The Will

by Reed Arvin

“I wish we could find out for sure. Is it just a hunch?”

  “If you’re right about the media, she’s not going to be found if she can help it. Not after what came out.”

  “I hate what’s happened to her.” He shook his head. “No, it didn’t just happen. I hate what I did to her.”

  “You knew there weren’t any guarantees.”

  “I can’t begin to deal with that now.” He moved to the door. “I’ll have to do business with it sooner or later, of course. When I do I don’t plan on being in a courtroom. Right now it won’t help Raymond if I fall apart.”

  Henry drove toward the courthouse, feeling once again like he had a loaded gun in his briefcase. Yesterday, it had been the secrets in Ellen’s past. Today, it was the scam that had probably netted Crandall and the others millions off the wells. Frank Hesston was about to get his nerve tested in a way he had never experienced. But the killer instinct of a litigator wasn’t rising up in Henry. Nailing them or watching them slip away wasn’t going to be his job; that was criminal work, and the district attorney would handle that. Which suited him, because in his heart, he didn’t really care about Hesston or Durand. Finding out the real secrets of the wells didn’t mean a thing unless they connected the dots to Raymond.

  Henry pulled into the square and caught his breath. There were at least ten news vans parked or circling, drawn magnetically by the well explosion and Raymond’s suicide attempt. Directly in front of the courthouse was a CBS truck, looming over the local affiliates like a mother ship over her satellites. There were at least two hundred people milling around, and to Henry’s particular disgust, several locals were being interviewed by the media. He could only imagine the picture of Raymond they were painting.

  There wasn’t anywhere to park in the square itself, so Henry turned around and headed off behind the courthouse, hoping to come in the back door. But suddenly, he wheeled south out Pawnee, driving fast. He went west on Highway 27, and looked at his watch: it was ten after nine, fifty minutes before court started.

  He covered the seventeen miles to Pretty Prairie in just under twelve minutes. But he slowed when he saw the Everlasting Rest Cemetery approaching on the left. It was a hunch, and nothing more.

  He saw her sitting on the grass, her back to Ty’s gravestone. She didn’t move when she saw him. She looked at him, expressionless, watching him walk slowly through the graves in her direction as though she were already a corpse. “It came to me on my way to court,” he said. “I wasn’t sure. But I hoped.”

  “I’m here because I’m dead. You knew where to look because you killed me.”

  Henry stopped, took the blow, and quietly said, “I’m sorry that you were caught in this. I never wanted that.”

  “Is Raymond alive?”

  “He is. He’s getting everything possible.”

  “I want to be with Tyler. We can be dead together.”

  “I was just looking for the truth.”

  “No matter what happens to the people.”

  He knelt opposite her, feeling the moist grass on his fingers. “I have a client who still doesn’t have a history, and a very uncertain future. I’m going to keep pushing until he has both.”

  She looked at him with derision. “And do to him what you’ve done to me.”

  Henry paused; if revealing the truth did to Raymond what it had done to Ellen, then Raymond’s truth was dark, indeed. “It’s too late to stop. It’s the only way for Raymond to find himself. It’s the only way for him to live a real life.”

  “You do all the choosing, don’t you?” she said bitterly. “You choose for me. You choose for Raymond. What does this cost you?” She shook her head. “Nothing. It costs you nothing.”

  Henry looked down. This was his own place of pain. “I know I’m choosing. It’s not fair, but we’re all getting used to that now. It has cost me something, but I’m not going to compare wounds.”

  Her eyes flickered briefly with interest. “What did it cost you? I’d like to know that you suffered something in this. That would give me some happiness.”

  “I don’t think you’d understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He closed his eyes a moment, gathering his thoughts. “All right. Before I came back here I had my own lies to tell myself. Lies about why I got up in the morning and worked sixty-hour weeks to become a person I don’t even like. Lies about a woman I thought I loved. More than anything else, lies about the death of my parents and the God who let it happen.” He looked at her. “That whole world is gone now. Blown up, with Raymond’s wells. So I’m like you. I’m suspended in air, with no place to go.” He looked out across the grass. “Just toward the truth. That’s all I know to do.”

  They sat quietly together; for a moment, there was a kinship between them, and he felt some of her animosity drain away. Henry breathed deeply, collecting in his lungs the invisible scents of the growing things that surrounded them. He looked up; the sun was startlingly clear, as though the air was of prehistoric purity. He felt inexplicably relaxed, as though he had cast a die and could do nothing now but wait and see how God acted.

  “What can I do now?” Ellen asked in a cracked whisper. “What can I do with my life?”

  “You’re almost home, I think,” Henry said. “We’re all almost home. Just a little farther.”

  She laughed morosely. “It’s worked out so well up until now.”

  “There’s a way you can redeem all this pain. You can come back with me and tell the court what you know about Raymond Boyd.”

  “And that would redeem my miserable life?”

  “No. It would be the first step in a new life. A brave life.”

  “I’m old, Henry.” She looked it; she obviously hadn’t slept, and her makeup had worn off long ago. Her clothes were wrinkled. She looked as though every day she had lived had been a hard one.

  Henry saw the truth and let it cut into her, revealing her inner bone and flesh. “Then this is your last chance.”

  She looked at him and he could see her practiced composure cracking, falling to pieces. “That’s what Frank told me,” she said. “I don’t want to cry anymore. Can’t you all leave me alone, for God’s sake?”

  “No. You lost that right more than twenty-five years ago.”

  She sat with her head up, looking straight ahead, tears streaming down her face. “Do I have to do this out of the goodness of my heart? Because there isn’t any.”

  “What did Frank Hesston tell you, Ellen? What did he say was your last chance?”

  “He wanted me to hurt Raymond. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Hurt him how?”

  “I don’t know. God, let me rest, can’t you?”

  Henry watched her for a long time, comprehension creeping into his face. “He was using you, wasn’t he? Using you to bring Raymond to him.”

  “He offered me money. I need it. I need it thanks to you.” Her sobbing wracked through her again briefly, and she said between gasps, “I can’t start over again, can’t you see that? Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?”

  He put his hand out and touched her hair; she reached out and grabbed it with startling force, squeezing the fingers so hard he grimaced. “You did this to me,” she spat. “You killed me.”

  “You can put a stop to it,” Henry said. “You can finally see that justice gets done.”

  “Justice!” she said. “That’s a stupid word.” She relaxed her grip in exhaustion, letting his fingers fall.

  “I need you, Ellen. Raymond needs you. This town needs you. There isn’t much time.”

  “I’ve been protecting people so long, it’s like a bad habit. I just keep my mouth shut.”

  “Then it’s time you found your power.”

  She smiled bitterly. “Having power isn’t something I know about.” She shook her head. “Carl would never let me live to tell what you want me to say. I was stupid to think he would. I’m a loose end.”

  “Then strike first.”

  S
he hesitated. “And what about Raymond? You don’t want to know his truth.”

  “I can’t protect him from the truth anymore. I don’t want to do that.”

  “Because it’s the only way he can get better.”

  “I believe that. Dr. Harris believes that.”

  She stood slowly, rising from the grass of the graveyard. “Your so-called truth has taken everything I have from me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m dead. I don’t care.” She stood, looking out across the gravestones. “I’ll say what you want if it hurts Durand and Hesston. I’ll do it for hate.” She looked down, taking in her disheveled, dirty dress, the grass stains on her arms. “I don’t want to go looking like this.”

  He was moved almost to weeping at her glimmer of self-respect, still intact after so much assault. “Then we have to leave right away,” he said. “Amanda will help you.”

  “That girl you’re with?”

  “Yes, that girl. Can you make it?”

  She nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. She followed him across the grass, unsteady but determined. He gave her his arm, and she leaned on him as they walked.

  Henry dialed his cell phone when he got to the car. He heard Amanda pick up. “It’s me,” he said.

  “Where are you? You have court in twenty minutes. I was just leaving.”

  “Then I barely caught you. Good.”

  “Yes.” There was a pause. “What do you need?”

  “Just for you to be kind to someone. Do you have any makeup?”

  “A little. I don’t wear much.”

  “Whatever you have will be fine. I’ve got Ellen with me.”

  “You found her,” Amanda breathed. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s had a hard night. But she’s going to testify. She wants to clean up, and I don’t want to take her back to her house after what happened.”

  “I understand.”

  When they arrived at the motel Amanda was there waiting, and she took Ellen by the hand and led her into the room. Henry waited outside, pacing, continuously glancing at his watch. At last the door opened, and when Ellen emerged, she looked better, but still exhausted. There was some color on her face, and her eyes were no longer red. “Thank you,” he whispered to Amanda as they walked toward his car.

  Amanda got Ellen into the back seat and leaned across the car. “She’s very brave,” she said. “It’s like Mary Magdalene, going back and facing those people after everything’s come out.”

  Henry nodded. Yes, he thought, the town whore back from the dead, trying to be born again.

  They arrived at court ten minutes late. Henry led them in through the back, and the few people on that side fell away, staring openly. Henry was able to get Ellen inside the building before any reporters stopped them, and he pushed open the courtroom door and vanished inside with Ellen on his arm. Amanda followed in Henry’s wake, squeezing into the crowd at the back of the room.

  Brackman was scowling, ranting, Henry had no doubt, at his tardiness. Henry caught his eye, and Brackman stopped in mid-sentence. He took in the two of them in a sweeping glance, processing and weighing what he was seeing. “Approach the bench,” he said after a moment. “You, too, Frank.”

  Henry gave Ellen a seat just behind his barrister’s table. He caught his first real look at Hesston as they walked toward the front of the room. Hesston’s face was pure, malevolent hate. But Hesston wasn’t interested in Henry; he was looking straight through him, boring his eyes into Ellen.

  Brackman leaned forward and quietly said, “I thought you had learned your lesson, son. I’m this close to having the bailiff cuff you right here and now for contempt.”

  “On what grounds?” Henry asked.

  “On her grounds, damn it,” he hissed. “Are you out of your mind? If you so much as say her name I’m going to cite you.”

  Hesston interrupted. “I’m going to initiate proceedings against you at the bar association,” he ground out to Henry. “You are a disgrace to the legal profession.”

  Henry looked back at Ellen, taking her temperature; she looked nervous, but was sitting quietly, her eyes down at the table. “The witness insists on being heard,” he said. “It’s her decision. She wishes to amend her previous testimony.”

  “Amend!” Hesston said, a little too loudly. Henry looked sharply at him; the first pebbles of his stone face were beginning to crack away, the beginnings of what might become an avalanche. “Why don’t you just say she perjured herself, then,” Hesston said, controlling his voice. “Because if she changes one word of what she said I’m going to see that she goes to jail for it.”

  Brackman looked at Hesston closely, weighing the implications of the attorney’s outburst. “Don’t get wound up, Frank,” he said, his eyes searching. “You’ve been wanting sonny here to hang himself. I don’t see how you can complain if I let him do it.”

  He turned to Henry. “I’m gonna ask your witness if she really wants to do this. If she doesn’t, I’m going to put you in jail for contempt without another word. If she does, then I’m going to give you five minutes. If she doesn’t deliver something in that amount of time, I’m still going to have the bailiff haul you into my jail. Then I’m going to see you don’t ever practice law in this state again. That’s the deal.”

  “I accept the terms. May I call the witness?”

  Hesston raised his hand. “Listen, Howard . . .”

  “Let it go, Frank. Let’s get this over with.”

  Brackman looked toward Ellen. “Ms. Gaudet, you mind standing for a minute?” Ellen slowly rose, her face blank and withdrawn. “Mr. Mathews here says you got somethin’ to say to the court. Is that right?”

  Ellen looked at Hesston, then at Henry. At last, she nodded. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  “Now this is somethin’ about Tyler’s will, that right?”

  “Yes.”

  Brackman looked a last time at Hesston, the lawyer communicating a silent threat, the judge receiving it. But the situation had changed; after the well explosion and the media attention, it wouldn’t pay to be on the wrong side when the remaining secrets came to the surface. Brackman wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t going down to protect somebody bleeding to death before his eyes. “The witness will take the stand,” he said. “She’s reminded she’s been sworn in.”

  Hesston stood motionless as Ellen walked past him, as though moving a single muscle would destroy his carefully balanced self-control. He was hanging by a thread, moving with the utmost care, unwilling to jostle even his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was so still and brittle you could bounce a quarter off it. “I want it on the record that I object to this further humiliation of the witness,” he said. “On the record.”

  “So noted.”

  Ellen sat with infinite stillness, her hands folded in her lap. Henry, unwilling to force her to say anything, extended to her the one scrap of self-respect that was his to give. He would empower her to end her own life. She had extended her arms; he would hand her the knife. He walked from behind his table and stood before the witness stand. He looked into her face and asked, “Ms. Gaudet, what was your relationship with Tyler Crandall?”

  Ellen looked past Henry to a quiet, dead place. “Tyler and I were lovers from 1973 until shortly before he died.” The courtroom rumbled, but no one existed for Henry in the room but Ellen. He was a lawyer allowing an already dying woman to spill her remaining lifeblood in one lethal stream.

  “Tell the court about your relationship,” he said quietly.

  “We met at Lucky’s, near the Army base, like you said. Tyler liked to be there, around the Army guys. He liked to watch them dancing with the working girls. We used to sit there with a buddy of his and he’d think about his Army days.”

  “Who was this buddy, Ms. Gaudet?”

  “Carl Durand. They had been in the service together.”

  Of course, Henry thought. Durand was the expertise, but he couldn’t buy the land himself without tippin
g the whole county off. He needed Crandall to front the operation. One piece of the puzzle at last. “Senator Carl Durand? Of Durand Oil?”

  “That’s right.”

  A collective gasp rushed through the courtroom, but Brackman did nothing to suppress it. His eyes had been gleaming for the past several minutes, as the implications of what Ellen was saying began to sink in. With the mention of Durand’s name, however, he began to positively glow. Those words moved his courtroom from an insignificant backwater to the center of the media universe, producing a Pavlovian response. Henry looked over at Hesston; the lawyer was watching them both with vacant, frightened eyes. He was simply along for the ride now, and both he and Henry knew it. Either Ellen would give him up with Durand or she wouldn’t. But to protest now was impossible. Even to move an arm would be to betray himself, and he became an implacable statue of marble.

  “We’ll get back to Mr. Durand,” Henry said. “Did you continue this relationship with Tyler, even after Mr. Crandall married?”

  “We didn’t stop the affair because of him getting married.”

  “In your relationship with Mr. Crandall, did you ever discuss Raymond Boyd?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the nature of those conversations?”

  “Tyler told me that Raymond was in love with me.” Another ripple rushed through the crowd.

  “And was he?”

  “Yes. I knew that already.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “No.”

  Henry walked back over to his desk and stared at a legal pad. “Why did Mr. Crandall care that Raymond Boyd was in love with you?” Henry asked. “Was he jealous?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He knew that I didn’t feel that way about Raymond.”

  “So why did he bring it up?”

  “He wanted me to do something.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  The tiniest break in Ellen’s expression told Henry that he had arrived at the center of her pain, the axle around which everything revolved. “He wanted me to go to bed with him,” she said. Ellen’s confession landed on the gallery like a spell. The real history of Council Grove was being spun out before them for the first time.