Worthy Brown's Daughter

by Phillip Margolin

  Worthy stopped eating, and Matthew saw that he had the former slave’s attention.

  “This doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You could win your case at trial.”

  “Go on.”

  “It isn’t always illegal to take a life. There are times when killing is justified. Say you catch someone stealing your cattle. You tell them to stop but they pull a gun. You can legally shoot the rustler in self-defense.”

  Matthew paused. When Worthy nodded to let Matthew know that he was following him, the lawyer continued.

  “Now, let’s say it’s Roxanne who sees the thief and he tries to shoot her. You can shoot to kill in that situation to protect a third party who is in danger.”

  Matthew paused again. He leaned close to Worthy and lowered his voice. “If Caleb Barbour was beating Roxanne when you came on the scene, you would have been within your rights as her father to protect her.”

  Worthy looked down at the dirt floor. It was so quiet Matthew heard the wind whistling through cracks in the wall. After a moment Worthy looked up. “You’re saying I should lie?”

  “For God’s sake, you’ll be lying if you say you killed Barbour. Why not say it was in self-defense and give yourself a chance to live?”

  “Ain’t no white jury gonna free me.”

  “Barbour wasn’t respected, Worthy. People know what happened in Phoenix, and they know about your lawsuit. Caleb was a coward. He backed down from our duel, he bribed those jurors, and keeping a child from a parent—even a Negro child—doesn’t sit well with most folks. A lawyer like Orville Mason can make a jury see Caleb Barbour for what he was. If you agree to say you killed Barbour in self-defense, we’ll work on your story until it’s perfect. Then I’ll ask Orville to represent you. With him on your side, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

  “I want to ponder this some, but I won’t go to court unless you are my lawyer.”

  Matthew shook his head vigorously. “No, I’m too involved. I’d botch the case.”

  Worthy looked directly at Matthew. His voice was calm and steady.

  “Only you. Otherwise, I’ll plead guilty.”

  “This won’t work. It’s unethical for a lawyer to testify for a client.”

  “What would you testify about?”

  “I . . . Well, I’ll tell the jury what happened, only I’ll tell it as if you were there instead of me. I’ll say I rode up and I saw Roxanne running from Barbour’s house. She was naked and he was running after her. Then I’ll say I saw you step between Barbour and Roxanne to protect her. Barbour tried to knock you down so he could get at your daughter, but you hit him and he fell against the steps. We’ll call Roxanne. She’ll back up your story. After she tells the jury how Barbour raped her, Orville will have a good chance to win an acquittal.”

  As Matthew talked, Worthy grew more distant. When he was done, Worthy’s face showed no emotion.

  “What do you think?” Matthew asked eagerly.

  “If you say you saw me kill Barbour after confessing to Mr. Thornton, he’s going to ask you about that, and you’ll come off sounding like a liar either way. But like you said, you won’t be allowed to testify if you are my lawyer. That’s why I want you representing me instead of Mr. Mason.

  “And I’ll never make Roxanne sit in front of a courtroom full of people and tell what . . . what that man done to her. If I go through with your plan, I’ll do it myself. I ain’t dragging Roxanne or anyone else into it.”

  “You have to have witnesses or no one will believe you,” Matthew said desperately.

  “That’s the chance I’ll take.”

  “Damn it, Worthy. This plan can work. We’d both . . . You’d be free. You’re being stubborn for no good reason. Let me get Orville to represent you.”

  Worthy didn’t answer. Matthew was exasperated. He took a deep breath and calmed down.

  “I respect you. You’re a good man, and I know why you’re taking this position, but it’s a foolish position that will do more harm than good in the end. You’ll realize I’m right after you’ve had some time to think. I’ll come back in a few days. In the meantime, consider what I’ve said. Roxanne is free, too. She should have her say about what she wants to do.”

  “Thank you for the soup, Mr. Penny.” “You’re welcome, Mr. Brown,” Matthew said out loud, while he silently added, and may God bless you.

  CHAPTER 35

  During her first week at Gillette House, Roxanne Brown had stayed in bed staring listlessly at the trees on the hillside outside her window. Roxanne’s body healed, but her mental wounds disabled her. Heather tried to coax her out of her room, but Roxanne wouldn’t leave her sanctuary. Heather grew desperate. She heard Roxanne moan in the night and saw the tears that appeared for no apparent reason. She was determined to rescue Roxanne before she became so indifferent to life that she was lost to despair.

  One day, Heather stood in Roxanne’s doorway and ordered the invalid out of bed.

  “There’s work to be done in the kitchen,” Heather had proclaimed. “Your days of lying abed and contributing nothing to this household are over.”

  Heather felt terrible as she led the terrified young woman downstairs, but she vowed to stay strong.

  At first, the cook had been pleased to have a helper, but she was soon voicing concerns to her mistress. The girl was a good worker, but she never spoke unless spoken to, her responses were terse and vague, and she never smiled. Heather assigned Roxanne other chores on the theory that the more Roxanne was occupied with work, the less time she would have to worry about her troubles.

  Roxanne’s favorite place in Gillette House was the library. With the help of Mrs. Barbour, who was amused by her precocious slave, she had puzzled out the meaning of the lines and circles in the books that her mistress read on the veranda of the Big House in Georgia. Mrs. Barbour had warned Roxanne about letting her husband know that she could read because he punished slaves who had the temerity to try to educate themselves. Roxanne had fewer opportunities to read after Mrs. Barbour died, but the Gillette library with its surfeit of treasures rekindled her interest. And there was one particular book she found irresistible. It rested on the end table next to a big easy chair where Heather had left it. It was bound in rich maroon leather that smelled wonderful and felt luxurious. The title was embossed in gold on the spine, and the tops and bottoms of the pages were tipped with gold. It was the most beautiful book Roxanne had ever seen.

  One of Roxanne’s chores was dusting, and she cast covetous glances at the book as she worked her way around the library. Heather and Mr. Gillette were in town, the cook was busy with dinner, and the other servants were working in other parts of the house. No one would know if she took a peek at that book. Soon her feather duster was flying over the shelves and racing across the furniture. When the room was spotless, Roxanne opened the library door an inch and listened carefully for a sound that would warn her that someone was near. When she was certain that she was safe, Roxanne lay down the duster, wiped her hands on her dress, settled into the armchair, and picked up the book, handling it with the care of a mother holding her newborn for the first time.

  One of Benjamin’s business associates had sent the book from London, where it was all the rage. Roxanne sounded out the writing on the cover page. The name Charles Dickens meant nothing to Roxanne, but the title, A Tale of Two Cities, promised adventure. Next, Roxanne sounded out “Book the First, Recalled to Life,” speaking the words aloud.

  The title of the first part of the book gave her pause. How could someone be recalled to life? Once you were dead, you were dead, unless you were one of the African spirits her father had told her about. Roxanne was certain the book was about white people who didn’t believe in wood spirits and water spirits. Of course, there was Jesus, who had died and been recalled to life. She wondered if the book was about Jesus, and she turned to the first page of text to find out.


  “‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,’” Roxanne read. This, too, was confusing. How could a day be very good and very bad? Roxanne was so involved with solving this puzzle that she didn’t hear the door to the library open.

  “Roxanne?” called Heather, who was surprised to find the young girl sitting with a book in her lap.

  Roxanne leaped from the chair like a startled deer and watched in horror as the beautiful book hit the floor with a resounding thud.

  “Oh no, oh no,” she moaned, horrified that the book might be damaged.

  “What were you doing?” Heather demanded.

  “Nothing, Miss Heather. I was just dusting. I . . . I was dusting that book.”

  “Then why are you acting like a thief?”

  Roxanne’s eyes grew wide with horror. “I wasn’t stealing. I would never steal your books.”

  Heather instantly regretted her choice of words when she saw the terror in the young girl’s eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Heather apologized. “I just meant that you jumped like a guilty person might, but I know you’re no thief. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  Heather bent down and picked up the book. “Were you reading this?”

  “Oh no, Miss Heather. I can’t read. It ain’t allowed.”

  “What are you talking about? Where is reading not allowed?”

  Roxanne looked trapped. A possible reason for her fear occurred to Heather.

  “Did Mr. Barbour forbid you to read when you were a slave in Georgia?”

  Roxanne nodded.

  “But you can read. I heard you.”

  Roxanne was paralyzed. She’d remembered the horrible screams of the slaves Barbour had whipped and saw in her mind their backs flayed raw.

  Heather held out the book to Roxanne. “You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a free woman. And you’re not in Georgia. You have as much right to read as I do.”

  Roxanne swallowed. Was this a trick?

  “Can you do sums?” Heather asked.

  “A few,” Roxanne whispered, chancing Heather’s wrath and praying she was not confessing to a crime that would end in a beating.

  “And you can read a little?”

  “A little.”

  “Would you like me to teach you mathematics?”

  Roxanne let her head bob an inch.

  “And reading?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I do know some of that.”

  “Then my job will be easier, won’t it?” Heather responded.

  HEATHER SPENT A GOOD PART of their dinner telling her father about Roxanne and A Tale of Two Cities. Benjamin listened politely, but Heather thought he was distracted. When he finished, Benjamin walked into the foyer and grabbed his coat.

  “Where are you going?” Heather asked.

  “Into town.”

  Her father sounded defensive, and Heather was certain she knew why.

  “Are you going to visit that woman?”

  “I don’t know why you dislike Miss Hill. You really haven’t given her a chance.”

  “Matthew told me what happened in Phoenix. He believes Miss Hill lied at the trial.”

  “Then he is the only one. The verdict of the jury was unanimous.”

  “What if Matthew is right? You know so little about her.”

  “I know all I need to,” Benjamin insisted stubbornly.

  “That’s not true. If you were considering a business partnership, you would investigate the other party thoroughly. You’d never merge with another company without looking at its books and speaking to others who did business with it. Someone with your wealth should never leap blindly into a relationship.”

  “This is really not your business,” Benjamin answered angrily before grabbing his hat and walking out of the house.

  CHAPTER 36

  On a blustery November Sunday, Reverend Mason stood in the doorway of his church chatting with his parishioners before shooing them next door to the assembly hall. Two days ago, news of Abraham Lincoln’s victory had been telegraphed to Oregon. The reverend was pleased by the election results but sobered by events on the other side of the continent. His service had started with a prayer for the president-elect and ended with a sermon condemning secession and preaching abolition.

  A narrow alley separated the assembly hall from the church. By the time Orville entered the meetinghouse, many of the adults were warming their hands at the potbellied stove in the center of the hall while they talked politics and caught up on the latest gossip. The children made a beeline for the pies, ham, corn, and other edibles the wives had set out on a long table next to the wall. Orville looked forward to joining in the political discussions, but he decided to get a piece of pumpkin pie before it was gobbled up. A gentle touch on his forearm stopped him as he was reaching for his slice.

  Heather Gillette was carrying a fur muff for her hands and wearing one of the tiny bonnets that were the current rage. Her cheeks were apple red from the cold, and the crimson color contrasted nicely with the blond ringlets that strayed from beneath the bonnet.

  “Congratulations on Mr. Lincoln’s victory,” Heather said.

  “Thank you.”

  “There is talk that you may be offered a federal judgeship.”

  “Is this an inquiry from a friend or from The Spokesman’s intrepid reporter?”

  “Both.”

  Orville laughed. “The rumor mills always grind after an election, but I’d be an ingrate to desert your father so soon after taking on his legal work.”

  Heather looked like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Orville waited for her to gather her thoughts.

  “Do you consider yourself Matthew Penny’s friend?” Heather asked.

  “I do.”

  “I’m worried about him. He’s changed since Caleb Barbour was murdered. Did you know that father asked Matthew to be his attorney before he offered the position to you?”

  “Yes. Ben told me Matthew sent him a letter turning down the offer. He claimed that he didn’t feel up to the task and recommended me because I have more business experience.”

  “We both know that Matthew could have handled the job.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t fully recovered from his injuries,” Orville said.

  “Something else is troubling him.”

  “Representing a client who may be hanged is a heavy burden.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” Heather looked frustrated. “I can’t explain it in words. I just know something’s wrong. Have you talked to him recently?”

  “No, and now that I think about it, I have had the impression that Matthew has been avoiding me. When I’ve seen him on the street or in court, he’s seemed uncomfortable, and he’s made excuses to break away if I suggested a meal or just getting together to discuss Mr. Brown’s case.”

  “About Mr. Brown’s case, I’m not a lawyer but . . . Orville, the night Barbour died, Matthew brought Roxanne to my house. She had been beaten, and she was in a state of shock, and . . .” Heather colored. “I’m certain she had been violated.”

  “Yes?”

  “If you were defending Mr. Brown, wouldn’t you want to call Roxanne as a witness?”

  “Probably.”

  “Matthew has made no attempt to talk to her.”

  “That is odd.”

  “All of his behavior for the past weeks has been odd,” Heather said. “At first, when he was recuperating at my house, he wasn’t withdrawn. He was injured, of course, and he slept a lot, but we went on walks together and he was at ease when we talked. I’m sure he was happy. Then everything changed suddenly, and I’m certain that the change has something to do with Caleb Barbour’s murder.

  “Orville, can you talk to Matthew? Can you try to find out what’s troubling him?”


  “I can try,” Orville promised.

  Heather hesitated. “There’s something else I want you to do.”

  “Concerning Matthew?”

  “No. This concerns my father and that woman, Sharon Hill.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Matthew woke up to the stench of a body he had not bathed in days. His face was covered by stubble. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin had the texture of thin, yellowed paper. He did not look well. He did not feel well, either.

  Worthy Brown’s case was a wagon wheel sunk firmly in mud and he could think of no way to pull it out. Matthew had tried reason with Worthy, he had begged, he had played on Brown’s heartstrings by using Roxanne as an argument, but Worthy would not be moved. The only future Matthew could see for the ex-slave dangled from the end of a hangman’s noose. Matthew’s future was equally clear. If Brown hanged, Matthew would drag guilt and regret behind him like an anchor for the rest of his life.

  Matthew’s body odor had grown strong enough to repulse him, so he forced himself to bathe and shave before going to the café across the street for breakfast. He was hunched over the remnants of his meal, sunk in his thoughts, when the grating sound of a chair leg drawn across naked boards made him raise his head.

  “May I join you?” Orville Mason asked as he sat opposite his friend.

  “Please,” Matthew said, though in truth he did not want company.

  “I need your help,” Orville said, “but you must keep what I tell you confidential.”

  Matthew nodded, grateful for anything that would distract him from his troubles.

  “Tell me about the case you handled in Phoenix for the salesman,” Orville said.

  “Why do you need to know about that?”

  “Ben is spending a lot of time with Sharon Hill, and Heather is worried.”

  “She should be. Hill is bad business.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Matthew told Orville about Hill’s accusations and the consequences for Clyde Lukens.

  “You believe Lukens?” Orville asked when Matthew finished.