Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  Walter gave him a knowing nod.

  “You fixing to do it yourself, Doc?” Emil said.

  Bobby gave a barking laugh. “Walter, doing carpentry work? Oh, I don’t much think so.”

  Walter gave Bobby a severe look. “You’d better watch yourself, whippersnapper. I might not let your sister invite you over for Sunday lunch anymore.”

  Bobby held up his hands in surrender.

  “Seriously, though, I was going to ask if you knew a likely handyman here in town who I could talk to about doing the work. I think I’ve about got all the supplies bought that he’ll need, and I don’t mind paying for a good job.”

  Emil peered up at the ceiling, thinking. “Well, I’ve heard tell this new barber over at J. P.’s place is a pretty fair country carpenter.”

  “You talking about Charlie Cobb?” Bobby said.

  Emil nodded. “Somebody I was talking to the other day—can’t recall who, right this minute—told me he framed out and hung a window for him, did a real nice job and gave a reasonable rate.”

  “Well, I’ll say. He’s been cutting my hair for nearly a year now, and I didn’t know that about him,” Walter said.

  “I’ll probably see him over at the Keystone after work today,” Bobby said. “You want me to say something to him for you?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Walter said, picking up his sack of nails. “And I’ll try to remember to stop by the barber shop tomorrow on my way to the clinic and talk to him. Well, I guess I’ve killed enough time in here with you two.”

  “But you haven’t spent enough money,” Emil said.

  Walter gave Emil a sardonic grin and a shake of the head.

  “Give Anna a hug for me,” Bobby said as Walter walked toward the front door. Walter waved and nodded as he went out.

  Walter walked down the sidewalk, smiling and nodding at the people he knew. He pulled in a deep breath; the air smelled of the turning of the season. Walter loved this time of year, when he could sense that the dull heat of the summer was really going to relent. The sky always seemed its bluest to Walter in the early autumn.

  The county fair was in full swing, out at the old parade ground just outside of town. All the talk around the courthouse square and in the barbershop was of whose horses had won the pulling competition, who had the best-looking sheaf of wheat or ears of corn, and various opinions of the new farm implements on display. Earlier today, Walter had set a broken arm for a young man from the eastern end of the county who had fallen out of his saddle while practicing for the pleasure horse show this coming Saturday night. All he wanted to know from Walter was if the cast would fit inside the sleeve of the dress coat he intended to wear into the show ring. Walter supposed many of Gallatin’s women were busy baking cakes and canning fruit and putting the finishing touches on quilts, hoping for a coveted blue ribbon from the judges—or a red, at the very least.

  Walter decided to take Anna and the children to the fair tomorrow evening. It had been a long time since they’d done anything special as a family. Maybe he could help Scott win a tin whistle or some other prize at one of the booths; maybe he’d buy Mabel her favorite stuffed animal—even at the exorbitant prices the vendors would be asking. Maybe he’d see a glimmer of enjoyment in his wife’s face, for a change. If nothing else, watching her children having a good time ought to be good for Anna, he reasoned.

  Walter couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Anna. Sometimes she’d be high as a kite, smiling her way around the house like someone who knew the world’s best secret. But let him comment on her good mood, or ask her what was making her happy, and she’d close up tighter than a clam with a bellyache, and that would be the last smile he’d see on her face that day. Other days, she was as glum as an old woman with the gout, dragging herself from here to there with about as much enthusiasm as a horse on the way to the glue factory. In the same way, if he did or said anything to try to cheer her up, it was almost worse than if he’d done nothing.

  Anna’s widely shifting moods were worrisome to Walter. When they’d lived in Vienna, he’d had occasion to study some of the new work being done by Professor Freud. While Walter had severe reservations about some of the implications of Freud’s psychological theories, he could appreciate the more practical diagnostic aspects of the Austrian’s work. Walter was beginning to worry about whether Anna might be suffering from some sort of hysterical disorder. He wished he knew how to talk to her about it without putting her off.

  At any rate, he thought, it would be good for all of them to go out to the fairgrounds and enjoy some variety. He could see the roofline of his house now as he turned onto North Water. Shifting the bag of nails to his other hand, he began to walk a little faster.

  17

  The door opened and Gertrude gave Charlie a sullen look. For a few seconds, he thought the maid was going to bar his way into the house, but she finally let the door fall open. She actually turned her back on him and walked away, the rude old hag!

  “Good afternoon, Gertrude,” he said as cheerily as if she’d given him a big smile. “So nice to see you.”

  Charlie grinned to himself as he trudged up the stairs with his stepladder. Anna’s maid didn’t much care for him, he guessed. Well, that wasn’t his problem. What did he care what the hired help thought? He was here to do a job—and more than that, if he got the chance.

  This past weekend, he’d done the initial demolition work, tearing down the plaster covering the wooden slats in Mabel’s room and on the other side, in the bathroom, then sawing through the slats to create the rough opening. It was hard and messy work, and he’d spent almost as much time sweeping up and removing the plaster as he had creating the opening for the new doorway.

  Today he aimed to frame up the opening and hang the new door. If he had time, he’d set the latch in place.

  Anna came upstairs. About time, he thought. He’d certainly made plenty of noise, letting her know he was here.

  “Hello, Mr. Cobb,” she said, giving him a demure smile. “So nice to see you again. The opening looks just right.”

  He grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am, well, I try my best to please, as you know.”

  She gave him a look that made him want to back her up against the wall, right where she stood. “I do indeed know. How far do you think you’ll get today?”

  “As far as I can.” He felt a stirring below his belt; their little word game was having its effect. Good; she was in the mood today. Charlie never knew for sure which Anna he’d find when he was with her. Would it be the one who relished his touch and let him explore her with his hands and body, or the guilt-hounded one who demurred and drove him to distraction with the nearness of her, yet wouldn’t allow him into her secret places? After that first night in the backyard, Charlie thought he’d gained permanent admission to the temple of Venus. As it turned out, though, Anna was prone to second thoughts. In a way, it whetted his appetite all the more to get her to the place where she was completely in his command—it was something to look forward to. On the other hand, it was frustrating, never knowing from one time to the next where he stood with her.

  Last week, when Walter had approached him about doing the carpentry work, Charlie had had a brief thought of passing on the job. He was at a low point: Anna was remorseful and distant; Daisy was nagging him more than usual; and J. P., seemingly jealous of the clientele Charlie was cultivating, was talking about either charging him a percentage of his tips or reducing his salary. Still, he told himself, Walter was willing to pay, and the money would always come in handy. And then, that very afternoon, Anna had dropped off an Argosy for “Daisy.” Tucked inside was a note that read, “Walter out this evening, children fast asleep by eight. Please come to me.”

  It was annoying last Saturday, having Walter as well as Anna’s brother hanging over his shoulder nearly every minute he was here, asking him questions about how he intended to proceed and whether he needed anything else to complete the job and generally making nuisances of themse
lves. But today, the good doctor was safely at work, healing the sick. Little brother Bobby was in his clerk’s apron, behind the counter of Whitehead’s Hardware, preoccupied by the local young women walking past his window and making eyes at him. The kids were at school, Anna was in the mood for love, and Charlie was in the mood for Anna. If only they could keep snorty old Gertrude downstairs where she belonged, everything would be just fine.

  Charlie whistled as he measured and cut the two-by-fours he would use to trim out the jambs and lintel. His saw bit into the grainy yellow pine and released a pleasant, resin-laden scent. He nailed the boards into place and went downstairs to fetch the one-by-nine planks he planned to use for the facings. As he passed through the kitchen on his way to the backyard, Anna held out a fried apple pie, dusted with powdered sugar and still warm from the pan. Charlie took it from her and bit into the half-moon-shaped pastry, making appreciative noises. She smiled at him. Charlie saw Gertrude watching over Anna’s shoulder, wearing a look of the strictest disapproval. He winked at her and she turned away in disgust.

  He went out and laid the planks across his sawhorses in the backyard, cutting them into the lengths he’d premeasured. Then he mitered the corners. Tucking all three pieces under his arm, he went back upstairs and nailed the framing pieces into place, then stood back for a moment and admired his work. All that was left before hanging the actual door was nailing in the door stops on the inside of the jambs and lintel.

  As he was measuring the lengths for the jamb stops, Anna came upstairs. “How’s the project going, Mr. Cobb?” she said, holding a glass of cool water out to him.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Charlie said. He took a few swallows of the water and set the glass on a table. “Making good progress. What do you think of it so far?”

  She inspected the doorway. As she looked, Charlie eased up behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned back into him and his heart moved into a higher gait as he felt her body press against him, from his chest all the way down to his groin. He stroked her stomach and cupped his hands beneath her breasts. He breathed in the scent of her hair, a mixture of lavender and La Rose perfume.

  “It’s looking good,” she said in a low, throaty voice. “I think Mabel will be happy. Do you think you’ll hang the door today?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he half-whispered. “I want to string this job out as long as I can. I like the company here.”

  She twisted around in his arms to face him, offering her lips to him. He kissed her.

  “You’re salty,” she said, wrinkling her nose. He moved to kiss her again, but she turned her head and pushed away from him. “Don’t,” she said. “Gertrude will hear.”

  “Don’t you need to send her to the store, or something?”

  “Not today, Charlie,” she whispered. “All right?”

  He gave her a surprised look. “Really? But I thought you were sending all the right signals, just a little while ago.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Charlie, we . . . I’ve got to be careful.”

  “I love you, Anna.”

  “I know, Charlie. I love you, too.”

  “You sure?”

  Now she was watching him. “Yes. But it isn’t as easy for me as it is for you.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve got people at home to worry about, too.”

  She looked at him for several seconds. “Yes. I’ve thought about that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. I’ve got to go back downstairs now. You need anything else?”

  “Just you.”

  She looked at him a few seconds, then smiled. “Well, then.” She went downstairs.

  Charlie cut the strips for the door stops from pieces of the one-by-nine and nailed them into place. He put a coat of paint on everything, so it would have a chance to dry overnight. Then he loaded his tools into his toolbox, swept up the sawdust from the day’s work, and went downstairs.

  “I’ll be leaving now, Mrs. Dotson,” he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He continued on toward the kitchen and the back door, hearing her footsteps clicking along the wood floor of the hallway from the parlor.

  “All right, Mr. Cobb, and thank you again,” she said.

  “If you think of it, you might ask Dr. Dotson or your brother to put another coat of paint on the woodwork I put in today,” he said. “That way, everything should be ready for me to put on the hardware, next time I’m back.”

  “When do you think that will be?”

  He studied her face carefully. They were speaking as though they had an audience—which, in a manner of speaking, they did; Gertrude was most likely lurking around some corner or other. But what Charlie was hoping to see or hear was some indication that Anna wanted him to come back for some reason other than getting Mabel’s doorway finished.

  “As soon as I can, Mrs. Dotson,” he said. He smiled at her. Something went loose and relaxed in her face when he said it, and Charlie was glad. He touched the brim of his derby and let himself out the back door.

  ANNA STOOD AT THE KITCHEN WINDOW, hugging herself as she watched Charlie Cobb cross the backyard and go out the alley gate.

  What in the world am I doing with you, Charlie Cobb?

  Anna knew, deep within her, that this business between Charlie and her couldn’t end well. She had crossed a forbidden line, and it didn’t make any difference what she said to Elizabeth Jennings or anybody else, the line was real and the consequences were liable to be real, too. A day of reckoning was coming; she could feel it all the way down in the bottom of her soul.

  But how in the world could she get by without Charlie in her life, now that she’d let him in as far as she had? Their lovemaking was like rain in the desert to her. She thought about him all the time: how his arms felt when he was holding her, how his breath tasted when they kissed, the way her heart sang inside her when their bodies were joined. Thinking about turning away from that, never again feeling the way she felt when Charlie took her in his arms, made life seem like a bleak, dusty road to nowhere. Charlie was all she looked forward to—and he was like an ache in her side that wouldn’t go away. She needed him desperately, and at the same time she knew that every day she kept on with Charlie Cobb brought her closer to the time when everything that she treasured in life would come crashing down around her ears.

  She turned around. Gertrude was looking at her.

  “What is it, Gertrude? Is something wrong?”

  Gertrude didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Ain’t for me to say, missus.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Gertrude just walked away.

  18

  Eighteen . . . nineteen . . . twenty. Ready or not, here I come!”

  Scott thumped down the front steps and tore around the corner of the house toward the backyard. He was pretty sure he’d heard either Mabel or Alice giggling over that way. Girls were so silly; if you just stayed still, they’d nearly always make some kind of noise so you could find them. Mabel would, anyway. She was about the worst hider Scott had ever seen. She was so bad, he looked forward to being “it,” just so he could show her how bad a hider she was.

  Sure enough, he’d barely rounded the corner of the house when he saw a slip of blue calico, fluttering in the wind from behind the trunk of the big elm tree. Careful to keep himself between his prey and the straightest line to base—the front porch steps—he eased closer and closer to the tree. He was about ten feet away when he heard Alice start to giggle. Silly old girls.

  “I see you, Alice, behind the tree. And I hear you, too.”

  She came out, her face pink like it always was anytime she was a little bit embarrassed. “All right, Scottie.”

  Scott hated it when anybody called him “Scottie,” especially silly, pink-faced baby Alice. But Mama had told him he should be patient with Alice and be nice to her, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he peered carefully around the backyard, thinking about where M
abel might have hidden. Mama and Mr. Cobb said it was against the rules to hide inside the house, so she’d better not have gone in there, he thought. She probably hadn’t. Mabel might be a silly, giggly girl, but she wasn’t a cheater . . . most of the time. He looked up in the branches of the elm tree. She probably wasn’t up there, either, because ever since her last birthday, Mabel said she was too old to climb trees. Scott was pretty sure he wouldn’t ever be too old to climb trees, even if he lived to be a hundred.

  He walked over to the cistern and there she was, all humped over in a ball, like a big bunny rabbit wearing a purple dress with a bow in the back. “I see you, Mabel, behind the cistern!” Two down and four to go: the grown-ups.

  You could never be sure about grown-ups. Sometimes, they would hide in a really easy place so you could find them quick, because they were only acting like they wanted to play and really just wanted to get it over with. And then sometimes, they would trick you and hide so well you could almost never find them. Scott sometimes wished grown-ups knew how to be in-between about something, instead of all the way at one end or the other.

  Scott tried to think about which kind of grown-up Mr. Cobb was. He was a nice man, Scott guessed. He smiled a lot, especially at Mama. And getting a haircut from him wasn’t so bad. At least he didn’t scold the way Mr. Person did, and didn’t pop you on the head with his comb if you wiggled the least little bit. Maybe Mr. Cobb knew how to hide good, but not too good. Mama sure didn’t; she would almost always be somewhere so that Scott couldn’t miss her, even if he was trying.

  Scott wandered across the backyard, looking carefully behind the hedge near the swing in the side yard and behind the bushes up close to the house. The bushes and the hedge were good hiding places, even in the winter, because they kept their leaves all year round. For a second, Scott thought he saw somebody’s shoes sticking out from under part of the hedge, but it was just a root.