  I laughed aloud, thinking about Mother going on a date with someone nine years younger than her. If he kissed her he would be the second man she ever kissed. I couldn’t stop laughing at the thought. I laughed even harder when I realized I had already kissed more than her.

  So Howard Lee and Mother began to date. It was almost too much for Bumpus Mills to handle. The widow and the young, handsome coach made pretty hot news. Oh, the gossip. But it didn’t seem to bother her much because she was happy and not alone anymore.

  We would oftentimes have dates on the same night, posing a problem as she set the same standard for herself as she did for me—home by 11:30. We both refused to be on the porch at the same time, therefore whoever got there first the other had to drive around until the porch dwellers had finished their kiss.

  Ah, the front porch—made of old wooden planks slathered with layers of white paint accumulated over the years. It was the place that welcomed you into our home. The same porch I stumbled across trying to find Mama on the day Daddy died. Funny how you never truly understand how much an ordinary place can mean until you realize it has been the backdrop of so many significant moments in your life. Now here we were, Mother and I in a new chapter of our stories, but standing in the same familiar place.

  Months of front porch good-byes and good-night kisses eventually led to two engagements in the spring of 1977. Ruth and Howard Lee and Rhonda and Bruce were both set to tie the knot.

  Bruce and I planned to wed five months after my high school graduation. I strongly believed that marriage was going to fill the emptiness I felt inside. Bruce had walked into my life right after the heartbreak of my first love and the devastation of my father’s death. I was ready for a new beginning. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed that this was the best plan for my life.

  “I just don’t think you’re ready, Rhonda. Bruce is a fine young man, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you had a long engagement. You could go to college and have some fun first.”

  Mother spent most of the conversation attempting to talk me out of getting married, but I let her words bounce off me, in one ear and out the other. My mind was made up. Nothing she could say was going to change that. I became defensive.

  “Mother, I know what I’m doing. You were much younger than me when you married Daddy,” I shouted as I stomped out of the room. No one was going to talk me out of marrying Bruce.

  The wedding announcement went out in the newspaper, inviting all our friends and family to our fall wedding only four months later.

  **********

  I awoke the morning of my wedding and realized it was actually happening. Fear crept in as I thought about our honeymoon. Growing up, I had been taught that sex was to be saved for marriage and so I had waited.

  Then the reality that I was getting married in the church that I had first attended with Paul caused me a moment of sadness. Stop it, Rhonda, I told myself.
<
br />   I heard the phone ring. Mother knocked on my bedroom door and whispered, “Honey, it’s for you. It’s Paul.”

  Please, no, I thought. What could he possibly have to say to me?

  The first words out of his mouth were, “Rhonda, don’t do this. You are making a mistake. Please don’t.”

  “Today is the wedding. I can’t back out now.”

  “Yes, you can,” he said. “It’s not too late.”

  “Paul, you ended our relationship because you found someone else. Why are you calling?”

  “Rhonda, I know you and I know you are doing the wrong thing.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I have to get ready for my honeymoon.”

  “Please don’t talk about that. I can’t stand to think about it.”

  “Bye, Paul.” I hung up the phone and sat bewildered. Why had he called?

  Mother seemed to have a way of finding joy in difficult situations. Once again, she prevailed. “Rhonda, don’t let him hurt you anymore. We have a wedding to get ready for.”

  “You’re right, Mama. Let’s do it.”

  **********

  Our family and friends gathered at the little church in Bumpus Mills. I waited with my bridesmaids, squeezed into a small room to the left of the entrance to the church. Only a half hour before I was to become Mrs. Bruce Jones, someone lightly knocked on the door.

  My Aunt Jeanette walked in as tears glistened her eyes. She knelt down before me, took my hands, and said, “Rhonda, you don’t have to do this. We can walk out the door right now. Your Uncle Don and I feel you are making a big mistake. You have your entire life ahead of you. This is the time that you should go to college and have fun. Please don’t do it. All your friends just started college and you could be having fun with them.”

  No one said a word, including me. I loved Uncle Don, my dad’s youngest brother, and I valued their opinion, but I wasn’t going to call off the wedding. I assured her I was not making a mistake. This is for the best, I told myself as I heard the music begin to play through the church hallway.

  Uncle Morris, another one of Daddy’s brothers, took my arm as we prepared to walk down the aisle—the same aisle I had walked down when I asked Jesus into my heart. What was it about this aisle that caused my heart to beat so rapidly? Two very important life decisions would be made on this faded red rug. To the left of me hung a picture of Jesus, who seemed to be looking right into my eyes. I placed one foot in front of the other as I followed the runner leading to the pulpit. My eyes shifted from Jesus to Bruce.