Josie had given up protesting and grimly clung to the hand grip. She looked as if she might throw up, but Dora was grateful to have her by her side. Remembering Josie waving a sword in Gareth's face gave her great pleasure. Had it not been for her Quaker teaching, she would regret that Josie hadn't taken the bastard's nose off. She supposed the earl's violent influences in her were stronger than Papa John's reasoning.
Jackson didn't even attempt looking for a place to park the carriage when they reached the courthouse. Wagons and buggies and carriages filled the street, along with bustling crowds of people. He merely drove the horse through the center of the mob and stopped when he reached the front of the courthouse, holding on to the horse while Josie and Dora let themselves out.
Dora turned to thank him, but Jackson waved her away.
"Get yourself in there, Miz Dora, and do it quick before Pace makes an ass of hisself."
His words confirmed her fears. Dora nodded, lifted her skirts, and ran for the courthouse steps. Men dodged sideways to avoid the swinging wire of her crinoline. Josie followed in her path, keeping up a mumbled tirade on what ladies should and should not do.
Dora's shoes clattered down the wooden hall. The stale cigar stench soaked into the walls made her gag, and she tried not to identify the odors of unemptied spittoons and urine rising from the stairwell to the basement. The courthouse was a man's world. Even the stink told her that.
She heard the loud and angry voices bouncing from the room on the far right. She would find Pace where the argument roared loudest. She was glad he had found a way of channeling his love for argument and controversy into constructive arenas, but she would wring his neck for dragging her into it. He could tear Joe Mitchell into little pieces all he wanted, but she wouldn't let him sacrifice her in the process.
Dora didn't attempt to be quiet as she threw open the huge double doors of the courtroom. The doors slammed against the walls and every head in the room turned to stare at her. All her life she'd hid from the eyes of the public, but she had no intention of remaining invisible any longer.
Pace stopped in mid-speech as his modest little Quaker wife strode up the aisle, her gray silk skirt swinging in a wide arc revealing the exquisitely embroidered pink stitching of the petticoat beneath. She wore a hat with pink roses and a swaying gray feather that swooped over her cornsilk curls in back. She was corseted so tight she looked as if she might snap in two, but she kept her bosom primly covered beneath a line of jet buttons that revealed every damned curve. He would throttle her just for appearing in public like that. That thought came before he saw the hideous blue-black bruise spreading across her delicate white jaw.
Rage roared through him. Fury clenched his fists into battering rams. His gaze swept the room, searching for the fancified English solicitor who had observed the proceedings. As he'd thought, the man was whispering furiously to Dora's bulky brother. The latter had arrived late, but Pace had ignored him until now.
Memories of Dora's childhood nightmares returned with a rush. He remembered her every flinch, every hint of fear. How blind could one man be?
Throwing down the law book he held in his hand, Pace glared at Dora. "Gareth?" he demanded, without needing to expand the question.
"And what do you care?" she retaliated. "You're about to tell all these men that we're not married. Do you think that hurts any less?"
Pace rocked to a halt as if stopped by a physical blow. He stared at her angelic face, marred by a brutish hand until swollen nearly beyond recognition. A blow like that could have killed the dainty woman standing defiantly in front of staring strangers. And she was telling him what he did hurt even more.
He stared at her, feeling the fury drain out of him at the enormity of what she said. He didn't think she could mean it. He offered her freedom and wealth. She didn't have to go with her ignoble brother. She could go anywhere she wanted. She could go back to the Quakers if she so desired. She didn't have to saddle herself with a miserable failure like himself. She just hadn't thought this through clearly.
But staring into the incredible blue of Dora's fearless gaze, Pace knew he was the one who hadn't thought clearly. He'd seen an opportunity to right old wrongs and grabbed it. He had thought he would give his angel her wings back, but instead he was ripping them off and throwing them away. Why could he see that now and not before?
It didn't matter. Flashing a fierce grin at her, Pace turned and strode across the courtroom before Gareth and his solicitor could escape. Rob McCoy and a few of his friends moved into the side aisle, blocking that exit. Without a care to the judge pounding his gavel and calling for order, Pace grabbed Gareth's coat front, rammed the larger man up against the wall, and slammed his fist into his brother-in-law's soft gut.
Gareth didn't even offer a fight. He slid down the wall and landed on the floor with a loud "oomph," followed by an ominous gagging noise. Pace turned around and walked away as several men grabbed the English lord and dragged him from the room. His solicitor remained behind, watching Pace with interest as he returned to the front of the courtroom.
Someone had offered Dora a front-row seat. She sat beside Josie now, gripping Josie's hand with a fierceness Pace didn't wish to interpret. He'd never thought of Josie and Dora as friends, but that wasn't his concern of the moment. Turning to face the furious judge, Pace spoke reasonably.
"I apologize for the disturbance, Your Honor. There are some things a man just has to do, and one of them is showing mighty English lords that they can't backhand our women."
Pace let the roar of approval from his audience drown the room while he turned to locate Joe Mitchell. His grin this time was malevolent. "And another one of those things men have to do is show would-be tyrants that this is a country of free men who won't kneel to wealth and position, who won't let their families be trampled for greed and ambition. I'm here to tell you right now, Judge, that our esteemed mayor, Joseph Mitchell, has put his wealth and greed in the way of free men for too long now, and I'm here to prove it."
With the crowd's roar of approval, Pace returned to the case he'd been presenting. He'd stacked the audience in his favor by spreading the word to all the landowners Joe had tricked and misled over the years. They were out for blood and hanging on his every word.
He didn't need their support to win this case, but he would prove something to Joe and Ethan Andrews and any of the other men who thought they could steal from the weak and trample the helpless.
As he presented his evidence and worked through his witnesses, Pace remained aware of Dora's intent gaze at his back. Everything he said and did, he presented for her approval. Admittedly, he'd resorted to violence with Gareth, but he couldn't help that. He would always act first and think later when it came to Dora. But he wanted to show her he'd learned a more effective means of handling his disputes than violence. If he could give her nothing else, he could give her a husband she didn't have to fear.
When Joe's attorney brought up the forged deed to the Nichollses' farm, Pace was ready for him. He hadn't meant to argue this one. He'd meant to surrender it and the next point that Mitchell's defense would present, thanks to Gareth and his solicitor. He'd thought he would help Dora in doing so. But he would fight now. He hoped she was ready for the result.
Pace gave the other attorney a look from beneath uplifted eyebrows at the man's declaration that Pace and Dora hadn't been married at the time she'd signed his name to the deed. Then with calm insouciance, Pace removed a sheet of paper from the stack on his table and presented it to the judge.
"My wife signed that deed in January of this year, Your Honor. We have a child born in April. A man is justified in calling out anyone who would suggest that we were not married while she carried my child. But I'm a reasonable man, Your Honor. I'll present our marriage certificate as evidence of our legal status. Ask any man in here and he'll tell you that Dora and I have always been childhood sweethearts. I just waited until she was of an age to know her own mind before making her my own."
Pace brazenly presented the backdated marriage certificate. Had Mitchell known he would do this, he could have called the preacher as witness. But Joe had expected Pace to cave and it was too late now. He had filed the certificate at the courthouse with last year's date.
Pace just couldn't turn and face Dora right away. She didn't like these little necessary lies, although all the rest was true. He couldn't help it if he'd been a little slow in realizing how much he needed her.
Joe threw a tantrum, but his attorney stepped in to drown him out with the presentation of copies of Carlson Nicholls's will leaving the entire estate to Charlie. With a glance of triumph at Pace, he declared that Dora had no legal right to sign the deed since Pace was not the owner at that time.
The courtroom grew hushed. Pace could see Dora nervously twining her fingers, but he'd known all his opponents' arguments in advance. He didn't enter a courtroom unprepared. Retrieving another paper from his dwindling stack, he added that to the growing one in front of the judge.
"I took the liberty of wiring the military authorities in charge of the prison camp where my brother died, Your Honor. The defendant could have had the decency to wait until my brother was dead a little longer before attempting to steal his widow's home, but the fact remains, Charlie died the week prior to Joe Mitchell's efforts to auction off my home."
The other attorney immediately objected to this prejudicial declaration, but the judge, irritated enough by the earlier histrionics, just ordered him to shut up. Pace's opponent retreated to his table where he triumphantly removed several formal documents from his stack of papers.
"I have here the copy of a birth certificate for one Lady Alexandra Theodora Beaumont and signed statements from both her brother and her father's solicitor to the effect that Dora Smythe Nicholls is said person. If Your Honor will take notice of the signatures on both deed and marriage certificate, he will note they are signed under the alias Dora Smythe, and not under her true name, thereby making both marriage and deed null and void."
Pace heard the gasp circling the courtroom. He'd hoped to protect Dora from this little bit of nastiness, but he had come prepared for it just the same. Picking up his law book, he proceeded to the bench and began to quote letter and verse of the official acts of Kentucky's assembly declaring themselves herewith dissolved of all acts of English common law and independent as to the construction of their own constitution and liberties.
As the crowd rustled and coughed while waiting for him to make his point. Pace slammed the book shut and faced the judge firmly. "Your Honor, the legal redress under which these men seek to nullify my marriage is based entirely on English common law and acts of their Parliament. There is no place within the Kentucky statutes stating that my wife could not take the name of her adopted parents instead of carrying the despised name of her mother's murderer!"
The courtroom burst into shouts of triumph and gasps of horror. The earl's solicitor raised a hand covering his eyes and offered no objection. Pace couldn't tell if the older man expressed mortification at the appalling theatrics of a country courtroom or conceded the point. He didn't care. The judge pounded his gavel and overturned Mitchell's appeal. The marriage and the deed would stand as is.
Pace turned around in time to catch Dora as she flew into his arms. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge his joy but he couldn't resist the sweet victory of her kiss. He smoothed her poor, battered face and held her as close as her skirts would allow.
Behind him, the judge coughed and declared a fifteen-minute recess.
Chapter 38
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds.
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark.
~ Shakespeare, Sonnets (116)
"Hallelujah, you did it, Nicholls!" Robert McCoy raced down the courthouse steps to pound Pace on the back. The milling crowd gathering on the courthouse lawn looked up at Robert's yell. As if in concert, people surged in the direction of the courthouse steps until a human barricade formed at the bottom and spilled upward.
Pace determinedly held Dora's waist as he answered Robert while keeping a wary eye on the crowd. Crowds easily became mobs in these uncertain times. He didn't want Dora caught in the middle. He caught sight of Jackson lingering beneath the elm tree on the lawn and felt a modicum of relief. He had one friend in the crowd at least, should he need to call on someone for help.
"I haven't done anything yet," Pace answered. "It's up to the original owners of those parcels to file suit now. All I did was prove that Mitchell is an unscrupulous crook. Seems everyone should have known that."
Dora gripped her skirts as they gradually eased down the stairs. Pace sensed her nervousness, but he hadn't seen any overt signs of hostility. This crowd seemed more ready for a Sunday gossip than a hanging. He should have experience enough to know the difference by now.
A scarecrow of a man in red galluses and a patched workshirt called out, "Does this mean I can get my bottom pasture back, Pace?"
Pace turned in the man's direction. "Get yourself a good lawyer, Amos, and prove Mitchell obtained it under false pretenses or with fraud. The judge has to look at each case individually. I just opened it up for the law to take a look at it."
The man shrugged his narrow shoulders diffidently beneath the suspenders. "Reckon you could take the job? Seems like you made a pretty good case in there today."
A murmur rumbled through the crowd. Heads nodded. Beside him, Dora looked up at him expectantly, her sky-blue eyes watching him with all the admiration and approval he had ever desired from her. Pace choked on the emotion welling inside him, paralyzing his usually easy tongue. He didn't deserve what he saw in her eyes, but he craved it with every ounce of his misbegotten soul.
He ripped his gaze away to nod at his inquirer. "All right, Amos, I'll come out and look at what you've got tomorrow evening, if that's all right."
A clamor rose from the crowd, demanding his attention, throwing out questions, asking his opinions. Pace acknowledged only the joy rising from the woman beside him. He hugged her waist and gave her a grin of triumph as he tugged her downward and into the clamoring mob. It was a heady feeling, knowing these people who had despised his politics now needed his talents. He wanted to savor it for a while.
Mostly, though, Pace wanted to celebrate his triumph by taking Dora home and into his bed. Not every day did a woman whistle away a fortune in return for what little he could offer.
"Somebody ought to lynch Mitchell!" A voice screamed from the back of the mob.
On every side people complained bitterly of the way the mayor's smooth words and cheap promises or his blackmail, lies, and threats had robbed them and their families. Another shout rose in agreement with the first. Fists shook in the air as the crowd realized Joe Mitchell had not yet left the building. The shifting winds of violence found a new direction.
The crush of people pushed toward the steps, flowing upward. Caught in the middle, Pace held Dora and glanced back at the courthouse. He saw no sign of Joe Mitchell and his attorney, but Josie emerged on the arm of the gray-haired English solicitor.
Sensing the ugly violence growing, Pace turned back to Jackson and breathed easier when he saw the tall black man shoving through the crowd in their direction. Catching Dora's shoulders, Pace whispered in her ear, "Get over to Jackson. I've got to stop this."
She nodded and slipped between two farmers. A path of sorts opened for her, and Pace saw her safely in Jackson's care before he took the courthouse steps upward, two at a time. When he reached the top, he turned and waved his arms to draw the crowd’s attention. The men in front of him halted and shouted at the people behind them. Gradually, the surging anger quieted until Pace could shout above their complaints.
"I think the war has proved that killing isn't the answer! If you want to get rid of Joe Mitchell, then
impeach him. Go to the council and demand his withdrawal from office. You're the ones who voted him in. Be men and admit you were wrong. Take responsibility for correcting your mistake by voting him out. Let the world see that we aren't ignorant savages but intelligent, civilized men who uphold the Constitution and want justice done. That's what our laws are for. Let's use them to get rid of the greedy vultures who would feed off our carcasses if we let them!"
A roar of approval rang through the crowd. Dora stepped back into the shade of the old elm where Jackson had led her. Pace's words rang clearly in her ears even from this distance. He looked magnificent out there with his waistcoat undone and his fingers hooked in his trouser band, controlling the crowd with his voice. He had a marvelous voice, a commanding one.
She turned hesitantly to Jackson. "He was born to be a politician, wasn't he?"
"Reckon so. He sure can swing them words around, cain't he?"
"Maybe I should have let him go," she whispered, more to herself than the man beside her.
Jackson made a grunt of outrage. "Maybe you should've told me to put a bullet through his haid, then. That man's been madder than a rabid fox for days. I thought I'se gonna have to put him out of his misery soon enough. You give up that notion real quick, missy. That man needs you, whether he admits it or not."
"I'm not a politician's wife," Dora reminded him, watching with admiration as Pace worked his way back down the steps, shaking hands, pounding backs, and roaring with laughter at some joke. The crippled muscles of his right arm worked well enough when he used them for this.
"I never heerd that Lincoln's wife was much either, but he managed. Some men can stand alone when they meet the world. Reckon Pace is one of 'em. He ain't done nothin' else but face the world alone. But he sure is a might easier to live with when he's got someone keeping him on the straight and narrow. That's your job."
Patricia Rice Page 35