Medicine Wheel

by Ron Schwab

  “She’s an exceptional woman. I’d hate to see that.”

  “Back east a few states recognize a ‘temporary insanity’ defense, but our statutes don’t provide for that, and it’s rarely successful where they do. Truth is that’s probably what we’ve got with Kirsten.”

  “Where’s Serena?”

  “She’s sitting in the jail cell with Kirsten. They seem to have formed a fast friendship during the course of the trial.” Cam smiled wryly, “Of course, Serena’s got a notch on her gun now, too. Men better treat that pair right.”

  “How about lunch and coffee on the old man?”

  “I’m ready.”

  54

  IT WAS NEARLY five o’clock in the afternoon, and the jury had been deliberating a day and a half, when Reva knocked on the door of Serena’s makeshift office in the Locke building. “Come in,” Serena replied.

  Reva opened the door. “Jury’s been called in by the judge,” she said. “Cam’s out at his ranch, but I’ve sent a rider to give him the word. But you’re on your own. Good luck.”

  Serena hurried to the courthouse. She had just left the jail and assumed the sheriff or his deputy would be escorting Kirsten to the courtroom. She could feel her heart racing and assumed it was from anticipation of the verdict, but there was always that nagging concern whether another attack of her illness was imminent.

  When she arrived at the courtroom, Kirsten was already seated at the defense table. She returned Kirsten’s nod as she sat down, but neither spoke.

  Judge Whitmore entered, and as he was taking his chair, motioned to the lawyers, “Counsel, would you approach the bench?”

  Serena joined the county attorney in front of the judge, who said, “I’m just forewarning you, counsel, the jury may not reach a verdict.”

  “What do you mean, Judge?” Fuller asked.

  “A hung jury?” Serena interjected.

  “It appears so. The foreman has requested instructions three times because of apparent deadlock, and I gather there’s more than one holdout . . . maybe three or four. I’ve asked the jury to come in and report in open court. If the foreman declares they are unable to reach a verdict, I’ll declare a mistrial, and it will be up to Mr. Fuller to decide if you’re going to start all over.”

  Fuller sighed heavily, and his face turned glum. Serena thought the diminutive county attorney shrank a few more inches. “Judge, if the jury can’t reach a verdict, I’d like to have them hash it out one more time.”

  “I’ll see what the foreman says, but I’ll warn you, I’m thinking this show’s about over, and I don’t have a lot of enthusiasm for an encore performance. If you’re going to pursue this, Mr. Fuller, I’d strongly suggest you drop the first degree charge. That’s not worth a cow shit pie . . . pardon the expression, ma’am. Second degree, I wouldn’t be insulted by, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if this whole thing would go away. I seriously doubt if you’re ever going to seat a jury that doesn’t have a few folks who think justice has already been done.”

  Serena said, “Your Honor, if you declare a mistrial, I will have a motion to submit.”

  “I suspected as much. You will have that opportunity. Now I’ll call in the jury.”

  A few minutes later the jurors filed in from the anteroom and took their seats. Serena had only a moment to inform Kirsten that a possible mistrial was pending, but she did not have time to explain the significance.

  The judge gaveled the court to order. “Mr. Bascomb, would you stand, please?”

  Bascomb, a white-haired professor from the Kansas State Agricultural College, who had been elected foreman by his fellow jurors, stood.

  “Mr. Bascomb, has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “We have been unable to reach a verdict, Your Honor.”

  “You understand that the verdict must be unanimous? Do you think that further deliberation may result in a verdict?”

  “I do not. It is my opinion, which is shared by my fellow jurors, that we are hopelessly deadlocked.”

  “You may be seated, Mr. Bascomb. I thank the jurors for their service in this matter.” The judge paused and tossed a look at each of the attorneys. “I declare a mistrial in this case.”

  The judge’s eyes fixed on Serena. “I would entertain a motion, Miss Belmont.”

  “Your Honor, I move that Mrs. Brannon be released without bond at this time. The evidence has clearly established she is a person of property with roots in this county. She is not a flight risk, and certainly should not be incarcerated further pending the prosecutor’s decision regarding any further action in this case.”

  The judge looked at the county attorney, who just shrugged. “Motion granted. The defendant is released from the custody of the sheriff pending further order of this court. The jury is discharged. Adjourned.”

  The reporters raced for the door, and the few other spectators and jurors meandered out of the courtroom. Serena caught a glimpse of Cam in the hallway. He had evidently cornered the jury foreman, who Cam had mentioned was a fellow Freemason.

  Serena started gathering up her notes and trial books and Kirsten remained silent and solemn for some moments. “You seem a bit subdued,” Serena remarked.

  “What just happened?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have explained. Everything turned to chaos so quickly. You do understand that you are free to go now?”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  “And when we leave here, you’re coming with me to stay with Vedette and Myles overnight. It’s too late to ride out to your place, and you need some time to get your thoughts together. I promise they’ll love to have you, and they have plenty of room.”

  Kirsten nodded, although her eyes betrayed uncertainty. “But, if I understand correctly, we may have to go through all of this again.”

  “That’s possible. Since there was no verdict, you don’t have constitutional protection against double jeopardy. It’s in the hands of the county attorney. The judge won’t take kindly to his going after you again on the first degree murder charge. But second degree is still an open question.”

  “When will we know?”

  “There’s no specific deadline, but I don’t think he will want the speculation to continue in the press very long. I’d be very surprised if we don’t know by the first of the week.”

  “You said yesterday that you hoped to start your trip back to Washington on Monday. Does that mean you won’t be able to help me in a second trial?”

  “If you want me involved, I’ll return.”

  Cam suddenly appeared in front of the table. “Well, ladies, would you like to hear what happened in the jury room?”

  Serena smiled. “I saw you talking to the foreman. I can’t wait.”

  Cam picked up one of the spectator chairs and placed it across the table from Serena and Kirsten, and sat down. “There was not just one hold out . . . there were six. There were only two votes to convict on first degree, and after voting three times, they gave up on that. The first vote for second degree was eight to four to convict. They argued and voted on that all day and finally ended up deadlocked with a tie vote. They just ended up further away from the unanimous verdict they had to have.”

  “Did they have an acquittal vote?” Serena asked.

  “They did, but the other side wouldn’t vote to acquit either. The foreman was with us, and that didn’t hurt. The young storekeeper was with him all the way, and in spite of his weak stomach, spoke up very forcefully during the deliberations.”

  “So what does Fuller do?” Serena asked.

  “He’s going to talk to some jurors, too . . . then he very quietly caves and dismisses the charges with as little fanfare as possible.”

  Serena turned to Kirsten and gave her a hug, and Kirsten gave a sigh of relief, as the tension seemed to melt from her body.

  55

  SERENA SAT AT the breakfast table enjoying a morning cup of coffee with Vedette. Kirsten had departed a few minutes earlier, planning to pick up her hor
se and gear at the livery and return to her ranch house. She had shrugged off suggestions she might want someone to accompany her after all that had taken place there. She had work to do, she insisted, and Chet and the new hired hand, Asa Morgan, she was sharing with Thad were both staying on the place.

  Vedette and Myles had graciously opened their home to the surprise guest, and they had spent the previous evening chatting about everything but the trial. Kirsten had excused herself early to one of the spare bedrooms, and she looked well-rested when she departed this morning. Serena promised Kirsten they would get together as soon as Serena returned to the Flint Hills.

  “So you’re leaving Monday?” Vedette asked.

  “That’s my plan. Before I left the courthouse, I spoke with Cam and asked him to get a message to Thad to meet me at a place I call the ‘medicine wheel’ . . . it’s actually on Thad’s property. I could tell Cam was curious, but I just couldn’t tell him more. He’ll know soon enough, I guess. I’m to meet him at noon, and I’m going to pick up some sandwiches at the Chuck Wagon to take with me.”

  “I could make something.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I have to walk downtown to rent a horse, and the café is just across the street.”

  “So you’re going to tell Thad today?”

  “Yes, and after that I’m going over to my folks. I promised I’d spend the night there and go to church with them tomorrow. I’ll head back here after Sunday dinner with the family and impose on your hospitality one more night, if that’s alright.”

  “Of course, it’s alright. It hasn’t been an imposition. You’ve been a joy to have here. I can’t wait till you return to Manhattan to stay.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve been wrong to deprive Ned of the Locke side of his family. It’s despicable. I can’t excuse it. I’m getting the shakes over having to tell Thad about his son.” She hoped that was what the slight chills that had started during the night were about. Facing a jury was nothing compared to what she had to deal with now.

  “It’s got to be difficult, I know, but Thad may be the kindest, gentlest man I’ve encountered . . . next to his father. As I’ve told you, he’s very controlled and thoughtful. He’ll listen, and he won’t judge harshly. They’re not religiously devout men, but I always thought Myles and Thad instinctively take to heart the words found in Matthew . . . ‘judge not, that ye be not judged.’ If only more so-called Christians would heed them.”

  “I’ll pray that your opinion holds true today. Do you have some riding clothes I could borrow?”

  “The trousers may be a bit long, but we’ll put something together.”

  56

  THAD DISMOUNTED CATO and led the horse toward the young woman standing next to a sorrel mare at the base of the bluff. She appeared tired, and she was a shade too thin. Attired in faded denim trousers that were rolled up at the ankles and fell to the top of her moccasins and a checkered flannel shirt that she swam in, she looked something of a poor vagabond. But she was still stunning.

  “Thad,” she said, remaining next to her horse. “I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid you might not come.”

  He moved closer. “I’m curious, so I took the bait. Cam said you wanted me to meet you here, although he had no clue where the ‘medicine wheel’ was. I think he was a little annoyed when I just told him it was a spot on the Rickers place.”

  “I brought some sandwiches, but all I’ve got to drink is water. Shall we go to the top of the mesa?”

  “Sure, give me your saddle bags with the food, and I’ll carry.”

  He took the bags and grabbed his canteen after tethering the horses and followed Serena, who had a head start up the trail. He quickly caught up after she stopped and sat down on a slab of limestone that had evidently ended up next to the trail after some past rockslide. Her breathing was labored and she was sweating profusely, which he thought was strange for such a young woman on a balmy day.

  “You must be spending too much time in the office these days,” Thad teased.

  She returned a wry smile. “I do, I’m afraid, or I’m on a train to somewhere.”

  “We’re not quite half way. Do you want to turn back?”

  She gave him a horrified look. “No, we can’t.”

  Thad tossed his canteen strap and the saddle bags over his shoulder and suddenly bent over and scooped her up in his arms.

  She struggled for only a few moments. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “Just be quiet. I’m your train.”

  She couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds, he thought, as he plodded up the trail. It was nice to have her in his arms, and he savored the scent and closeness of her. When they reached the top and stepped over the lip of the bluff, he let her slip out of his arms.

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said, “I didn’t realize how I’d let myself go.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m glad I could be useful.”

  She strolled over to the medicine wheel. “It’s just the same as when I last saw it.”

  “I don’t think anybody comes here. I suspect only a few know about it.”

  She turned to him. “Do you come here?”

  “Yes, sometimes. Just to think or when I want to be alone.”

  “And now you own it?”

  “I do. And you can come here anytime you wish.”

  She walked slowly around the circle as if scrutinizing each stone, and then she focused on the cottonwood. “It’s grown.”

  “Trees do that, you know. Why do I think you are avoiding something?”

  She sighed. “Because I am. Let’s eat first, and then we’ll talk.”

  They sat on the lush grass under the gently-swaying cottonwood branches and ate dried beef and cheese sandwiches made with fresh-baked wheat rolls, topping their lunch off with some original spice cookies Charlie had concocted. Neither spoke until they finished eating, and then Serena broke the silence. “Now we can talk.”

  “You said we needed to talk, and it’s all sounded quite ominous.”

  “I suppose it is a little ominous as far as I’m concerned.”

  She took off a kerchief that had been tied about her neck and began dabbing at the perspiration on her face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I will be,” she said. “For now.”

  “You’re speaking in riddles.”

  She looked away from him, gazing skyward, as she spoke softly and matter-of-factly. “I have stories to tell, and they will eventually merge into one story that involves both of us.”

  He decided to say nothing.

  “I’ve been told that I’m dying. The last physician I spoke with said I won’t be alive two years from now. That’s one reason I’m coming home.”

  He felt like a sledge hammer had struck him in the gut. Bile surged in his throat. “What was his diagnosis?”

  “He said I have a cancer in my internal organs and that it’s eating its way from the inside out.”

  “How does he know this?”

  “I don’t know. My symptoms, I guess.”

  “And may I ask what your symptoms are?”

  “They come and go. They started a little over two years ago. I had this terrible pain in my muscles and abdomen, as well as vomiting, and then got a terrible fever and the chills. Between chill episodes, I’d get the sweats and an excruciating headache. I’d have spasms in my chest. I was in a coma for several days, and when I woke up the symptoms lessened over several days until I pretty much recovered. ”

  “You said they started two years ago. I take that to mean that you’ve had other episodes?”

  “I had another three months later . . . but no coma . . . and I continued to suffer the attacks every three or four months after that. It’s been nearly three months since the last one. I’m due.”

  “Have you seen other physicians?”

  “Yes, but the doctors who will see colored people in Washington are limited,” she said with some bitterness in her
voice. “One doctor said I had a poison in my system and wanted to start a bleeding procedure. I got up and walked out.”

  “Yes, that’s nonsense. They helped kill our first President with that. But it was an accepted medical practice for some years . . . they even used leeches.”

  “Another doctor said I have consumption and that I’ll eventually die from it.”

  “Consumption might mean anything. Many physicians apply the term to what we now call tuberculosis, but others apply the term to anything they can’t find an explanation for. Do you have a chronic cough or anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “Any blood when you do cough?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not carrying any extra weight, that’s for sure. You were like carrying a goose-down pillow. Are you losing weight?”

  “I lost ten pounds when I had the last attack. I never gained it back, but I haven’t lost any more.”

  “You can have night sweats and a fever with tuberculosis, but it wouldn’t usually be dormant for long periods of time and your decline would be fairly consistent and continuous. Your lungs obviously aren’t at full capacity, which is a concern, but that could be from limited use. Talking doesn’t build up your lungs.”

  She turned to him now. “Thad, I appreciate your interest in my case, but you’re talking like this is a damn doctor’s visit. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  She sounded annoyed, just like she was when they first met all those years ago. “Sorry, I’m just concerned that you’re not doing everything you can to get the answers. You sound like you’ve accepted the verdict . . . a death sentence. That isn’t the person I saw in the courtroom.”

  “Look, I haven’t given up. I’ll work until I die. That’s why I’ve taken a position with the Locke firm. But I’m a realist. I know I don’t have good health, and there’s a distinct possibility I’m going to die sooner rather than later . . . maybe very soon. That’s what drove me to right some wrongs.”

  “Wrongs? What’s that got to do with us?”