A Stranger in the Kingdom

by Howard Frank Mosher

  “I’m sorry, your honor. I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  “I don’t have one hundred dollars.”

  “Then write him a check.”

  “I don’t have a checking account.”

  “Well, how much cash do you have?”

  Charlie took out his wallet and looked inside. “Eight dollars and change,” he said.

  Beside my mother, Athena had her hand over her mouth and was trying not to break up with laughter.

  “Then you will step over to Mr. Farlow Blake and pony up that eight dollars and change and write him an IOU for the balance. Payable within thirty days,” the judge added.

  Not one person in that crowded room dared laugh, though I’m sure that, like Athena, everyone wanted to, as Charlie followed the judge’s orders.

  This transaction completed, my somewhat subdued brother said, “Frenchy, I’m going to make all this as short as possible. Could you please tell us what you were doing on the afternoon of August sixth when your mother got home from her housekeeper’s job at Reverend Andrews’?”

  “Grinding up pig brain for headcheese.”

  “Did you make headcheese all afternoon?”

  “No. ’Bout middle of afternoon or so I go overstreet.”

  “By ‘overstreet’ you mean to the village?”

  “That what I mean,” Frenchy said.

  “For what purpose?”

  Frenchy LaMott looked defiantly out from under his great glistening mop of hair and said nothing.

  “Why did you go to the village, Frenchy?”

  “I just told you this noon, Kinneson. You written it all down on you yellow paper. Why I got to say it again now in front of all these people? Read you yellow paper to them.”

  “The jury needs to hear this directly from you, Frenchy,” Charlie said patiently. “Otherwise it won’t mean anything in court.”

  “Old jury be a lot more apt believe you than me,” Frenchy muttered.

  “Tell us why you went to town on the afternoon of August sixth, Frenchy.”

  “Went to see that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “Canuck girl. LaRiviere.”

  Frenchy glared at my brother. “I knowed she was alone because the old woman said so. Said the preacher had took his kid back to Canady and weren’t expected home till nighttime. So I went to see her. That give you a thrill, does it, Kinneson?”

  Charlie grinned. “Was this the first time you had ever gone to see Claire LaRiviere?”

  Frenchy turned his head aside as if to spit out a jet of tobacco juice, just caught himself, and instead blew air out through his compressed lips. “Hang no! I see her over at that Old Home fair for a while. Had a talk with her.”

  “What did you and she talk about?”

  “You know what. I already told you.”

  Tell the jury, please.”

  “Well, we got to talking in French. I asked if she had a boyfriend. She said sort of. I said I had fifteen dollars that Bumper Stevens owed me that I’d give a certain girl to be my girlfriend. She knowed what I meant, all right. She said she was saving up to get to Hollywood and go into the movies and needed money, but she wasn’t going to take no fifteen dollars to be nobody’s girlfriend. So I said what if I showed her that fifteen. And she tell me it still don’t make no difference, she already got a boyfriend. I ask her who, but she won’t say.”

  “Did you have the fifteen dollars with you on the afternoon of August sixth, Frenchy?”

  “Matter of fact, I did.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I took it outen Bumper Stevens’ cash box at commission sales barn that afternoon. He owed me wages for two, three weeks. Kept telling me he’d pay up, then forgetting or something.”

  “What did you do after you took the money from Bumper’s cash box?”

  “I cut through back lot behind old undertaker’s place and come out in preacher’s backyard and went up and knocked on the back door.”

  “Did anyone answer the door?”

  “Naw. I get in, though. I get in with the old woman’s new key that the preacher give her.”

  “Did you know it was wrong to go into the house uninvited, Frenchy?”

  “I didn’t think “bout it. I wanted to call that girl’s bluff. See if she still turn me down after I show her that fifteen.”

  “Had you ever been inside the parsonage before?”

  “Once. Spent a night in there once when it was empty to see old skellington ’post to come snooping ’round every summer, only it never show up. Scared to with me there. Anyway, I look all ’round, call that girl’s name. No answer. I go upstairs, look in all the rooms. No girl, no nobody. So I figure she overstreet at store. Then phone ring downstairs. In room off the porch where I watch for old ghost.”

  “The minister’s study?”

  “Right. Where desk is. Ring one, two, I don’t know, maybe dozen times. ’Course no one there to answer. Kind of spooky.”

  “I imagine it was. What did you do then?”

  “Well, I know preacher don’t be back all afternoon, so what the hang, I go snooping ’round a little. Didn’t take nothing, neither, mister man! ’Cept for wages Christly old Bumper ’post to pay me, I never took nothing off nobody. Even old Barrows tell you that!”

  Judge Allen smiled. “We believe you, Frenchy. No one has accused you of theft.”

  “They hadn’t better,” Frenchy told the judge.

  “Where did you snoop, Frenchy?”

  “Well, I look ’round in girl’s room, look at things on dresser, you know, lipstick and that. Then I go in room ’cross hall and see all those smelly old funny books. I couldn’t believe it. They must have been thousands. I sit down on bed and read a few—well, look at pictures anyway, ’cause I don’t read that good. Then I hear the back door open and close and footsteps in kitchen. Jesus! I nearly crap my britches! Then I think, must be that crazy Canuck girl. I set tight as pa’tridge in a spruce tree, thinking she come upstairs and I show her that fifteen dollars. Then I hear rummaging ’round down below in preacher’s office, drawers opening, closing.”

  “Objection, your honor. This entire performance smacks of an eleventh-hour desperation strategy on the part of the defense to drag in a red herring. If there’s any truth to this testimony at all, why didn’t young LaMott come forward with his information sooner? Why didn’t he report what he knew to Mr. Barrows’ office?”

  “You’ll have an opportunity to ask that question in due course, Mr. Moulton. Defense may proceed.”

  “What did you do when you heard the desk drawers opening, Frenchy?”

  “I sneak over and look down stovepipe hole in floor and see somebody there. Round top of head, short gray hair like pig bristle, green shirt and trouser. Fella take some papers out of bottom drawer, read them over quick, and stuff inside shirt. Then go through more drawers, and take something out of top one and put that inside shirt. Then go out of room. Next thing I know, I hear footsteps coming upstairs.”

  “What did you do when you heard the footsteps coming?”

  “I roll under bed! Door to room open, footsteps come in. Then leave, go across hall into girl’s room. One, maybe two minutes pass, then come out and go back downstairs and out through back door. I never been so scare in my life, mister man, and that the truth.”

  “What did you do next, Frenchy?”

  “Stay right there under bed till I sure he gone. Then come out, look out window onto street, make sure coast clear.”

  “Did you see anyone on the street?”

  “Didn’t seen nobody at all, ’cept old E-li Kin’son, out on him porch ’cross street.”

  “What was Elijah Kinneson doing on his porch?”

  “Couldn’t tell for sure. At first, it look like he cutting on crazy old wood chain he always carving.”

  “Could you describe this wood chain for us?”

  “Describe?”

  “Could you tell us wha
t it is? What it looks like?”

  When Charlie asked Frenchy to describe Elijah’s Endless Maze, I could see the thing as clearly in my mind as if it were right there in the courtroom in front of me. Describing it was something else, though.

  “Don’t look like nothing else I ever see. Big old block of wood he keep up on sawhorse on porch. Made out of trunk of old white pine tree. Maybe three, four feet long. This big round.”

  With his long arms, Frenchy described a circle about three feet in diameter.

  “Anyway, old E-li always cutting away at pine log wit’ big knife like butcher knife, cutting and carving old log into wood chain wit’out no beginning or no end. Make you old head spin like fair ride to look all them coils, too, Charlie K!”

  “So when you looked out the upstairs window of the parsonage Elijah Kinneson was on his porch carving on his endless chain?”

  “No. Only look that way. Old E-li, he not sitting on bench, way he do when he carve. He standing up, bending over chain and reaching down inside ’mongst all them coils make you dizzy to see.”

  “Your honor, I can’t see the relevance of this,” Sigurd Moulton said. “Assuming that any of this fellow’s tale is true to start out with, Elijah Kinneson was minding his own business at his own home. He had nothing to do with whatever young LaMott here did—or, more likely, didn’t—see at the parsonage that afternoon.”

  “Is that an objection, Mr. Moulton?” Judge Allen asked wearily.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll demonstrate the relevance, your honor. Among other things, Elijah Kinneson has already testified he spent that entire afternoon at work in the newspaper office. I’d like to resolve that discrepancy, at the least.”

  “Your objection is overruled, Mr. Moulton. Proceed with your witness, Mr. Kinneson.”

  “Thank you, your honor. Frenchy, you were saying that Elijah Kinneson was reaching into the coils in his endless wooden chain. Did you see him take anything out?”

  “No. Look more like he stuff something in, maybe. But can’t be sure. He only there short while. Then he come down off porch and walk away up street.”

  “Which way did Elijah go? Back toward the village? Or out toward the county road and the red iron bridge?”

  “Toward red bridge.”

  “What was he wearing at the time, Frenchy? Do you remember?”

  “Green shirt and trouser, just like always.”

  “Like the man you saw in the parsonage going through the minister’s desk?”

  “He’s leading the witness again, your honor. Besides, half the men at your local furniture mill no doubt wear the same green work clothes. That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Nobody said it necessarily did,” Charlie said. “But I withdraw the question. Now let’s get back to the parsonage, Frenchy. You said that after the man in the parsonage left, you stayed under the bed until you were sure he was gone. You said you were never so scared in your life. Why were you so scared?”

  “You be scare too, Charlie K, you see what fella take out of top desk drawer after he steal papers.”

  “What did he take out of the top desk drawer?”

  “Preacher’s gun!”

  “OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR! How could this boy know that? How could he tell what it was he saw, looking down through a dim grate into a dim room that way?”

  “I see what I see,” Frenchy said angrily. “Was gun. Look just like same gun right over on that table!”

  “Your objection is overruled, Mr. Moulton,” Judge Allen said.

  “Did you ever see the face of the man who took the gun and came upstairs while you hid under the bed?” Charlie said.

  “No. Didn’t need to, neither. I know pretty well who it be when I look down and see his round old head, like somebody spill salt and pepper all over old cannonball. Then I know for sure when I look out from under bed and see them green trousers and shoes of his, all shiny little bits of lead cooked all over them, and here and there holes in them, most bad as my boots. I see them shoes before, me.”

  “Whose shoes were they, Frenchy?”

  “Your honor, this is the most outrageous, trumped-up—”

  “Mr. Moulton, sit down and close your mouth.”

  “Whose shoes were they, Frenchy?”

  “They was full of holes as Christly old cheese,” Frenchy said excitedly. “I never see pair of shoes like that in all God’s Kingdom, ’cept on feets of old E-li Kinneson!”

  20

  “Claude LaMott, where did you spend the bulk of the year 1950?” Sigurd Moulton said.

  Frenchy shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

  “You can’t remember where you spent nearly a whole year?”

  “Can’t remember which year I there. I know what you driving at, you. No doubt that when I down the line to Vergennes, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. And where at Vergennes did you stay?”

  “Vergennes. Reform school. They make you get up early, milk cow, go school, do chores again.”

  “Why were you sent to the reform school, Claude?”

  “’Cause Judge A here and old man Barrows ship me there. Wouldn’t go to old Academy, me. That all. No thieving. No looking in window at night at old ladies get undress like crazy Titman White. No nothing ’cept not go school.”

  “How did you like reform school? Would you like to go again?”

  “Wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  “Surely you’re jesting?”

  “Not doing nothing but telling truth. You work for Hook LaMott and see if you don’t want go there, too. Down Vergennes, they pretty damn decent to you, long’s you keep you nose clean. Nobody crack you with meathook upside head. Nobody kick you with steel-toe boot.”

  “So you were sent to the state reformatory for your idyllic year because you refused to attend school locally. When you got back here, did you return to school?”

  “Year ago this deer season, yes. Till I turn sixteen this past spring. Then I get out once and for all.”

  Moulton glanced at his tablet. “You claim to have gone to the parsonage with your mother’s key on the afternoon of August sixth for the purpose of soliciting the LaRiviere girl to sleep with you for fifteen dollars. Is that correct?”

  “Didn’t say nothing about sleeping. You heard what I told Charlie K. Ask her if she want to be my girlfriend.”

  “And you claim she was gone when you arrived?”

  “That right.”

  “This all sounds like very suspicious behavior, Claude LaMott. How do we know that you didn’t take the gun out of the desk yourself? Maybe rape her at gunpoint, order her out of the house, and take her up to the quarry and kill her?”

  Charlie was on his feet to object, but Frenchy was even quicker. Pointing at Reverend Andrews, he said, “Then what you got that fella there on trial for? You all mixed up, mister.”

  “Exactly!” Charlie shouted “Judge Allen, the prosecutors don’t seem to know who is on trial here today. First they brought charges against Reverend Andrews. Then they tried to implicate Nathan Andrews. Now they’re implying that Frenchy LaMott, who hardly even knew the girl, raped and killed her. I respectfully request that you direct Mr. Moulton and his assistant to make up their minds once and for all who the real defendant is here today.”

  “Withdraw the question, please,” Moulton said. “Your honor, at this point I’m going to request a mistrial on the basis of this witness’s total incompetence to testify. He’s a juvenile delinquent, a low-life illiterate without even an eighth-grade education, and nobody in town will say a good word about him.”

  “Oh, yes, someone will, Mr. Moulton!”

  Two chairs down the row from me, Athena Allen was on her feet.

  “Please, Athena, be seated!” the judge cried out.

  “Don’t you ‘please Athena’ me. I’ve got something to say and I intend to say it. Sigurd Moulton, I’ve listened to your pompous bullying for two days. But now you’ve gone too far. I’ll say a good word for Frenchy LaMott and
no one’s going to stop me. I’ve known him since he was five years old. I taught him in the eighth grade for three years. And I never knew him once during all that time to tell a lie. Not once. There, now I’ve had my say. Go ahead and have me arrested, Father, if you must. I’ll go peaceably.”

  “Even your most recalcitrant former students would rise up in protest if I did so ungallant a thing, Athena,” the judge said. “I will accept your promise not to interrupt these proceedings again. The jury will of course disregard the most recent out—the most recent interjection. Go ahead, Mr. Moulton.”

  If Sigurd Moulton was nonplussed by Athena’s “interjection,” he didn’t show it. “All right, young LaMott. If you’re such an honest and upright young gentleman, why didn’t you step forward sooner to tell your story?”

  Frenchy snorted. “Who believe me if I do? Frenchy LaMott? Town clown, town bastard, no school, can’t read, can’t even tell time. Why anybody believe me? Plus I scared.”

  “What were you scared of? A big rugged fellow like you?”

  “Two thing. Scared old Barrows and Mason White try to pin what happened to girl on me. Or that same one that kill girl kill me. Kill one already. Why not two?”

  “So what changed your mind? Did someone offer you money to change your mind?”

  “I don’t know what change my mind. Couple of thing. Mainly my old lady. She talk to me for good long while, and the more I think about it, the more I think I going speak out. Finally today she tell me I don’t say something, she going to.”

  “I’m not in the habit of putting any stock in the fabrications of juvenile delinquents, and I doubt the jury is. I have no further questions for the moment, but we’ll visit again, Claude LaMott, I’ll assure you. Your honor, I’d like to request that this trial be suspended until Monday in order to give the prosecution adequate time to look deeper into this witness’s testimony. These latest theatrics caught the county totally off guard, as I’m sure they were meant to. I need time to prepare for a more extensive cross-examination.”

  “Your honor,” Charlie said, “I have just one more witness to call, and then if Mr. Moulton still insists on a postponement I won’t object. In the meantime, I’m going to object to the prosecution’s use of the term ‘theatrics’ to describe my witness’s testimony.”