by Londyn Skye
“Run off? Carolyn, I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
“I read in the newspapa’ that you murdered three men the same night you was by my house beggin’ Gideon for help! That w-was the last time I eva’ saw my h-husband! H-how am I s’pposed to know you didn’t kill h-him too?!” Carolyn accused, suddenly breaking down into heavy sobs.
“Gideon hasn’t come home since then?” James asked, looking and sounding thoroughly perplexed.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know!”
“Carolyn, I swear, I knew nothin’ of this.”
“Because of you, Brandon’s been beggin’ to see his daddy for weeks! He must be dead! There ain’t no otha’ way he’d abandon his little boy like this! Pl-please, if you know where Gideon’s body is, j-just tell m-me. I at least w-wanna give ’em a propa’ burial. I’m b-beggin’ y-you,” she sobbed. “For the sake of my son, can you please t-tell me where his f-fatha’ is?”
James’s eyes began to glisten with moistrue as he gazed at the heartbroken woman before him. “Carolyn, if I knew what happened to your husband, I swear I’d tell you. But I promise, I had nothin’ to do with his disappearance. I mean that.”
“You’re a liar! You killed ’em to keep ’em from spillin’ your despicable secrets!”
James shook his head. “Carolyn, that’s not true, I …”
“STOP LYIN’ TO ME!” she yelled, springing from her seat. The prison guard ran over and grabbed her when she began flailing and slapping James in the face. “YOU’RE A LIAR AND A MURDERER!” she continued to scream repeatedly as the guard pulled her out of the room.
James’s stomach began to spasm violently after he was taken back to his cell. He agreed with Carolyn. Gideon had refused to abandon a town that needed his services, even after they had shunned him for taking such a young bride. So, James knew he was definitely not the kind of man who would ever abandon his wife and only son. Much like Carolyn, James was convinced that only one thing would have prevented a caring man like Gideon from returning to the family he adored … one very permanent thing. The mere thought of Lily having met the same fate had James on bended knee, vomiting violently into a pail. He felt like the last bit of his sanity finally came spewing out with the little food he had managed to ingest.
After completely clearing the contents of his stomach, James wiped his mouth and sat on the edge of his cot with his sweat-soaked face buried in his hands. The moment his face hit his hands an epiphany came crashing to the forefront of his mind. Gideon had suddenly made him think about the character of the people he knew well. Gideon would never abandon his family. William would never abandon Lily. And Harrison would never abandon him … not unless there was one damn good explanation. In that moment, it finally dawned on James that it was not Harrison and William who had turned their backs on him but, rather, the entire town of Fayetteville. James glanced at the toothless prison guard on duty, suddenly convinced that he and his counterparts had likely never mailed his letters in the first place.
The following day, James demanded that Mason request a change of venue for his trial. Weeks later, the judge smugly denied the request with a ridiculous excuse. When James saw the sly smirks exchanged between the judge and Mason, his suspicions about the entire legal system colluding against him were solidified. James was convinced that the gross negligence Mason was about to commit would normally be grounds to have an attorney disbarred, and that the judge’s collusion would normally have him thrown from the bench. But in the abnormal case of the abominable sins of Dr. James Adams vs. Fayetteville, their gross miscarriage of justice would be revered and highly celebrated. That simple truth left James believing that the judicial system was about to honor the letters of every citizen who wished him a torturous death and a trip to the flaming pits of hell.
Chapter Three
September 10, 1860
“NIGGA’ LOVIN’ KILLA’! NIGGA’ LOVIN’ KILLA’” was the heartfelt chant being repeated by an angry mob of patrons to welcome James to the beginning of his journey to the flaming pits of hell. The trial was set to begin at 9 a.m. sharp, but James began hearing the choir of God-fearing townsfolk singing their lovely melody at 8:30, from literally a mile away. The chants grew louder as his paddy wagon drew closer to the town square. James could not be seen inside the covered contraption, nor could he see much out of its small window. But he knew immediately when he had reached the outskirts of the unruly mob. It was not the increased volume of their chants but, rather, the rocks and mud clods that began pelting the sides of the paddy wagon.
Once the dirt-covered wagon halted near the courthouse, a slew of deputies had to forcefully get dozens of citizens under control before they could even open the paddy wagon door to let James out. With shackles on his ankles and wrists, James needed assistance getting out of the wagon. The very second his head was visible, the crowd roared into another ferocious fit of hysteria. Several deputies held back the wild mob, while another one dragged James by the arm across the road toward the courthouse. James had once marched across that very same road and had a town full of women gazing hungrily at him while naughty thoughts rolled through their minds. Those same women now glared at him with lowered eyes of disdain while loudly condemning him instead. A gang of mischievous teenagers expressed their disdain by suddenly launching a hail of mud clods at James. Several deputies rushed over to stop them, but they were far too slow to react. By the time James reached the courthouse steps, his nice, tailored suit was speckled with brown stains. A city that had once deemed him as the town’s most desirable man, were now clearly proving in the most despicable ways that they viewed him as the most hated.
James had earned the title of most hated man thanks in part to Mary Jo Parker. She had worked to elevate the town’s hatred for James harder than she had ever worked at any other scheme in her life. The attention-garnering, sob story that she had sold to the masses had the town’s emotions at a fever pitch by the time the first day of testimony was set to begin. Being that she was one of the star character witnesses, she wanted to be sure that everyone was eager to watch her well-rehearsed, dramatic performance on the stand. Her hard work had certainly paid off. Nearly the entire town was either inside or outside the courthouse. Many had gotten up before dawn to stand in line to get one of the few seats inside the courtroom to witness the drama firsthand. James was marched into a courtroom slap full of people, waving hand fans to ward off the cloud of musty, summer body heat that was stifling the air in the room. He was stunned to see that there was literally not one inch of space to give in any of the pews. He could have easily mistaken the scene for one of Lily’s sold-out shows.
James was laughed at as he walked in with a multitude of mud stains on his suit, face, and in his hair. Jesse, J.R., and Jacob were at the front of the courtroom chatting with someone. The minute James walked in, the three men halted their conversation. While the rest of the courtroom patrons snickered and made snide remarks, Jesse and his two older boys silently glared at the black sheep of their family through lowered eyelids. They kept their eyes glued on James the entire time he was marched down the aisle. James walked the entire way ignoring the laughter and reciprocating the hateful glare. Just before entering the swinging door to the gallery, J.R. and Jesse blocked the aisle, refusing to let James get to his seat. James and his father stood with only a foot between them, their intense unblinking eyes speaking of how badly they wanted to torture each other.
“Step aside, gentlemen,” the deputy escorting James announced.
Jesse and his boys finally stepped to the side and breezed out of the courtroom to wait in the holding room for their turn to be called to the witness stand. When they were gone, the deputy escorted James to his seat, unlocked his chains, and brought him over a towel to allow him to clean himself off before the proceedings began.
Not long after, the jury was led into the jury box and the bailiff called everyone to order. “All rise for honorable, Judge Nathaniel Lucifer.”
&nbs
p; James scoffed at the adjective used to describe this particular judge. He felt he was the furthest thing from honorable.
“You may be seated,” Judge Lucifer announced to the crowd after taking his seat.
James was way ahead of the crowd, though. In a blatant show of disrespect, he had remained seated as Judge Lucifer gallivanted to his throne. James had glared at him the whole way there while thinking there could be no better last name for a man who was clearly one of the devil’s henchmen. He certainly felt like he was sitting front and center in the pits of hell, surrounded by demons. As opening statements were given by the prosecution, he looked over at the jury of people who were supposed to be his peers. James shook his head and scoffed at the much older men in the jury box. With the way the town had turned on him, he was not the least bit stunned to find that eight Ghost Riders and four well-known staunch defenders of slavery were “chosen at random” to determine his fate. He blew out a breath of frustration and tried to prepare himself to be slaughtered by the so-called justice system.
When the prosecution was finished painting James as a raging homicidal thief, Mason stood to give his opening statement. After colluding with the prosecution to ensure that they had an extremely biased jury, Mason now felt free to deliver the stellar defense showdowns that he was known for.
Mason Rockefeller was actually an incredibly gifted attorney … gifted in aesthetics as well. He was a youthful looking fifty-year-old man with salt and pepper hair, always wearing expensive suits over his lean body. His looks and intelligence had bred extreme arrogance and a level of narcissism that left no room for him to love a wife or children, both of which he did not have. He was far too busy loving himself, his career, and sleeping with an array of whores. Despite the hypocrisy of his sinful sex life, Mason considered himself above everyone, including every attorney who had ever dared to challenge him. His cases were not about justice but were to feed his ego by proving that he was far more intelligent and cunning than every attorney who crossed him. His ego thrived on such victories. The only exception to that rule was in cases where he was slated to defend any white man who had fornicated with a slave. Mason was a former northerner who had migrated to the south for the sole purpose of legally owning slaves. He, therefore, considered abolitionists and Negro lovers lower than the mud he forced his slaves to scrub from the soles of his shoes daily. Oddly, had James only been convicted of murder, Mason would never have colluded with the prosecution. He was confident he could have easily secured an acquittal against who he had labeled the M.P.A.F’s: moronic, Podunk attorneys of Fayetteville. But hearing that James had allegedly impregnated a slave made him lower than the feces in an outhouse in Mason’s eyes. Conspiring to condemn such a man to lifelong torture, or preferably a torturous death, was icing on the cake for his narcissistic ego, much more so than any victory.
And so, the courtroom show that Mason Rockefeller was about to put on today was just that … a show. His theatrics were not about garnishing another esteemed victory but, rather, ensuring that the sort of bottom feeder he loathed would never again see the light of day, all while preserving his image as a stellar defense attorney. With that in mind, Mason strutted back and forth in his high-dollar suit during his opening statement, using his linguistic brilliance to entrance everyone, as he typically did. Even James began actively listening to the final portion of his attorney’s opening statement when he became mystified by the words coming from his mouth.
“… and so, gentlemen of the jury, Doctor Jameson Michael Adams is far from a murderous monsta’, seekin’ to kill without reason. I will prove that this is a dignified man who was forcefully pushed to a breakin’ point, one which ultimately led to a need for him to defend his life and the lives of helpless people in an unjustified ambush. By the time this trial is ova’, the evidence will prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that James Adams is simply a man whose actions were as instinctive as any charismatic doctor who swore an oath to protect and care for those in need … regardless of social class or race.”
Mason’s opening statement was so compelling, James slowly turned his head and stared at him when he was finished, as if a stranger had just sat down beside him. His performance had even managed to spark a bit of hope in James for an acquittal. When he looked back at the jury, however, that spark was quickly doused. It was an instant reminder that there was not a single impactful statement or vicious cross-examination that would sway the cemented racist minds of the men sitting there. He was certain that the “jury of his peers” had signed their guilty votes long before their posteriors were ever seated in the courtroom. Despite that fact, Mason and Judge Lucifer were ready to play their fictitious roles as law-abiding members of the judicial system. And so was Tobias Crumwell, the lead attorney for the prosecution.
When opening statements were over, the judge looked over at Tobias. “The floor is yours, Mr. Crumwell.”
Tobias Crumwell was everything that Mason was not. He was a fifty-year-old short, red-faced, no-neck, bald man with the exception of a two-inch line of gray hair barely hanging on around the sides of his head. He could have easily been mistaken as a seventy-year-old man on the verge of death. He was swollen – everywhere – with a midsection that had obstructed the view of his penis for over two decades. The buttons on his cheap suits always looked like they were begging to be freed, and he tended to sweat profusely no matter what the climate, much like he was now. Tobias dabbed his handkerchief on his forehead as he grunted and struggled to rise from his seat to call his first witness. “We’d like to call Jesse Roscoe Adams Junior to the stand please,” he said as he waddled his way to the podium.
A bailiff went to retrieve J.R. from the witness holding room. He was escorted to the stand and took a seat after being sworn in. James shook his head and laughed quietly when he looked at his brother. It was the first time he had seen him with a haircut and clean shaven in years. He was doubly shocked to see that he owned a decent suit and even took the time to bathe and scrub years of layered dirt off his hefty body.
Tobias approached the stand after J.R. was sworn in. “You go by J.R., correct?”
“Yessa’,” J.R. replied, actually sounding respectful and polite.
“Can I call you that here today?”
“Sure can.”
“Okay, then J.R. Can you take us back to Tuesday, April seventeenth of this year? What were you doin’ that day?”
“My brotha’ Jacob and I were helpin’ our fatha’ with some work on his barn, but we needed some more wood. So, I went to Albert’s General Store that afta’noon to pick some up.”
“And what happened afta’ you left the store that afta’noon?”
“I run into Mary Jo Parker.”
“Who is Mary Jo Parker and how do you know her?”
“I know’d Mary Jo since she was born. Our fatha’s did business togetha’. So, she’s always been close to our family. In fact, at the time I run into ’er at Albert’s, she was due to become an official part of the family.”
“How so?”
“She was my brotha’, James’s fiance. They were s’pposed to be married this month actually.”
“So, it’s safe to say you know Mary Jo well?”
“Yessa’. She was sorta like a close cousin.”
“With the excitement of an upcomin’ weddin’, you must’ve found Mary Jo in a ratha’ jovial mood that afta’noon at Albert’s?”
“No sa’. She was upset and cryin’.”
“Cryin’ for what?”
“She had just found out that James was havin’ an affair.”
“With whom?”
“With Lily.”
“And who is Lily?”
J.R. turned and sneered at James. “One of my fatha’s slaves,” he said with disgust in his tone.
His words evoked a low grumble of disgust from the audience as well.
“Quiet!” the judge ordered.
“Did Mary Jo give you details of the affair?” Crumwell asked after the courtr
oom was silent again.
“She gave me more than that,” J.R. huffed. “She gave me a bunch ‘a letters that James and Lily wrote back and forth to each otha’ with details about the sort ‘a things they were doin’ in secret.”
“Did you say letters that Lily wrote?”
“Yessa’. Lily wrote a letta’ to James thankin’ ’em for teachin’ ’er to read and write.”
“What otha’ sort ‘a details did you discova’ in those letta’s?”
J.R. looked over at James. “The fact that the baby Lily was carryin’ was his.”
Another round of gasps erupted from the crowd. The commotion brought forth a soft tap of the judge’s gavel to silence the noise.
“Did Mary Jo also confide in you about that outside of Albert’s store?”
“Yessa’. Mary Jo said she confronted James about the letta’s when she found ’em. She said he demanded that she keep it all a secret.”
“Did he threaten her in any way?”
“Yessa’. He said he had every intention on keepin’ that little nig- … that baby on the plantation, no matta’ what she had to say about it. Said he’d do unspeakable things to her fatha’ if she didn’t comply with his wishes.”
James snickered and shook his head at how blatant his brother’s lies were.
“Quiet Dr. Adams!” the judge warned.
James just stared back at the man, fighting the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.
“Continue Mr. Crumwell,” the judge said after James’s rude interruption.
“Did you tell your fatha’ about any of this?” Tobias asked J.R.
“Well, I went straight to my fatha’s plantation with the intention of tellin’ ’em right away, but I ran into a little problem.”
“And what problem was that?”
“I went into the kitchen…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Just to, uh, ask Lily for a glass of lemonade … and she ended up stabbin’ me in the arm.”
“Lily? The same slave your brotha’ allegedly impregnated?”