by Al Lacy
Rya pressed a tenuous smile on her lips, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Dr. Yarrow, it’s no fault of yours. I very much appreciate your being so straightforward with us.”
“Thank you.” Then rising from his chair, Yarrow said, “You’re going to need more of both kinds of medicine. I’ll get it ready for you.”
Moments later, the Reardons stepped out of the doctor’s private office, and as they headed toward the outside door, Sarah stood up at her desk “Mr. and Mrs. Reardon, I … I’m so sorry. Dr. Yarrow told me the test results this morning.”
They gave her grim smiles, nodded, and hurried out the door.
Without a word between them, they walked across the street to the buggy, and McClain helped her onto the seat. He untied the horse from the hitching post, then sat down beside Rya, took the reins in hand, and put the horse into motion. When the buggy was rolling down the street, McClain put his arm around Rya’s shoulder. She saw tears streaming down his cheeks.
Struggling with her own emotions, Rya said, “Darling, we both told the Lord whatever would give Him the most glory was what we wanted. We agreed that our desire was for His will to be done.”
McClain wiped away the tears that were dripping from his chin and nodded. He tightened the grip he had on her shoulder. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it hard.
Soon they were home, and McClain guided the buggy into the driveway and stopped at the front porch. “I’ll go get Pastor and Marla. They will be a real help to us, I know.”
“Of course. I would love to have them.”
When McClain helped her out of the buggy, Rya took hold of his hand and looked up into his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry for what this is doing to you.”
He laid a palm against her cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey. But I can’t imagine what it’s doing to you.”
“I … I don’t know exactly how to put this, but it’s like the Lord is holding me in His arms. I’m not afraid of dying. I know I will be with Jesus. But … I don’t want to leave you. A year at the most, Dr. Yarrow said. So little time.”
McClain bit his lower lip. He folded her into his arms, held her close, and said with a broken voice, “I will spend every possible moment with you. You’ll have to quit your job right away.”
Rya swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“We’ll talk to Roy and Elsa this evening, and see if she will take care of you during the daytime when I’m not home.”
“I’m sure she will. I won’t need her to do it yet. I’ll just have to see how fast the cancer grows, and how it makes me feel.”
When Pastor and Mrs. Whitfield arrived at the Reardon home with McClain, they were very kind and compassionate. The pastor read several passages of Scripture in an effort to comfort Rya and McClain, and prayed, asking God for comfort, grace, and strength.
Late that night, when Rya was asleep beside him, McClain dropped silent tears. Moonlight slanted through the windows, making a soft, silver glow in the room.
McClain laid a tender hand on Rya’s silken hair. “Yes, my sweetheart. So little time.”
Suddenly, he was overcome with grief, and had to slip out of the bed and go to one of the spare bedrooms, where he knelt at a chair. Between sobs, he asked God to help them in this most difficult time and even to heal Rya of the cancer.
Back in the master bedroom, Rya stirred in the bed, running a hand to touch her husband. Suddenly she was wide awake, realizing McClain was not in the bed. Rising, she put on her robe and headed down the hall. When her ears picked up his sobs, she hurried and found him on his knees.
Unaware of her presence, McClain continued sobbing and praying. He stopped short when he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. Rising to his feet, he took her into his arms. They sat down on the small bed in the room, clung to each other, and wept.
As the weeks passed, Rya slowly lost weight. On the first day of the third week, Elsa came to the house to stay with Rya while McClain was at work.
When McClain came through the back door into the kitchen after work, he found supper on the stove and the two women sitting at the table. “Smells good, ladies,” he said, bending over to kiss Rya’s cheek. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“Oh, not too bad. Except—”
“Except what?”
“Except that Jason Lynch was standing across the street looking over here,” spoke up Elsa, disgust lining her voice.
McClain scrubbed a palm across his mouth, anger welling up in his eyes. “When was this?”
“I spotted him at about two o’clock,” said Rya. “Elsa kept looking out the parlor window, and finally, at four-fifteen, he was gone.”
“News spreads fast in Sacramento. I’ve lost count of how many people have stopped me to say they had heard about your cancer. Jason has to have heard about it, too.”
“I cannot imagine why he stays in Sacramento,” said Elsa.
“I can’t either,” said McClain. “He’s gotten into countless fights, from what I hear, and has many enemies. People look on him as a nuisance, and most of them shun him. If he’s employed, I don’t know where it is.” He took a deep breath and set his eyes on Rya. “I’m going to have another talk with him.”
That night, McClain searched among the saloons, and Jason was not in any of them. Just as McClain was coming out of the Bulldog, he saw Jason about to enter. People were milling about on the boardwalk, and looked on as McClain surprised Jason by grabbing his shirt with both hands. “I’ve had enough, Lynch!” he said. “You stay away from Rya!”
A sneer curled Jason’s lips. “I have every right to stand anywhere on any street I want, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“I’m telling you for the last time to stay away from my wife. If you don’t, you’re going to be very, very sorry!”
Jason laughed in McClain’s face. “I’ll be across the street from your house tomorrow!”
McClain pulled Jason’s face up so close their noses were almost touching. “You heard my warning, Lynch. If you don’t quit bothering my wife, you’ll soon wish you had.”
McClain let go of Jason’s shirt, gave him a shove, and moved down the boardwalk.
Jason called after him, “If Rya had married me, she wouldn’t be dying! It’s your fault she’s so sick!”
McClain looked back over his shoulder without breaking his stride, and saw Jason enter the Bulldog Saloon.
While he walked the dark streets toward home, McClain grew angrier and angrier at Jason’s last words. He was almost home when he decided to go back to the saloon and drag Lynch to the sheriff’s office. He quickly turned that way.
When he reached the saloon, he moved inside and ran his gaze over the place. There was no sign of Lynch. A man, who had been in the crowd that had watched the scene earlier, stepped up. “You looking for Lynch, Mr. Reardon?”
“Yes.”
“He left a few minutes ago after arguing with Jack Bowles. Lynch and Bowles have come close to fighting before.”
McClain returned to the street, and as he passed by the dark, open space between the saloon and an adjacent apartment building, he heard a moan. Leaving the boardwalk, he moved toward the sound in the near darkness. The only light was from two apartment windows near the rear of the building. Suddenly, he was able to make out the form of a man lying on the ground. Just as he knelt beside the fallen man, a lantern was lit in a second-floor window directly above him, spraying the area with its yellow glow.
McClain saw that the fallen man was Jason Lynch. His eyes were closed, and he was moaning and gasping for breath. The long blade of a knife was buried in his chest. McClain leaned over and pulled the knife out just as Jason stopped breathing.
Suddenly people were gathered on the boardwalk looking at McClain, standing over the dead man with the bloody knife in his hand.
“Look!” a man said. “It’s McClain Reardon! He stabbed that Lynch guy!”
“Charlie already went for the sheriff!”
“N
ow, look,” McClain said, moving toward them. “I didn’t kill him. I was passing by and heard him moaning. When I pulled the knife out of his chest, he stopped breathing.”
“Likely story,” another voice said. “We heard you threaten him, saying he was gonna be very, very sorry. We watched you leave, but you came back, didn’t you? Must’ve gone to get your knife.”
“That’s what it looks like to me,” said another. “Murder ain’t the way to handle it, mister.”
Galloping hooves were heard on the street, growing louder.
“That’s not the way it is!” McClain said. “I told you, I found him lying here with the knife already buried in his chest!”
A horse drew to a halt on the street and Sheriff Jake Drew appeared, shoving his way between the people on the boardwalk. He took one look at McClain, standing with the knife in his hand, and whipped out his gun. “Drop it, Reardon!”
McClain looked down at the knife, then back at the lawman. “Sheriff, it isn’t what it looks like. I didn’t kill that man.”
Drew glanced past him at Jason Lynch lying on the ground in the spray of light coming from the window above. “I said drop it! You’re coming with me. I’ve got a cell just your size.”
McClain let the knife slip from his fingers and fall to the ground.
“Sheriff, you’ve got this all wrong. You’ve got to listen to me.”
“I warned you not to solve your problem with this man by doing something violent. But you didn’t listen, did you?”
McClain squared his shoulders. “I’m telling you the truth, Sheriff. I didn’t stab him. I found him like that.”
“Yeah, sure.” Drew waved the muzzle of his revolver. “Let’s go.”
23
IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN O’CLOCK, and Rya Reardon was pacing the floor in the parlor and wringing her hands. There was a dull pain in her midsection. Her lips moved, but barely a whisper came out. “Oh, McClain, where are you? Did you and Jason get into a fight? I know something’s wrong. You wouldn’t do this to me if you could help it.”
She went to the window, pulled back the drapes, and looked out into the darkness. There was only one house across the street that had lights in the windows. Dropping the drapes back in place, she went back to pacing the floor. The pain was growing worse.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “You know where he is and what has happened. Please take care of him, and—”
Footsteps on the front porch interrupted her prayer, and she froze in place. McClain would come in the back door. She would have heard the buggy go past the house on its way to the barn.
She jumped when a loud knock echoed through the house. Trembling, she made her way to the door, where a single lantern glowed in the small foyer. “Who is it?”
A muffled voice said, “It’s Sheriff Jake Drew and Deputy Lance Myers, ma’am.”
Rya slid the bolt and opened the door.
“May we come in, Mrs. Reardon?” asked Drew. “We have your husband in jail, and I need to talk to you.”
Rya took a step back and swung the door wider. Closing the door behind them, she said, “I don’t understand, Sheriff. Why do you have McClain in jail?”
“He’s under arrest, ma’am, for murdering Jason Lynch.”
Rya’s heart thudded in her chest. “This can’t be. My husband is no murderer.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but for several weeks, people in this town have heard your husband threaten Lynch. Well, he carried out his threat. He stabbed Lynch to death and was seen by at least a dozen people, standing over the body with the knife in his hand. When I got there, McClain still had the knife in his hand. He gave a cock-and-bull story that he found Lynch alive and pulled the knife out of his chest, and then Lynch died. When your husband came to me weeks ago about Lynch bothering you, I warned him not to get violent. But he ignored my warning. He killed Lynch, all right.”
“No!” cried Rya, shaking her head. “You’re wrong, Sheriff. My husband is telling you the truth. He wouldn’t have murdered Jason. It isn’t in him to do such a thing.”
“Like Sheriff Drew said, ma’am,” Deputy Lance Myers said, “he was caught red-handed.”
“But—”
“He’ll face a jury trial,” said Drew. “I just wanted to come and let you know what happened. You can visit him at the jail in the morning if you wish.”
When Rya closed the door behind the two lawmen, she leaned her back against the door, and burst into tears. She slumped to the floor, her arms wrapped about her violently shaking body.
“This can’t be happening!” she sobbed, rocking back and forth, thumping her head against the door. “Lord, help us! Please help us!”
At nine o’clock the next morning, McClain Reardon heard the steel door of the cell block rattle and looked through the bars of his cell to see a deputy enter with Rya at his side. His heart lurched in his chest. He jumped off the cot and hurried to the barred door.
“Fifteen minutes, ma’am,” said the deputy, then moved back into the hall and closed the door.
Rya rushed to him, and McClain reached through the bars to enfold her in his arms. The other prisoners looked on as the couple clung to each other, weeping. After a few minutes, they eased back, grasping each other’s hands.
Rya was wearing her prettiest dress and had used face powder to try to cover up the evidence of her sleepless night.
Drawing a shuddering breath, McClain said, “I didn’t do it, Rya. I didn’t kill Jason.”
“Oh, my love, I know that,” she said softly. “I never thought that for a moment. When the sheriff came to the house last night, I told him it isn’t in you to do such a thing.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“I know you were angry at Jason, but murder? Never! Tell me what did happen.”
After giving Rya the details, McClain asked, “How did you get here?”
“Roy and Elsa brought me. I went to their house this morning when I knew they would be eating breakfast. They’re waiting for me out in the office. They want me to tell you that they know you’re innocent.”
“Bless them.”
“They’ve offered to take me into their home until this awful nightmare is cleared up.”
“Bless them again. Please thank them for me.”
“I will.” She squeezed his hands. “Darling, the Lord knows you’re innocent. He will see that justice is done.”
McClain tried to smile as he nodded. “Yes, He will.”
“My time is almost up. I’ll have Roy and Elsa take me to the company office so I can tell Mr. Lamont you’re in here. He’s probably wondering why you’re not at work.”
“I was about to ask if you would do that. And if you would, please go by and tell Pastor Whitfield, too.”
Rya and McClain kissed through the bars.
As the steel door was rattling, she reached up and stroked his cheek “The Lord will see that justice is done.”
Less than forty minutes after Rya had left the jail, Ward Lamont appeared before McClain’s cell. His first words were to assure McClain that he knew he was innocent; then he asked to hear the story. Before leaving, he told McClain he had no doubt that he would be cleared of the crime.
Lamont had been gone only a few minutes when Pastor Mark Whitfield arrived, affirming his belief that McClain was innocent. After hearing the story as it actually happened, the pastor read Scripture to encourage him and was praying with him as the deputy came and told him his time was up.
Rya visited her husband every day for a week, as did the Gibbses, Ward Lamont, and Pastor Whitfield.
On the eighth day, as sick as Rya was, she was in the courtroom with Roy and Elsa on one side of her, and the pastor and Marla on the other. Ward Lamont and his wife sat just behind them.
The prosecution produced many witnesses—including the owner of the Sacramento Hotel and his clerk—who testified under oath that they had heard McClain’s threats against the murdered man. Every person who had found McClain standing
over the body of Jason Lynch with the knife in his hand testified on the stand.
It was brought out in the trial that the sheriff had questioned Jack Bowles, who had been in an argument with Jason Lynch in the Bulldog Saloon that night. Jake Drew, on the stand, told the court that Bowles had denied knowing anything about Lynch being stabbed, and that there was no evidence to the contrary.
McClain’s attorney gave an impassioned plea to the jury to take into account that his client was a respectable businessman and a model citizen, and that he insisted he had not put the knife in Jason Lynch’s chest. He had found him that way, and doing the natural thing, had pulled the knife out.
When the jury left to deliberate, McClain turned around to look at Rya. Holding the hands of Roy and Elsa Gibbs, she tried to disguise the pain she was experiencing, in her soul and her stomach, but McClain could read both in her drawn features. He tried to smile, and she tried to smile back.
The jury was gone only twenty minutes. The judge called for the defendant to rise, and McClain did, with his attorney at his side. When the foreman announced that they had found McClain Reardon guilty of second-degree murder, Rya let out a heart-wrenching wail. The Gibbses, the Whitmans, and the Lamonts did all they could to comfort her.
The judge then sentenced McClain to life in prison at California’s San Quentin Prison.
Rya was quietly weeping and clinging to Elsa and Marla as a pair of deputies grasped McClain’s arms to escort him out of the courtroom. Struggling to her feet, Rya stretched out her hands toward the man she loved more than life itself, while a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks. He looked at her through agony-filled eyes as the deputies hurried him away. Rya’s knees gave way, and she collapsed on the seat, sobbing.
Back at home, Rya asked Pastor Whitfield why God would allow this to happen to her innocent husband. Whitfield told her he did not know, but showed her in the Bible that God cannot do wrong, and that He doesn’t make mistakes. He then took her to Romans 8:28 to show her that God, in His wisdom, had some purpose in allowing it.
“Pastor, would you pray for McClain and me right now? Pray that the Lord will sustain him in that awful prison, and that I will have the strength to go on without him during the little time that I have left on this earth.”