The judge smacked down his gavel. “Mr. Webster, that was such a fine summing up that I’m inclined to charge the jury and end the trial. Unfortunately this is not the end of the trial and I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from jumping up on a stump and making a speech when it ain’t speechifying time.”
“I was responding to my worthy opponent’s objection.”
“Well, you see, Daniel, that’s where you made your mistake. Because his objection was addressed to me, me being the judge here, and I didn’t really need your help at that moment. But I’m grateful to know that your help is right there, ready for me, if ever I do need it.”
Webster answered the sarcasm with a cheerful smile. What did he care? His point was already made.
“The objection is overruled, Mr. Cooper,” said the judge. “Who is the father of your child, Miss Sump?”
She burst into tears—still on cue, despite the interruption. “Alvin,” she said, sobbing. Then she looked up and gazed soulfully across the court into Alvin’s eyes. “Oh, Al, it ain’t too late! Come back and make a wife of me! I love you so!”
15
Love
Verily Cooper, doing his best to hide his astonishment, turned languidly to look at Alvin. Then he raised an eyebrow.
Alvin looked vaguely sad. “It’s true she’s pregnant,” he whispered. “But it ain’t true I’m the father.”
“Why didn’t you tell me if you knew?” Verily whispered.
“I didn’t know till she said it. Then I looked and yes, there’s a baby growing in her womb. About the size of a nib. No more than three weeks along.”
Verily nodded. Alvin had been in jail for the past month, and traveling far from Vigor Church for several months before that. The question was whether he could get the girl to admit under cross-examination that she was barely a month along in her pregnancy.
In the meantime, Daniel Webster had gone on, eliciting from Amy a lurid account of Alvin’s seduction of her. No doubt about it, the girl told a convincing story, complete with all kinds of details that made it sound true. It seemed to Verily that the girl wasn’t lying, or if she was, she believed her own lies. For a few moments he had doubts about Alvin. Could he have done this? The girl was pretty and desirable and from the way she talked, she was certainly willing. Just because Alvin was a Maker didn’t mean he wasn’t a man all the same.
He quickly shook off such thoughts. Alvin Smith was a man with self-control, that was the truth. And he had honor. If he really did such things with this child, he’d certainly marry her and not leave her to face the consequences alone.
It was a measure of how dangerous the girl’s testimony was, if she could get Alvin’s own attorney to doubt him.
“And then he left you,” said Daniel Webster.
Verily thought of objecting, but figured there was no point.
“It was my own fault, I know,” said Amy, breaking down—again—into pathetic tears. “I shouldn’t have told my best friend Ramona about Alvin and me, because she mouthed it around to everybody and they didn’t understand about our true love and so of course my Alvin had to leave because he has great works to do in the world, he can’t be tied down to Vigor Church just now. I didn’t want to come here and testify! I want him to be free to do whatever he needs to do! And if my baby grows up without a pa, at least I can tell my child that she comes of noble blood, with Makery as her heritage!”
Oh, that was a nice touch, making her the suffering saint who is content that “her” Alvin is a lying seducing deceiving abandoning bastard-making cradle-robber, because she loves him so.
It was time for cross-examination. This had to proceed delicately indeed. Verily couldn’t give a single hint that he believed her; at the same time, he didn’t dare to be seen to attack her, because the jury’s sympathy was all with the girl right now. The seeds of doubt had to be planted gently.
“I’m sorry you had to come all the way down here. It must be a hard journey for a young lady in your delicate condition.”
“Oh, I’m doing all right. I just puke once in the morning and then I’m fine for the rest of the day.”
The jury laughed. A friendly, sympathetic, believing laugh. Heaven help me, thought Verily.
“How long have you known you were going to have a baby?”
“A long time,” she said.
Verily raised an eyebrow. “Now, that’s a pretty vague answer. But before you hear my next question, I just want you to remember that we can bring your mother and father down here if need be, to establish the exact time this pregnancy began.”
“Well I didn’t tell them till just a few days ago,” said Amy. “But I’ve been pregnant for—”
Verily raised his hand to silence her, and shook his head. “Be careful, Miss Sump. If you think for just a minute, you’ll realize that your mother certainly knows and your father probably knows that you couldn’t possibly have been pregnant for more than a few weeks.”
Amy looked at him in a puzzled way for a long moment. Then dawning realization came across her face. She finally realized: Her mother would know, from washing rags, when she last menstruated. And it wasn’t months and months ago.
“Like I was going to say all along, I got pregnant in the last month. Sometime in the last month.”
“And you’re sure that Alvin is the father?”
She nodded. But she was no fool. Verily knew she was doing the math in her head. She obviously had counted on being able to lie and say she’d been pregnant for months, since before Alvin left Vigor; when the baby was born she could say it had taken so long because it was a Maker’s child, or some such nonsense. But now she had to have a better lie.
Or else she’d been planning this lie all along. That, too, was possible.
“Of course he is,” she said. “He comes to me in the night even now. He’s really excited about the baby.”
“What do you mean by ‘even now’?” asked Verily. “You know that he’s in jail.”
“Oh, posh,” said Amy. “What’s a jail to a man like him?”
Once again, Verily realized that he’d been playing into Webster’s hands. Everybody knew Alvin had hidden powers. They knew he worked in stone and iron. They knew he could get out of that jail whenever he wanted.
“Your Honor,” said Verily, “I reserve the right to recall this witness for further cross-examination.”
“I object,” said Daniel Webster. “If he recalls Miss Sump then she’s his witness, it won’t be cross-examination, and she’s not a hostile witness.”
“I need to lay the groundwork for further questioning,” said Verily.
“Lay all you want,” said the judge. “You’ll have some leeway, but it won’t be cross. The witness may step down, but don’t leave Hatrack River, please.”
Webster stood again. “Your Honor, I have a few questions on redirect.”
“Oh, of course. Miss Sump, I beg your pardon. Please remain seated and remember you’re still under oath.”
Webster leaned back in his chair. “Miss Sump, you say that Alvin comes to you in the night. How does he do that?”
“He slips out of his cell and right through the walls of the jail and then he runs like a Red man, all caught up in . . . in . . . Redsong, so he reaches Vigor Church in a single hour and he ain’t even tired. No, he is not tired!” She giggled.
Redsong. Verily had had enough conversation with Alvin by now to know that it was greensong, and if he’d really had any intimacy with this girl she’d know that. She was remembering things she’d heard from his lessons months and months ago in Vigor Church, when she went to class with people trying to learn to be Makers. That’s all this was—the imaginings of a young girl combined with scraps of things she learned about Alvin. But it might take the golden plow away from him, and perhaps more important, it might send him to jail and destroy his reputation forever. This was not an innocent fib, and for all her pretense at loving Alvin, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“Does
he come to you every night?”
“Oh, he can’t do that. Just a couple of times a week.”
Webster was done with her, but now Verily had a couple more questions. “Miss Sump, where does Alvin visit you?”
“In Vigor Church.”
“You’re only a girl, Miss Sump, and you live with your parents. Presumably you are supervised by them. So my question is quite specific—where are you when Alvin visits you?”
She was momentarily flustered. “Different places.”
“Your parents let you go about unchaperoned?”
“No, I mean—we always start out at home. Late at night. Everybody’s asleep.”
“Do you have a room of your own?”
“Well, no. My sisters sleep in the same room with me.”
“So where do you meet Alvin?”
“In the woods.”
“So you deceive your parents and sneak into the woods at night?”
The word deceive was a red flag to her. “I don’t deceive nobody!” she said, with some heat.
“So they know you’re going to the woods alone to meet Alvin.”
“No. I mean—I know they’d stop me, and it’s true love between us, so—I don’t sneak out, because Papa bars the door and he’d hear me so I—at the county fair I was able to slip away and—”
“The county fair was in broad daylight, not at night,” said Verily, hoping he was right.
“Argumentative!” shouted Webster. But his interruption served not to help the girl but fluster her more.
“If this happens a couple of times a week, Miss Sump, you surely don’t depend on the county fair to provide you with opportunities, do you?” asked Verily.
“No, that was just the once, just the one time. The other times . . .”
Verily waited, refusing to ease her path by filling her long silence with words. Let the jury see her making things up as she went along.
“He comes into my room, all silent. Right through the walls. And then he takes me out the same way, silent, through the walls. And then we run with the Redsong to the place where he gives me his love by moonlight.”
“It must be an amazing experience,” said Verily. “To have your lover appear at your bedside and raise you up and carry you through the walls and take you silently across miles and miles in an instant to an idyllic spot where you have passionate embraces by moonlight. You’re in your nightclothes. Doesn’t it get cold?”
“Sometimes, but he can make the air warm around me.”
“And what about moonless nights? How do you see?”
“He . . . makes it light. We can always see.”
“A lover who can do the most miraculous things. It sounds quite romantic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, it is, very very romantic,” said Amy.
“Like a dream,” said Verily.
“Yes, like a dream.”
“I object!” cried Webster. “The witness is a child and doesn’t realize the way the defense attorney can misconstrue her innocent simile!”
Amy was quite confused now.
“What did I say?” she asked.
“Let me ask it very clearly,” said Verily Cooper. “Miss Sump, isn’t it possible that your memories of Alvin come from a dream? That you dreamed all this, being in love with a strong and fascinating young man who was too old even to notice you?”
Now she understood why Webster had objected, and she got a cold look in her eye. She knows, thought Verily. She knows she’s lying, she’s not deceived, she knows exactly what she’s doing and hates me for tripping her up, even a little. “My baby ain’t no dream, sir,” she said. “I never heard of no dream as gives a girl a baby.”
“No, I’ve never heard of such a dream, either,” said Verily. “Oh, by the way, how long ago was the county fair?”
“Three weeks ago,” she said.
“You went with your family?”
Webster interrupted, demanding to know the relevance.
“She gave the county fair as a specific instance of meeting Alvin,” explained Verily, when the judge asked. The judge told him to proceed. “Miss Sump,” said Verily, “tell me how you got off by yourself to meet Alvin at the fair. Had you already arranged to meet him there?”
“No, it was—he just showed up there.”
“In broad daylight. And no one recognized him?”
“Nobody saw him but me. That’s a fact. That’s—it’s a thing he can do.”
“Yes, we’re beginning to realize that when it comes to spending time with you, Alvin Smith can and will do the most amazing, miraculous things,” said Verily.
Webster objected, Verily apologized, and they went on. But Verily suspected that he was on a good track here. The way Amy made her story so believable was by adding detail. When it came to the events that didn’t happen, the details were all dreamy and beautiful—but she wasn’t just making them up, it was clear she had really had such dreams, or at least daydreams. She was speaking from memory.
But there must be another memory in her mind—the memory of her time with the man who was the true father of the child she carried. And Verily’s hunch was that her mention of the county fair, which didn’t fit in at all with the pattern she had established for her nighttime assignations with Alvin, was tied in with that real encounter. If he could get her drawing on memory with this one . . .
“So only you could see him. I imagine that you went off with him? May I ask you where?”
“Under the flap of the freak show tent. Behind the fat lady.”
“Behind the fat lady,” said Verily. “A private place. But . . . why there? Why didn’t Alvin whisk you away into the forest? To some secluded meadow by a crystal stream? I can’t imagine it was very comfortable for you—in the straw, perhaps, or on the hard ground, in the dark . . ..”
“That’s just the way Alvin wanted it,” she said. “I don’t know why.”
“And how long did you spend there behind the fat lady?”
“About five minutes.”
Verily raised an eyebrow. “Why so hasty?” Then, before Webster could object, he plunged into his next question. “So Alvin escaped from the Hatrack County jail in broad daylight, journeyed all the way to Vigor Church on the far side of the state of Wobbish from here, in order to spend five minutes with you behind the fat lady?”
Webster spoke up again. “How can this young girl be expected to know the defendant’s motivations for whatever bizarre acts he performs?”
“Was that an objection?” asked the judge.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Verily. “I’m through with her for now.” And this time he let a little contempt into his voice. Let the jury see that he no longer had any regard for this girl. He hadn’t destroyed her testimony, but he had laid the groundwork for doubt.
It was three in the afternoon. The judge adjourned them for the day.
Alvin and Verily had supper in his cell that night, conferring over what was likely to happen the next day, and what had to happen in order to acquit him. “They actually haven’t proved anything about Makepeace,” said Verily. “All they’re doing is proving you’re a liar in general, and then hoping the jury will think this removes all reasonable doubt about you and the plow. The worst thing is that every step of the way, Webster and Laws have played me like a harp. They set me up, I introduced an idea they were hoping I’d bring up in my cross-examination, and presto! There’s the groundwork for the next irrelevant, character-damaging witness.”
“So they know the legal tricks in American courts better than you do,” said Alvin. “You know the law. You know how things fit together.”
“Don’t you see, Alvin? Webster doesn’t care whether you’re convicted or not—what he loves is the stories the newspapers are writing about this trial. Besmirching your reputation. You’ll never recover from that.”
“I don’t know about never,” said Alvin.
“Stories like this don’t disappear. Even if we manage to find the man who impregnated her�
��”
“Oh, I know who it was,” said Alvin.
“What? How could you—”
“Matt Thatcher. He’s a couple of years younger than me, but all us boys knew him in Vigor. He was always a rapscallion of the first stripe, and when I was back there this past year he was always full of brag about how no girl could resist him. Every now and then some fellow’d have to beat him up cause of something he said about the fellow’s sister. But after last year’s county fair, he was talking about how he drove his tent spike into five different girls in the freak show tent behind the fat lady.”
“But that was more than a year ago.”
“A boy like Matt Thatcher don’t got much imagination, Verily. If he found himself a spot that worked once, he’ll be back there. For what it’s worth, though, he never did name any of the girls he supposedly got last year, so we all figured he just found the spot and wished he could get himself some girl to go with him there. I just figure that this year he finally succeeded.”
Verily leaned back on his stool, sipping his mug of warm cider. “The thing that puzzles me is, Webster must have found Amy Sump when he visited in Vigor Church long before I got there. Before the county fair, too. She must not have been pregnant when he found her.”
Alvin smiled and nodded. “I can just imagine him telling Amy’s parents, ‘Well it’s a good thing she’s not with child. Though if she were, I dare say Alvin’s wandering days would be over.’ And she listens and goes and gets herself pregnant with the most willing but stupid boy in the county.”
Verily laughed. “You imitate his voice quite well, sir!”
“Oh, I’m nothing at imitations. I wish you could have heard Arthur Stuart back in the old days. Before . . .”
“Before?”
“Before I changed him so the Finders couldn’t identify him.”
“So you didn’t just subvert their cachet. You changed the boy himself.”
“I made him just a little bit less Arthur and a little bit more Alvin. I’m not glad of it. I miss the way he could make hisself sound like anybody. Even a redbird. He used to sing right back to the redbird.”
Alvin Journeyman: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume IV Page 31