CHAPTER XIV
THE TRIAL--THE LIE--"AS GUILTY AS HELL!"
"_Not guilty, your honor!_"
The court room was silent for a time before any one stirred. It had beenapparent that the decision would be so; because there were severalreasons why the jury was constrained to render such a verdict.
Among the reasons, chiefly, was the fact that the plaintiff had failedto produce sufficient evidence to justify a verdict in his favor. Hisgrandmother, his corroborating witness, had answered her last call justbefore she was to start for Chicago to give hers, the most incriminatingtestimony. The doctor who had attended his wife during her confinementwas indisposed, and was represented only by an affidavit. But what hadgone harder than anything against the plaintiff was his wife'stestimony. Under the most severe examination, and cross examinations,she had stood on her statements. She had never loved her husband, andhad not been, therefore, actuated by her father's influence into leavinghim. She had instructed her father in all he had done, and that he wasin no wise guilty as accused.
No jury could have rendered a verdict to the contrary under suchcircumstances, and no one--not even the plaintiff, had expected or evenhoped that they would.
But in the minds of every man and woman in the crowded court room, N.J.McCarthy stood a guilty man. Not even the faintest semblance of doubt asto this lingered in their minds. It was merely a case of insufficientevidence to convict. And while the people filed out into the air at theconclusion, every one had a vision of that arch hypocrite in his evilperpetuation. In their ears would always ring the story Jean Baptistehad told. Told without a tremor, he had recited the evils from the dayhe had married her up until the day she had sold her birthright for amess of pottage. So vivid did he make it all that the court was held ina thraldom. For an hour and a half he detailed the evil of his enemy,his sinister purpose and action, his lordly deceit, and his artfulcunningness, and brought women to tears by the sorrow in his face, hisapparent grief and external mortification.
Never had the black population of the city listened to or witnessed amore eloquent appeal. But justice had been unable to interfere. Thetrial was over, and Newton Justine McCarthy left the court room a freeman, with head held high, and walking with sure step.
Jean Baptiste left it calmly in company with his lawyers. They hadanticipated losing the case before going into court, for it had beenapparent to them that the outcome rested entirely with Baptiste's wife.If they failed to shake her testimony; that she had never loved him,then they knew it was hopeless. It had all depended on her--_and she hadstood by her father_.
"Well, I'm satisfied," said Baptiste as they went through the street.
"I suppose so, in a way."
"I wanted vindication. I wanted the people to know the truth."
"And they know it now. He goes free, but the people know he is a guiltyman, and that your wife _lied_ to save him."
"Yes," said Baptiste a little wearily.
Somehow he felt relieved. It seemed that a great burden had been liftedfrom his mind, and he closed his eyes as if shutting out the past nowforever. He was free. Never would the instance that had brought turmoiland strife into his life trouble him again. Always before there hadseemed to be a peculiar bond between him and the woman he had taken aswife. Always he seemed to have a claim upon her in spite of all and sheupon him. But, by the decision of the court, all this had been sweptaway, and he sighed as if in peace.
They found their way to the "L" station that was nearest, and there tooka train for the south side. At Thirty-first Street Baptiste left hislawyer and slowly betook himself toward the familiar scenes on StateStreet.
While he lost himself in the traffic of State Street, the Reverend, incompany with Glavis, Ethel, and Orlean, boarded an Indiana Avenuesurface car. The Reverend was cheery for a great fear had passed. Acoward by nature, he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown beforethe trial, thinking of what might happen. But now that was over. He wasfree. That meant everything. The fact that he was guilty in the minds ofeverybody who heard the trial, did not worry him now. He was free andcould claim by the verdict that he was vindicated in the action he hadtaken. That was the great question. Always before he had been sensitiveof the fingers of accusation that were upon him, and the worry hadgreatly impaired his usual appearance.
And while he was relieved, Glavis, sitting proudly by him, was also. Hetalked cheerfully of the trial, of the decision, and of the future thatwas before them. He smiled at all times, and the Reverend's large facewas also lighted up with a peculiar delight. But there was another who,in spite of the fact that the testimony from her lips had saved the dayfor the Reverend, was not happy, not cheerful, not in a mood to discussthe case.
This one was Orlean. Few knew--in fact maybe only one other, and thatwas her husband--or appreciated how much that false testimony had costher. She had lied; lied freely; lied stoutly; lied at every point of thecase--_and this for the man who had brought her to it_. And _now_ whenit was over she felt not at ease. While Jean Baptiste was conscious thata burden had been lifted from his mind, and Glavis and her fatherchatted freely, she sat silently by without even a clear thought. Shewas only conscious that she had lied, that after a life of weakness, alife that had made no one happy or cheerful or gay, she had for thefirst time in her life, deliberately lied. And as she became moreconscious of what had passed, she felt a burden upon her. Never sincethe day she had abused her husband; never since the suffering heractions had brought him; never since as a climax to all this, when helay upon the floor and she had kicked him viciously in the face, had sheexperienced a happy or a cheerful day.
But today--after that terrible ordeal, she felt as if life held littlefor her, that she was now unfit to perform any womanly duty. She foundno consolation in the fact that she had been encouraged to do as she haddone by those who claimed to love her. That seemed to annoy her ifanything. She could now, for the first time in her life, realize clearlywhat duty meant. Duty could not be side-tracked, regardless of whatmight have passed. Her husband had been good to her. He had given herthe love that was his. Never had he abused her in any way, never had heused a cross word in her presence. But she had done everything to him.And as a climax to it all, she had _lied_.
Oh, that lie would haunt her forever!
They arrived at the street where they must leave the car for home. Shearose along with the rest. When they stood upon the walkway and hadstarted toward home, her father paused.
"By the way, children," he said cheerfully. "I think I should call atthe lawyer's office and thank him." He turned his eyes to Glavis, hisworthy counsellor at all times, and read agreement in his face beforethe other opened his lips to give sanction.
"I think that you should, too, father," he said, whereupon he turned toaccompany him.
"Well, I'll drop by his office. You may go on home with the girls,Glavis," he said. So saying he turned toward the attorney's office tosettle his account and talk over the case.
As he walked along his way, he became reflective. He allowed his mind towander back into the past--back many years to the time when he had goneinto the country to take a meal. He recalled that day at the dinnertable where he had sat near a certain school teacher. She had been anattractive teacher, a rare woman in those days. And he admired her. Itwas a privilege to sit so close to her at the table, to wait on her, andbe the recipient of her charming smiles. He saw himself now more clearlyin retrospection. He saw a little boy standing hungrily at a distance.He saw again now, that same small boy approach the teacher; saw theteacher's motherly face and her arms reached out and caught that youthand then smother his face with kisses. He felt again the anger thatlittle boy's action had aroused in him. He heard again the cries fromthe summer kitchen as the mother administered punishment for the same.He recalled briefly the years that followed. He recounted the testimonyat the trial. For many, many months he had endeavored to make Baptistesuffer, and this day he had succeeded. But still he was not satisfied.The joy that had come of
being freed of the accusation after his unhappyand nervous state of fear, had shut all else out of his mind for a time.After all freedom is so much. But was freedom all? He could not accountfor the feeling that was suddenly come over him. He recalled then againthe severe chastisement he had caused Jean Baptiste to receive when hewas a mere child. He recalled also how he had been instrumental inseparating him from his daughter. He recalled now the lies, oh, the liesshe had resorted to that had kept him out of jail, the tears he had shedfrom self pity, while Baptiste stood stoically by.
And thinking thusly, he reached his destination.
He found the attorney alone, busy over some papers. He approached himcourteously, bowed, and thrusting his hand in his pocket, said:
"Yes, sir. I thought I would drop in and pay you the balance of the feethat is now due, and thank you for your services." He smiled pleasantlyas he spoke, and never appeared more impressive. The other regarded hima moment, held out his hand, accepted his fee, and said:
"Well, it's over, and you are free."
"Yes," said the Elder, but now found it rather hard to smile. "I am gladit is over for it was a very awkward affair, I must confess." He pausedthen, perforce. The lawyer was regarding him, and the Elder wondered athis expression. He had never seen that look in his face before. What didit mean? He was not kept long in suspense, for soon the other spoke.
"Yes, you are free and fortunate."
"Fortunate," the Reverend repeated, thoughtfully, and looking up foundthe lawyer's eyes upon him. They were looking straight into his with thesame expression of a moment before.
"Yes," said the lawyer then coldly, "you are _free_ and _fortunate_,because _you were as guilty as hell_!"