Breaking Matthew

by Jennifer H. Westall

  “And later, when you were at Mrs. Doyle’s home, did she not come to you and explain that you wouldn’t be able to take any more of the extra jars of food?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t take any more—”

  “Why, you yourself said Brother Cass saw you taking another jar of food, and confronted you about it.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t taking it. I had picked it up, and I was wondering why a perfectly good jar of food—”

  “So you had it in your hand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Miss Graves, we are only after the truth here. I’ll ask you to please keep your answers to ‘yes’ or ‘no’ unless I ask for a further explanation. Now, did you, or did you not, pick up a jar of food from the pantry after Mrs. Doyle had told you that you could no longer take the left-over jars?”

  Ruby sighed. “Yes.”

  “Now, in your work with Dr. Fisher, do you often travel to Colony to provide medical care for Negroes?”

  “Objection!” Mr. Oliver stood and pointed at Mr. Garrett. “Once again, Your Honor, this has nothing to do with the facts of the case. Mr. Garrett is simply trying to bias the jury against Miss Graves.”

  “Overruled.”

  I dropped my head and prayed I’d be able to hold myself together. The judge was letting Mr. Garrett do whatever he wanted, and Mr. Oliver’s objections were beginning to seem desperate.

  “Answer the question please, Miss Graves,” Mr. Garrett continued.

  “I do travel to Colony, but not usually for medical reasons. They have their own doctors and midwives there.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the area. How often do you go there?”

  “Once a month, usually.”

  “And who drives you?”

  “I drive myself. Dr. Fisher lets me take his car.”

  I heard muttering behind me, and one lady whispered, “Why would anyone in their right mind drive to Colony?”

  Someone else whispered, “That’s where her boyfriend lives.”

  I whipped my head around, but I couldn’t tell who’d said it. Everyone was watching Ruby answer Mr. Garrett’s next question.

  “I go there to visit friends.”

  “So let me understand,” Mr. Garrett said. “You are friends with Negroes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever dated a Negro boy?”

  “Objection!”

  At this point, I wished Mr. Oliver would just stop objecting so the whole thing would get over with faster. Of course, the judge overruled him, and Ruby’s face once again flushed pink.

  “No, I’ve never dated anyone as a matter of fact.” Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and heat surged through me. I’d never felt so completely helpless in all my life.

  “You’ve never dated a Negro boy, and yet you visit friends in Colony once a month? Is that correct?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Miss Graves, once again, please simply answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when—”

  “Yes.”

  Ruby shot daggers from her eyes at Mr. Garrett, but I was certain he didn’t notice or care. “Miss Graves, was there someone else in the barn with you on the day Chester Calhoun died?”

  “No.”

  “How do you account for the other set of boot prints?”

  “I don’t know. I never noticed them. But I can tell you that dozens of workers go in and out of that barn every day. Those footprints could have come from any of them.”

  “You said earlier that you tried to help Chester Calhoun. That you put your hands on his chest and tried to stop the bleeding, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you try to heal him?”

  Ruby went still, and her eyes widened for just a second before she regained control. “I prayed for him. I asked God to heal him.”

  “But God didn’t heal Chester Calhoun, right?”

  “No.”

  “He died.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re the person that stabbed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because he found out your secret, right?”

  “No!”

  “He walked into the barn and caught you with your Negro boyfriend, right? Those were the other set of footprints.”

  “No!”

  Ruby’s answer was drowned out by the eruption of the crowd behind me. I stared at Ruby, and she found my gaze. We shared a sickening moment of knowing whatever good she’d done to get the jury to believe her, Mr. Garrett had just unraveled.

  “Order!” Judge Woods yelled as he pounded his gavel on the bench. “You will all be removed if you can’t control yourselves.”

  Mr. Garrett moved over in front of Judge Woods. “Your Honor, I have no further questions.”

  “Very well,” Judge Woods said. “Miss Graves, you may take your seat. Mr. Oliver, do you have any more witnesses?”

  I wanted desperately to leap over the railing and take the stand one more time for Ruby, but it hit me then that the truth wouldn’t even matter anymore. As soon as she said a word about Samuel, the solicitor would twist it into an ugly confirmation of Ruby’s supposed boyfriend.

  “The defense rests, Your Honor.” Mr. Oliver stepped aside to allow Ruby back to her seat.

  I couldn’t even offer her a reassuring smile as she glanced at me. It was over. She was sunk.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ruby

  I felt the eyes of the entire courtroom on me as I walked back to Mr. Oliver’s side. I kept my head up, though, as hard as it was. I saw the judgment in everyone’s eyes, but I knew in my heart that I’d done the right thing. Samuel was safe. And that was all that mattered.

  As I moved behind Mr. Oliver to my seat, I caught Matthew’s eye and tried to reassure him with a smile. But all I saw there was despair. I prayed God would shore up his faltering faith.

  Mr. Oliver took his seat alongside me, and the judge asked both lawyers if they were ready to proceed with closing statements. Mr. Oliver leaned over and lowered his voice.

  “Would you like to take a few minutes to gather yourself? I can ask for a recess.”

  “No,” I said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  He turned to Judge Woods. “Your Honor, we are ready to proceed.”

  “We’re ready as well, Your Honor,” Mr. Garrett announced, the confidence clear in his voice.

  “Very well, then. Mr. Garrett you may proceed with your closing statement.”

  Mr. Garrett strode across the room to the jury box and took up his position right in front of them, speaking as if they were an informal gathering of friends. “Gentlemen, what we have here is a sad state of affairs all the way around. Ruby Graves is a troubled young woman with a volatile temper, a tendency to hide the truth, and a dangerous delusion about some…magical ability to stop a person’s bleeding. Not to mention an unhealthy affection for Negroes. Unfortunately, this all came together as a tragic end for Chester Calhoun—a cherished son, a beloved husband and father, and an upstanding member of this community.”

  Behind me, I could hear Matthew muttering again. But at least he wasn’t shouting at Mr. Garrett.

  “The defense,” Mr. Garrett continued, “has attempted at every turn to impugn the character of Chester Calhoun with unfounded accusations, but do not be fooled by Mr. Oliver’s slight of hand. The facts of this case are simple, and all I ask of you is that you use your common sense to draw conclusions based on those facts.

  “Sheriff Peterson has stated, and presented you with evidence, that a third person wearing men’s boots was involved in the vicious fight that resulted in Chester Calhoun’s untimely death. Moreover, the coroner explained how fresh bruises were on Mr. Calhoun’s face consistent with being punched. According to several witnesses, including herself, Miss Graves had no injuries to her hands. And if you read the record of Miss Graves’s own testimony here, you’ll not find one mention of her having hit Chester Calhoun. Her entire account was based on fleeing, not fighting back
. So I ask you, gentlemen. Who punched Chester Calhoun?”

  Mr. Garrett paused to let this sink in. He strolled in front of the jury box, keeping the men’s eyes on himself. Then he looped his thumbs through his vest and frowned as if he was just then considering the meaning of all this himself.

  “There is only one logical explanation for all this evidence. Only one conclusion that makes any sense at all.” Spinning around, he pointed a finger directly at me, and my stomach dropped. “Ruby Graves was in that barn that morning with another man, and together, the two of them savagely attacked and killed Chester Calhoun.”

  Again, he paused, letting his statement sink in. I wondered for a moment how my mother was handling all of this. I thanked God she had Asa to lean on, ’cause I had a feeling things were only going to get worse.

  “You may be asking yourself why this happened?” Mr. Garrett continued. “Why would Miss Graves want to kill Chester Calhoun? Why would she continue to insist she was the only one there? Again, all we have to do is look at the evidence and testimony of those closest to her to understand what was going on in her mind at the time. By her own testimony, as well as her mother’s, Dr. Fisher’s, and that of Brother Cass, we can be certain that Miss Graves has a history of carrying on inappropriate relationships with Negroes, despite warnings from family and friends. The only logical reason to kill Chester Calhoun would be to protect the shameful secret he had discovered in that barn…her affair with a Negro.”

  There was much shifting and muttering in the pew directly behind me. I reckoned my only three supporters in the entire gallery were preparing to leap over the railing to my defense. It gave me a moment of relief to know that in the sea of suspicion and condemnation behind me, I had three life preservers that wouldn’t let me drown. I could handle Mr. Garrett’s assumptions, and I knew I’d be all right soon enough.

  Mr. Garrett strutted back to the center of the courtroom, as if he were taking position for his final act on stage. He turned and addressed the jury with outstretched hands, pleading for their understanding.

  “Now gentleman, you’ve been chosen for the unsavory job of deciding the fate of this troubled young woman. Although it is sad to see such a young life ruined, do not let her youth keep you from evaluating the truth of the evidence in front of you. You must decide, based on the facts and drawing from your common sense, whether she is innocent or guilty of first-degree murder. Those are your only choices here. And although it is a difficult task to be sure, you must do your duty to God and your community.”

  With that, Mr. Garrett walked back to his table, and took his seat. He folded his hands together and looked expectantly at Mr. Oliver. As my lawyer took a moment to wipe his brow, then stood and lumbered in front of the jury box, I prayed for him, asking God to guide his words as he spoke for me.

  “Gentlemen, Mr. Garrett is right about one thing. You do have an unsavory task before you, and I’m sure no one envies your position. Now, Mr. Garrett has encouraged you to look at the evidence in this case, and to use your common sense. I would encourage you to do the same. However, it is the lack of evidence I’d like you to consider.

  “Now, with all due respect, Mr. Garrett’s case against Miss Graves rests upon the assumption that a bruise and some footprints in the barn prove there was a third person involved in the altercation. Gentlemen, no such proof exists. We don’t know how or when Chester received that bruise. There’s no telling how many workers are in and out of that barn each day, and there’s no way of knowing whose boots made those prints, and when they were made. Now, we can make guesses on what we think may have happened. Chester may have been in another fight where he was injured in the jaw. Perhaps the footprints were made by deputies examining the scene. Perhaps by Luke Dalton, or James Graves. Or even by someone in the barn during all the commotion before the police arrived. We’ll never know for sure about these things. But my guess would be very different from yours, and your guess might be very different from the next fellow’s, and so on.

  “Now the laws of our country state that a person is innocent until they are proven guilty. A bruised jaw is not proof. An unidentified footprint is not proof. It’s guesswork. And to follow that guesswork with wild accusations of inappropriate relationships and witchcraft is not only ridiculous—it is irresponsible! Are we to convict an upstanding member of our community—a young woman ready to give her time and efforts to help others—of a most heinous crime based on guesswork and speculation? Now, I respect Mr. Garrett as much as the next fellow. He is normally a fine solicitor. But he has not proven his case against Miss Graves. And yes, you do have a duty to God and to your community. You have a duty to set the highest standards of the law. To ensure that only the guilty are punished, and the innocent are set free. Do not take that obligation lightly. For who knows when it will be your turn to sit in that chair, and to be tried for a crime you did not commit. All I ask is that you apply the same level of scrutiny to the evidence that you would want if you were in Miss Graves’s place.”

  Mr. Oliver walked back to our table, and it seemed as though the entire courtroom took a collective breath. I heard shifting behind me, coughs, and warnings to children to sit still. I glanced at the jury, making eye contact with only one—a black-haired man near the top row who seemed to be studying me. His dark eyes looked distraught before he dropped his gaze to his lap. All the others were looking up at Judge Woods as he gave them instructions.

  Then the men who would decide my fate filed out of the room.

  No one left the courtroom. Even after the jury had been out several minutes, the pews remained packed with spectators, and every one of them kept glancing at me as they talked with their neighbors.

  “You’d think these people would want some fresh air,” I said to our small group gathered next to the defense table.

  “Brood of vipers,” Asa muttered.

  I looked at him in surprise. It was the first negative thing I’d heard him say during this whole ordeal. He put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed, speaking quietly into my ear. “Don’t be afraid, you hear? You put on God’s armor. ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood…but against the ruler of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’”

  I thought of Brother Cass placing his hand on the Bible and swearing to tell the truth, of him being the one to incite Chester against me in the first place all those years ago, and it was hard to fight the bitterness in my heart against him. Now there, indeed, was spiritual wickedness.

  I hugged Asa in return and thanked him and Mother for their support. Mother leaned over the rail and hugged my neck. “No matter what happens, I love you, and I believe in you.” She pulled away and wiped the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.

  “I want to assure all of you,” Mr. Oliver said, “that if they come back with a guilty verdict, we can appeal it to a higher court. There’s no reason the evidence in this case should warrant a conviction.”

  Matthew locked eyes with me. “How are you doing? What can we do for you?”

  It seemed everyone was convinced I was about to go down in flames. “I’m all right. I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air. Might be the last I get for a while.” I managed a small smile, but no one else did.

  “I’ll walk outside with you,” Matthew said.

  “We will too,” Mother added.

  So the four of us made our way through the crowd that had spilled out into the aisle between the pews, and then squeezed through the crowd in the hallway as well. I kept my eyes to the floor, not wanting any more looks of condemnation that day. I’d put on a brave front earlier, and it had taken all my energy.

  As we reached the front door, a small crowd of men, a few of them with cameras, pushed their way toward us. A light flashed in my eyes, and I stopped in my tracks.

  “Ruby!” One of them yelled. “Are you nervous about the verdict?”

  Another light flashed, blinding me for a moment.

  “Ruby! Who was the other man in
the barn? Ruby! Ruby!”

  Matthew maneuvered me behind him. “She doesn’t have anything to say right now. Please leave us alone.”

  We backed away, but the group surged forward, still shouting questions. Asa and Mrs. Graves stepped in front of them. Asa raised his hands to drive them back. “Miss Graves won’t be answering any questions at the moment. If you’ll direct your questions to me, I’ll be happy to answer what I can.”

  Asa exchanged a glance with Matthew, who took my hand and led me down a side hallway and into the small conference room where we’d met with Mr. Oliver the day before. He closed the door behind us and leaned against it with his eyes closed.

  “So much for some fresh air,” he said.

  He opened his eyes and reached for my hand, pulling me into his arms. I laid my head on his chest. Memorized the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth against my cheek. We stood like that for several minutes, neither of us with words for these last quiet moments.

  When I pulled away from him, he rubbed his face and neck, groaning with exhaustion. “Ruby, this is our last chance. Are you sure? We could still find a way to get out of here. I’m sure of it. I’ll go with you—”

  “Shh,” I said, reaching for his hands and pulling him away from the door. “No more talk of running. Let’s just pray. All right?”

  He nodded and kissed the top of my head. “Anything for you.”

  The door behind him opened, and Mr. Doyle slid through the opening. He frowned at us, and Matthew gripped my hand a little tighter.

  “I think you might be lost,” Matthew said.

  “No,” Mr. Doyle said, his eyes glancing down at our entwined hands. “I need to speak with you, son.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Then you can listen. It’s important.”

  “I told you already, I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

  “Matthew,” I said, moving between him and his daddy. “Maybe you should try to work things out.”

  “There’s no working things out with him. It’s his way or nothing. I choose nothing.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Doyle, whose eyes had not softened toward me one bit. Then I turned back to Matthew. “You owe it to yourself to forgive him. Not because he deserves it, or because he’s seeking it, but because holding on to your anger will only hurt you. I’m not saying you have to give in to him, but find a way to forgive.”