“I suppose he’s as good as any other government worker, but in my opinion he wouldn’t never make it on his own as a lawyer.”
“Did you see the bank robbers during the arraignment?” Lena asked.
“Yeah, I seen them both up real close.”
“Did they look scared?”
“Not those two. They just both sat there grinning like a mule eating briars.”
“Why you think they were doing that?”
“Probably ’cause don’t nobody know where the money is except them,” Uncle Curvin answered.
Poudlum and I just about choked on our Nehis when he said that. They both glanced over our way, but I faked a cough, and we both sat up straight and just sat there swinging our legs off the drink box.
Uncle Curvin had finished his cheese and was ready to go. “Come on boys, make haste and I’ll take y’all home.”
“Wait a minute, Curvin,” Miss Lena called out. “Do them bank robbers have themselves a lawyer?”
Uncle Curvin stopped in his crippled tracks, but didn’t answer her right off.
“Well?” Miss Lena said.
Reluctantly, Uncle Curvin said, “Yeah, they got themselves a lawyer.”
“Well, who is it?” She asked with a look in her eyes as if she already knew. “Is it who I’m thinking it is, Curvin?”
My uncle signed and said, “Yeah, it’s him.”
I hesitated to interrupt the conversation of two grown-ups, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Who in the world are y’all talking about, Uncle Curvin?”
“I’m talking about that sorry, no-count, slick as a weasel, Old Man Alfred Jackson, that’s who.”
“He may be all that and more,” Miss Lena said. “But you know and I know he don’t never lose a court case.”
I was confused. “Y’all mean that just ’cause Jesse and—uh, them bank robbers have this Mister Jackson as their lawyer, they might get away with robbing the bank?”
Miss Lena giggled, and said, “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Naw, not this time, Lena,” Uncle Curvin said.
“Who dis Mister Jackson is?” Poudlum asked.
“Cut me another sliver of that cheese, would you, Lena?” my uncle said as he sank back down in the straight chair next to her counter where he proceeded to give us a detailed account of Jesse and Frank’s legal counsel.
“I went to school with him many years ago,” my uncle began. “He was always smart as a whip. When we finished school he went up north somewhere to some highbrow Yankee university, I believe it was in the state of Pennsylvania. Folks said he was a lawyer way up yonder for many years. Then about twenty years ago he come back down here, moved back into his family’s old place, and opened hisself up a little law office.”
Miss Lena chimed in and said, “And has been making fools out of county solicitors ever since by getting every client he’s ever defended off scot-free.”
“Was he ever de lawyer for any colored folks?” Poudlum inquired.
“Oh yeah,” my uncle answered. “The one thing he seems to prefer to represent over anything else is a case when some darkie is accused of something. Why just a few months ago he got a colored feller off clean who was accused of stealing fertilizer from the feed and seed store. But this bank robber trial is pretty shut and closed. They did it, and me and some others saw ’em do it. I don’t see no way how he can get ’em off.”
Miss Lena shook her head and said, “Don’t you be putting none of your money on that, Curvin.”
During the ride home Uncle Curvin told Poudlum and me to wear our Sunday best because everybody dressed up when they went to court.
After supper that night my brother Fred and I lay in bed whispering our secrets to each other. We didn’t have to worry about Ned because he was off chasing girls somewhere.
I whispered to him how Poudlum and I thought we had solved Frank’s riddle and figured the money was at the bottom of the Cypress Hole.
He told me he would go over there and dive down in the water and get it.
“No!” I whispered. “You can’t go over there and do that. At least not until me and Poudlum can go with you and take along a piece of rope to tie around you. We going up to the courthouse tomorrow, so just wait, okay?”
“All right then, I’ll wait.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, I promise,” he said as he rolled over and gathered our quilt up around his chin.
I knew he was sleepy and it wasn’t long before I heard him snoring softly. I also knew his promise was as good as gold, but before snuggling down into my sleeping position I took one last peek out the open window. There was my favorite star twinkling like a bright jewel on a dark velvet blanket of sky. I concentrated on it and made my wish, that my daddy would be home soon. He would know what to do.
Then I snuggled a little deeper and drifted into a safe and restful sleep like I hadn’t in a good long time.
The morning sounds came drifting in like fog into a low meadow. Everyone was up except me and I could faintly hear the voices of my brothers and my mother coming from toward the kitchen. I couldn’t make out a sentence, but an occasional distinguishable word alerted me that breakfast was about to be put on the table.
Afterwards, the ride to town wasn’t too uncomfortable, bouncing around in my uncle’s old truck. And the time had passed real fast, too. I supposed it was because of the anticipation of being able to attend the trial with my two best friends.
I was sitting in the middle and Poudlum had the window seat. I liked that arrangement because occasionally my uncle would let me shift the gear for him when he mashed the clutch down. The gear shift came straight up from the hump in the middle of the floor board. It was a straight metal rod with a round knob on the end of it. A knob that fit just right in your palm when you spread your fingers and thumb around it and shifted it into the invisible position while the clutch was pressed down.
The knob on the shift stick was cream-colored and had uncountable little hairline cracks running through it, with no particular pattern.
We were less than a mile from Grove Hill when the old truck began to choke going up a hill. Uncle Curvin mashed in the clutch and said, “All right, shift it up into second.”
Using the knob, I pushed the gear stick straight up until I felt it hit neutral, and then a little further until I felt it drop into second gear. When the clutch was released the gear grabbed and the engine growled lower as it climbed on up the hill.
After we crested the hilltop he pressed the clutch in again and I shifted back into high gear and we cruised right on into town and parked between two painted lines on the asphalt next to the great and grand courthouse. It was bigger than I remembered it when back in the summer Poudlum and I had ridden up there to the cotton gin, and then on down into town when we had parked next to that statue of a Confederate soldier. That time we had been searching for candy and comic books. This time we were searching for justice for two bank robbers.
It was the biggest room I had ever seen, that courtroom. Uncle Curvin pointed everything out to us in a whispered tone. The raised bench where the judge sat, the little section of twelve seats where the jury would be enclosed, the table where the accused would sit with their lawyer, and the table where the county solicitor would sit.
He explained that the solicitor represented the state and would be presenting evidence to convince the jury that Jesse and Frank had indeed robbed the bank. Uncle Curvin said that he had been served with a subpoena, the official document informing him his presence was required in court as a witness for the state.
Then we all went back out in the hallway to sit on a bench and wait. The courthouse was already getting crowded. It was Tuesday, December 21, just four days before Christmas, and most people were off work for the rest of the week. I overheard one of the folks coming in with us say, �
��I can’t believe that old fool judge scheduled this trial right here before Christmas.”
I was startled when Uncle Curvin stood up and told us, “You boys just go in and watch things. I got to go now.”
I was alarmed to hear that. “Where you going? You gonna leave us here by ourselves?”
“Y’all will be all right. I got to go sit in the witness room till they call me, but we’ll all be able to get us some dinner when the judge breaks at noon. I might just buy y’all a hamburger.”
After he disappeared down the hall Poudlum and I pulled the massive door open and slipped into the courtroom unnoticed, only to find ourselves in an awkward position. All the white folks were sitting up front and the colored folks were all on the two back rows.
I wanted us to sit together, but for a moment just didn’t know how to handle the situation. Finally I nudged Poudlum and nodded toward some empty space on the very back row. I figured nobody would notice a white boy and a colored boy sitting together way back there.
We sat there for a while and watched the courtroom fill up with people and pretty soon it was filled to capacity and a lot of people had to stand and were leaning against the wall when a man Uncle Curvin had pointed out earlier as the bailiff barked out, “All rise!”
I was in awe of the whole situation when I felt Poudlum tugging on my jacket sleeve whispering, “Reckon we better stand up, everybody else is.”
The judge, who had entered the courtroom from a door back behind the raised place he sat, had on a big, flowing black robe. He made his way up to his seat, sat down, and looked around the courtroom for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time before he told everyone to be seated.
“Old goat,” I heard someone toward the front mutter during the rustling noise as everyone sat down.
The courtroom got real quiet when another door over on the left side of the courtroom opened and an armed deputy led the two prisoners through it. Poudlum and I both caught our breath when we saw Jesse and Frank shuffling into the courtroom while the chains on their feet rattled and scraped on the floor. They had handcuffs on their wrists, too.
“Now dey knows what it’s like to be trussed up like a hog,” Poudlum leaned over and whispered. “Dey don’t look no worse for de wear though.”
I had to admit he was correct. Jesse and Frank looked fat and sassy; in fact, they were leaning over and whispering to each other, grinning and smirking while they sat alone at the defense table.
The jury began filing in from the other side of the courtroom and all took their seats in the designated area for jurors.
Judge Garrison glanced all about the courtroom like my uncle would look out over his cotton patch to see if everything was in order and everyone was ready to start picking.
His eyes froze when he got to the defense table. I knew he was mad when he shouted, “Does anyone know where the counsel for the defense—”
He was interrupted when the double doors leading into the courtroom burst open, and a man dressed like a preacher with flowing white hair and a trimmed white beard came walking into the courtroom like he was the cock of the roost.
“Uh-oh,” I heard someone say. “Here comes Mr. Alfred Jackson!”
Chapter Fourteen
The Breakout
Mr. Jackson didn’t waste any time living up to his reputation. He started a big ruckus right off the bat. After he dropped his old weathered briefcase on the defense table, he observed the two prisoners in their striped prison garb for a few moments while the courtroom grew so quiet you could have heard a church mouse scurrying across the floor.
The crowd in the courtroom, including the judge and jury, collectively held their breath while they awaited his first move.
It didn’t take him long. He turned away from his clients and faced Judge Garrison as he put his hands on his hips and let out a long audible sigh while he shook his head back and forth. “Your honor,” he said. “May it please the court, to inform me why my clients are shackled in chains and wearing jailhouse attire?”
Without allowing the startled judge to answer, he continued, “This is clearly a ploy by the solicitor to present them in this incriminating manner before the jury. These men are innocent until such time as they are proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, yet they are presented here as if they are already convicted criminals. As citizens of this great country they deserve their day in court just as much as you or I would. Now I demand they be unshackled and allowed to change into proper courtroom attire!”
If possible, the courtroom grew even quieter as everyone turned their eyes toward Judge Garrison, awaiting his reaction.
It was like the judge was in a trance for a few moments before he finally began sputtering and stuttering and blurted out, “Will-will-will counsel please approach the bench!”
Mr. Pierce, the solicitor, and Mr. Jackson both immediately went up and leaned their heads real close while the judge leaned over and joined them in a private conversation.
A buzz began rippling through the courtroom while they whispered. But then the judge’s head jerked up and he began to pound on the bench with his gavel. Bang! Bang! Bang! The sharp sound of it reverberated across the courtroom and silence set in once again while his eyes swept across the crowd, looking for a dissenter.
He didn’t find one and he and the lawyers went back to their whispering. Finally he rapped his gavel again, gently this time, just before he said. “We’ll be taking a ten-minute recess. Bailiff! Remove the prisoners from the courtroom.”
Poudlum and I sat real still and observed while everyone began talking in hushed tones while all the officers of the court, and the jury, left the courtroom. I overheard someone say, “How can we take a recess when we ain’t even started yet?”
It wasn’t long before the bailiff walked back into the courtroom and shouted again, “All rise!”
Everyone settled back down in their seats after the judge came back and allowed it. The jury filed back in after that, and then, lo and behold, the side door opened and Mr. Jackson came through it followed by Jesse and Frank who were free of any chains and were both dressed in suits and ties, just like the lawyers.
Once again a murmur rippled through the crowd and someone across from us said, “Round one goes to Mr. Jackson!”
Judge Garrison began pounding his gavel again and threatened to clear the courtroom. That got everybody quiet and the trial finally got underway.
Mr. Pierce spent the entire morning presenting his first two witnesses, the bank manager and the teller who had been waiting on Uncle Curvin when the robbery occurred. They both pointed out Jesse and Frank as the robbers on several occasions while Mr. Jackson just sat at the defense table scribbling on a tablet of paper the entire time and declined to cross-examine either witness.
Once again, I heard someone up toward the front say real low, “He’s got something up his sleeve, I’ll guarantee it.”
Poudlum and I weren’t quite sure what to do when the judge declared a lunch break, but then Uncle Curvin appeared and told us to come on with him because he was going to buy us that hamburger he had promised.
Once outside, we walked up to the Freezette and watched while he stood in line and came away with a white paper bag containing our food. They didn’t have any Nehis so he got us all three Coca-Colas and we walked back down to my uncle’s truck where he let the tailgate down and we sat on it to take our meal.
It was a good burger, juicy, with lots of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. “Is yours good, Poudlum?” I asked between bites.
“Shore is,” he replied. “’Bout de second-best thing I ever had to eat.”
“What was the first best thing?” Uncle Curvin inquired as he sipped on a cup of chili.
“Catfish,” Poudlum replied without hesitation. “Fried catfish outta de Cypress Hole on de Satilfa,” he added as juice from the burger dribbled down his chin.
> As we were finishing up I asked my uncle, “How come you hadn’t had to testify yet?”
“They just didn’t get around to me yet. I expect I’ll be the next one when we start back.”
“Is you scared, Mister Curvin?” Poudlum asked.
“Naw, I ain’t scared at all, son. I’m ready to do my duty. Now y’all wipe your mouths. I reckon it’s time to be getting back in there.”
I pulled my jacket tighter as we walked up the courthouse steps because I could feel a chill. It seemed like the temperature was getting a lot colder.
Poudlum and I settled into our original seats while the crowd filed back in toward the front of us. We were in our seats watching the courtroom come to order once again when I got a feeling something was about to happen. Poudlum felt it, too. I could tell by the roundness of his eyes. Involuntarily we both grabbed hold of the back of the bench in front of us in anticipation of we didn’t know what. But somehow we both knew that something was about to bust loose in the courtroom.
I don’t know why, but Poudlum and I got a mutual feeling when bad, strange, or unusual things were about to happen, and we had learned to prepare for them. This time we both hunkered down in our seats with nothing but our eyes and the tops of our heads above the edge of the back of the bench in front of us.
Mr. Pierce stood up and said, “Your honor, at this time the prosecution would like to call Mr. Curvin—”
“Hold it! Just hold it right there, Mr. Pierce,” the judge interrupted.
Looking toward the defense table, he said to Mr. Jackson, “Counselor, would you mind informing the court where your clients are?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, your honor. My job is to defend them, not nursemaid them.”
That made the judge mad. “You keep a respectful tongue in your head, Mr. Jackson, or I’ll have you up on contempt!” the judge responded, so angry his voice betrayed a slight tremble. “Bailiff!” he yelled.
There was only one bailiff in the courtroom, leaning against the wall next to the jury box. The one who had escorted the prisoners in and out of the courtroom was nowhere to be seen. The one who was present snapped out of his slumped position and quickly stepped in front of the bench facing the judge.
Secret of the Satilfa Page 11