Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  “Yes, ma’am. Oh, I hope she likes books! I want to read her some of my stories!”

  “That’s very sweet, Mabel. I think she’d like that.”

  “Yes, it’s such fun to be read to,” Mabel said. “I love it when you read to me.”

  Anna had the fleeting image of herself and Charlie Cobb, sitting in the arbor swing in the side yard, reading aloud to each other from the stories in Argosy.

  “Well, sweetheart, when Alice gets here—”

  “Who?”

  Anna turned away so her daughter wouldn’t see her wince. “Alice. I . . . think I heard Daddy say that was her name.” Careful! Careful, careful, careful . . .

  “Oh. Alice. That’s a nice name. Maybe we could play that she’s my baby sister. Wouldn’t that be fun?” She chattered on, but Anna wasn’t listening. Mabel would have had a sister about Alice’s age. Or it might have been a boy. Walter had never said either way. Perhaps it was best not to know.

  “Do you think so?” Mabel was looking at her expectantly.

  “Yes, dear. Could you please help Mama set out the silverware?”

  The Cobbs arrived almost at the stroke of seven o’clock. Anna looked out the front window and saw them coming through the front gate.

  “They’re here, Walter,” she called over her shoulder, then hurried outside, making sure she was the first to greet them.

  “Hello, hello!” she said, smiling broadly as they came up the walk. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Cobb. And this must be the wife and daughter I’ve heard so much about.” Daisy Cobb had an uncertain air about her, like someone trying to play a game she’d never seen before. Her dress was clean, but frayed at the neckline. And her hat had clearly seen better days . . . many days ago. Charlie touched the brim of his black derby. “Good evening, Mrs. Dotson. It’s so good of you and Dr. Dotson to have us over. This is Daisy, and this is our little girl, Alice.”

  Anna squeezed Daisy’s offered hand, then put her hands on her knees and leaned down to speak to Alice, a mousy little thing with her daddy’s curly black hair and her mother’s watery blue eyes. “Well, hello, there, Miss Alice! There is a little girl named Mabel who can hardly wait to see you!”

  Alice took her finger out of her mouth long enough to give Anna a hesitant smile.

  “Well, come in, come in. Dinner is just about ready, and I believe Dr. Dotson is on his way down.”

  At that moment, the front door opened and Walter came down the steps, holding out his hand to take Charlie’s. “Hello, Charlie! So glad you could come. And this must be your family.”

  As Charlie made the introductions to Walter, Anna studied Daisy. She was a shrinking violet, all right—not at all what she pictured for someone as dashing as Charlie. Still . . . he’d married her, hadn’t he? Oh, well. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, the saying went. Anna knew it all too well.

  11

  They went into the house and into the dining room, just as Gertrude was setting the meat platter on the table.

  “I hope you like pork chops,” Anna said.

  “I sure do,” Daisy said.

  Anna directed each of them to a seat. She and Walter were at opposite ends of the table, as was their custom. Scott, looking bored, dressed in his church clothes and with his hair plastered down, sat at Walter’s right. Daisy was to Anna’s right, with Charlie next to her.

  When they were all seated, Walter turned to Charlie. “Mr. Cobb, would you do us the favor of offering thanks for our meal?”

  They all bowed their heads, and Charlie gave a reasonably fluent prayer; he even remembered to ask a blessing on “our gracious host and his family.” At the amen, Gertrude picked up the meat platter and offered it to Charlie Cobb.

  “Daisy, how do you find Gallatin, so far?” Anna said.

  “Oh, it’s real nice, real nice. We like it here. Charlie’s doing real good.”

  Why can’t she look me in the eye? “I’m so glad to hear it. My husband has really enjoyed having Mr. Cobb as his barber, and I have to say, he does so much better with Scott than J. P. Person. I think J. P. is getting a little old to be cutting youngsters’ hair.”

  Daisy smiled as she forked a chop off the platter held by Gertrude.

  “Now, Daisy, we simply must get the children together,” Anna said, nodding toward Alice and Mabel. “I think they’d have a good time.”

  “Yes. That would be nice for Alice, I know.”

  “Good, then it’s settled.”

  “Mrs. Dotson and I have been hoping we’d see you and your family at church, Mr. Cobb,” Walter was saying.

  Charlie smiled and ducked his head a little. “Yes, Dr. Dotson, I know. We really need to do something about that.”

  “No time like the present,” Walter said, smiling. “How about this Sunday?”

  “Well, let me talk it over with Mrs. Cobb,” Charlie said. “We certainly need to join somewhere. Daisy here was raised Baptist, but . . .”

  “We read the Bible to Alice every night,” Daisy said.

  The meal passed pleasantly. Anna and Walter kept up a steady flow of conversation, mostly with Charlie. Daisy just didn’t seem to be much on making social talk. But Charlie more than made up for her lack, smiling and answering questions and darting off along the path of a story he was reminded of by some chance comment or other. He had Walter roaring with laughter when he recounted an incident from his horse-shoeing days with his father, a comical confrontation with a tobacco sharecropper from southern Kentucky whose mule, he swore, had been rendered deaf by the shoes Charlie’s father had put on him.

  “When I say ‘gee over,’ he haws, and when I say ‘haw,’ he gees,” Charlie said, imitating a backwoods accent.

  “And then my dad told him, ‘Why, shoot, Amos, that mule ain’t deaf. I just put his shoes on him backwards, is all.’”

  Walter nearly had tears in his eyes; Anna hadn’t seen him laugh so hard in years. She realized she was having the thought that Charlie Cobb was good for her husband’s temperament. The notion made her uncomfortable for reasons she couldn’t strictly account for.

  After dessert and coffee, Mabel took Alice upstairs to her room, while Scott slouched off, still in a foul mood. The adults went into the parlor for a little more conversation.

  “Charlie, have you ever thought about being a Mason?” Walter asked, leaning back expansively in his cabriole chair. By now, they were all feeling comfortable enough to use first names.

  “That’s an interesting notion, Walter. No, I can’t say I ever have.”

  “Well, you ought to give it some thought. I’m with the lodge here, even do a bit of lecturing for some of the smaller lodges out in the countryside. Sometime, I’d love to have you visit one of our meetings—the public part, of course. Meet some of the fellows, see what you think.”

  “Charlie never runs out of something to say,” Daisy said. “He never met a stranger.”

  Anna smiled at her. Poor thing; you’re hopelessly out of your depth, aren’t you? “I’d like you to meet some of the ladies, too, Daisy.”

  “That’d be nice, I reckon.”

  Anna nodded. “Oh, I know just the thing! In a week, we’re having our Spring Gala. My ladies’ group sponsors it. Walter will be playing with our local band; there will be food, and dancing—it will be just a grand evening. I can get you invitations. It’s being held at the Keystone, right across the street. Alice could stay right here with Mabel and Scott, so you wouldn’t have to worry about her. What do you think? It would be so nice for you to come.”

  Anna felt a little guilty for bringing it up; Daisy would likely look ridiculous at such a “high-society” affair, and Charlie might not have much experience in those circles, himself. Of course, he had his native gifts of personality and easy conversation, but Daisy had no such advantages. Still, the offer was out in front of everyone. Anna decided to see what would happen.

  “That’s mighty kind, Anna,” Charlie said.

  “I don’t have nothing to wear to somethi
ng like that,” Daisy said. Anna thought there was an edge of panic in her voice. An awkward silence followed.

  “Well, we can think about it,” Walter said, finally.

  After another spell of quiet, Charlie looked at his wife. “You think it’s about time we got Alice home to bed?”

  Daisy nodded—a little gratefully, Anna thought—and the four of them stood. Anna went upstairs to call Alice, while Walter made conversation with the Cobbs. When she came back downstairs, Mabel and Alice trooping along behind her, she felt her daughter tugging at her skirts. She leaned down to listen to Mabel’s whispered words.

  “She wants to know if Alice can come over and play tomorrow afternoon. Would that be all right? You could come too, Daisy. We could visit a little more.”

  “Well . . .” Daisy looked at Charlie. “I guess, if it’s all right with Charlie.”

  “Why not, dear?” he said. “Do you good, I think.”

  Anna didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered in her direction, even as he was speaking to his wife. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  SITTING AT HIS TABLE on the Keystone Hotel porch, Charlie leafed through the Argosy Anna had given him the previous Thursday morning. He smiled to himself. She was interested, for sure. Beside a poem titled “A Lark at Sunset” she had penned the words, “Sharing a sunset with someone you love is a special gift.” Hardly a comment a woman would make to someone she regarded as a casual acquaintance. Beside the opening paragraphs of the continuation of the story “A River Apart,” Anna had written, “If their love is true, the difference in their stations shouldn’t matter.” An unmistakable encouragement of his attentions, Charlie thought.

  And then, on the last page of the magazine, the jackpot. Anna had written, in the bottom right corner of the magazine, “I’m usually alone on Thursday afternoons, until the children come home from school.”

  It was quite amusing to him, thinking back on the dinner last Friday night at the Dotsons. There he was chatting cozily with Walter, and Daisy, doing her best to imitate a woman of quality, in conversation with Anna. And all the time, he was looking at Anna and thinking about his next opportunity to talk to her, to have one more chance to solidify his claim on her mind, her emotions, her darkest fantasies.

  Charlie knew he couldn’t yet be sure where things were going with Anna Dotson—and that very uncertainty excited him. He had visions of being with her, of making love to her and hearing her cries of passion and pleasure. But they were a long way from that, at this point in the game. The game—that was what he loved. The notion of adding a society woman like Anna Dotson to his list of conquests was very gratifying. And it didn’t hurt anything that Anna cut a luscious figure, with her thin waist and her swaying hips, her soft-looking blonde hair and those blue eyes that seemed to drink Charlie in each time they talked. Charlie wanted Anna Dotson as he had never before wanted a woman. Maybe it was the challenge, or the thrill of sexually owning something far too expensive for him to obtain any other way. Whatever it was, Charlie thought about it almost constantly. He was determined to see this little story through, all the way to its end.

  So Walter wanted him to join his church, join his Masonic lodge. The good doctor wanted to get cozy with Charlie and Daisy. That suited Charlie just fine. The way he saw it, any time he was around Anna Dotson was a chance to keep things moving in his direction. And if Walter was foolish enough to leave his lovely wife alone on Thursday afternoons, that was all right, too.

  Today was Tuesday. He decided to talk to J. P. Person about taking an afternoon off each week—preferably Thursday. He folded the magazine and tucked it under his arm. He drained his glass of lemonade and, giving a final glance across the street at the Dotson house, got up from his table to start the walk home.

  ANNA WALKED INTO THE LOBBY of the Keystone Hotel, her hand on Walter’s arm. She was wearing her favorite ball gown, a light blue satin taffeta with an overskirt of royal blue velvet. She fancied the blue set off her eyes to good advantage. The sleeveless bodice showed off her upper arms; her long white gloves covered everything else, starting just above her elbows.

  Her hand rested gently on Walter’s arm as they promenaded into the ballroom, where much of Sumner County’s polite society was already gathered. Walter would make a quick tour of the ballroom in her company, meeting and greeting the other attendees, before hurrying over to the bandstand and getting the evening’s music underway.

  Anna was having thoughts about Charlie Cobb. She hadn’t seen him walking by the house since the first of the week, when he sent his and Daisy’s regrets by way of Walter. They wouldn’t be attending the gala, he said. Not that Anna was surprised. She really shouldn’t have said anything about it to them. Now, she was afraid she’d embarrassed or angered Charlie somehow, that he wouldn’t want to speak to her anymore—he certainly wouldn’t take up her tacit invitation to drop by on Thursdays for a visit.

  Anna imagined how Charlie would look if he were here, wearing one of the smart, black tuxedos and crisp, starched shirts like the rest of the men. Anna thought about dancing with him—surely someone as suave as Charlie Cobb wouldn’t have views against dancing—circling the floor with him, gazing always into those mesmerizing hazel eyes. She imagined slipping away with him during the gala, up to some private place: a prearranged room in the hotel, maybe. They would rush together and kiss, then he would take her, still fully clothed except for the underthings he would savagely tear away.

  “Anna, dear? Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”

  “Oh, yes, Walter. I’m fine. I think we might have walked a bit fast on the way across the street. Just let me sit for a moment, if you please.”

  Elizabeth and Wallace Jennings walked toward them, Elizabeth smiling and extending a hand to Anna. “Oh, Anna! Wallace showed me the Mary Cassatt painting you ordered. It’s exquisite! And the frame is absolutely perfect for it.”

  “Painting?” Walter said.

  “Should be ready for delivery sometime tomorrow,” Wallace said. “I’ll send a bill with it.”

  “That will be fine,” Anna said.

  “Bill? Painting?” said Walter.

  “Never mind, dear, I’ll tell you all about it later. The saxophone player is waving at you; you’d better go over and get the band started, hadn’t you?”

  Giving her a final, quizzical look, Walter hurried off toward the bandstand.

  “Anna,” Elizabeth said, “you look radiant tonight. Blue is certainly your color.” She tilted her head and looked at Anna. “I’m so glad to see you in good spirits. I can see the change in your face.”

  Anna smiled. “Well, thank you. Why don’t we find a table?”

  12

  Anna was trying to decide if she was angry or sad. It was nearly two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, and she had seen no sign of Charlie Cobb.

  It was a beautiful May afternoon, and she was sitting on the arbor swing in the side yard, idly flipping through the pages of her latest Vogue fashion magazine, but not really seeing any of the pictures. She kept telling herself she ought to just give up and go inside the house, get busy with something and take her mind off Charlie, but she kept thumbing back and forth through the magazine, wishing her handsome barber would show his face.

  She heard a whistle from the back fence, and looked up. Charlie Cobb was leaning a bicycle against the gate. He had apparently ridden down the alley behind the house, approaching from a direction she hadn’t expected. She had the urge to jump up from the swing and hurry toward him, but she counseled herself to patience. She stayed where she was and waited as he crossed the backyard, smiling at her as if he were a pirate and she were the treasure.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Dotson. Lovely day for a swing, isn’t it?” He touched his hat and gave her a little bow.

  Her reserve melted. “Charlie Cobb, I’ve a good mind to throw you off this property! It’s been nearly two weeks since I gave you that magazine and as good as invited you to come on Thursdays, and here you are, d
ragging in like . . . I don’t know what, and all you can give me is ‘Good day, Mrs. Dotson’?”

  He gave her a shocked look, like a schoolboy wrongfully accused. “Why, Anna. To speak to a man so! I hardly know what to say.” Then he grinned at her and sat down on the swing, right next to her. She could feel his thigh against hers, through the layers of her dress and petticoats and his trousers. She thought about ordering him to get up, or getting up herself—but she didn’t really want to do either one.

  Anna was a little nervous; the side yard was not exactly hidden from the street, and passersby could see them if they cared to look in this direction. But a part of her also relished the danger, as well as Charlie’s brashness. He was so different from Walter, so much more adventurous . . . and maybe a little dangerous. Yes, that was it: The danger in him hummed in her veins, vibrating within her in a way that was becoming more and more irresistible.

  Without thinking, she pushed off and set the swing going, and they soon fell into an easy rhythm. “What did Daisy think about the Argosy?” she said, sliding him a mischievous look. “I’d have written something a little different if I knew you were going to share it with her.”

  Charlie laughed. “Well, I don’t tell Daisy everything I do.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Sure. A man’s got to have a little mystery in his life. Keeps him young. It works for women, too.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Oh . . . I hear things.”

  “And who tells you these things?”

  “Mystery, Anna, mystery.” He whispered the words, leaning close to her ear. She could feel his breath on the side of her face. She closed her eyes for an instant, surrendering to the pull of it, then stopped herself. She scooted as far away as she could—which wasn’t much, confined as they were by the wooden arms of the swing on either side.

  “Charlie, we must be careful. We’re both married, and we have responsibilities. We’ve made promises before God. We can be friends, but nothing more than that.”