Harvest Moon

David took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Tessa, listen to me. Listen carefully. I know what I’m doing.” She started to speak. “No, don’t say anything yet. Just nod or shake your head, yes or no. I know Myra was lying, but right now I can’t do anything about it,” he explained. “I’m stalling for time. I don’t want to put Coalie on the stand any more than you want me to, but I may not have a choice. Do you understand?”

  Tessa shook her head.

  “If things don’t go as I planned I’ll have to put either you or Coalie on the stand, and the jury will be a lot more sympathetic if they hear the truth from a child.” David tried to smile. “I know you don’t like the idea. But Myra’s testimony is the most damaging.”

  “But she lied about everything,” Tessa burst out.

  “Not everything,” David corrected. “Almost everything, but she told just enough of the truth to make her statements damaging to us. The jury will believe her. I sent for Lee Kincaid.”

  “You want Liam Kincaid to testify for me? Are you crazy?”

  “Yes,” David answered. Crazy about her.

  “Yes to which question?” Tessa demanded.

  David couldn’t prevent the smile that turned up the corners of his mouth. She didn’t miss much, he thought. Might even make a damn good attorney one day, once she learned to read.

  “Miss Tessa?” Sheriff Bradley waited a respectful distance away. “I sure hope you’ve got your appetite back ’cause the missus baked a ham this morning for your dinner. I invited Miss Alexander and Coalie, too.” He winked at David. “Do you think you could manage a bite to eat?”

  Tessa gave the sheriff a brilliant smile. “Sheriff Bradley, today I think I could eat a horse. By myself.”

  The lawman offered Tessa his arm.

  She took his elbow and allowed him to escort her to dinner at his house.

  David looked down at his tablet as he packed his satchel. What he saw surprised him. He’d filled two pages with the scrawled words “Will you marry me?”

  And Tessa hadn’t been able to read it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  When court reconvened at two o’clock, Mary sat in the first row of the gallery behind David and Tessa. Lorna Taylor sat next to her. Coalie waited at the sheriff’s house with Jewell Bradley.

  The prosecuting attorney, Jeremy Cook, had called his last witness in Myra Brennan. It was time for David to present Tessa’s side of the story. He called his first witness.

  “The defense calls Sheriff James Bradley,” David announced.

  Sheriff Bradley stepped forward, swore to tell the truth, then sat down in the witness stand.

  David’s approach to the questioning process was the opposite of Jeremy Cook’s. Where Jeremy was a showman, David relied on logic. He had great respect for the common sense of the jurors.

  “Sheriff Bradley,” David asked, “were you present when Miss Tessa Roarke was arrested for the murder of Mr. Arnie Mason?”

  “No, sir. I wasn’t.”

  “Who arrested her?”

  “Deputy Harris,” the sheriff answered.

  “When you first saw Miss Roarke, what condition was she in?” David questioned. “How was she dressed?”

  “She was wearing a blanket and her…um…undergarments,” the sheriff told him. “And a man’s coat. I believe it was your coat.”

  “Yes, it was,” David agreed. “Sheriff, do you remember if Miss Roarke had shoes on?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Do you know what happened to her clothes?” David asked.

  “They’re there.” The sheriff pointed. “On the table next to the knife.”

  David walked to the table and picked up the sleeveless blue satin dress and held it up for the sheriff and the jury to see. The front of it, from the waist down, was caked with dried blood, and the bodice was marked with splotches. “Is this Miss Roarke’s dress?”

  “Yes,” Sheriff Bradley said. “And those are her stockings. The deputy wrapped them up after she took ’em off and locked them in the safe.”

  David held up the black net stockings.

  Tessa looked down at the table in front of her. She blushed at having her clothing displayed so openly.

  David dropped the stockings on the table, then turned to the sheriff. “Did Miss Roarke have any other clothing?”

  “No, sir. Except her…uh…you know…” The sheriff’s weathered face turned a dark shade of red.

  “Her underclothes. She kept those on.”

  “Sheriff Bradley, what was the weather like the night Miss Roarke was arrested?”

  The sheriff smiled. “Just like it is today. Real cold.”

  “So your deputy brought Miss Roarke out of the Satin Slipper just as he found her?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t have shoes or a coat or a blanket or anything, until you brought them.”

  “No jewelry? Rings, bracelet, necklace, anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” David walked over to the defendant’s table, pulled his tablet out of his satchel and pretended to consult his notes. “Now, Sheriff, let’s talk about Arnie Mason. Did you know him?”

  “I knew who he was,” Sheriff Bradley answered.

  “Will you tell us how Mr. Mason was dressed when your deputies found him?” David paused. “Miss Brennan, the owner of the saloon, implied that he and Miss Roarke were lovers…”

  The courtroom buzzed at the phrase.

  David ignored it, continuing his line of questioning. “That Miss Roarke had invited Mr. Mason to her room. Was Mr. Mason found in a state of undress?”

  “No, sir,” the sheriff replied. “He was completely dressed. Down to his boots, spurs, and gun.”

  “Did your deputy find any personal belongings on Mr. Mason?”

  “Yes, sir. They found a pocket watch, two cigars, a few matches, a train ticket stub from Chicago, some change, around forty dollars in cash in his wallet, and two pieces of paper folded up,” the sheriff recited from memory. “Oh, and a piece of gold chain.”

  “Gold chain?”

  “Yes, sir. The undertaker found it tangled around a button on Arnie’s right cuff when he was preparing the body. It’s all there on the table.” He pointed to the evidence table.

  A woman in the crowded courtroom gasped aloud. David looked around, searching. He found the woman he sought. Her face was pale, but she was composed otherwise. He lifted a finger to his lips and kissed it in salute.

  “Getting back to the folded pieces of paper,” David said, turning his attention back to the sheriff. “Was there anything written on the papers?”

  “There was a Chicago address on one.”

  Walking to the evidence table, David picked up a piece of paper and read it aloud. “Twenty-seven Lennox Street, Apartment four-B, Chicago.’ “

  Tessa came halfway out of her chair.

  The judge pounded once with his gavel. “Be seated, Miss Roarke.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tessa sat back down. Arnie Mason had known her address in Chicago. How?

  David glanced at Tessa. He met her questioning gaze and nodded in silent confirmation. He returned the piece of paper to the table, then picked up the other and took it to the sheriff. “Will you read this aloud, please?”

  Sheriff Bradley opened the note and read: “‘Arnie, meet me in my room when the saloon closes. It’s important. Love, Tessa.’”

  “Do you believe Miss Roarke wrote that note, Sheriff?”

  “I did at the time we found it,” the sheriff answered, “but now I don’t.”

  “What changed your mind?” David asked out of curiosity.

  “Well, sir, yesterday at lunch, Miss Roarke asked my wife for the recipe for that cake you liked. The missus wrote it out for her, but Miss Roarke asked her to tell her how to make it. Said she couldn’t read. She never learned how.”

  “Thank you.” David took the note from the sheriff and placed it beside the other one. “I have two more questions for you, Sheriff Bradl
ey. Did you look at the wound on Mr. Mason’s throat?”

  “Yes, sir. I studied it real good.”

  “Can you tell from studying the mark how it was made?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Alexander. You can tell from the angle whether a right-handed or a left-handed person made it.”

  David looked down at his boots, then back up at the sheriff. “I apologize, Sheriff. I said I only had two questions left, but now I feel I have to ask you one more.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Alexander.” James Bradley chuckled. “Your job is asking questions.”

  “Absolutely,” David agreed. “Now, in your expert opinion, did a right-handed person or a left-handed person make the cut on Mr. Mason’s throat?”

  “A right-handed person.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Bradley. I have no more questions.” David looked over at his opponent. “Mr. Cook?”

  Jeremy Cook glared at David. “No questions. I think the sheriff has answered most of them.”

  David turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to ask for a show of hands of right-handed and left-handed people in the courtroom to demonstrate how many people could have killed Arnie Mason.”

  “This is unusual,” the judge told him. “But I’ll go along with it. How about you, Mr. Cook?”

  “Fine with me, Your Honor.” Jeremy chuckled. “I’m left-handed.”

  “All right-handed people in this courtroom, please raise your hands,” Judge Emory instructed, raising his own right hand.

  Other hands went up all over the courtroom.

  “That includes our learned members of the newspaper profession,” the judge announced when the reporters continued to scribble notes.

  More hands went up.

  David raised his right hand, then took a deep breath and turned around.

  Tessa’s hands remained folded together on the top of the table.

  David released the breath he was holding. He searched the faces. Myra Brennan’s hands were also down. Damn! He’d gambled on her being right-handed. Unless she was lying…

  “All right, let’s see a show of hands by all of the left-handed people,” Judge Emory ordered.

  Tessa raised her hand. So did Jeremy Cook and two members of the jury. David turned back around. Myra Brennan’s hand was up, too. Clever, he thought, very clever.

  “Put your hands down,” Judge Emory instructed.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” David said.

  “Call your next witness, Mr. Alexander,” directed the judge.

  “Your Honor, I’d like to call Coalie Donegal to the stand,” David said.

  “No.” Tessa stood up.

  “Be seated, Miss Roarke.” Judge Emory gave her a stem look. “This is your last warning. One more outburst and I’ll have the bailiff remove you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, Your Honor, but you see, Coalie’s just a little boy. I don’t think he should be here. I don’t want him to see me here.”

  “Your objection is admirable, Miss Roarke.” The judge was impressed. “But you’re on trial for a very serious crime. If Mr. Alexander thinks this young boy should testify in your behalf, you should let him.” He pinned his judicial gaze on Tessa. “Think of it as educational for the boy.”

  “Yes, sir, Your Honor.” Tessa glared at David, then sat down.

  “Where is he?” Judge Emory asked.

  “At the sheriff’s house, Your Honor,” David answered, “playing with the Bradley children.”

  The judge turned to the bailiff. “Go get him.” He pounded his gavel. “We’ll recess for ten minutes.”

  “David”—Tessa faced him—“please.”

  “Tessa”—David looked down into her shining blue eyes—”I’ve waited for Lee as long as I can. Coalie can help you. He wants to help you.”

  “But—”

  “He’s proud, Tessa. As proud as you are. He knows you left Chicago to protect him, that you worked at the Satin Slipper to give him a home. Let him repay your kindness.”

  “He doesn’t have to.”

  “Coalie knows that, Tessa,” David said. “He asked me to let him tell the people about you.”

  “But I could lose him.” Every instinct Tessa possessed urged her to protect Coalie at all costs.

  “If he doesn’t testify, he could lose you,” David said bluntly. I could lose you, he thought. “To prison.” Or a hangman’s noose. Forever.

  Tessa couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. She nodded her assent.

  “Thank you.” David lifted one of her gloved hands and pressed it to his lips.

  “Remember.” She forced out the one word, reminding him of his promise not to let them take Coalie away from her.

  “I will.”

  Ten minutes later Coalie entered the courtroom followed by the bailiff. David took him by the hand and led him to the witness chair. Coalie stood straight and proud as he placed his hand on the Bible and repeated the oath. Finished, he climbed into the chair. His feet dangled above the bottom rung. His hair was neatly combed and slicked back into place, his face red from exertion. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow and upper lip. Packed with bodies and heated by two huge stoves, the courtroom was overly warm. Coalie squirmed inside his jacket.

  David smiled at the picture he presented of an all-American boy. “You may take off your jacket.” David removed his own jacket to make Coalie feel more comfortable removing his.

  Tessa watched the ripple of muscles through David’s shirt and waistcoat, remembering the strength in his shoulders and how he looked without his clothes. Her face flushed; she lowered her gaze to the table and David’s tablet. The pages were covered with his notes, but Tessa couldn’t read them.

  Coalie scrambled out of his wool jacket and handed it to David. David took the jacket to Tessa, then returned to Coalie. He pulled a chair up at an angle in front of Coalie and sat with his back to the gallery. “Now, Coalie, will you tell the court your name?”

  “Coalie Donegal,” Coalie announced loudly. Proudly.

  Several people in the gallery chuckled. David glanced over his shoulder. The door at the back of the courtroom opened. Lee Kincaid walked in.

  David stood up. He looked up at Judge Emory. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  Coalie’s expression clouded with disappointment.

  The judge raised an eyebrow. “No? Well, I’d like to hear what the boy has to say.” He smiled at Coalie. “I was looking forward to getting to know him. Would you like to ask the questions, Mr. Alexander, or shall I?”

  David turned to Tessa.

  The look in her eyes said, “Don’t embarrass Coalie. Make him feel important.”

  “I’ll ask the questions, Your Honor,” David replied.

  “Then get on with it.”

  “Before we get started, Coalie, I’d like to know what you’ve been doing to work up such a sweat.”

  Coalie grinned. “Me and the sheriff’s boys were building a snowman—a great big one, as tall as you.”

  “That’s grand, Coalie,” David told him. “And as soon as you answer a few questions, I’ll let you get back to it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, first of all, you told us your name is Coalie Donegal. Can you tell me your father’s name or your mother’s?”

  Coalie shook his head. “I don’t know ’em,” he explained. “I’m whatcha call a orphan.”

  “Tessa Roarke isn’t your mother?” David asked.

  “She takes care of me,” Coalie said.

  David met Coalie’s worried gaze. “Coalie, it’s all right. You can tell us. Is Tessa your mother?”

  “No.” Coalie hesitated. “I wished she was, but she’s not.” He looked up at David, then whispered loudly. “But I’m not supposed to tell anybody that.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause Tessa’s afraid somebody will take me away from her if they know.” Coalie wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  David took a clean handkerchief from hi
s trouser pocket and handed it to the boy. “You’re doing fine.” He patted Coalie on the shoulder. “Now, I’ll ask an easy question. How old are you?”

  He went through the story of Coalie’s life.

  “You delivered coal?”

  “Yep. That’s where my name come from. I had another one, but I don’t remember it now. I’m Coalie ’cause I delivered coal and Donegal for Father Francis’s home in Ireland.” He swung his legs against the chair restlessly.

  “Would you like to get down and walk around?” David asked Coalie, glancing at the judge for permission. Judge Emory indicated his assent with a quick nod.

  Coalie scooted to the edge of the chair.

  “How long did you deliver coal?” David inquired.

  “Since I was big enough to carry the bucket. I’m stronger than I look.” Coalie flexed an arm muscle to prove it. “I think I was four, maybe five, when I started. I carried coal ’cause I was too scared of the roofs to be a chimney sweep.”

  David wanted to cry just thinking about a child of five carrying buckets of coal through apartment buildings in Chicago or climbing down into chimneys. “Father Francis sent you out to work when you were only four or five?” David couldn’t hide the outrage in his voice.

  “Not Father Francis. He was moved to another place,” Coalie said, defending the priest. “The man who took over the orphans’ home, he ’prenticed me to Mr. Clayburn, who owned a coal wagon.”

  “So you met Tessa when you delivered coal to her apartment?”

  “Yes, sir.” Coalie smiled. “She’s the best friend I ever had. She lived over the bakery. She gave me pastries ’cause I was always hungry.”

  “Where was this bakery?”

  “Twenty-seven Lennox Street,” Coalie recited. “Tessa lived in four-B.”

  David smiled. “Did Tessa live alone in apartment four-B?”

  Coalie’s face clouded. “She had a brother until he got killed. Tessa was real sad when he died. I used to sneak back to her ’partment after I finished work, but I had to be careful not to get caught or Mr. Clayburn would beat me.”

  “Your employer hit you?”

  Coalie shrugged his thin shoulders, then replied matter-of-factly, “Sure. All the time. Sometimes he took a strap to me, but mostly he hit with his fists.” He leaned closer to David. “He drank a lot.”