Deadlock

by James Scott Bell

  “No,” Charlene said. “We’re not going to lose. Not with God on our side.”

  Sarah Mae looked at her with eyes that wanted to believe it.

  “Trust God with me,” Charlene said. “He has called us to this trial.” She could feel tears of passion coming to her eyes. For two years she had lived this case, day in and day out, losing sleep, putting up practically all the money she had in costs.

  “You crying, Miss Moore?” Sarah Mae said.

  “I’m all right.”

  “You sayin’ God’ll do right by us?”

  “He does right by those who trust in him.”

  “What’s gonna happen tomorrow?” Sarah Mae said, heaving a deep breath.

  “The defense will put on its case. Then we’ll have a chance to put on what’s called a rebuttal. I’ll call your mother to the stand for that.”

  “Mama’s nervous. Think you should?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m still scared.”

  “You’re not alone in that, Sarah Mae. Trust me, will you?”

  Charlene took Sarah Mae’s hand. It was soft, and so like a little girl’s.

  5

  It was nearly eight o’clock at night when Dr. Weinstein returned, motioning to Millie and Jack Holden, who sat in the waiting room. Millie moved faster than she had in weeks, ignoring the shooting pains, to get to the doctor.

  Dr. Weinstein smiled and said to Millie, “Let’s go in here,” motioning toward the double doors leading to a hallway.

  It was ominously quiet, like a morgue. “What is it?” Millie asked. “How is my mother? What’s happening?”

  “Justice Hollander,” he said, “your mother is awake.”

  Millie couldn’t find a response. Her hand went to her mouth.

  “You can see her now,” Dr. Weinstein said.

  Without thinking, Millie found herself turning to Jack Holden. He squeezed her arm and smiled. Then they turned and followed Dr. Weinstein to Ethel’s room.

  Ethel was on a bed, a tired smile on her face. When she saw Millie she put up both arms. One had a tube taped to it. Ethel seemed completely unconcerned.

  Millie wanted to fall into her mother’s arms. She contented herself with a kiss to her cheek. “Mom…,” she whispered.

  “Scare you?” Ethel said, her voice thready.

  Millie drew back her head. “Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “No, no,” Ethel said.

  “I’m sick with worry.”

  Ethel smiled a little then. “Let it roll off your back, like a duck,” she said slowly.

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “We still have time.”

  The words hit Millie with an odd resonance. Where had she heard them before? And then it struck her. The homeless man, just before her accident. You still have time. Weird coincidence.

  “Yes, Mom, we do,” Millie said.

  Ethel motioned to her to lean over close, like she wanted to whisper something. Millie bent over, turning her ear toward her mother’s mouth.

  “I’m proud you’re my daughter,” Ethel said.

  Millie did not move, warmth from her mother’s cheek filling her, holding her there. To hide her tears, Millie buried her face in the side of Ethel’s pillow.

  6

  Millie finally allowed Holden to drive her home to Santa Lucia around midnight. Only the promise that he would bring her back in the morning got her out of the hospital.

  “Tell me about near-death experiences,” she said, to break the silence. He had talked about them in his sermon, and she had wondered if she would ever let him know about her vision. Now, she thought, she just might.

  Holden kept his eyes on the highway. “What do you want to know?”

  “Isn’t it just a psychological response? Something the brain does in a certain state? Like a dream?”

  “Some people believe that. Most, probably. Within the Christian community there is some skepticism, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Theological issues. The Bible says it is appointed for a man once to die, and then to face the judgment. Having this so-called near-death experience could be viewed as contradicting Scripture. I don’t see it that way.”

  “But people do report seeing Jesus, don’t they? Or some white light?”

  “True. But we have to be careful. There are those who claim to have received special revelation from Jesus, or God, and then want to spread that information around. That I do think is a contradiction of Scripture.”

  “So do you or don’t you believe in these reports?”

  “Oh, I do believe it happens. Have you heard of D. L. Moody?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “He was an evangelist in the 1800s. The Billy Graham of his day. A great man of God. He had two little grandchildren who died. One was a boy named Dwight, who died in infancy. The other was a little girl, Irene, who was three years old or so. Their father was Moody’s son, Will.”

  Millie listened attentively, as if receiving the facts from a new case to be considered.

  “When Moody was on his deathbed, his son, Will, heard him mutter, ‘Earth recedes, heaven opens before me.’ Then he looked at Will and said, ‘It is beautiful. God is calling me and I must go. Don’t call me back.’ ”

  The hum of the car was smooth and calm, like they were riding on air. The stars were particularly bright in the desert sky.

  “Moody’s wife was summoned,” Holden said. “Moody was able to tell her she had been a good, dear wife. And then he seemed to fall into unconsciousness again, but as he did he whispered, ‘No pain, no valley. It is bliss.’ ”

  “Who recorded all this?” Millie could not help delving into issues such as witness accounts.

  “Several family members,” Holden said, “most notably his wife. In fact, she set down the facts the same day they happened. Moody came out of sleep and saw the people around him. And then he looked at them and said: ‘What does it all mean? I must have had a trance. I went to the gate of heaven. It was so wonderful. I saw the children!’ ”

  “Children?”

  “Irene and Dwight. He told Will he saw them in heaven. Will began to cry. Moody comforted him. Will said he wished he could go to heaven to be with his children. And Moody told him, ‘No. Your work is before you.’ A short time later, D. L. Moody died.”

  Millie looked at the headlights, illuminating just enough of the highway to see a short way ahead, but no more. “May I ask another question?” she said.

  “Of course,” said Holden.

  “What do you make of the experiences of the other sort?”

  “You mean a vision of hell?”

  “Are there many of those?”

  “Oh, yes. Experiences of demons and fire and things like that.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “Same as with the white light. I believe that there is such a place as hell, though I don’t know the exact nature of it. I do believe it is separation from God, and some people who have almost died have been given the gift of seeing how horrible it will be.”

  “Gift?”

  “Sure. The gift of time. In most cases these people become believers in God. I think God is in control. The Bible makes it abundantly clear that God rules over everything, including death and hell.”

  Millie tried to make sense of that, tried to allow for a new reality, but her mind simply did not allow it. It was too big a jump.

  “Do you want to tell me about your death experience now?” Jack Holden asked.

  Millie’s chest tightened. “Am I that transparent?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  Millie felt that if she did, she would be opening a door she would rather keep closed. But another part of her prodded her on. If she didn’t say something now, she might never have the courage to do it.

  “I’m claiming clergy privilege now,” she said.

  “I consider all of our conversations privileged,” Holden said.

  She knew she could trust hi
m. “I did have a vision,” she said. “It was like a very vivid nightmare. It was not the good kind of vision, but the bad kind.” She described in detail what she had seen.

  When she finished, Holden was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I have no reason to doubt that what you experienced was real, and that when you called out to God to help you, it was a real prayer. A prayer that was answered.”

  “But people in distress are bound to call on God. It’s a reaction.”

  “God does not turn a deaf ear just because it’s a reaction.”

  “There is one other thing,” Millie said, looking out into the desert darkness. “This vision, if that’s what it was, happened at exactly the time you and my mother were praying for me. Exactly the same time.”

  Jack Holden’s face, even in the darkness, seemed to open up with intense curiosity. “How do you know?”

  “The doctor told me the time at which I flatlined. Then Mom told me what time it was when you were praying. Accounting for the time difference, it was on target.”

  “Well now.”

  The car hummed along in silence for a while. Exactly what she needed then, silence. Millie had unloaded more of her inner life in the last few minutes than she had in the last ten years.

  Then Holden said, “For a long time I’ve felt that God is weaving a pattern for something big.”

  “What do you mean by weaving?”

  “There’s a verse in the Bible,” Holden said. “Romans 8:28. I’ve memorized it in several translations, but my favorite is from a man named J. B. Phillips. His version goes like this: ‘We know that to those who love God, who are called according to his plan, everything that happens fits into a pattern for good.’ I always liked that. God weaving a pattern. We can’t see the final product from here. But God can.”

  “All right,” Millie said. “I’ll bite. What’s this pattern?”

  “I’ll be blunt here. I think our country has fallen into spiritual darkness over the last fifty years. A large part of that has to do with our courts, I’m sorry to say. Do you want me to continue?”

  Bristling, Millie said, “Go ahead.”

  “You know, of course, that it was Justice William O. Douglas who wrote, in a 1952 opinion, that we are a religious people whose institutions presuppose a Supreme Being.”

  Millie knew that to be true.

  “But the courts have systematically removed that central tenet from public life. It is the crux of the Declaration of Independence. This country was founded on the belief that our rights come from the Creator.”

  This was a familiar argument, though Millie had not heard it for some time. “What Jefferson meant by that has long been debated.”

  “Debated by those who don’t wish to acknowledge its truth,” Holden said. “And when people say, well, it’s just an appeal to reason in deistic terms, that betrays an ignorance of the rest of the document.”

  “How so?”

  “In the last paragraph, Jefferson says America is appealing its cause to the Supreme Judge of the world. Capital S, capital J. And he asserts in the last line that the country is relying on the protection of Divine Providence. Capital D, capital P. No one then, absolutely no one, could have doubted that this was the God of the Bible. Now fast forward to 1980, and the Court holds that public schools cannot post the Ten Commandments. Does that make sense?”

  “The development of Establishment Clause jurisprudence, as you know – ”

  “Forget the legal jargon. Does it make sense?”

  “With all due respect, First Amendment law is not jargon. And how can you possibly know if God is weaving anything?”

  “I can’t know for certain,” Holden said. “But I’m willing to make you bet.”

  “Bet?”

  “Friendly, of course. Are you game?”

  The hum of the car filled the silence between them. Millie said, “What’s the bet?”

  “That God is not going to let you off the hook.”

  Millie felt a jab to her insides, as if the car had hit a bump. But it hadn’t. “I don’t want to be on anybody’s hook, thank you. Nor do I wish to be a thread in some cosmic pattern. I just want to…”

  Silence. What did she want? If nothing else, to get back to work. This desert communion was starting to unnerve her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  1

  Millie jerked to consciousness and for a moment did not know where she was. Or the time.

  The phone. It rang again.

  Her mother’s house, of course. Her head throbbing, Millie scrambled off the sofa – now she remembered falling asleep there last night – and made it to the kitchen by the fourth ring.

  “Justice Hollander?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hold for the president.”

  President?

  “Hello, Justice Hollander?” She heard the familiar Bostonian accent of the leader of the free world.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “John Francis.”

  She knew that! “Yes, sir.”

  “How you doing out there in the Golden State?”

  He couldn’t know the half of it. “Fine.”

  “Feeling better, are you?”

  “Almost as good as new.”

  “Great to hear it.”

  She sat down to steady her nerves. She knew what was coming next, and felt oddly ambivalent about it. What a time to feel that way!

  “I’m going to send you up as my pick for chief justice,” Francis said. “I don’t think that’s a shock to you.”

  It wasn’t, but it felt the same. “I am… honored, Mr. President.”

  “Well, you deserve it. You’ve been rock solid on the Court for ten years, and it’s about time we had a woman in charge of things over there. When will you be coming back to Washington?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “All right. We’ll do some prep with you for the hearings, but those will just be going through the motions. You’ll have the usual conservative outrage, but we have the majority on the committee and in the Senate. No problemo, as they say down in Mexico.”

  Millie closed her eyes. She was talking to the president of the United States. He was telling her she was going to be the chief justice. It was a waking dream.

  “You do want the job, don’t you?” Francis added.

  God is not going to let you off the hook.

  Holden’s words bounced off the walls of her mind. She gritted her teeth against them. “Oh, yes, sir. Of course I do.” That had not changed. This opportunity was the culmination of everything she had worked for. What was changing, though she didn’t yet know how, was her. Surely getting back to Washington, back into the swing of things, would settle her down.

  “Excellent,” Francis said. “Everything is falling into place nicely. The most important thing is that we keep our slim majority on the Court.”

  “Sir, I – ”

  “I know, I know. Ethics and all that. That’s why you’re the right person for the job. Now I have to go do a little soft shoe for the Sultan of Brunei. Nice talking to you, Chief. Congratulations.”

  He hung up before she could say thank you.

  She sat in amazed silence until the phone signal angrily told her to hang up. It had finally happened. The big dream she had dared to dream back in law school. Chief Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander.

  Her body suddenly felt renewed. No miracle healing here, just a heightened sense of physical well-being.

  She made coffee. It was nearly nine, and Jack Holden would be coming over soon to drive her to the hospital.

  She had just stirred some cream into her coffee when the phone rang again. The president calling her back?

  “Justice Hollander?”

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Weinstein.” His voice was low, and Millie’s entire body tensed. “Are you coming up here?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  2

  As she passed through the
rail at the front of the courtroom, Charlene saw Beau Winsor talking to someone who hadn’t been in the courtroom before. At first she thought he must be an associate from Winsor & Grimes, but then the face suddenly became familiar. It wasn’t quite the same as it looked on TV.

  Winsor saw Charlene and motioned her over. “Charlene, do you know Larry Graebner?”

  Graebner smiled and stuck out his hand. Charlene shook it.

  Lawrence I. Graebner. Here. She knew he had been advising on this case. But she never thought he would make an appearance. Why would he? He wasn’t a trial lawyer. He was the brain. And if Charlene prevailed, he would be the counsel on appeal.

  Why was he here today?

  “I hear you’ve been giving Beau all he can handle,” Graebner said with the ribbing lawyers sometimes threw at their opponents.

  “I hope so,” Charlene said.

  Winsor said nothing. Charlene could almost smell the power, mixed with a generous dose of testosterone. They were two of the keenest legal minds in the country. And they were against her.

  When Judge Lewis entered the courtroom and called the case, he smiled faintly at Graebner. And then it hit her. Lewis and Graebner had been classmates at Yale.

  “Is the defense ready to proceed?” Lewis asked.

  “We are, Your Honor,” Winsor said. “May I state for the record the appearance of Lawrence I. Graebner, who will be arguing the motion this morning.”

  Motion? Charlene had not received anything in writing.

  “Very well,” Lewis said. “It’s a privilege to have you here, Professor Graebner.”

  “I thank the court,” Graebner said.

  Charlene watched the judge’s face closely, searching for bias.

  “We are moving for a directed verdict,” Graebner said.

  Was that all? Motions for directed verdict were pro forma, nothing else. The defense always made such motions at the close of the plaintiff’s case. They were hardly ever granted. The moving party would have to show that, taking the evidence and all reasonable inferences in the light most favorable to the opposing party, a reasonable jury could not reach a verdict favorable to the opponent.