Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  “Anna, I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Well, all right. What is it?”

  “It’s just that . . . I’ve been hearing things around, and . . .”

  “What kinds of things.” Anna could feel her pulse quickening. She told herself to settle down and not do or say anything foolish. She picked up a plate with what she hoped was a casual air and turned on the water. She picked up a cloth and started scrubbing in circular motions.

  “A little while ago, when you said Daisy Cobb’s name . . .” Bobby began.

  Anna’s scrubbing motions quickened, became smaller.

  “I see you going into Person’s sometimes,” Bobby said, not looking at her. “Without Scott. Why do you do that?”

  Anna realized she was rubbing the plate so hard her fingernails were white. She took a deep breath and made herself give her brother a puzzled, slightly hurt look. “Why are you acting this way, Bobby? Yes, I go into Person’s. Mr. Cobb’s wife likes to read my old Argosy magazines, and I drop them off there when I’m finished with them, so he can take them home to her. The Cobbs are our friends, and Daisy doesn’t know many people in town yet. I’m trying to be nice to her. Why should that be anyone else’s concern?”

  He held her eyes a few seconds, then looked at the floor. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. I just . . . People say things, and you’re my sister, and . . .”

  “And I appreciate you coming to me,” she said, turning back to the plate. She ran water over it, rinsing it, and set it facedown on a clean dish towel she had spread on the other side of the sink. “But you really can’t allow yourself to let people’s loose lips make you so suspicious.” She picked up another plate and started scrubbing. “It’s unbecoming,” she said.

  Bobby nodded. “I’m sorry, Anna. I just . . .”

  “I know, Bobby. It’s all right.”

  “Well. I guess I’ll go on home now.”

  “All right, Bobby. Glad you could come over.”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “And don’t forget Mabel’s recital on Thursday. You are coming?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  Anna heard him shuffle out of the kitchen, then heard the front door open and close. She washed the lunch dishes, trying hard to think about something besides the lie she had just told her younger brother. How much longer could this go on? How much longer before she or Charlie made a fatal slip, and their illicit affair was out in the open for all to see?

  Anna’s head was starting to hurt. She decided to finish the dishes, then go lie down herself for a while.

  MABEL WAS STANDING at center stage, fidgeting a bit as her teacher consulted her program. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, Mabel Dotson will give a recital of Mr. Henry Holcomb Bennett’s poem, ‘The Flag Goes By.’ ” She gave Mabel a smile and an encouraging pat on the shoulder, then moved aside.

  “Hats off!

  Along the street there comes

  A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums.

  A flash of color beneath the sky:

  Hats off!

  The flag is passing by . . .”

  Mabel said her lines, staring the whole time out one of the side windows of the school and fiddling with the sash of her dress. She stumbled over one or two words, and her delivery was more deadpan than anything else. Still, Bobby had to admit, his niece got through all six verses of the poem without losing her place. When she finished, the audience of parents and relatives gave her a nice round of applause. She started back to her seat, but then, catching her teacher’s eye, she stopped herself long enough to give a quick curtsey.

  “She did just fine,” Bobby said to Anna. She nodded, smiling. On the other side of her, Walter was beaming.

  Someone across the aisle was leaning forward, face turned in their direction. Bobby realized it was Charlie Cobb. He saw Bobby looking at him, pointed toward the stage and mouthed the words, “Smart girl.” Bobby nodded his thanks and Charlie sat back in his seat.

  Cobb’s wife was beside him, fanning herself with the assembly program. Bobby looked at the two of them for a moment, then consulted his program. Next was a group of very small girls, who would be singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Bobby was most interested in the name of the accompanist for the piece: Miss Mary Caine. He looked up at the stage and, sure enough, Mary was taking her place behind the big, dark upright piano. He smiled, hoping she’d look out and see him watching her, but she was too busy arranging the music in front of her and adjusting the piano bench.

  The girls filed out and lined up unevenly, waiting for their teacher to lead them. He felt Anna moving beside him and saw something out of the corner of his eye; it was Charlie Cobb again, leaning forward to look across the aisle and motioning toward the stage. Anna and Walter were nodding and smiling at him, and Anna leaned over to whisper to Bobby that the Cobbs’ daughter, Alice, was standing in the front row, about to sing with the group.

  Anna pointed Alice out to him, and Bobby thought the poor little girl had a stricken expression on her face, as if she were about to cry. But the teacher came and stood in front of her, Mary played the introduction, and the girls started to sing.

  When the program was over, there was a reception outside on the school lawn, which stretched beneath a stand of large elms, hickories, and chestnuts. A table was set up, and some of the parents had set out cups of lemonade and plates of cookies. It was a nice evening, and not quite dark yet. Bobby stood with Anna and Walter and made small talk with the parents and relatives who had come to the program. He kept hoping Mary Caine would happen along, but so far it was only relatives and parents—aside from the handful of boys that kept raiding the cookie tray when nobody was looking.

  “Well, summer is almost here,” someone said.

  “Seems to me like it’s already arrived, hot as it’s getting,” Walter said, to general agreement.

  Charlie Cobb came strolling up, his wife trailing a step or two behind him. “Real nice program, wasn’t it?” he said, shaking hands with the men in the group. “Real nice. Our kids all did just fine, I thought.”

  Bobby watched Anna, but she didn’t act any differently at Cobb’s approach than she had with any of the other men who were standing around. Maybe it really was all in his mind, he told himself. He hated himself for even suspecting his sister of such things.

  Daisy Cobb looked a little uncomfortable, over on the edge of the group, and Bobby decided to try to make some conversation with her. As the main group continued exchanging comments on the program, the weather, and whatnot, Bobby moved around toward Daisy and gave her a smile. “I thought I saw Alice running with my niece a few minutes ago, chasing some boy.”

  Daisy smiled and ducked her head. “Oh, there’s no telling. If Mabel told her to jump off the top of the courthouse, Alice would probably give it a try.”

  Bobby chuckled. “Her group did a nice job on the song, tonight.”

  “Yes, I reckon.”

  A quiet moment slid past. “Say, Anna told me she’s been bringing you some of her magazines to read. I guess you’ve been enjoying those?”

  Daisy got a puzzled look. “Do what, now? Magazines? Sometimes Anna sends me postcards, but never magazines.”

  Bobby nodded. “Anna says she takes them to Charlie, down at the shop to bring to you.”

  “No . . . I don’t . . .” She looked like someone trying to do hard arithmetic in her head. In a moment, she gave Bobby a weak grin. “Knowing Charlie, he either took a notion to read them all himself first or just plumb forgot to bring them home.”

  Bobby did his best to give her an agreeing laugh, but he had a sinking feeling in his chest. He made a few more attempts at small talk, then excused himself from the group. He walked quickly away across the schoolhouse lawn and he didn’t look back.

  The next day, Bobby saw Walter walking across the town square, headed for his office. Hating himself for what he was about to do, he asked Emil to watch the counter for a while, then walked out
to intercept his brother-in-law.

  “Hello, Bobby. How’s the hardware business today?” Walter said.

  “Walter, I have to talk to you.”

  Walter looked at him closely once they were in his office. “What’s the matter, Bobby? You look like you just heard some awfully bad news.”

  Bobby opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then dragged his eyes toward Walter’s. “It’s Anna, Walter. I think she might be carrying on behind your back. With Charlie Cobb.”

  Walter looked at Bobby as if he’d just been slapped.

  “What in the world are you talking about, Bobby?”

  “Walter, this is hard for me, too, can’t you see that? It’s my sister we’re talking about.”

  “Anna . . . and Charlie Cobb? How is that possible?”

  Bobby groped for words. “It . . . it just is, Walter. I didn’t believe it either, at first, and then I started to notice all the times she went into Person’s. What business does my sister have, going into a barbershop three or four times a week?”

  Walter remembered Aloysius Hix’s comment at the New Year’s Eve party. “Going in to J. P.’s . . . She takes magazines to Charlie so he can give them to Daisy.”

  Bobby told Walter about talking to Daisy after the end-of-school program, and about how she knew nothing about any magazines. Walter started shaking his head slowly from side to side.

  “Yes, and that’s not all, Walter. Ask her about the candle.”

  “Candle? What candle?”

  “The one she burns in her window on nights when you’re away. Arch Graham’s cousin lives across the alley from you, Walter. She’s seen it. I’ve talked to her, myself.”

  Walter shook his head. “I knew she wasn’t herself for a while, but lately she’s been better . . .”

  “She’s playing you for a fool, Walter.” Bobby felt tears stinging his eyes. “You’ve got to talk to her. You’ve got to lay down the law.”

  walter worried over bobby’s words for several days. He didn’t want to believe his brother-in-law was seeing things the right way, but something was nagging him inside, like a sore tooth that wouldn’t go away.

  On the first Saturday after the end of the school term, Walter, Anna, and the children were driving down North Water Street, on their way to Westmoreland to visit his parents. It was a beautiful day and not too hot, and the twenty or so miles on quiet country roads seemed like a treat for everyone—especially Scott, who didn’t get to ride in the car nearly as much as he wished.

  As they neared downtown, Walter saw a familiar figure walking along the side of the road; it was Charlie Cobb. He slowed the car and pulled over to the curb beside Charlie, who looked over his shoulder and gave them a friendly wave.

  “Hello, Doc,” he said, leaning his elbows on the top of Walter’s door. “Nice day for a drive.”

  Walter smiled and nodded. “Yes, we thought so. We’re taking a little outing to Westmoreland, where my parents live.”

  Charlie touched the brim of his hat and smiled across at Anna. “Mrs. Dotson,” he said.

  She’s playing you for a fool . . . Going into J. P.’s . . .

  “Say, Charlie, I don’t suppose you’d like to ride with us?” Walter heard himself say.

  Charlie looked surprised. “Well, I . . . You know, I believe I would! If it wouldn’t put you to any trouble.”

  “Of course not. Climb in . . . No, don’t sit in the backseat. Come up front with Anna and me. I want to show you how this automobile works.”

  Anna was uncharacteristically quiet as they drove out of town. They reached Westmoreland in a little over an hour, and Walter’s parents, though a bit surprised to see someone with Walter and Anna besides the children, soon were laughing at one of Charlie’s jokes as if they’d known him for years.

  After a lunch of cold fried chicken, corn bread, and chowchow, they all loaded back into the Winton Six for the drive back to Gallatin. As they came out of a curve at the bottom of a hill, Walter braked the car.

  “I heard this little tract here might come up for sale sometime soon,” he said. “I’d like to stretch my legs a little bit, anyway. How about it? Anybody want to come look at some real estate with me?”

  Scott and Mabel were eager for any chance to escape the confinement of the small backseat, but Anna demurred. “It looks muddy,” she said. “I’ve got on my new shoes.”

  “That’s fine,” Walter said, “You can just wait in the car.”

  “I’ll stay with Anna,” Charlie said. “This stretch of road is kind of lonesome.”

  Walter nodded. He got out of the car and set off behind the children, who had already jumped the small roadside ditch and were kiting across the rolling pasture that fronted the road.

  When he judged he’d walked far enough, Walter called to Mabel and Scott. “You two run on for a little bit. I need to find some bushes.”

  Mabel giggled. “You should have used Grandma and Grandpa’s privy before we left,” she said.

  Walter smiled and waved at her; she spun to catch up with her younger brother.

  Walter doubled back toward a small tree line at the edge of the field closest to the road, behind the car. Reaching the copse, he slipped along as quietly as he could until he had the Winton in view.

  Charlie and Anna were kissing.

  Walter felt his heart leaving him. So it was true. He tried to look again, but couldn’t bear it. Besides, there was no mistaking the passion between the two of them.

  His wife was betraying him. Walter was a cuckold. She’s playing you for a fool . . . a fool . . . a fool . . .

  Somehow, he collected himself and got the children back to the car. For the rest of the drive, he had to fight the constriction in his throat—part rage and part utter desperation. He did his best to keep up a stream of small talk, but found it harder and harder. For some reason, though, Anna had now found her tongue. She chattered like a schoolgirl. In a way, Walter was glad, since he had no stomach for talking to either Charlie Cobb or his adulterous wife. Maybe her little dose of Charlie loosened her reserve, Walter thought angrily.

  22

  The heels of anna’s new shoes clicked up the walk toward Mrs. Baskerville’s front door. She hadn’t meant to be late today, but she guessed the other women were already here. Oh, well . . . She tapped at the door and Mrs. Baskerville’s servant let her in. Anna could hear the other women’s voices coming from the parlor, and she hurried across the foyer at the foot of the stairs, hoping she hadn’t missed too much gossip.

  When Anna stepped through the doorway into the parlor, a sudden hush fell. The other women all looked at her, and their expressions were exactly like that of the cat who’d swallowed the canary. After a few awkward seconds, Mrs. Baskerville forced a little smile. “Mrs. Dotson. We weren’t sure you were coming.”

  “Well, why would you think that?” Anna said, moving toward the tea service and selecting a cup and saucer. “I’m sorry to be late, but I decided to get caught up on my letters after the children left for school.”

  She poured herself some tea and sat down, but something was wrong. The other ladies weren’t looking at her anymore, but the way they weren’t looking at her made her feel as if they were still staring at her. Anna looked at Elizabeth, but even her best friend wouldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, Elizabeth looked as if she’d just tasted something foul.

  “Anna,” Mrs. Olmstead said finally, “I . . . that is, we—the other ladies and I—feel it is our duty to ask if there is any basis in fact to the disturbing rumors about town concerning you and Mr. Cobb, down at Person’s Barbershop.”

  Anna felt her mouth dropping open. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said.

  “Not sure?” she heard someone mutter.

  “It is being said that you and Mr. Cobb are . . . involved. Romantically. In an illicit relationship,” Mrs. Olmstead said, pronouncing the words as if she were afraid speaking them might taint her lips. “Is it true?”

  Anna closed her ey
es and took several deep breaths. “Absolutely not,” she said in as firm a voice as she could manage. “Mr. and Mrs. Cobb are our friends. We frequently have them to dinner at our house. Our children play together. Such talk is preposterous.”

  Mrs. Baskerville was looking at her as if she smelled something disagreeable. “Preposterous?” she said. “Why, my husband says you’re in the barbershop two or three times a week, making cow eyes at that Cobb man.”

  “Mrs. Baskerville, let’s keep our speech ladylike,” Mrs. Olmstead said.

  “How many times must I say this?” Anna said. “Not that it’s anyone else’s business, but I take back issues of my magazines to Mr. Cobb so that he can take them to his wife, who enjoys reading them but can’t afford the subscription.”

  “Why don’t you just take them to her at her house during the day?” Mrs. Oldham said. “That would be more seemly.”

  “Person’s is conveniently located,” Anna said.

  “No doubt of that,” Mrs. Pardue muttered. Mrs. Olmstead gave her a hard look.

  “Anna,” Mrs. Olmstead said, “I sincerely hope that it’s as you say. But I must tell you that several sources in our town contradict your story. It’s our Christian duty to—”

  Anna stood. “I will not stay here and listen to any more insinuations! Good day, ladies.” She half-flung her cup and saucer at the low table, spilling most of the contents. She strode out of the room, biting back the sob that threatened to spill from her throat.

  Elizabeth caught up with her on the walk outside. “Anna! Wait! Anna, please.”

  Anna wheeled around. “What is it? Are you going to follow me home?”

  “Anna, is it true? You have to tell me; I’m your friend.”

  “I’m quite sure I have no idea what they’re talking about in there.”

  Elizabeth Jennings stood with her arms crossed and a wary expression on her face. “Anna, the ladies in the tea aren’t the only ones talking about it. People are talking about it when they come into the gallery. It’s all over town. Why, my husband even hears the men discussing it. They say you’re in J. P.’s barbershop every other day, passing things to him.”