Medicine Wheel

by Ron Schwab

  She was falling apart in front of him. “Trust me,” he said.

  She bit her lip and then suddenly blurted, “I have a son. His name is Edward Thaddeus Locke. Thad is his father, but Thad doesn’t know about him.”

  Serena had certainly captured his undivided attention. It took him several moments to sort out her words. Serena Belmont was the mother of his grandson. “Okay, that was quite a mouthful of information, and I must confess I’m having a little trouble carrying my part of our conversation. Let’s just unwind this slowly. Thad is the father of your child. How old is the boy . . . Edward?”

  “Ned, I call him ‘Ned,’” she replied, her lips quivering. “He’s almost ten. He was born April 20, 1875, a few weeks early, I think, but he’s big for his age now.” She looked up and met his eyes, showing faint traces of a smile. “And he’s smart as a whip.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me somehow. So, if my math skills serve me correctly, you . . . uh, encountered Thad in the summer of 1874.”

  “I was visiting my parents for the summer. I let it slip to Cam that I had known Thad. I told Cam I had injured my ankle when I was running, and Thad came along and rescued me, so to speak. That much is true. That’s all Cam knows. But after that Thad and I became friends and fell in love . . . or thought we did. Thad wanted me to marry him, but I decided I wanted more than that. I wanted my education, and more than anything else, I dreamed of being a lawyer. I know I hurt him deeply when I left. I didn’t know about the baby at that time, of course.”

  “And Thad never had a clue?”

  “No, I planned to tell him after the baby was born, but I lived with my aunt, and she helped me care for him. The way I looked at it, Thad would just complicate things. I knew what I wanted. He’d insist on getting married, and if I wouldn’t, he would have moved to Washington so he could be a part of Ned’s life. Am I wrong?”

  “No, it sounds like you did know Thad. His middle name should have been ‘Responsible.’ Still, don’t you think he was entitled to know . . . to make his own decision?”

  “Yes, I was wrong. I always knew that. My mother told me I was wrong and once threatened to tell Thad, before she decided it wasn’t her place. I kept telling myself I would tell him next year, and next year would arrive, and I’d say next year. Well, I guess next year is here.”

  “It appears so.”

  “My health problems made me realize that Ned needs to know his father, and that I need to be near my family for his sake. My aunt’s health is frail, and if something happens to me, she won’t be able to care for Ned. It’s time for him to see another way of life.”

  “So when do you plan to tell Thad?”

  “Before I return to Washington, but if I choose to help Cam with the trial, I’ll wait till that’s over. Neither Thad nor I need the additional turmoil the news would bring in the middle of a trial.”

  “I cannot argue with that.”

  “Can you help me with legal arrangements for Ned, just in case—“ He could see she was struggling with her composure, and he got out of his chair and walked around to the other side of the desk. She looked up at him, and he stretched out his arms. She rose and buried her head in his chest as his arms folded about her and held her close until her tears stopped flowing. Finally, she stepped back, but his hands still gently clasped her shoulders. “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “My bags are in your reception area. I have to find a hotel yet. Papa gave me the name of one that welcomes colored folks. My parents wanted me to go out to their place, but I want to meet with Cam’s client early in the morning, and I thought it would be easier if I stayed in town. I promised I would visit at the farm Sunday and decide on accommodations then. If I’m working on the case, though, I won’t stay there. I will need to be near the office and the client.”

  “Forget the hotel. You’ll stay at my home while you’re here. We have several spare bedrooms. I have a . . . uh, housekeeper, Vedette Joliet, and the two of you will get along famously, I promise. She’s very wise, and I hope you will let me share the story of our little dilemma with her. We all need to talk this out together. We can discuss your legal concerns after you’ve settled in.”

  38

  SERENA FELT BETTER this morning than she had for weeks. Maybe there was something in the clean Kansas air that would heal her ailing body. It was a nice thought, although she did not believe it for a moment. But she had found some peace last night, gathered into the bosom of Myles Locke’s modest home, and it felt right. She had loved Vedette instantly and had been surprised to find she was a colored woman like herself. Vedette’s skin might have been a shade darker than her own, but they shared the sense of dislocation that went with being not quite light-skinned enough for those whites who cared and not black enough to avoid suspicion by some darker skinned persons with whom they shared the arbitrary designation of “colored” or “Negro.”

  The easy rapport between Vedette and Myles Locke quickly made it clear they were not employer and employee. It was very unlikely an ordinary housekeeper would share her boss’s bed with a guest settled in the house. It was obvious these two were friends and lovers, and, as Vedette told Serena, they had shared the home for some twenty-five years. Was this why Myles seemed so unfazed by the information his son had fathered a child with a colored woman? She decided it had more to do with the fact that Myles Locke always expected the unexpected. And the Judge was not a judgmental man. It didn’t matter to her. She was totally comfortable staying with Myles and Vedette. Myles had even told her she was family now, since she was the mother of his grandson. That had brought her nearly to tears again.

  It was Tuesday, and Myles was already at work. Vedette was acquainted with Serena’s mother, Rachael, and had offered to take Serena out to her parents’ farm in the buggy this afternoon and support her in explaining the need to stay in town during the course of the trial—if Serena decided to participate. That would be known before they left Manhattan.

  Vedette had shopping to attend to this morning and had dropped Serena off at the office, where she had agreed to meet Cam. While she waited, Myles led her to a vacant office furnished only with a small oak desk and a straight-backed chair. “We’ll have more suitable furnishings in place when you return from Washington,” he assured her.

  “I just need a place to work. Truly, I don’t require anything fancy.”

  “Fancy won’t happen, but Reva will delight in digging up functional.”

  He also showed her the small, narrow library, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with law books. A rectangular table surrounded by half a dozen chairs stood in the room’s center. “This room doubles as a conference or meeting area,” he explained.

  Cam arrived and she joined him on a brisk walk to the jail. She found her breathing a bit labored and remembered those days when she raced through the Flint Hills without so much as a pause to catch her breath.

  As they arrived at the jailhouse, Cam said, “I’m going to introduce you to Kirsten . . . she’s expecting you . . . and then I’m going to get the hell out. You need to talk woman to woman.”

  “I would like that.”

  “I’m going to go back to the office and look at the jury pool list. Reva sneaked one from the court clerk yesterday afternoon.”

  “Is that ethical?”

  “You can bet the county attorney’s got his greasy paws on it already. Anyway, I want the Judge to take a gander at it. He knows everybody in Riley County. We’ll all talk about the prospective jurors the first of the week . . . assuming you’re with us on this.”

  Serena noted that Cam had not answered her question. She decided she would avoid asking Cam too many questions about his information sources. She would likely be well-advised not to know the answers.

  They entered the sheriff’s office. A friendly young man was on duty and escorted them down the walkway between the cells to the end of the long hall. Serena didn’t notice any other occupants, so they should enjoy some privacy. Kirsten Cavelle
was standing at the cell door, clothed in something that looked like baggy pajamas. Serena was struck by her unusual height, and it made her aware of her own diminutive stature. The woman’s pallid face was marred by a few scars and bruises, but she would “clean up good,” as her father used to say. Most men would find her quite attractive, but short of stunning, she thought.

  The deputy unlocked the door. “I’ll get another chair from the next cell,” he said. “You need one, Cam?”

  “No, I won’t be sticking around, but thanks.” He spoke to Kirsten. “This is the lawyer I was telling you about, Kirsten. I’m going to leave the two of you to talk. It’s kind of a mutual interview. When you’re done, Kirsten can let me know if she wants to bring on Serena as a lawyer, and Serena will decide if she wants to be involved in the case.”

  Serena took a pace forward and offered her hand to Kirsten who clasped it so firmly, it stung. A cowgirl thing, she supposed. Cam and the deputy disappeared, leaving the cell door wide open. Evidently, Kirsten was not considered much of a flight risk.

  Kirsten stepped aside and gestured for Serena to be seated at the table. “Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, her face expressionless.

  They each slipped into a chair and faced each other across the table. Serena noticed that Kirsten’s eyes were studying her face intently. “What is it?” Serena asked.

  “I’ve seen you before.”

  “Perhaps a newspaper photograph?”

  “That’s it . . . a photograph. It was a tintype on Doc’s wall.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was in Thad Locke’s office and looked at a collection of tintypes on his wall. You were the subject of several, and I might add that the tintypes . . . and the subject . . . were stunningly beautiful. The subject and the photographer obviously had a special relationship. I’m sorry. I just had no idea the lawyer I would be meeting was the girl in the tintype. I’ll shut my mouth now.”

  Serena returned a wistful smile, appreciating that Kirsten had quickly closed the subject. “We need to discuss your case. Together we should decide if I can be helpful. If you are not comfortable with my participation, then I board the train and return to Washington. If I conclude I cannot make a contribution, I take the same train. Let me say this: you are represented by a very fine lawyer, and he will fight for you with every tool at his disposal. He is not too proud to accept help if he thinks it might be useful in winning your case. I like him and respect him.”

  “So, what do you need to know from me?”

  To the point. Serena liked that. “Cam has told me about the facts of your case in some detail. I’ve viewed the tintypes Dr. Locke produced. You were brutalized by your husband. I failed to ask, though, were the beatings frequent occurrences?”

  “No, he had only beaten me one other time . . . about two months earlier. That’s when I decided to see Cam Locke about a divorce. He threatened many other times over the past year, and after the beating, I told him to leave.”

  “And what was his reaction?”

  “He laughed and said I could leave. I reminded him I owned the place, which only made things worse, because this was always a point of contention between us. I do understand that to a man like Max this was a bitter pill. To him, a woman had her place, and it wasn’t running a ranch.”

  “So it would be fair to say you didn’t love him?”

  “Not since our first year. I can talk to you more easily about this than I can with Cam, I guess. Our attraction was pretty much all physical, and early on we about humped each other’s brains out. Then he seemed to tire of me and would be gone without explanation for several nights at a time and come home drunk. The drinking worsened, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think that a young male who was gone a few days and didn’t come home horny wasn’t fence jumping to other pastures. It stung, and I wouldn’t let myself believe it for a while. I had been thinking divorce for more than a year, but I couldn’t prove grounds until he beat me.”

  The women spoke about the couple’s marital history at length, and Serena found herself feeling a kind of sadness for both of them. They were a mismatch for an enduring life together, having little in common beyond the initial passion of young love. “I want to talk about the night Maxwell died.” Serena said.

  “Certainly, that’s why I’m sitting here.”

  “I’ve been told about the beatings and how he drug you into the bedroom and savagely attacked you there. I’ve seen the tintypes, and it will be difficult for anyone to deny the harm he did to you. Cam was very wise to arrange for the photographs so quickly, and they are very persuasive.”

  Kirsten replied, “Good photographer, don’t you think?”

  Serena looked at her. Kirsten had a straight face, but her eyes were teasing Serena a bit. She ignored the question. “There are several things I want to explore with you. First, there is a little segment of time no one has been able to fill me in on that seems very important to me. But before we talk about it, can we agree that I am one of your attorneys for the duration of our meeting? This is necessary to ensure confidentiality of our conversation.”

  “You’re on the payroll. Dun me for your time.”

  “The segment of time I’m interested in is the period between the assault in your bed and the time you sent your dog for your hired man.”

  “Chet.”

  “Yes, Chet. I believe Chet will testify that you told him Max had ‘died.’ That seems a strange way to state it. ‘He died.’ It sounds like he died of a disease or a heart attack or some natural cause.”

  “Well, I knew he was dead.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I just knew.”

  “Did you know he had been shot?”

  “Not at that time.”

  “You’re confusing me. Are you saying you didn’t kill your husband?”

  “I’m saying I don’t remember it. I assume I did. I was the only one there. Who else could have done it? I remember wanting to kill him.”

  “You don’t recall pulling a gun from a holster and taking it into the bedroom and pulling the trigger and shooting your husband?”

  “I’m sure I did it. I just don’t remember it.”

  “I’ll have to think about that. There is another item I want to discuss with you. Cam has explained that you cannot be forced to testify at the trial?”

  “Yes. I’ve left that decision to him. He hasn’t said what he’s going to do.”

  “Are you afraid to testify?”

  “No. I’d just tell the truth, but Cam says it’s very risky.”

  “It can also be risky not to in a case like yours. You are the only witness who was there when it all happened. If you don’t testify, you allow everybody to use their imaginations. Much of the jury’s decision depends upon how believable you would be . . . frankly, how much the jury would like you. I’ll be blunt, Cam says you can talk somewhat on the rough side on occasion, that you show some temper.”

  “He’s worried I’ll cuss up a storm.”

  “He’d like to see you appear less independent, more conciliatory.”

  “More like a helpless woman?”

  Serena smiled. “Stinks, doesn’t it?”

  “Have you heard me cuss today?”

  “No.”

  “I was raised with six brothers. Talk was on the profane side sometimes when we worked cattle. But my dad saw that I was taught appropriateness . . . not to swear in front of children or in social situations. My instincts guide me pretty well. You may assure Cam I won’t embarrass him in the courtroom. I’ll behave like a lady . . . I’ll even dress like one if they’ll let me.”

  “They’ll let you. Cam will see to that. Kirsten . . . it’s okay if I call you ‘Kirsten’?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’m Serena. I’m going to inform Cam that I’m willing to assist with your case. You can think about it and let Cam know if you want me to help defend you.”

  “No need to wai
t. I want you to represent me. I very much want you to.”

  Serena reached her hand across the table. Kirsten extended hers and they sealed the deal with a handshake.

  “One final thing,” Kirsten said. “I’m trying to be brave about this . . . stiff upper lip and that sort of thing. But I’m absolutely scared shitless.”

  39

  VEDETTE JOLIET HANDLED the reins as the one-horse buggy bounced over the rocky road that carved its way north through the Flint Hills. Serena relaxed beside her, savoring the soft breeze that caressed her face and taking in the limestone-sprinkled hills that were cloaked with tallgrass prairie just starting to awaken from a winter’s slumber.

  After visiting with Kirsten, Serena had stopped at the Locke office to inform Cam she was on the defense team. She had been mildly surprised to find his reaction ecstatic. She had wondered earlier if his seeking her out had been born more from a sense of client obligation than a desire to share the stage. He did not seem like a man who easily surrendered the leading role. On the other hand, she admitted, she did not so easily reject public attention herself. There might be some friendly competition between them, but that could be fun, and, channeled properly, it could work to their client’s advantage.

  Cam had chided himself for not having previously uncovered Kirsten’s possible absence of memory regarding Max’s actual killing. He was skeptical of their client’s claim. Serena was inclined to believe her. Regardless, Serena had pointed out Kirsten’s testimony was the only way to raise the issue. And would Kirsten’s story make a difference in the outcome, especially when weighed against the risk of putting her on the witness stand? And was the story just a bit too convenient? They had agreed they would meet Sunday afternoon to review the jury pool list with Myles and to further discuss strategy.