by Kris Tualla
“Someone with an axe to grind!” Nelson snorted. “They painted Nicolas in the worst possible light in all of this.”
“Do they want money?” Rickard addressed that question to Nelson. The barmaid set the food on the table.
The lawyer shook his head. “No, this is a criminal trial. No compensation will be awarded. The only outcomes are Nicolas goes free or goes to prison.”
Sydney felt as though a dirk sank into her heart. She could not
draw a deep enough breath. The walls became viscous, undulating toward the floor. Her body tingled and relaxed, and then she was looking up at Rickard and her head was in his lap. How did she get there? He brushed her hair aside, alarm sculpting his handsome features.
“Sydney? Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get him out. The charges are unfounded. The judge will see that and let him go.” But the confidence in his words had no impact on his expression. He looked to Nelson for confirmation.
“The problem is, Sydney, you’re the only witness for the defense. You might not be allowed to testify because you are married to the defendant.”
“They have to listen to me!” She sat up quickly, then grabbed the table edge and waited for the room to hold still. “I’m the only one who knows what happened…”
“And I’ll use that, believe me. All other evidence against Nicolas is hearsay. In addition, the injured party—Devin Kilbourne—isn’t appearing.” Nelson took a generous bite of the fish and closed his eyes, chewing in ecstasy. “Dang good catfish.”
“So, someone testifies on his behalf?’ Rickard clarified. “Doesn’t that take the wind out of his case?”
“It should.”
Sydney felt Rickard’s eyes evaluating her while she ate, but she avoided looking at him. If she saw panic in his eyes, she’d fall completely apart and be no good to Nicolas. Nelson didn’t seem overly worried, and surely that presaged a good outcome.
Rickard escorted Sydney back to the hotel. He held her elbow tightly to keep her from slipping on the icy walkways. At her door he hugged her goodnight. “Don’t worry, Sydney. Everything will be fine.”
Sydney found comfort in her friend’s embrace, but she couldn’t trust herself to speak. Alone in her room, she crumpled on the bed and allowed herself to fall thoroughly to pieces.
Nicolas lay on his back on a wooden platform, the only furnishing
in the jail cell. He used his greatcoat as a partial blanket. The fire in the stove outside the cell died long ago, along with it all light, and the chill in the building deepened with each quarter hour. Rodent-sized feet skittered across the stone floor. The distinct scent of urine emanated from one corner. At least they untied his hands.
Once in the carriage, Nicolas hadn’t resisted the arrest; he politely and proudly did everything they asked of him, presenting himself as civilized and above all this nonsense. Deeply relieved when Nelson appeared at his cell late in the afternoon, he was furious to hear that Sydney came to St. Louis as well.
“Forbannet sta kvinne!” he growled. Damned stubborn woman.
Longer than the bench, he bent his knees and shifted on the board to find a less excruciating position. His jaw was tender and he couldn’t see out of his right eye. He figured the cold air would help the swelling go down.
It was his privates that worried him.
His balls throbbed and the sack was swollen to twice its normal size. He hadn't ever experienced such a direct hit in his whole life. He was alone, so he could undress and try to look at it, but there was not enough light to see aught.
“And there’s nothing I could do about it anyway,” he mumbled. His warm breath condensed in the frigid air.
Nicolas turned on his left side and pillowed his head on his arm. He couldn’t put his legs together, so he leaned his right knee against the wall of the cell.
How did he end up in this place?
Someone trumped up accusations against him, that much was clear. The sheriff said it was on behalf of Devin Kilbourne. Why would he want to hurt Nicolas? Nicolas let him go after he shot Sydney! Did he want Sydney back?
“As if she would go!” he scoffed.
Nicolas closed his eyes and tried to relax, but as the cell grew colder, he began to shiver. He attempted to fit his whole body under his greatcoat, and wondered how much time would pass until the guard came on duty and re-lit the stove.
January 5, 1819
St. Louis
Sydney and Rickard bought a feather pillow, and two blankets. They also bought a double portion of roasted chicken, dried beef, biscuits and apples. Rickard suggested they take food for the guard to ensure Nicolas was allowed to keep his. He even added a small cask of beer to the larder.
The guard, whose mood was liberalized by his portion of food and beer, allowed them to deliver Nicolas’s provisions themselves. Nelson led the way and Rickard carried the food.
Sydney followed. She wept openly when she saw her husband limp awkwardly across the cell, half of his beautiful face bruised and swollen. She reached through the bars. She needed to touch him. Until she did, he was only a ghoulish apparition. When she felt him, corporeal and alive, her nightmare lessened a tick.
“Forbannet sta kvinne,” he whispered. “Why did you come?”
“I had to. I’m going to testify for you,” she whispered back and wiped her nose.
He shook his head. “You can’t. You’re my wife.”
“Nelson said if they don’t let me testify, then all the evidence is hearsay and the judge will have to dismiss the charges. Right, Nelson?” Sydney gripped Nicolas’s blood-stained shirt tightly. It was one that she made him for Christmas.
“That’s the idea, Nick.” Nelson stood back, giving husband and wife some semblance of privacy.
Nicolas scowled. “The baby.”
“Is fine. We had a talk. I told him he has to stay put until after the trial.” That made Nicolas smile with the non-battered side of his face.
“Sheriff’s comin’!” the guard called back. “Y’all need to get on your way now!” He stuffed his bribe into a saddlebag.
Nicolas leaned his head toward Sydney. “I’m still angry as helvete at you.”
She leaned her head against his. “You may yell at me all you wish when you’re out of here. I shan’t even yell back.”
“Take care of her, Rickard,” he said in a louder voice.
“You know I will, Nick.”
Sydney couldn’t leave him. Her limbs refused to ignore her heart and obey her mind. Nelson and Rickard pulled her away from Nicolas just in time.
Chapter Thirty Five
January 11, 1820
The day of the trial dawned cold and cloudy, threatening snow. Sydney sat with Rickard in the front row of the small courtroom. She shifted in the uncomfortable wood chair, and tried to relieve a persistent ache in her lower back. Worry jostled her all night and she had not slept much.
The rear door opened and Nelson Ivarsen appeared. Sydney sat up straighter to see Nicolas, her heart scrambling. His face was still bruised, but both of his eyes were open and functioning in tandem. Sydney noticed that his gait was still not normal and wondered what was amiss there. He looked scruffy with the week-old beard, but his hair was combed and his clothes were clean. Just to be in the same room with him calmed her.
When he saw her, deep lines of anxiety disappeared. He lifted the corners of his mouth in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. Nelson and Nicolas took seats in front of the railing that separated them from the courtroom audience. Sydney leaned forward and touched Nicolas’s shoulder. He was still real. He leaned back and tilted his head toward her.
The lawyer for the prosecution, a tidy bald man with a large mustache, entered the room behind Nicolas. Robert and Andrew Bell entered through the court’s front door. Sydney faced straight forward, her jaw set. As deeply as she desired to, she refused to acknowledge their presence. Reconciliation would come later.
If she still had a husband
.
As the hour for the trial drew near, Rosie appeared in all of her unapologetic finery. She paused and perused the room. When Nicolas saw her, his eyes rounded under plunging brows. He looked at Sydney. Sydney raised her hand in greeting and flashed Rosie a grateful smile.
John Spencer entered the courtroom. He walked to the front and shook Nicolas’s hand. If he was surprised by Nicolas’s appearance, it didn’t show on his placid face. A few other curious observers wandered in, before His Honor Judge Bernard Benson appeared and sat on his raised bench. He settled his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and banged his gavel, calling the trial to order.
The lawyer for the prosecution called Robert Bell as his witness. Robert testified that he received several letters containing information about his daughter, Siobhan, claiming she was lost on the property of Mr. Nicolas Reidar Hansen and, when he found her, he took her into his home and kept her there for several months. During that time, Siobhan was not allowed to leave Cheltenham.
“This is the grounds for the charge of kidnapping?” Judge Benson asked.
“It is, Your Honor.”
The judge motioned for the testimony to continue.
According to the letters, it was during that time that Mr. Hansen forced himself on Siobhan, after taking her to a local ball, and plying her heavily with drink.
Hearing that, Sydney wanted to leap out of her chair and scratch her own father’s eyes out. It was only Rickard’s restraining hand on her arm, and the ache in her back working its way to her groin, which kept her in her seat.
“This is the charge of rape, I assume,” Judge Benson clarified.
“Yes it is, Your Honor.”
“Proceed.”
The letters went on to relate that after the rape, Mr. Hansen continued to have intimate relations with Siobhan. It was during that time that her husband, Devin Kilbourne, discovered her whereabouts and came to rescue her. But Mr. Hansen held Devin Kilbourne prisoner for three days in his root cellar before ordering him off his property.
“And was Mrs. Kilbourne allowed to leave with her husband at that time?” Judge Benson asked.
Robert Bell looked at his lawyer, his face blank.
“That precise piece of information was missing from the letters,
Your Honor,” the lawyer answered.
“I see. Do you have aught else to present?”
Robert Bell shook his head. “No sir.”
Judge Benson perused the papers which outlined the charges. “And after reading these letters, did you speak with Mr. Kilbourne?”
“Um, no sir.”
“But you decided to bring charges against Mr. Hansen on his behalf?” Judge Benson peered at Robert over his spectacles. “Why?”
“I wanted to avenge my daughter, Your Honor. And Mr. Kilbourne.”
“How noble.” Judge Benson’s comment splashed sarcasm over Robert’s words. “Mr. Ivarsen, do you have any questions for this witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Nelson rose and faced Robert Bell. “Mr. Bell, is the person who wrote these letters in the courtroom today?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“You don’t believe so? Tell me, sir, have you even met the author of these lively stories?”
Robert glanced around; he was trapped and under oath. “No, I haven’t.”
“In that instance, the evidence presented here is merely hearsay. Isn’t that true?”
“But I had the letters.”
“Are they with you?”
“No…”
The tidy bald lawyer jumped up and spoke with authority. “I saw the letters, Your Honor. I read them all quite thoroughly. I can attest to their contents.”
Judge Benson raised his eyebrows. “Where are they now?”
“They were damaged.” The lawyer stroked his mustache nervously.
“Damaged how?”
“Uh… an animal.” He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Chewed them.”
“I see.” Judge Benson stared at the lawyer for a long moment.
“No more questions Your Honor.” Nelson Ivarsen sat down next to Nicolas and folded his hands.
Judge Benson called for a short recess and banged his gavel. The prosecution’s case had only lasted for half of an hour.
Sydney stood and stretched with her hands pressed against her lower back. Pressure was building in the lower parts of her abdomen from sitting so long. She excused herself to go to the privy. At Nicolas’s look, Rickard followed her and escorted her back when she was done.
Nelson turned to her. “It’s our turn now, Sydney. Are you ready?”
Sydney didn’t look at Nelson. Her ‘yes’ was accompanied by a determined nod, but Nicolas saw something else in the set of her jaw that alarmed him. The judge re-entered the courtroom and ascended the bench. He gave a quick clack of his gavel.
“The defense may now present its case.”
Nelson stood and in an authoritative voice called out, “Your Honor, I call Mrs. Siobhan Sydney Bell Hansen to the stand.”
“What are you doing, Counselor? A woman cannot testify against her husband!”
“Mrs. Hansen is not testifying against her husband, she intends to present testimony on his behalf.”
“Again, Counselor, I don’t believe I can allow that.”
“In that case, Your Honor, we respectfully request that all charges against the defendant, Nicolas Reidar Hansen, be dropped due to the fact that the only evidence presented against him is third-party hearsay.”
“What!” Andrew Bell jumped to his feet, then winced and leaned to one side.
“Sit down!” The prosecuting attorney hissed and waved his hand at the young man.
Judge Benson glared over his glasses. “Kidnapping, rape and adultery are very serious accusations. It would not be prudent to simply throw them out.”
Sydney pushed to her feet. “Your Honor?”
“Yes?”
“Might I have a word with you in private?”
“Mrs. Hansen, this is highly irregular!”
Sydney dipped her chin in deference. “I understand, Sir. But I have information that might influence your decision.”
“Can you not state that information for the record?”
Sydney looked over her shoulders at the small crowd in the gallery, and then turned pleading eyes back to the judge. “I would rather not, Your Honor.”
With an impatient sigh, the judge beckoned Sydney to approach. “Very well.”
Sydney walked slowly to the side of the raised desk and Judge Benson leaned down to hear her. She raised her hand to shield her mouth. With a nod, then a smile, the judge thanked her.
“I shall allow Mrs. Hansen to testify,” Judge Benson ruled. “Proceed.”
The tidy attorney hopped to his feet. “I object!”
“Overruled!” the judge barked.
Sydney walked to the witness stand and was sworn in. Nicolas saw her grip the railing and lean on it. Her knuckles pressed white against her skin. Nelson approached her.
“Mrs. Hansen, tell me what happened the day Nicolas Hansen found you on his property.”
“I fell into the creek and nearly drowned. I was unconscious when Nicolas found me. He took me to his manor where his housekeeper, Adelaide Spencer, nursed me back to health. He saved my life.”
“And how did you come to fall in the creek?”
“I had an argument with Devin Kilbourne. I caught him in the arms of another… He was having an affair.” Sydney closed her eyes for a moment. Her lower lip quivered. “He knocked me into the water.”
Robert looked at Andrew.
“Were you held at the manor against your will?”
“No, I was not.”
“Were you free to leave at anytime?”
“Yes, I was. In fact Nicolas brought me to St. Louis in June.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hansen. I believe that negates the kidnapping charge.” Nelson Ivarsen looked to Judge Benson for
confirmation. The judge nodded and gestured for them to continue.
Sydney shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Nicolas never took his eyes off her. He watched her breathing, her stance. His jaw worked and he scrubbed his chin with one hand. Something was very wrong.
“Now, Mrs. Hansen, let us address the charge of adultery. Can you explain the history of your marital status to the court, please?”
“When I first met Nicolas Hansen, I didn’t know I was married.” A murmur bubbled through the small crowd. The Bells exchanged shocked glances. “When Mr. Hansen found me, badly injured, half drowned and unconscious on his property, I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I also had no memory of my identity.”
Another murmur shuddered through the room. Judge Benson tapped his gavel. “Order in the court.”
“I remained a guest at the Hansen estate while word was sent to neighboring towns to see if anyone knew of a missing woman.”
“Was there a response?” Judge Benson asked the question himself, not waiting for Nelson.
“No, Your Honor. For three long months, not a soul came forward to identify me. I thought that if I had a husband, he would certainly come for me. Isn’t that reasonable?”
The prosecuting lawyer jumped to his feet again. “I object! She’s asking Your Honor to testify on her behalf.”
The judge nodded. “Sustained.”
Sydney continued, “In the meantime, I became a working member of the Hansen household.”
“In what way?” Nelson asked.
“I train horses. Nicolas Hansen purchased a large stallion from Mr. Rickard Atherton—he’s sitting right there behind Nicolas—because Mr. Atherton and his groom had not been successful in breaking the animal.”
Sydney did not loose the railing to point at Rickard, but only tilted her head. Nicolas watched her uneven breaths and sought to set a steady rhythm by breathing along with her.