A House Divided

by Jonathan F. Putnam

  “I have some familiarity with the case,” Treat began. “I understand both of the Trailors are charged with murder, and moreover that their alleged malfeasance has resulted in the destruction of the property of one of the most esteemed citizens of our community.” Treat took a long pull on his pipe and stared at Mayor May, sitting beside Lamborn. May’s ears turned the same splotchy red hue as the judge’s face.

  “I must tell you, Mr. Conkling,” the judge continued, “I’m skeptical in the extreme that bail is appropriate in these circumstances. However, you have a right to be heard on the application. You may proceed.”

  Conkling cleared his throat. “Thank you, Your Honor. As Cicero commenced his famed defense of Gaius Rabirius, also charged unjustly with a murder he did not commit, ‘Propenenda ratio videtur esse officii mei.’ That is, let me start by explaining the reason I have undertaken this duty—”

  Judge Treat’s face had turned even redder, the pustules merging into one angry blotch, and he threw down his pipe. “Mr. Conkling, are you trying to speak Latin in my courtroom?” he shouted, his voice rising in disbelief. More than a few spectators started to laugh.

  “Not so much trying as reciting, Your Honor,” said Conkling. “You see, when I read Cicero at Princeton, our professor explained—”

  The judge jumped to his feet, his head coming perilously close to the ceiling. “Stop it, Mr. Conkling,” he bellowed. “English is the only language to be spoken in my courtroom. I don’t want to hear Latin. And I’m not interested in what your Professor Cicero taught you at Princeton. I want your argument for bail, if you have one. In English. So all of us who didn’t go to Princeton can understand it.”

  The crowd was roaring with laughter, and I almost felt sorry for Conkling, who had turned pink as he stared down at his papers and tried to regain his composure. I glanced toward Lincoln and saw that he was already staring at me. I returned his gaze, unblinking and unfriendly, until Conking cleared his throat and started speaking again and Lincoln turned back to watch.

  “All … all right, Your … Your Honor,” Conkling said unsteadily. “I’m sorry. I do understand the Court.” He paused for a deep breath.

  “Your Honor, these men deserve to be freed on bail pending their trial. They are accused solely on account of the words of their brother, words no doubt motivated by some familial grudge. As the Court knows, I think, the sheriff and the mayor have been unable to produce the body of the dead man, despite substantial efforts.”

  The judge interrupted him. “You’re not saying, are you, that there can be no murder prosecution in the absence of the body?”

  “At a minimum, it will make it much harder for the People to convict,” Conkling returned.

  “I think not,” said Attorney General Lamborn, claiming the stage. He nudged Conkling to the side, and Conkling fluttered around in the air for a moment, like a leaf caught in a stern autumn breeze, before regaining his feet.

  “Your Honor,” Lamborn continued, “these defendants murdered the victim, a Mr. Flynn Fisher, as a result of a failed business scheme. Their brother Henry Trailor is an eyewitness to these events and will testify as such. In view of his testimony, the fact that the defendants have thus far managed to conceal the body is no impediment to their trial and conviction. In addition, the defendants present an active threat to the community. When Mr. Archibald Trailor was apprehended at his boarding house by the sheriff, he had a firearm on his person.”

  This set off a murmur of surprise among the crowd, who craned to stare at Archibald. In a flash, I realized Lamborn must be referring to the gun I had given Archibald. I slumped against the wall, my heart pounding. Not only had I failed to protect the carpenter from arrest or to provide him with an experienced trial lawyer, but I had somehow managed to deepen his peril.

  The judge banged his gavel to quiet the crowd. “Do you have any further argument, Mr. Conkling, before I announce my ruling?”

  Conkling coughed into the sleeve of his coat and looked over uncertainly at the Trailor brothers. “Your Honor,” he began, “Archibald Trailor, in particular, is a longtime resident of this town, and one known for his gentle ways. I would submit that these charges are most out of character for him. He is prepared to prove his innocence, of course, but I suggest there is no reason to keep him confined pending trial. He is an asset, not a threat, to the community.”

  I was startled to see Conkling’s words appear to resonate with the judge, who tipped his chair back and pulled on his pipe, nodding thoughtfully. “I must tell you I am surprised to see Mr. Archibald Trailor in the dock,” Treat said. “I do share your view of him, as a general matter. He helped me with some carpentry back when I was in practice. I found him entirely harmless.”

  Treat pulled on his pipe again. “Let me ask you this, Mr. Conkling. Do you anticipate Archibald and William Trailor will have a uniform defense, or will the two of them be making disparate arguments?”

  Conkling shifted uneasily. “I’m not certain of such details, Your Honor. The Court will appreciate, I hope, that I received the file only yesterday afternoon.”

  “Do you have any testimonial on behalf of William Trailor, of his character or reputation, similar to what you’ve provided for Archibald Trailor?”

  “Er, not at the present,” Conkling replied, glancing at William, who was glowering back at him. “William Trailor lives in LaSalle, Your Honor. He has worked as a contractor on the canal. I have every reason to think he’s an honest member of his community, but I cannot tell the Court I know it as a matter of personal expertise.”

  Treat sucked on his pipe some more. At last, he laid it aside. “Here’s what I’m going to order,” he said, blowing out a great cloud of smoke. “Bail is denied, of course. In the case of murder charges, bail can only be given in the most exceptional circumstances, and the Court finds none are present. Trial shall be held during the April trial term, two weeks hence.

  “However, the Court finds the interests of the two defendants may diverge, such that it would not be proper to permit a single attorney to represent them both simultaneously. Mr. Conkling, henceforth your client shall be Mr. William Trailor and him alone. The Court finds it appropriate to appoint separate counsel for Mr. Archibald Trailor.”

  Treat gazed around the room. There were a few members of Springfield’s crowded legal bar sitting on the side of the room, near Lincoln, and I saw them watching the judge expectantly. For his part, Lincoln was staring intently at some court papers, trying to avoid the judge’s eyes.

  “Mr. Lincoln?” Treat called.

  “Your Honor?” Lincoln looked up.

  “Mr. Lincoln, do you have plans for the second week of the April term?”

  Lincoln set down his packets and slowly rose to his feet. His head was higher than Treat’s, though Treat sat on his elevated platform. “As the Court knows,” said Lincoln, “I have a number of cases calendared for the April term, including the Harris brothers and their horse, as just discussed, as well as the O’Fraim assault case.”

  “It is said there’s no tonic for weary men like more work. I hereby appoint you as counsel to Archibald Trailor, to defend him on the charge of murder.” The crowd buzzed. I looked at the Trailors. William was scowling, and he leaned over and whispered into Archibald’s ear.

  “May I be heard on the appointment?” Lincoln said. “Because I would ask the Court—”

  “No, you may not,” Treat replied, sucking on his pipe stem through curved lips. “You have my order. The clerk shall call the next case.” And with that, the judge slammed down his gavel.

  CHAPTER 16

  Lincoln and I dined at separate ends of the common table at the Globe Tavern that evening. Two opposing emotions competed inside my head as I chewed on Saunders’s overcooked pork and did my best not to glance in my roommate’s direction.

  I was pleased Lincoln would be defending Archibald after all. I felt sure Lincoln provided the best chance of acquittal, especially after Conkling’s unsteady performance
in the courtroom. And yet, it rankled that Lincoln would be representing Archibald not out of loyalty to me but rather because he had been ordered to do so by Judge Treat. And ordered to do so against his protestations. As much as I tried to keep my focus on securing Archibald’s freedom, I couldn’t escape feeling I deserved better from my friend.

  I finished my food, pushed away from the table, and made a beeline for the door. Whereupon I ran headlong into the man.

  “After you, Speed,” said Lincoln, his voice neutral and his eyes focused in the middle distance.

  Outside, a cool March wind blew down the dark street. Lincoln turned up the collar of his coat and had taken a few steps away when I called after him, “Wait … Lincoln?”

  “Yes?” Lincoln turned around, his head cocked crookedly.

  “I’m glad you’ll be representing Archibald. I’m certain he’ll benefit from your counsel.”

  “I’ll do my best. As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to the jail to confer with him. You’re welcome to come along, if you wish.”

  I considered, but only for a second. It was petty to feed a grudge when a man’s life was at stake. I fell into step with Lincoln, and we set off for Sheriff Hutchason’s house. Though the new capitol building was to include a proper jail in its basement, it, like the new courtroom, was still under construction. For the time being, the only jail cell in town remained a crude, open-air shack in the sheriff’s backyard.

  “Did you hear,” began Lincoln, breaking our silence, “that we rounded up the votes in the legislature to pass the bank plan?”

  “That’s good,” I said without enthusiasm. “Congratulations.”

  “Douglas and his fellow Democrats decided they couldn’t hold out against common sense any longer. Belmont was masterful, it must be said, in explaining for one final time the benefits of the plan he and I have been championing.”

  I must have made a derisive noise, because Lincoln asked, “Do you have something against Belmont?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion one way or another. You seem to be spending a lot of time with him recently. What do you think?” I realized I sounded petulant but found myself unable to avoid it.

  Lincoln looked over as we walked side by side along the dirt streets. “I’ve spent time with him because I must. This bank rescue is necessary to get the state’s economy functioning normally again. It’s important for all the poor and working people most especially. Belmont has been a big help in getting my plan through. There’s nothing more to it.”

  “I never said there was.”

  “Anyway, now it’s up to us to accomplish the actual transfer of the gold coins,” Lincoln continued. “As you pointed out, that’s going to present its own type of challenge. It’s a huge fortune in gold to move through the open prairie. Quite a target if any blackguard wanted to get enterprising. There’s only so many places Hutchason and the other sheriffs in the state can cover at once.”

  We were nearing the sheriff’s house, and my thoughts turned to the necessity of making Archibald understand that his brothers did not have his interests at heart. I thought back to the way I’d seen Henry Trailor berate Archibald, at Henry’s house on the evening before the Sudden Change, and I realized I’d never told Lincoln about the conversation I’d overheard that night. I recounted it for him now.

  “Are you saying they were talking about Fisher?” Lincoln asked when I was done.

  “They never mentioned his name, but it stands to reason, doesn’t it? I mean, they were talking about someone William had brought into a business deal, someone they wanted to get rid of. It matches up pretty exactly with what Henry told Big Red about Fisher.”

  “The conversation doesn’t necessarily prove Archibald’s innocent. If anything, it might show the opposite.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It could go to premeditation. From what you’ve said, Henry told Big Red that William was enraged by Fisher’s attempt to extort money by threatening to turn them over to the sheriff. But if what you’re saying now is correct, it means that two months before the killing, Archibald and his brothers were already talking about the need to get rid of Fisher.”

  “If there was a killing.”

  There was an elaborate, extended howling in the distance, and we came to a stop. Two wolves out on the prairie, perhaps three, were celebrating a meal. “Someone’s made a killing,” I murmured, and Lincoln nodded.

  “In any event, you’re quite right,” said Lincoln as we resumed walking. “Certainly our first line of defense is there’s no proof, other than Henry’s naked word, that Fisher was killed by anyone. Either he died a natural death, or perhaps he’s alive somewhere and hasn’t heard about the search for his mortal remains.”

  We rounded the corner and came within sight of the sheriff’s modest house. There was an elegant, four-wheeled coupe carriage parked in front of the house, the horse grazing on grass in the Hutchasons’ yard while a liveried driver slouched on his seat and lazily twirled his whip in the air.

  “Isn’t that Ninian’s carriage?” I said. “I wonder if that means Miss Todd is present.” I hastened toward the Hutchason home, but Lincoln with his long legs more than matched me stride for stride.

  As our race-walk neared the house, Lincoln now several steps ahead of me, the door swung open and my sister Martha stepped out, holding a colorful carpetbag in her hand. She squinted in wonder at the sight of Lincoln and me hurrying toward her. Then her face brightened with comprehension.

  “I’ve never seen two men so eager to help me into a carriage,” she said with a grin. She turned back, said something to an unseen person inside the house, and pulled the door shut. “But I fear your enthusiasm may diminish when you learn I’m alone.”

  “So Miss Todd …”

  “Miss Todd is awaiting my arrival on Quality Hill. I’ve accepted her invitation to visit for a few days. Her cousin Matilda Edwards will be there as well. Miss Todd was kind enough to have her brother-in-law’s coupe sent to pick me up. I’ll pass along compliments from both of you when I see her.”

  Edwards’s driver had snapped to attention and reached down to open the door of the enclosed carriage. I took Martha’s hand and helped her up the step and into the compartment, an elegant, octagonal space, with leather-covered banquettes and windows looking out from the front and sides. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and rapped for the driver to proceed. As she was driven away, we could still see the smile on her face.

  “Plainly we haven’t lost the capacity to make fools of ourselves,” I said.

  Lincoln grunted. “Let’s talk to Archibald.”

  We pushed through the gate and approached the jail cell, a metal enclosure that abutted the sheriff’s barn. Strips of wood provided a roof to the jail, and the side of the barn formed one wall, but the other sides comprised vertical rows of iron bars, open to the elements. It was a miserable place in which to be confined. The moon was waning and the cloudy skies were dim. We could barely make out two figures lingering inside the jail.

  “Archibald?” Lincoln called out.

  “Who comes?” came back a firm voice. It was William Trailor, not his brother, who spoke. William strode up to the barred door, his beaklike nose and high forehead reflecting what little light there was in the yard. Archibald remained seated behind him on the simple wooden bench running the length of the cell.

  “Evening, Trailor,” Lincoln said with a nod. “I’m sorry to see you again in these unfortunate circumstances.”

  “I’m not sorry to see you,” William replied, “as long as you’ve come to tell me how you plan to get me out of here. This place”—he gestured around— “isn’t fit for human habitation for even one evening, certainly not for a man of my stature.”

  “Judge Treat ordered that I was to represent your brother Archibald,” said Lincoln. “Conkling is carrying on as your lawyer. You’ll need to talk to him. But you heard the judge make his ruling denying bail. Both of you are confined pending trial
.”

  “Maybe I want you instead,” William said. “Maybe Archibald and I can exchange lawyers. Archibald would be happy to agree. Wouldn’t you, Archie?”

  Lincoln kept a pleasant expression on his face. “That’s not what the judge ordered, and we need to do it his way. Can you come over to the door, Archibald?”

  Archibald shuffled forward, and William rested his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “Hallo, Mr. Lincoln,” Archibald said. “And hallo, Mr. Speed. It’s nice to see you two. We was getting a little lonely.”

  “How are you managing?” Lincoln asked.

  “Pretty decent, I suppose,” Archibald responded. “Mr. Hutchason said I’d have to stay in this cell for a few weeks, until the jury could decide if I’m innocent. His wife is awfully nice. She’s been bringing us a warm meal each morning and each evening.”

  William Trailor remained at his brother’s side. Lincoln cleared his throat and said, “Give us a minute alone, won’t you, Trailor. It’ll be better that way.” William looked as if he was going to object, but he nodded and sat down on the bench immediately behind Archibald.

  “Now Archibald,” Lincoln continued, “you understand, don’t you, that you’ve been charged with murdering this fellow Fisher.”

  Archibald nodded.

  “And the judge appointed me to be your lawyer,” Lincoln continued. “So it’s my job to try to set you free.”

  “All right.”

  “So anything you know that might help me with your defense, you can tell me now.”

  Archibald nodded again but remained silent.

  “And whatever you tell me is private. No one else has to know. Not even your brother, if you don’t want him to.”

  Archibald cast a quick glance back at William, who was listening without pretense. “All right,” Archibald said again.

  Lincoln pressed forward. “Now Archibald, you didn’t murder this Fisher fellow, did you?”

  Archibald swung around to look at William again. “Of course not,” William exclaimed, rising and joining his brother. “No one killed nobody.”