by Mae Berry
Sam burst out laughing. Several people in the crowd stared. She shook her head as her lips fell into a sad frown. “Ah, Finn,” she sighed, “St. Louis?”
Finn swallowed. “Aye, St. Louis. Just a short train ride away.”
Sam snorted. “You have helped me to become well versed in train travel, Marshal.”
Finn’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye, well… when I come back… to visit ye understand, na to work,” he removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair, “do you suppose it would be possible… to… see ye?”
Sam ran her eyes over his face for several agonizing moments. Finn held his breath until she slowly nodded her head.
Finn reached for her hand but stopped when he noticed her grim expression. He nodded his head. “Aye, lassie. I see waat ye be thinkin’. ‘Bout me. ‘Bout us.”
The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched. “Oh really Marshal? Did your time as my partner help you to better understand the complex workings of the female mind? Or perhaps it is an appreciation of a female’s deductive reasoning you’ve acquired?”
Finn froze. As Sam laughed, he relaxed and gave her a brilliant Finn smile. “Aye lassie, that and a lot more.” His gaze was intent.
She shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I brought you something.” She reached into her ever present satchel and pulled out a rumpled bag.
Handing the sack to Finn he shook it then peered inside. A huge grin spread across his face. “Cherry sour drops. Ya do care.”
Sam snorted. “I worry for the other passengers if you’re deprived of your candy.” She looked up. “I believe that is the final call for your train.”
Finn pocketed his treat then ran his hands once more through his hair and slapped his cap back on his head. “Aye, I’ll ‘ave to hoof it.” He stood, hands fisted at his sides. She reached out to shake his hand and his shoulders slumped as his big hand dwarfed hers.
Sam placed her free hand on top of his sandwiching it between both of hers. “I’ll see you the next time you are in town, laddie.” Her smile was soft and genuine.
Finn nodded. He wanted to say more. Much more.
Sam gently pushed him toward the exit doors. He nodded again then jogged off toward the platform. She hugged her middle and sighed. “Until next time, Finn.”
Chapter 33
March 31, 1893 (2 years later)
Harrisonville, Missouri
After three days of intense thunderstorms, Sam enjoyed the warmth of the spring breeze. It whispered around her even though the block was hemmed in by surrounding shops and business. The courthouse square in Harrisonville was a busy place this Friday morning even at 5:00 a.m. She paused at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the three story Cass County Courthouse. The yellow brick building was designed in the Italian-style and its square lines were softened by ionic columns and decorative edging around the windows. Completed only two years prior, today it was the site of an execution. Gittin’s hanging. The second legal hanging in Cass County according to her boss. The inscription over the portico read “A Public Office is a Public Trust.” Despite everything she had been through, she agreed with the citizens of Cass County. A sad smile crossed her face as thoughts of Finn threatened to overwhelm her. Given today’s event, nostalgia was expected.
Sam climbed the steps and entered the solid oak doors and made her way to the court clerk’s office. Three men waited ahead of her. As she took her place, the man at the end gave her a quizzical glare. She nodded once and moved forward as the line advanced. She finally stood in front of a diminutive man with a meticulous comb over and gray-tipped walrus mustache. His neatly pressed suit had a collar so starched Sam wondered how he swallowed. He checked off the name of the man in front with a precise gesture born of self-importance. She mentally prepared for the coming confrontation, thankful that in the last two years she had gotten adept at concealing her irritation. She waited as he finished his notation then glanced up and frowned.
“I am here as a witness for the Gittin execution.” Sam reached into her reticle for her card.
“I am sorry miss,” his nasally voice matched his stature, “but they misinformed you. Executions are no longer a public spectacle.” His condescension was palpable. He clearly dismissed her as a voyeur. “You will need to find your entertainment elsewhere.” He flicked a hand to dismiss her. His comment was unnecessary but Sam counted to ten then sweetly smiled.
“Pardon me sir, but if you check your list—”
“Madam. There has never been, nor will there ever be, women viewing a closed hanging. It is a grisly event, not one for delicate sensibilities. At least not here in Harrisonville. Perhaps where you come from it is a common—”
“If you check your list. You will see my name, Sam Lawton.”
“Sam Lawton?” He snorted and gave her a dubious look.
She nodded and he scanned the list. She knew the moment he found it.
His head snapped up, his color turning an alarming shade of red. “Kansas City prosecutor’s office?” he sputtered.
Sam nodded again and handed him her identification. She was thankful her boss insisted on displaying her name as Samantha (Sam) Lawton, Kansas City Prosecutor’s Office Department of Investigations. It had opened doors for her more than once.
The clerk looked from the card to the list to Sam several times before sniffing and waving her on. “Basement door. Down the hall.” He checked her name off with decidedly less flourish.
Sam nodded her thanks and followed his directions. As she descended the stairs, the air grew cooler and moister. The musty smell of damp bricks mixed with the odor of too many bodies. She reached for her hankie then hesitated. Best not. As a woman in a man’s world any perceived weakness detracted from her credibility. At the bottom, she joined the crowd in front of the scaffold garnering hostile stares from several men. Sam estimated twenty others in the room, all men.
Ten minutes later murmuring in the room ceased as the stairs creaked with descending steps and the sheriff, Mr. Wooldridge, led Gittin into the room. The clock on the wall read 5:23 as Gittin, followed by Wooldridge, walked across the room with a firm stride. He paused at the foot of the scaffold then carefully placed a foot on the bottom step. Never faltering, he climb the steps and stopped in front of the noose. Sam caught the whisper of a man in front saying Gittin had been silent throughout the morning. Strange. She thought the man would have plenty of final thoughts to expound.
The sheriff positioned Gitten then tied his hands and feet. An assistant held the lever to prevent the trap being sprung prematurely. The room went silent.
“Do you have anything you wish to say?” Sheriff Wooldridge stood with the black bag in his hand.
“No.” Gittin’s voice came out calm and confident as he faced forward. His eyes scanned the crowd. Sam could tell by the uncomfortable shuffling in the crowd whenever he made eye contact. Gittin’s eyes finally rested on hers as the sheriff raised the head covering. Unlike the others, a faint twitch of the corners of his lips showed recognition. His eyes didn’t break contact until the sheriff pulled on the hood and adjusted it. Sam released an unsteady breath she didn’t realize she held. The sheriff moved to the lever as the assistant descended the scaffold.
“Good bye, Mr. Gittin, may God have mercy on you.” He pulled the lever and Gittin’s body shot downward. Sam checked the clock, 5:27. There was no perceptible movement of any part of the body. He simply hung there, the swaying gradually decreasing. After ten minutes and twenty seconds one of the four doctors in attendance declared him dead. Sam watched as they took down the body to examine. They conferred then determined the noose had not been too tight, consequently there was no choking or discoloration. He appeared to be asleep. A violent man had passed from life peacefully. She shook her head and watched as the sheriff’s men placed Gittin in a coffin to take to the depot. He would be buried in the family plot near Kearney.
Sam moved toward the stairs until Sheriff Wooldridge again mounted the scaffold and motione
d for attention.
“Gentleman, Mr. Gittin left the following letter to the people of Cass County. I will deliver it to the editor of the Cass County Democrat for publication, however I decided to first read it to this assembly.” He cleared his throat.
TO THE PUBLIC:
Perhaps a few words from me at this time may be appreciated by all good people. I feel like I have been unjustly persecuted. I know that the circumstances surrounding my birth and the influences under which I have labored have not been rightly understood. And I humbly trust that all right-minded people will give careful and due consideration to what I say.
About the time of my conception and during the period of gestation, my mother was laboring under the conviction of sin. Long years ago she told me about her religious experience. That she firmly believed at that time, if she died in that condition, she would be forever lost. Day after day she thought about it, and many a night she would get up and walk the floor, troubled with doubts and fears and anxiety, and suffer tortures of mind which only a sin burdened soul can suffer.
Under such conditions I was conceived and brought into the world. With such an equipment would any of you like to undertake the journey of life? Would you? Remember, friends, I do not blame my mother. Far from it. I feel for her only the holiest, tenderest and most sacred love. I have tried, oh so hard, to live and do right, and yet failed. Why it has been my lot, I don’t know. But I will know in a short time. Now reader, long ago back to the time of my birth. Read again, and you will see that my mother’s thoughts were indelibly impressed on my mind. They were burned into my brain. There the fire smoldered, and when long years afterwards I passed through the same experience, the spark was ignited and the explosion came. I was lost and bewildered. In the hour of distress I committed the overt act for which I am here today. In that hour reason had deserted her throne and will power was lost in mental darkness. When returning consciousness came back, I got up and staggered out in the world. I tried to mend the broken threads of life, but failed. Why have I been tortured? Why have I been driven to destruction? I know not. But God is just and merciful, and with a penitent prayer, I commit my soul to his keeping.
To the people of Harrisonville and Cass county, I want to say that during my confinement here, Mr. Wooldridge has treated me with the kindest consideration. For him and all his family I entertain the highest regards. I have only words of praise for them. I shall always regret that our friendship has been so short. To my attorneys, who so ably and faithfully worked for me, I feel profoundly grateful. To all others who worked in my behalf, I beg to be remembered kindly. I remember all your kind words and assurances of sympathy. To those who have worked against me, I want to say, while you have erred and done wrong; while you allowed your mind to become prejudiced with a wrong motive, yet I forgive you all. I cherish no ill will. I harbor no bad thoughts; I shall say no unkind words; I sincerely pity you, and now as I am about to leave this world, I pray God to have mercy and forgive you. That it may lead you to know the truth, and help you to be more merciful to your fellow beings.
Farewell,
I.B. Gittin
Sam sucked in a breath. She was nauseous. She needed to leave and find a place to relieve the churn in her stomach. The hanging hadn’t affected her, the dead body hadn’t bothered her, Gittin’s final words undid her. She made her way outside. Hands on knees she gulped the reviving spring air as if it were water on a parched throat.
Sam shook her head several times then straightened. The fiendish demon had chastised those who “persecuted” him? It would never make sense. That was the problem. She was trying to make sense out of evil. Evil existed. Some folks succumbed to it with little fight. Some allowed it to slowly infiltrate their life. But it came back to a decision, a choice. No amount of rationalization would explain or excuse what Gittin had done. None. It came down to a decision. His decision.
Sam drew in one more cleansing breath and idly scanned the shops across the road. The crowd had increased. A figure just turning away around the corner drew her eye. A tall man with a cap in his hand. He ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. Hair that glinted red in the sun.
End Notes
The story of Ira Bates Gittin and Samantha Lawton is completely fictional. The murders on which it was based are not. Gittin is based on a man named Edward Bates Soper. I first stumbled across the story in a historical compilation for the town of Archie, Missouri, the actual setting for the crime. I was intrigued both with Soper’s assertion that he was a “sinner past redemption” and the statement that his execution was the second and last legal hanging in Cass County. While researching further, I encountered the story of Hattie Lawton and after combining the two tales the result was Last Legal Hanging.
Also, an apology from the author to the people of Jackson and Cass County. The historical time line was adjusted for purposes of a tighter narrative and I was forced to take liberties with the facts concerning the county courthouses. Both were completed a few years after the timing in this story. While the Jackson County courthouse described was in use for 43 years, it was razed for salvage during the late 1930’s. The historic Cass County Courthouse, located on the square in Harrisonville, is still used as government offices. It was completed in 1897 and the hanging portrayed here did take place in the basement in 1899 - six years after this story ends. I understand the beam the noose hung from is still visible.
My final thoughts on Soper/Gittin are expressed best by a local reporter at the time:
The neighbors of Soper in Archie described him as being “a polite, amiable and obliging sort of fellow.” His relationship with his wife was “a pleasant one” and he was “devoted to his family.” A local reporter wrote, “It is charitable to suppose he was crazy, but the truth likely is that it was the outburst of devilish meanness.”
Archie: A History of a railroad Town, Archie 2000 History Book
Committee Bell Books, Rich Hill MO p. 6-7.
Acknowledgements
If you enjoyed this narrative, I would be grateful if you would consider posting a review. Even a sentence or two would be appreciated. Thank you for your consideration and I look forward to meeting up with you again when Sam’s story continues in The Palmyra Massacre.
It is with heart-felt appreciate I thank all of you who made this book possible. My intrepid beta readers: Glenna, Vanessa, Leigh Ann, and Beverly.
Thank you dad for your perseverance in questioning until good was better and better was best.
Special thanks to my very special editor/comma-master/honest-critic Nicole. Who talked me "through it" more times than I care to count. Without you girl, this book wouldn't be.