by Pamela Morsi
"What about the postcard?" he asked aloud.
"What?"
"The French postcard. I found it in the gin," he said. "I thought you had written it to your lover."
Pru gasped in horror and covered her face in shame.
He pried her hands away from her face. He was unexpectedly rewarded when she stepped closer and hid her embarrassment in his neck and shoulder.
"I was looking for a piece of paper to write you a note," she told him in a whisper. "When I saw... when I saw what it was, I just got out of there immediately."
Gidry bit his lip to stifle a grin and took advantage of her nearness to wrap his arms around her waist.
"You shouldn't have such ... such vulgar material in your office with young children like Milton around," she scolded him.
"I got that vulgar material from Milton," Gidry answered.
"What!"
Pru jerked back astounded.
Gidry nodded at her. "Not only is the little devil a thief, he's a smut peddler as well."
"He's just a little boy," Pru defended. "He's hardly had any upbringing at all. He can't be blamed for what he has done."
"He is guilty and must be punished," Gidry insisted. He could almost hear his father's voice in his own words. Deliberately he moderated his tone. "But he is very young, and the rest of us have good reason for shame in allowing him to get so far down the wrong road."
"It is more our fault than his own," she said.
Gidry shook his head. Clearly he could not agree.
"It is his own fault, and he's willing to own up to that, Pru. You have to let him do that."
'They ... they might send him away," she said. "I just could not allow him to be sent away."
Gidry's brow furrowed in concern.
"There is a wonderful boy's home in Shockley," he said. "He'd get good care, a good education, and a thorough grounding in religion and morals."
"He mustn't be sent away," Pru insisted.
"Why not?"
She hesitated as if she was loath to speak.
"Is there something more about this that I don't know?" he asked.
She bit her lip, considering.
“Tell me, Pru," he encouraged. "If I am going to help the boy I'll have to know."
She stepped away from him, wringing her hands nervously, then turned to face him.
"Gidry," she said, softly almost comfortingly, "Milton Kilroy is your son."
He heard the words, but the meaning of them didn't quite register.
"What?" he asked.
"Milton is your son," she answered. "Your unlawful child, conceived with Mabel Merriman."
"What!"
"Befuddle Kilroy was not his father," Pru told him. "When Mabel returned to Chavistown, she was already carrying your child."
Gidry stared at her, incredulous, for a long moment. Slowly, very slowly, he began to shake his head, then a humorless chuckle escaped him.
"I don't see anything funny about this, Mr. Chavis," Pru said, affronted at his reaction.
"Mabel Merriman has never carried a child of mine," Gidry told her with certainty.
"I know it is a shock and probably hard to believe that she wouldn't tell you but..."
"She didn't tell me because it simply isn't true," he assured her.
Pru's mouth thinned into a stubborn line.
"Gidry, I know that it is true," she said. "All the evidence points to it."
"What evidence?"
"Well, your father helped her financially when she came back to town," Pru said. "He actually set up the marriage with Befuddle so Milton would have a name. He bought her tombstone when she died, and he took a great interest in the boy always."
"And you think that proves that he is my child?"
"Of course it does," she said. "Look at him."
Pru gestured toward the glass door beyond which he could clearly see the child talking animatedly with Aunt Hen.
"He even looks like you," she said.
"He looks like a lot of people," Gidry answered. "And practically all of them are not his father. I fall into that group as well."
Pru's eyes were welling with tears of frustration.
"Don't deny him, Gidry," she pleaded. "For all that he has done, he is a very good little boy and ... and I love him very much."
"Pru ..." he began, but she was too emotional to let him speak.
"He has lived a life missing so very much," she told him. "He's been poor, alone, orphaned, unwanted, and reviled. He has done things wrong, but the conditions of his birth are not his fault, they are not his
crime. He needs someone to care for him, to love him. I've been trying to do it. But a real father, a real father would mean so much to him, Gidry. Don't deny him that."
"Just listen to me, Prudence," Gidry began.
He was interrupted by a tap on the glass behind them. The constable had come into the anteroom. Gidry opened the door.
"Judge Ramey is ready to recommence the hearing," the man announced. "He says if you couldn't sort this out in twenty minutes, you never will be able to."
Gidry nodded and offered his arm to escort Pru.
"For your sake, Pru, because I love you, I will be everything that I can be to the boy," he promised. "And I will see that they don't send him away."
"Oh Gidry—"
"No more lies from you," he told her. "And this one time, let me handle it in my own way."
She didn't look too willing, but she did acquiesce.
Aunt Hen and Sharpy led the way as the growing throngs in the hallway parted to allow them to pass. The mood was reminiscent of a carnival. Folks might shake their heads and be anxious to condemn later, but right now they were enjoying the drama for all it was worth.
They reentered the judge's chambers, and Gidry immediately found a seat for Pru and stepped up to speak to Judge Ramey.
"I would like to question the boy," Gidry told him.
"Why should you question him?" the old man asked. "These are my chambers."
"Yes, Your Honor, I realize that, but I think I know just what to ask to get this whole thing cleared up in a hurry," Gidry said.
The judge lowered his voice, his tone disapproving. "No more games, Gidry," he said. "You are no more married to Prudence Belmont than I am."
His expression solemn, Gidry nodded. "We're all through protecting each other, Judge. Now we only want the truth," he said.
Finally Ramey nodded. He gestured toward young Sharpy to take the chair beside his desk.
"I'm going to allow Mr. Chavis to do the interrogation," he announced.
There was a buzz of commentary about that, but no one dared question Ramey's judgment.
Sharpy sat in the huge mahogany chair looking very young, rather defiant, and more than a little worried.
Gidry smiled at him, hoping to give the boy courage. He had always liked the brazen little fellow. And if Pru loved him, well who could question her choices in people to love.
"Sharpy," he began softly, "I am going to ask you some questions, and it is very important that you answer them absolutely truthfully."
The little boy nodded. "I'll swear on the Bible if you want me to," he volunteered.
"That won't be necessary here," Gidry said. "Just promise us that you'll answer all my questions with the truth."
"I will," he agreed, swallowing nervously. He scooted back to make himself more comfortable, giving onlookers an excellent view of his slightly scuffed new shoes.
"What is your name," Gidry asked as he began pacing the short distance between the judge's desk and the chair where the young boy was seated.
'That's easy," Sharpy answered, bouncing a little in the chair. "It's Milton Kilroy."
"Where do you live?" Gidry asked.
The little boy had to consider that one thoughtfully.
"Around," he answered finally.
"Don't you have a home?"
"Well, I had one with my mother in Befuddle Kilroy's shack," he said. 'Then, aft
er Mama died, I was there by myself, but the roof fell in one day, so I left."
Gidry allowed his gaze to drift slowly to the faces in the crowd around him.
"And where have you been staying most recently?" he asked finally.
"In the milk shed behind Aunt Hen's place," he said. "Miss Pru fixed it up nice for me. And she didn't charge me no rent nor nothing as long as I wash up and practice reading."
"She made you practice reading?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Every night she'd bring out some supper and a lamp and after I ate, I'd read some for her. I read real good."
"I'm very glad to hear that," Gidry said. "I'm very glad indeed."
The little boy was so proud of himself he was beaming.
"I understand that mostly you don't go by your given name, Milton, but by a nickname," Gidry said.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Folks mostly call me Sharpy."
"And why do they call you that?" he asked.
"'Cause I'm kind of a sharpster," he answered. "I mostly got an angle going all the time."
Gidry nodded encouragingly at the boy.
"Some of the folks here might not know what that means," he said, gesturing to the onlookers. "Can you explain what that means, Sharpy? Having an angle going."
"Well, it’s ... it’s kind of like a job or something," the little boy said. "I try to figure out ways to get things."
"Like money?" Gidry asked.
The little boy shrugged. "Sometimes money," he agreed. "And sometimes other things. I trade, and I make bets on things."
Gidry nodded thoughtfully. "And do you win most of these bets?" he asked.
Sharpy looked momentarily sheepish. "Yes, sir. I usually bet on things that I already know I'll win. Like card tricks and the like."
"So you get along in the world as kind of a swindler," he said.
The little fellow hedged. "Some folks just aren't really a lot smart, and when I beat them on a game or something, I guess they'll get smarter."
"Hopefully so," Gidry agreed, clearing his throat to disguise the inappropriate chuckle that bubbled up from inside him.
"So you go along in this manner, and you manage to do pretty well on your own," he said.
Sharpy nodded. "Yes, sir, mostly I do."
"But you started stealing," Gidry said.
The child lowered his head slightly and nodded.
"When?" Gidry asked him.
"Last winter," the boy admitted quietly. "But I didn't really think of it as stealing, at the time I mean."
Gidry folded an arm across his chest and held his chin thoughtfully.
"What did you think of it as?" he asked.
"Kind of borrowing," Sharpy said a bit lamely.
"Borrowing?"
"Well, nobody was using it and ..." His voice trailed off.
"When did you start this borrowing?" Gidry asked him. "What did you take first?"
"Some horse blankets," he answered, glancing a bit nervously in the direction of Mr. Tatum.
"Horse blankets," Gidry repeated. "You don't have a horse, do you?"
"No, sir," he answered.
'Then why did you break in to steal horse blankets?"
"I didn't," Sharpy said. "It... well, it was real cold that night." The boy seemed almost hesitant to explain himself. "It was after the roof had fallen in, and I'd just been sort of camping out wherever I could. But it was real cold that night, so I thought that it would be warm in the stable with all those horses. So I used a willow switch to unhook the latch, and I went inside. I wrapped up in some horse blankets and was about asleep when I heard someone coming. So I jumped up and left out of there the way I came. But I took the blankets with me."
Gidry listened thoughtfully.
"So stealing from the stables was not really premeditated," he said.
The boy looked momentarily confused.
"I don't know nothing about no pree-muddy-taters," he assured Gidry. "I was pretty hungry, but I didn't see no taters at all in there."
There was a little flurry of giggles at his words. Sharpy looked around, obviously wondering at the source of the joke.
"So you began stealing by accident," Gidry said.
"Yes, I guess you could say that."
"But it didn't continue to be by accident, did it?"
"No, sir, I figured out that I could pretty much get into anywhere I wanted and take whatever they had," he said. "Being little, nobody watches you much, and you can squeeze through places that would keep a grown somebody out."
"What kind of things did you take, Sharpy?" Gidry asked him.
"Just kind of things that I wanted," the child answered vaguely. "Pretty shiny things. My mama liked pretty, shiny things, so I'd take them to ... to remember her."
Gidry nodded.
"I took a curly-cue from Mrs. Corsen cause I thought it'd make a real fine spinner on my fishing rod," he said. "And I got a minnow bucket from Mr. Crane because I knew I could trade it at the penny arcade."
"What about Gimp Watson's wooden leg?" Gidry asked.
"Oh, that." He looked a bit embarrassed. "I used that to scare the kids that live down by the railroad track. I told them that ghost story, have you heard it? Where the man comes back and says 'give me back my golden arm'!"
Sharpy voiced the words in a deep, throaty tone sure to frighten children.
"Yes," Gidry admitted. "I heard that story when I was about your age."
"Well, the way I told it to them it's Gimp Watson saying 'give me back my wooden leg'!"
Gidry could not keep the smile from his face. He remembered old Gimp and how much he loved children. He would have been tickled to live on in their fantasies, no matter how fantastic.
Sharpy began giving a verbal inventory of all the things he had taken and why. His explanations were sometimes poignant, but often comical. Victim after victim learned the reasoning behind their losses and one after another their outrage at being robbed seemed to disappear.
"So you never tried to sell any of the items you stole, you never attempted to make money on them," Gidry said.
"Well no," Sharpy answered. "Except for the postcards, you know the po-knock-rafee. I used to let the other boys see them, two looks for a nickel until I sold them all to you."
There was a startled gasp from several of those present. Reverend Hathaway made a noise as if he intended to interrupt.
"You stole the postcards as well?"
Gidry was surprised to hear it.
"Yes, sir, from Mr. Honnebuzz," Sharpy replied, gesturing to the lawyer, whose expression was horrified and whose cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. "I didn't figure he'd even miss them. He must have a million others. Just drawers and drawers full of naked ladies."
The completely dressed women present in the room were shocked speechless and glared with unspoken censure at the formerly eligible bachelor. Even Judge Ramey looked horrified. His daughter Alice had lately been keeping company with Honnebuzz.
Gidry decided to end his questioning there. End it when all attention was now focused upon a new scandal within the community.
"So you admit everything and wish to throw yourself upon the mercy of the court," Gidry said.
The little boy nodded. "Yes, sir," he answered bowing his head. "I'm ready to take a whopping or go to jail or whatever I'm going to get."
“That's for the judge to decide," Gidry told him more quietly.
Glancing back behind him, Gidry's gaze locked with Pru's. She loved this little boy, and if she loved him, Gidry definitely could as well. But he couldn't allow her to believe the lie that she did.
"One more question, Sharpy," Gidry said. "And remember you've promised to tell the truth. When were you born?"
"My birthday is November eighteenth," he answered.
"Do you know the year?"
"1888," he answered.
"So you will be just seven on your next birthday," Gidry said.
Sharpy agreed.
"Sometimes in the past you
've lied about how old you are, haven't you?"
The boy shrugged. "Just little fibs, Mr. Chavis," he said. "Little fibs don't hurt nobody."
"Little fibs are a lot like borrowing things that don't belong to you," Gidry said to him softly. "Sometimes they can hurt others very much."
Gidry stared into space thoughtfully, trying to recall events from the past. After a long moment he smiled.
"I remember 1888," he declared pleasantly, as if he and the child were having a simple conversation. "I remember the year you were born. I'd helped take a herd of cattle up to Montana the autumn before. We got a late start and were delayed on the trail several days. We finally made it to our destination just in time to get snowed in by the worst winter they'd seen in years." He turned his gaze away from Sharpy and looked directly at Pru. "I didn't even get back to the Pecos until May Day” he said with certainty.
"Someday, I'm going be a cowboy like you," young Sharpy declared adamantly. "Or I'm going to work in a cotton gin."
Gidry smiled at the boy and turned to Judge Ramey.
"That is all the questions I have," Gidry told him. "I think that it is clear that the child is guilty of these crimes. But I do not believe that he is beyond our redemption. I would like to add my voice to the plea for mercy from the court and—"
"I'd like to do more than ask for mercy."
The words came from Aunt Hen, who had unaccountably risen to her feet.
Judge Ramey looked over at her questioningly.
"You have something to add here, Miss Pauling?" he asked.
"Yes, Judge, I do," she said. "This boy has been living in my milk shed for some time. The stolen property was found there, so I feel that I have more than a passing interest in this case."
"I'm willing to hear what you have to say," Ramey agreed.
"This boy is the shame of this town," she declared, glaring accusingly at the people gathered in the room. "He was left alone to fend for himself, and no one, not one of us, gave so much as a thought for his welfare."
Silence filled the room.
"Well, I suppose not all of us were completely blind," she admitted. "Peer Chavis gave the little boy a job. And my niece gave him a place to stay. What he needed, of course, was a home and a proper upbringing. School by day, church on Sundays, three meals, a clean bed, and a person who cared enough about him to see that he learned the rules of society and disciplined him when he didn't obey them."