Sundown, p.25
Sundown, page 25
“That’s right. Fists were flying too.”
Wyatt wrinkled his brow, trying to appear confused. “You saw fists flying from the lobby of the hotel?”
Preacher Taylor’s eyes widened as he appeared to realize he’d been caught in a lie.
“I just assumed. I saw Mr. Thornton’s busted lip.”
“You try to break up the fight?”
The Preacher rubbed his chin. “I… they were both two pretty strong fellas. I went in to get some help.”
“From Tommy Garcia?”
Several spectators laughed until the judge banged his gavel.
“From anyone.” Beads of sweat reappeared on the minister’s forehead.
“How long have you served as a minister at the Sundown Church?”
Preacher Taylor wiped his brow with the handkerchief. “I came to Sundown four years ago from a small church in Missouri. Before that, I was a minister in Shreveport.”
“That’s in Louisiana, isn’t it?”
“Another rhetorical question?” Preacher Taylor asked sarcastically.
Wyatt scanned the newspaper clipping. “The battle of New Orleans was a significant defeat for the South and a turning point in the Civil War, am I right?”
The Preacher’s eyes seemed to glaze over. “It was the beginning of the end of the war.” He glared at Wyatt. “We southerners referred to the war as the War for Southern Independence.”
The room had grown so still the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. “You still refuse to call it the Civil War, I assume.”
“I do. The war was a struggle for southern pride and liberty.”
“But you weren’t a southerner. More accurately, you were a Southern sympathizer.”
“That’s fair.”
“Reverend Taylor,” Wyatt searched his memory of nights with his mother reading the bible, “are you familiar with… Colossians, I believe Chapter 3… verse 22?”
The reverend’s mouth dropped. “I… I am.”
“Can you quote the verse for the jury?”
“I see where this is going. Your honor, do I have to respond to the question?”
“Yes. If you can recall the verse, state it for the jury.”
Preacher Taylor let out a deep breath and, for the first time, sounded like he did in church. “Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything, and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to curry their favor, but with the sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord.”
Several spectators groaned.
“Very impressive, Reverend Taylor. It appears you might have become familiar with this particular verse when you were living in the South. Perhaps you learned it because that verse was one of many in the Bible used by Southerners to justify slavery.”
“It’s the word of the Lord.”
“Is that the same Lord who talks to you?” Wyatt glanced at Hackett, who rose to his feet. “Don’t bother to object; I’ll withdraw the question.”
Hackett returned to his seat.
Wyatt handed Taylor the clipping. “This is an article written by Michael Sullivan, at the time, the owner of the Sundown Gazette.”
“I recognize the article. I have one framed in my office. It was very complimentary.”
“Complimentary and informative. The article describes, in glowing terms, your spiritual journey, including your time spent as Chaplain for the Southern Insurrectionists.”
“Patriots.”
“The story spends a considerable amount of time dealing with the battle of New Orleans, the capture of the city by the North. To what do you attribute the defeat? Was it lack of preparation?”
“It was not.”
Wyatt turned around and gazed around the room. Travis and Sam Hampton were perched on the edge of their chairs. Amos and Ruby, even Miles, were watching. The mayor and Frank Colfield were looking directly at Reverend Taylor. The spectators were frozen in time. Even Sadie had lost her look of contempt for Wyatt.
He turned back to the witness. “Ineffective leadership, Reverend Taylor, was that responsible for the South’s defeat?”
Reverend Taylor set his jaw. “Southern leaders were proud, gallant, brave and highly competent men.”
Wyatt held up both palms. “Then to what do you attribute the defeat?”
The reverend’s eyes narrowed with contempt. “Betrayal.”
The air in the court-room was thick with tension and anticipation. The jury leaned forward in their seats. “Are you aware of who betrayed the South to the North?”
Preacher Taylor sat tall in the witness stand. He spoke with a sense of solemn pride and unshakable resolve. “Silas Thornton. He leaked the plans for the defense of New Orleans to a Northern Spy. He was paid handsomely by the Yankees for his treachery.”
“Hundreds of men lost their lives?”
“Not just hundreds,” Preacher Taylor’s voice increased rage, “but thousands from the capture of New Orleans to Lee’s surrender at Appomattox.”
Wyatt grew increasingly confident his brother’s freedom was just a matter of time.
Emma’s blue eyes locked on his. It was her dogged determination that made acquittal possible, if not imminent. Just a few more questions designed to exploit Preacher Taylor’s arrogance and religious fanaticism.
He approached the witness and stood directly in front of Taylor. Wyatt’s voice rose. “And when you learned that the man who betrayed the South, who betrayed you, as an officer in the Confederate States Navy, when you learned the man had become a bounty hunter and was in Cheyanne, you sent him a message about stolen Confederate gold you assured him was hidden by Travis McCrea to lure him to Sundown.”
Every eye in the court-room focused on Preacher Taylor, their bodies frozen in mid-breath.
“I didn’t lure Silas Thornton to Sundown so I could kill the traitor. From my conversations with Travis, I knew how talk of stolen Confederate gold made him angry. I thought his anger might result in …” His voice tailed off.
“You thought Travis might do the deed for you.” The reverend stared at his hands curled on his lap.
“It crossed my mind.”
“But your plan failed when Travis knocked Thornton down and split his lip, then walked away. You couldn’t let Silas Thornton ride out of town unpunished. You didn’t have any choice.” Each word of Wyatt’s rose in volume. “When Travis walked away, and Thornton was out cold, you took the man’s own gun and shot Silas Thornton.”
The blood seemed to have drained from the reverend’s face. “I… I…”
“Then you put the gun back in the holster and went inside and began to tell a lie to frame Travis McCrea for the murder you committed, didn’t you?”
The only sound in the room was Preacher Taylor’s breathing. Everyone else seemed to be holding their breath.
Preacher Taylor jumped to his feet. “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”
Wyatt banged his hand on the railing of the witness stand. “That quote means vengeance is up to God, not to an angry, vengeful man!” The reverend sank into his chair.
Wyatt resumed his questioning in a calm, reasoned tone. “Did you shoot Silas Thornton? You swore on a bible to tell the truth.”
Taylor breathed deeply. “Since that night, for the first time in years, I’ve slept soundly without hearing the cries of thousands of brave fighting men.”
“You were going to let my brother hang…”
Preacher Taylor shouted. “For years, the Lord told me to avenge my Southern comrades. The Lord commanded me. I had no choice.”
“The Lord commanded you to avenge Silas Thornton’s treasonous acts, so you shot him?”
Preacher Taylor gave a single affirmative nod and a sigh of resignation. “Yes, Mr. McCrea. I shot Silas Thornton.”
An audible gasp swept through the court-room. Wyatt stumbled backward, stunned by the admission.
With Preacher Taylor’s head hung, Judge Rawlings banged his gavel and quieted the court-room. “Mr. Hackett.”
Clint Hackett slowly rose to his feet. “The prosecution moves to place Reverend Taylor under arrest and to dismiss all charges against Travis McCrea.”
CHAPTER 35
The court-room burst forth with cheers, raucous shouts as jubilant as a barn dance in midsummer. Wyatt clutched the defense table, dizzy with a mix of elation and relief. The confession had come upon him so suddenly that he could scarcely believe it had happened.
He felt as if the heavens had opened, drenching him in a refreshing downpour that washed away all the fear and uncertainty which had taken up residence in his gut for a fortnight.
A roar of cheers and applause seemed to grow as he embraced his brother. Travis’s grin stretched from one side of his face to the other.
The gates swung open, and spectators surrounded them. The two brothers accepted pats on the back from the town folk as Travis called for Ellie.
Wyatt shook hands with Sam Hampton, who grinned like a new father. “I always hoped to get a witness to confess to a crime in open court. You made this old man happy, Son.”
“Thanks… Sam.”
Emma stood alone in the spectator section as Sadie pushed through the crowd and swept both arms around him, then caught herself and let go.
Wyatt had to get to Emma. She worked tirelessly to uncover the truth about Silas Thornton’s murder. Her efforts, more than his, resulted in the dismissal of the charges. He reached across the railing to the spectator section.
She took his hand and squeezed it, her eyes locked on his. Then she headed down the aisle and disappeared through the courthouse doors, in a hurry to put out a special edition of the Sundown Gazette, no doubt.
Ellie Baker made her way through the crowd, threw both arms around Travis, and kissed him on the lips. He picked her up and twirled her around like they were the only two people in the room.
Wyatt chuckled to himself. Her contract prohibited that behavior, but neither seemed to give a damn.
When Travis set Ellie down, Sheriff Black pumped Travis’s hand with a firm handshake. Then he shook Wyatt’s hand. “I’ve got a prisoner to attend to.” He pointed to Preacher Taylor, who still sat at the witness chair.
Travis clapped the sheriff on the back. “When you’re finished, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Sadie’s eyes shimmered. “You’re not going back to Sacramento, are you?”
Wyatt regretted the pain he had caused her since she arrived in Sundown. The future he’d envisioned with her drifted away like a puff of smoke. “No, I’m not, Sadie.”
She blinked away tears and regained her composure. “It’s all right, Wyatt. Some people aren’t cut out for the sophistication of city life.”
Sadie took her father’s arm. “I could use a drink, Daddy.”
Sam Hampton pumped his fist in the air. “Drinks are on me at the Purple Sage!”
With the offer of free drinks, the courthouse began to empty as the town folk followed the Hampton’s out of the courthouse. The place was nearly empty in minutes.
Wyatt pushed his way through the crowd and went outside to find Amos, Ruby and Miles Freeman. Overhead, thick clouds were closing in as the sun began to set. He caught up to the Freemans at the park. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
Ruby gave Wyatt a quick hug. “You did good in there. We’re getting our neighbor back.”
“You’re coming to the Purple Sage to celebrate, I presume.”
Amos set a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Wyatt, we’ve had this conversation. People in this town aren’t ready for folks like us to celebrate with their own folk.”
Miles was at his mother’s side, watching a group of children play Red Rover.
“Let’s see if you’re wrong.” Wyatt took Mile’s hand and led him to the other children. “You kids got room for one more?”
“Sure.” A little redheaded girl about Miles’s age took the boy’s hand and led him to the children on her side. “You know how to play?” She explained the rules, and he blended right in.
Wyatt turned to Amos and Ruby and held out both hands. “I told you Sundown is changing.”
Amos rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Maybe you’re right about kids.”
“I’m right about this town. Ruby, tell your husband.”
“Nobody messed with us since we came to the trial. There’s only one way to find out, Amos. And one drink ain’t gonna hurt either of us.” She led Amos to a bench where they sat and watched the children play. “We’ll meet you there.”
Wyatt returned to the court-room.
Travis’s gaze swept the nearly empty courthouse. “Where’s Emma?”
“I think she’s busy getting her newspaper out.”
“You think.” Travis wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure?”
Wyatt wasn’t sure why she’d left so abruptly.
His brother and the schoolteacher held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes. Ellie reached out and touched Wyatt’s arm. “I know I’m going to lose my job, but I found out what’s truly important.”
Clint Hackett left the prosecutor’s table. He didn’t look defeated at all. “What’s this I hear about losing one’s job?”
Ellie looked uneasy. “My contract…”
Hackett’s calm, reassuring tone returned. “Non-sense. Preacher Taylor insisted on those morals clause provisions in your contract. Sheriff Black and I went along because we didn’t want a repeat of what happened to our last teacher. The board will meet in short order and vote to remove Preacher Taylor from the board. The sheriff and I have read plenty of reports about what an excellent teacher you are. By next week, you’ll have a new contract and you and Travis can lead the lives you deserve.”
Hackett shook Wyatt’s hand. “Congratulations, Wyatt. I don’t mind losing a case as long as I know justice has been served.”
Hackett shook Travis’s hand.
“Are you coming to the Purple Sage?” Wyatt asked.
Clint seemed to give the idea serious consideration. “I might, for a cup of coffee.”
The prosecutor walked away, leaving Wyatt, Travis and Ellie.
Her eyes glistened as she clutched the locket around her neck. “I get to bring Caleb to Sundown.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Travis took her hands. “You two can live with me at the ranch.”
Elie laughed. “I think that might be too progressive for Sundown.”
Wyatt had an idea to solve the problem. “There’s an attorney at my firm in Sacramento. He’s from Canada and used to practice in Toronto. I’m sure he’ll find the truth about what happened to your husband. Since you haven’t heard from him in so long, I’m sure he’ll turn up a death certificate. If not, I’m certain Judge Rawlings will declare him legally dead.”
Ellie’s eyes glistened. “We can get married.”
Travis blinked away his own tears. “If you’ll have me.”
The bailiff set three papers on the table to finalize the release of Travis. Wyatt signed as attorney of record below the signature of Clint Hackett. He handed them back to the bailiff.
Travis took Ellie’s arm. “Let’s have a drink. Come on, Little Brother.”
“I’ll catch up to you. I have one stop to make.” When they left, Wyatt sat alone with his thoughts.
A door opened behind the bench, and Judge Rawlings, wearing a gray suit and no black robe, approached. He extended his hand. “Congratulations.”
Wyatt rose, and the two men shook hands. “You might recall when we first met to discuss the trial, I assured you justice would be served.”
Wyatt remembered.
The judge smiled. “You did a fine job.” He rubbed his chin. “I'm not sure of your plans, but Sundown could use a man like you. If you stay, I’ll issue a permanent law license.”
“Mighty kind of you, Judge.” Wyatt had plenty of reasons to remain in Sundown. The most important was a woman who’d abruptly left the courthouse. “There's a... celebration at the saloon.”
“I'm not sure that would be appropriate, but I appreciate the offer. Enjoy your celebration. You deserve it.” With a nod, he walked behind the bench and a door closed behind him.
Wyatt took a final look around the court-room where in two days, he’d grown as a lawyer and a man.
He wasn’t sure what the future held, but he was determined to find out.
The clouds had darkened, and the park was nearly deserted as Wyatt stepped outside.
On a bench outside the courthouse, Mayor Hook rose and shook Wyatt’s hand. “Congratulations. I must say justice has been served. You’ll make a fine prosecutor.”
Like any politician, the mayor was adept at switching sides.
Wyatt nodded toward Clint Hackett’s office. “Clint’s your man.”
“He lost the case to you.”
“I had an innocent client. Clint is just as committed to justice as I am.”
The mayor rubbed his chin. “I’ll think about it. But it doesn’t change the opportunities for you here. What does Sacramento have that we won’t eventually have?”
Sacramento offered Sadie a career with a powerful California law firm. He glanced toward the office of the Sundown Gazette. Sundown had Emma. “I’m staying in Sundown, Mayor.”
“That makes me a happy man.” The mayor set his hand on his hat as a gust of wind swept up Main Street. “I’d better get. Storm’s about to break.”
When he walked up Main Street, Wyatt felt the winds of change coming to Sundown. He wasn’t convinced of the mayor’s commitment to integrity, but he had more important things to think about.
A crack of thunder rumbled overhead. At the edge of town, he gazed through the window of the Sundown Gazette. Emma sat at her desk with a pencil poised above her notepad.
The wind swept a gust across Main Street, and the sky darkened with heavy gray clouds. Wyatt looked up at a gathering storm and slipped inside. The door slammed as the wind blew the door shut.
Emma had changed out of the dress she wore for two days. She wore a long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows, trousers and boots. She looked up with an expression as icy as a winter storm. A smear of printer’s ink swept across both cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be packing for Sacramento? You got what you came to Sundown for, didn’t you?”
