The End of Always: A Novel

by Randi Davenport

  I clutched my wet handkerchief and looked at Jared Thompson, who stood up and said that I had already given this testimony.

  “Agreed,” said the judge. “What’s your point, Mr. Meyer?”

  “If we agree that her testimony is already in evidence,” he replied, “then certainly it’s permissible for me to ask her one or two more questions in this vein? For the sake of refinement and clarification?”

  “I’m not going to run your case for you,” said the judge.

  “I just want to be sure I don’t misstep,” said Walter Meyer. “A man’s reputation hangs in the balance.”

  I blanched. It did not seem that Walter Meyer was much concerned with my reputation except as he could further ruin it.

  “Ask your questions, Mr. Meyer,” the judge said. “But bear relevance in mind or you will surely hear from our friend over here.” He nodded once at Jared Thompson and then looked away and gazed out the window as if he had lost all interest in the proceedings. The gray morning had cleared and the courthouse square stood under a bright white sky. I felt myself sag just a little.

  “Mrs. Bethke,” August’s attorney said. “Is it your testimony that your husband changed overnight from a kind and loving boy into a brutal and heartless man?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And that he would walk into the house after a hard day’s work and just strike you out of the blue?”

  “Not out of the blue,” I said in a tight voice. “He usually had a reason.”

  “Which was?”

  “It was always different.”

  “Give us one example.”

  I thought. “If he thought I looked at him the wrong way,” I said.

  “And that would be it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all? A wrong look?”

  “It was when he thought I looked at him the wrong way,” I said tensely. “It was not that I actually looked at him the wrong way.”

  “So now he makes things up?”

  I felt the baby move, a faint fluttering. I sat up as straight as I could and looked at August’s attorney and said, “Yes. He does.”

  “I don’t know as that’s the way I would see it,” Walter Meyer said. Again he delivered his broad smile, as polished as a bare jaw bone on a plate. “I don’t know that at all. But that’s the way you’re asking me to see it. So let’s hear more about it. You say that your husband came home from work and walked into your house and tried to kill you. For no reason other than that he was a heartless man with evil in his soul.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You didn’t say that your husband tried to kill you?”

  “The rest of it,” I said fiercely. “I did not say he was evil.”

  “So he’s not evil?”

  “He was drinking,” I said angrily. I paused and tried to calm down. “He was angry. That’s not the same.”

  Jared Thompson got to his feet. “Your Honor. Where is this going?”

  Walter Meyer paused and again opened his hands before him, palms up, as if the judge could answer his questions for him. “The question is: How big of a liar is she? We see that she twists the truth to her own purposes. First he’s an evil man. Then he’s a drunk. Now he gets in a killing mood over something as insignificant as a wrong look. I ask you. Which is it?”

  The judge held up his hand. “Enough,” he said. “I have been listening carefully. And I have looked at the things that have been legitimately brought before me. If you want to know the truth of it, I don’t like to hear a case like this one. Makes me want to give up on my fellow man. But what it all comes down to is that I don’t see much here beyond a lot of pretense and innuendo.”

  “Your Honor,” said Jared Thompson.

  “Hold on there, Mr. Thompson,” said the judge. “I didn’t mean that the complaint is a bunch of lies and nonsense. I meant that the defense strikes me that way.”

  “Your Honor,” said Walter Meyer. “I haven’t even put my client on the stand.”

  “And you are not going to,” said the judge. “These are just shenanigans, from where I sit.”

  “Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Meyer, I’m not sure where you think you’re practicing law. I know you are new to our city and I know that things are often different out west. Isn’t that where you come from? Out west? The place of endless promise? The land of milk and honey?”

  “I was in Texas before this,” said Walter Meyer. He sounded defensive and small.

  “Texas. Hot there, isn’t it? No trees?”

  “There are trees in Texas,” said Walter Meyer. “Your Honor.”

  “But I’m sure you could find parts of Texas where folks haven’t ever seen a tree and aren’t likely ever to see one.”

  “In the western parts, down south, perhaps,” Walter Meyer said. He looked confused. “That area is mostly arid and desert.”

  “But if you had me on the stand and wanted some judge to believe that it was too hot in Texas for trees to grow, that’s what you’d ask me to say, isn’t it? You’d count on the fact that up here in Wisconsin there are mighty few people who’ve spent a lot of time in Texas. You could weave any story you want, practically, and make it sound as valid as the day is long. Am I right?”

  Walter Meyer looked bewildered. “That would depend upon the case,” he said.

  “That’s all it would depend on? The case?”

  “Naturally I would want to win,” said Walter Meyer. “That would be my goal. So the case, yes, that would be the primary motivator.”

  “You don’t have an interest in truth?” said the judge. “In justice? These things are not factors for you?”

  “Again, it would depend upon the case,” said Walter Meyer. He stiffened. “A case like this one, justice needs to be served. The truth has to come out.”

  “But in some cases, these things are less important to you? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  “In every case, I serve my client and the court,” Walter Meyer said in an acid tone. “That is my duty and my obligation and I accept it fully.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Meyer. I think I have a good idea of what that means,” said the judge. “Go sit down.”

  “Your Honor?”

  “The witness is excused. I’m going back to my chambers. We’ll convene after dinner. You’ll hear my ruling then.”

  We walked down into the courthouse square. Jared Thompson suggested that we eat in the tearoom that stood across from the courthouse. We sat at a table under the front window. He ordered a plate of sausages and a basket of rolls and a pot of mustard and a plate of dill pickles and a plate of sauerkraut. He told me that I might as well have something to eat, since there was no telling when the judge would return and he didn’t want me to faint halfway through the afternoon. When I made no move, he picked up a roll and split it with his knife and sliced sausage into it and then laid sliced pickles and a spoonful of kraut across the top. He put the sandwich on my plate. “Eat,” he said. Outside, preoccupied men in business suits made their way along the street and the sky turned a brighter white.

  The judge came back at two thirty in the afternoon. Walter Meyer sat so that his hand rested in the middle of August’s back, giving the impression that August was a man in need of comfort. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Jared smiled at me when we sat down and patted my arm. I know he meant to show me that everything would turn out fine, but he kept his attention on the judge the way another man might watch a sniper on a parapet and so he failed to set me entirely at ease. On the one hand, it all seemed built on words. On the other, I knew what words could build, the stories that made the world.

  The judge called us back to the front of the courtroom, and we took our places at the long tables in front of his bench.

  “This is my courtroom,” the judge said. “And this has been my courtroom for a number of years now, probably eleven, although Mr. Meyer here would be alarmed to hear that I can’t readily swear to an exact number without thinking abo
ut it. And in matters such as these, I have discretion. I can decide what I’d like to hear and what I’d like to leave be. There is no jury in a divorce trial and no worry about reasonable doubt, the way you would have in a criminal matter. I can weigh the evidence as I see fit. So this is what I did. I had some dinner sent up from a place down the street. I sat at the desk in my chambers, and I looked at the materials before me with a great deal of caution and care. My chop grew cold, I can tell you that, and I don’t know if it was because it had to travel to get to me or because I wanted to be careful and be sure, based on what I saw before me, and I let it lie too long. Wouldn’t be the first time. And what I saw in the record suggested to me that there is an answer for these two parties before me. Like most answers you get in a courtroom, it’s not going to satisfy either party. But it’s a fair disposition of the case as I understand it, and I don’t think there is more to understand than I already do. Mr. Meyer here can save himself the time and trouble of bringing more information forward. I don’t think there is any more relevant information to be had and I am prepared to rule.” He held his hand up. “Keep your seat, Mr. Meyer. I am finished with you.” Then he looked down at a sheaf of papers that lay on the bench before him and began to read aloud. “I find that these parties were residents of Waukesha, Wisconsin, just as they described, and lawfully intermarried. I find that the plaintiff has not made a sufficient case that Mr. Bethke starved her or failed to provide for her creature comforts and the defendant is not guilty of these acts and I dismiss those charges.”

  Tears came to my eyes. I should have known better than to ask justice for redress, for justice belonged to men and men alone. But Jared kept his gaze trained on the judge and said in a low voice, “Wait. Wait.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and then wiped my hand on my skirt. The judge cleared his throat.

  “However,” he said. He rubbed his eyes briefly and then straightened and looked out over the courtroom again. “However. I find that the defendant was guilty of cruel and inhumane treatment of the plaintiff as alleged in the second cause of action, that his conduct toward her has been such as may render it unsafe and improper for her to live with him; that on or about June 17, 1907, the defendant unlawfully and cruelly assaulted the plaintiff and knocked her down with his fist, to her great hurt and injury, and kicked her on that same occasion such that she suffered grievous bodily harm; that on other occasions, the defendant also assaulted the plaintiff and shook his fist at her in a threatening manner and at other times held a knife to her and on one occasion threatened her with a gun. That he told the neighbors that if she misbehaved again, he would ‘lay her low at his feet’ and showed these neighbor men a revolver that he kept for his own protection. I further find that when the plaintiff left the defendant, she took with her, and continues to hold in her possession, a bedstead, bedding, with other articles of household furniture and property, all of which she needs the use of and that the same does not exceed in value the sum of one hundred dollars. She is ordered to retain these with no molestation or interference from the defendant. I find that the plaintiff is entitled to a judgment of divorce from the defendant, forever dissolving the bonds of matrimony existing between the two of them. Further, I find that she is entitled to the future care, custody, and possession of the issue of this marriage until further order of the court, with permission to said defendant to visit the child at the plaintiff’s home and take the child out walking. I also find that the defendant’s answer to the plaintiff’s charge of cruel and inhumane treatment is not proven or true. I further order that neither party shall be free to marry again until one year has passed from this date, and that the defendant must pay the plaintiff’s court costs and attorney’s fees.”

  Jared put his hand on my arm again. “You see?” he said. “It pays not to be too hasty.”

  As soon as the judge finished, August turned toward me with a choking expression on his face. I would not meet his gaze but watched Walter Meyer put his arm around him. Then they both stood. August looked at me and looked at me, but Walter Meyer pulled him away and propelled him up the aisle between the benches. The men who waited for justice watched him go. Then they stared at me as I walked up the aisle behind him. Our reverse wedding march in this church with its own sacraments.

  My light-headedness settled when we came outside into the fresh air. The courthouse square looked different, too, each corner sharply focused, each pure block of fading sunlight alive. Even the lilac dust that rolled up from the gritty curb was fresh and spotless, as if the moment when the judge believed me had made the whole world true.

  Jared set his black leather case down next to his feet and turned to face me. He told me that I was a free woman now.

  “You should be proud of yourself,” he said. “Not many women would have the guts to go through with that.”

  I shook my head. I did not know if I could speak or what words I might be able to say. He smiled at me as if he understood.

  “To walk into a room and stand up against the man who is your husband in a room full of men to be judged by men, with not a friendly face in sight,” he said. “That takes some backbone.” He smiled again. I had never noticed before that he was good-looking and had a kind of warmth around him.

  “Thank you,” I said. My voice was hoarse and my words sounded exotic, like the words of someone speaking in the language of a new country. “I know that you did not have to take this on.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I thought we might have a chance. We had to go at it through the divorce. That was the channel that was open to us. I’m glad we had the presence of mind to see it and to take it.” He spoke amiably, as if it was the legal challenge of the case that had interested him.

  A small wind blew leaves across the pavement.

  “It was all lies,” I said. “Did you know it was going to be all lies?”

  He looked away from me. After a time he said, “In my experience, the question of truth has everything to do with the perspective of the person telling the story. It’s very easy for that perspective to get caught up in other things. Desire, for one. Rage, for another. The things people want that they don’t even know they want. The things going on around them that are invisible to them even as they pursue them. We are blind to our own blindness. People are complicated, and the way they come to believe the things they come to believe is never clear to them. They’ll fight you if you point it out. I’ve seen people who were outright liars take the stand and speak with all the sense of entitlement of an aggrieved party. They can get so they believe the things they’re saying.”

  “So you do not believe in the truth?”

  “I believe that a woman who walks into my office with her face smashed to pieces has encountered something very real, even if no one else thinks so. I think that’s about as close to the truth as we can hope to get. And I’m satisfied with that.” He picked up his case. “My wife will have supper waiting,” he said. “Can you find your way home?”

  I nodded.

  “Now look,” he said. “The court will have Bethke pay my fees and then the court will hand those over to me. So don’t worry about that. It’s between the court and your ex-husband now. If he doesn’t pay, they will chase him down and take the necessary steps. There is nothing left for you to do. But when that baby comes, you come and see me. We’ll bring Bethke back for custody and support. And we’ll make him pay for that, too. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Fine,” he said. “That’s fine, then.” He put his hand out and I shook it. “Good luck to you, Mrs. Bethke. I will see you before spring.”

  “My name is Marie,” I said.

  He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, Marie.”

  I passed through the courthouse square. Down by the town hall, a crowd of men in filthy work clothes came along the street. They carried canvas workbags and bottles of beer and yelled as they walked. I stepped to one side to let them pass and listened to the sound of shoe leather on pavement and har
d voices and shouts. They stopped in front of the building where the copper companies kept their local offices. I made my way through the back of the throng and then passed into the next street. A breeze came up and then over the horizon, a break in the overcast and the single gleam of the first star. I smiled and put my hand in my pocket and counted the change by touch.

  23

  Every morning I rose in the dark and sat on the edge of my bed until my eyes adjusted. Then I turned on the light and dressed and ate a slice of bread. I went to work at the tearoom at the end of the street. At first, I took orders and carried trays of food, but then the woman who ran the place noticed that I knew how to cook. She asked if I would like to make the breakfast menu. I kneaded dough for sweet rolls and bread and shaped the loaves and laid these into pans and slid the pans into the oven. When the bread was half-baked, I cut the rolls and twisted them and set them on a rack above the bread pans so everything would come out together. I made coffee and fried sausage and eggs on an iron griddle that lay like a slab over the stove. The first customers came in with the light.

  I liked the process of making something out of nothing, the dough that rose from the flour and yeast, the loaves that took shape in my hands. The newspapers were full of stories about the strikes and then all of a sudden the banks failed in a wave. After that, men came to the front of the tearoom and looked in the window and stood there for a long time. They watched the customers eat and then they walked away. The women came to the back door. They stood in the frozen mud and hung their heads. Some of them lifted their faces when they saw me and tried to act as if they were there by accident and that none of this had happened to them. I always gave them food. They thanked me or said nothing or said something to someone who was not there and walked away as if they moved in the disconnected landscape of a dream. I found two circles carved into the doorframe and I knew that we were marked as a place that was kind to the weary traveler. It did not take much for me to imagine myself in their shoes. It did not take much for me to know that any one of those women could have been me, for we all stood in a river that threatened at any moment to overtake us.