No Tomorrow

by Jake Hinkson

  She shook her head. “It’s too … it’s so bad, this thing between us, that they don’t even have a word for it. It’s unspeakable. Unthinkable. If they did suspect, they might lynch us. But it’s simply unthinkable to those women. That’s one reason I brought them over here. There’s no way I could have come alone. Everyone would have known and started to wonder. But now there’s a story, and it’s a story that everyone wants to believe. That’s what I’ve figured out over the years. People always believe the story that fits what they want to think.”

  That reminded me of the preacher. I said, “Do you want to know what happened to your husband?”

  She leaned back a little and tilted her head. “Did he die immediately?”

  “No. He spoke to me. Asked me to get help.”

  “Oh.”

  “He knew. When I killed him, Amberly, he knew it was me.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you to know.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I want you to tell me it was the right thing to do.”

  “That’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To find someone to tell them that they’re not a bad person. Fine. You did the right thing. You want me to tell you that poor miserable Obadiah was a bastard? He was. He just couldn’t see. His blindness didn’t make him a gentle soul.”

  The women outside sang

  It is well

  With my soul

  It is well, It is well

  With my soul.

  “God, why did you tell him about us?”

  “I didn’t. He just knew. What I said about people not thinking the unthinkable – that didn’t apply to Obadiah. He only thought the unthinkable. Remember when I told you he would have been a cop in another life? He would have been. He was always suspicious, always ready to believe the worst about people.”

  “But why didn’t you just deny it?”

  “Oh, Billie. That didn’t matter. Not at all. Denying it only made him more angry. Now I was a liar and a whore and a degenerate. He was never inclined to believe a woman, anyway.”

  Outside, the ladies switched to a new song. They seemed to be flagging in intensity.

  “I should go,” she said.

  “Tomorrow then…”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll tell the inquest that you and I prayed together and I’ve forgiven you and that I believe that what happened was a terrible accident.”

  I stood up. We kissed again.

  “I love you,” she said.

  It was the first time either of us had said it, and hidden away in our dark room while those women outside waited for us, the words took on more power. Something about her scared me now. She’d known all along that I’d killed Obadiah. She’d arranged for this little public show of forgiveness. In the wake of her husband’s death, she was moving without any sense of remorse or loss. I’d committed the crime, but she seemed happy to be rid of him, and somehow that frightened me more than what I’d done. Yet, at the exact same time, as we kissed I felt more drawn to her than ever. The fear only added to the excitement. I’d thought I was playing her. Now I thought maybe she was playing me.

  I said, “I love you, too.” And, in that moment, I really think I meant it.

  ~ ~ ~

  Amberly opened the door and walked outside and told those women that we had prayed and that I had well and truly repented for what had happened.

  She turned to me to let me speak. I started to tell the women how deeply I appreciated their prayers and Amberly’s forgiveness, but I burst into tears. It was the damnedest thing. I couldn’t have planned to cry at a better time. The ladies smiled and dabbed tears away and praised the Lord.

  They all came to hug me before they left.

  One woman – portly, with a tight steel-gray beehive – held my hand while she told me, “I think this was God’s will. That accident was the Lord’s way of calling Obadiah home, and it was his way of calling you into repentance for being in the motion picture business.”

  “I think you’re right,” I told her. “I think you have something there.”

  She nodded and let go of my hand.

  Amberly gave me a sisterly hug, and then she took the arm of the lady with the steel-gray beehive and they walked back to a waiting car. I watched the caravan of five vehicles drive away.

  From the front porch of the manager’s office the old man had left his chessboard and stared at me.

  I stuck my hands in the air. “I’ve been saved!”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, the inquest was held on the top floor of the city hall in what looked to be the only courtroom in the building. The judge was a tall man with unruly ashy-blond hair who took off his glasses at the beginning of the proceedings and spent the rest of the morning cleaning them with the end of his tie.

  Legal representation was assigned to me by the court. I was told that I wasn’t on trial, but that I was entitled to legal assistance if I felt it necessary. The court appointed lawyer was a tiny old man with thick glasses and an even thicker stink of old sweat and penny cigars. He wore a filthy suit with a shirt that had long since aged from white to yellow. Before the inquest began, he did not say a single word to me.

  The judge didn’t say much. Most of the talking was done by the prosecuting attorney, Josiah Pickett. Unlike his handsome younger brother, Josiah was an obese man squeezed into a tight white suit. He had a spherical body with a spherical head, and as the heaters in the room clanked and hissed, he took out a handkerchief and dabbed sweat. He looked like a melting snowman.

  The first witness he questioned was Lucy Harington.

  Josiah Pickett said, “Court will note that Sheriff Harington could not be here today and in his stead, his administrative assistant, Miss Lucille Harington will be offering evidence for the sheriff’s office.”

  I turned around and looked at Eustace sitting on the front row, smiling as his sister took the stand.

  After the preliminaries were out of the way, Pickett asked, “Miss Harington, could you describe the incident that took place on November 17th?”

  Lucy wore a smart brown dress with a white hat and heels. “Yes sir. The sheriff and I were giving Mrs. Amberly Henshaw a ride out to the church – ”

  “If I may interrupt, Miss Harington, a ride from where?”

  “The sheriff and I were in town when we saw Mrs. Henshaw downtown. She was picking up some groceries at Pickett’s. She was with a lady from her church, Mrs. Aloysius Hermann. The ladies had been out delivering supplies to some elderly shut-in members of their church. They had not anticipated the rain so soon that morning. Because Mrs. Hermann lives out on Baxter mountain, she wanted to get going back home in case the storm got worse, so Eustace and I – the sheriff and I – offered to give Mrs. Henshaw a lift out to the church.”

  “Please continue.”

  “We came out to the top of the hill just before you cross the creek to the church and we saw a car had run off the road. We stopped and looked into the car but we couldn’t find the driver. We looked around and on the other side of the road we found Mr. Henshaw.”

  “That was Obadiah Henshaw, the pastor at the Blood-Bought Tabernacle and husband to Amberly Henshaw.”

  “Yes sir, that is correct.”

  “What condition was he in?”

  “He was dead.”

  “Could you describe the condition of his body in a little detail for the record, Miss Harington?”

  “Yes sir. He’d clearly been struck by the wrecked car. He was bloodied in several points – his face, his neck, his hands. And his right leg had come off at the knee and lay a few feet from him. A portion of his scalp, perhaps the size of a dollar bill had ripped off.”

  “I apologize for asking a lady to describe such a scene, Miss Harington.”

  “That’s quite all right, sir.”

  “Was it your impression at the time that the deceased had been struck and kilt by the car?”

  “Yes sir.”
>
  “Are you today of the same opinion?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What happened next?”

  “As we were looking at the body, Mrs. Henshaw became upset. As she was crying, the sheriff went out to the road. Coming up the road from the church was the driver of the car, Miss William Dixon.”

  “For the record, Miss Dixon has a man’s name?”

  “Yes sir. The name on her California driver’s license reads William Dixon. She goes by Billie.”

  “Miss Dixon is here today?”

  Lucy turned to me and pointed. “Yes. She is sitting at the defense table next to Mr. Oglesby.”

  “What was her condition?”

  “She was bleeding at her arm. She had cuts on her face. She was dirty from the mud.”

  “What seemed to be her state of mind?”

  “She appeared to be very upset. She fell down and cried.”

  “What did she say happened?”

  “That she had come around the bend in the road and struck Mr. Henshaw as he was walking.”

  “Did she appear to be drunk?”

  “No sir.”

  “Did the sheriff’s office find any evidence to suggest that she was drinking or was in any other way impaired as she was driving?”

  “No sir.”

  “Did the sheriff’s office find any evidence of malice or intent?”

  “No sir.”

  “I think that will be all, your honor.”

  Without looking up from cleaning his glasses, the judge said, “Don’t forget to ask about Eustace.”

  “Oh yes. As the sheriff’s representative here today, do you know of any further information that the sheriff’s office would like to enter in to this proceeding?”

  Lucy straightened up in her chair and said, “Yes sir. One thing. It seemed to me that Miss Dixon did not have a plausible explanation for why she was going out to the church that day.”

  “Oh? What explanation did she give you?”

  “That she was going out to pay her respects to the preacher.”

  “Why does that strike the sheriff’s office as implausible?”

  The sheriff’s office thought about that a moment. “Miss Dixon is only an occasional visitor to our town. She’s only been here twice. To the best of my knowledge, she did not know Mr. or Mrs. Henshaw very well. The day in question, the weather was very bad. Stormy. An odd day, I thought, to go visiting someone you don’t know very well.”

  “I see. But, to be clear, you still believe that the death of Mr. Henshaw was an accident.”

  “Yes sir. I just thought I should mention that there was still a question that needed answering.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harington.”

  I was called to the stand next. After swearing me in, Josiah Pickett asked, “Miss Dixon, can you tell us what happened?”

  I repeated the story I had told Lucy, almost word for word.

  The judge cleaned his glasses. The sweaty snowman wiped his face. Mr. Oglesby sat at his table and stunk.

  Lucy sat next to her brother and listened. As was always the case, I couldn’t read what she was thinking.

  Pickett asked, “To address the question raised by the sheriff’s office, why were you going out to the church on such a rainy day?”

  “Mr. Henshaw and I had become acquainted on my last visit. He had opposed motion pictures, and we had talked through some of his concerns.”

  “How did you do that, exactly?”

  “I reassured him that the motion picture company I work for makes good wholesome films of an uplifting and entertaining nature.”

  “And you were going out to see him…”

  “Just to pay my respects. I was due to leave town the next day. I wanted to thank him again for lifting his ban against motion pictures. It seemed like good business to me to see him one last time and make sure he was happy.”

  The court thanked me and called up Amberly.

  She came dressed in black. As she took the stand something about her came into focus for the first time. I’d always known it without being able to put my finger in it. She always looked completely at ease. I’d never seen her in any context in which she seemed upset or confused. She always looked calm.

  “Mrs. Henshaw can you tell the court what you saw the afternoon of the 17th?”

  “Yes sir. As Miss Harington said, she and the sheriff offered to give me a ride out to the church. As we came up the hill we saw the car off the side of the road. We stopped and got out, fearing someone might be hurt. We found…my husband.”

  She held a tissue to her mouth.

  “The court will keep this brief, Mrs. Henshaw. When you and the Haringtons found your husband, what condition was he in?”

  “He was dead.”

  “And then you saw Miss Dixon?”

  “Yes. She came up the hill. She looked awful. She collapsed.”

  “To the best of your knowledge, ma’am, was there any bad feelings between your husband and Miss Dixon?”

  “No sir. She and my husband had talked about the pictures she was selling to the Eureka Theater. My husband was not a fan of motion pictures, as everyone knows, but she had convinced him that she had a good heart and her pictures were of a good moral quality, if not of a particularly high artistic quality.”

  Everyone in the court snickered at that.

  She smiled sadly. “I rather think Obadiah liked Miss Dixon. She had spirit, he said. He admired spirit in a person.”

  “Do you have any other pertinent information you would like to given this court?”

  “Yes sir. Just one thing. Miss Dixon came to the Blood-Bought Tabernacle yesterday and received Jesus Christ as her personal Lord and savior. Afterwards, she and I had the opportunity to pray together. I want to tell the court that in my opinion, what happened out on that road the other day was a terrible accident that this woman feels deeply sorry for. More than anyone else, I would want to punish someone for the death of my husband. But what happened was, I believe, an accident devoid of intent, malice, or negligence. I feel she has paid enough for it – in terms of guilt and sorrow. I want this court to know that, speaking on behalf of many of the ladies of my church, I believe that the Lord has used this accident to bring a lost soul to Christ. I know that my husband is in heaven right now, rejoicing that his death brought one last soul to the Lord.”

  The judge smiled at his tie and glasses and made no comment about the theological implications of me running over Obadiah. The prosecuting attorney thanked Amberly for her testimony and excused her.

  Lastly, Josiah Pickett called up Dr. Westwood, the same silent doctor who had patched me up. He apparently also worked as the town coroner. Pickett asked the doctor what had killed Obadiah Henshaw. The doctor turned out to have a voice as country as bowl of okra. He sounded more like a moonshiner than a doctor.

  “He got struck by a car. He had glass in his head, chest and hips. He had several broke bones. His leg had been knocked off at the knee.”

  “Based on your examination, what kilt him?”

  “Trauma to the head. Looked to me like when he got threw clear of the car he hit some trees going down the hill. Whacked one pretty good with his face.”

  Josiah Pickett thanked the doctor for his testimony.

  “I think that’s all, your honor.”

  The judge put on his glasses.

  “All right, then,” the judge said. “I don’t think we’ll need a recess. This court finds that the death of Mr. Obadiah Henshaw was an accident. The combination of rainy weather and bad driving conditions, together with the fact that the deceased was blind and the driver was a woman, produced a terrible situation that was all but unavoidable. The court extends its condolences to Mrs. Henshaw and thanks her for her moving testimony here today, as well as her fine example of Christian charity. As for you, Miss Dixon, good luck to you. In the future you might try to avoid driving in the rain.”

  With that he banged his gavel and left the room.

  My
legal representative, Mr. Oglesby, who had not uttered a single word in court that day, congratulated me and presented me with a bill for twenty-five dollars.

  Amberly came over and shook my hand. “God be with you, Miss Dixon.”

  I left the court alone.

  ~ ~ ~

  When I got back to the motor lodge, the old man at the front desk waved me over and handed me a Western Union telegram. It was from the man at Eagle-Lion. It read:

  Billie Dixon

  Stock’s Settlement Ark Nov 21 1947

  Received your message regarding wreck. You are instructed to return as soon as able. No need to make further calls on customers. Return with car account books and all salvageable company stock.

  I carried it to my room and sat down on the bed and read it again. I didn’t have to read it a third time. Twice was enough to get the main point.

  I was out of a job.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The world turned white overnight. I woke up to find ice and snow covering the town. It wasn’t deep. It was more like a thin white gauze had been thrown over everything in sight.

  I dressed and walked down to Dub’s for breakfast.

  Helen waved me to a seat by the window.

  “How you doing this morning, sweetie?”

  “Cold,” I said.

  She carried over a pot of coffee and poured me a cup. “So…congratulations on getting saved.”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Heard about it – sweetie, I was there. I sang along while they dumped you in that horse trough. Guess that makes you Baptist, now.”

  “Or a horse.”

  “Well either way, it’s better than being a Methodist. What can I get you?”

  “Some toast and eggs.”

  “How you want them eggs?”

  I looked across the street and saw Lucy and Eustace come out of the sheriff’s office and start toward the diner. My hands moistened.

  “Sweetie, how you want them eggs? Better tell me or Sam will just follow his instincts and fry ‘em like bacon.”

  “Have him do that. Fry them up.”