The Tender Years Page 21

  “Well, that’s your story,” said Jenny, lifting her nose.

  “And what’s your story? He pulled you out of the creek, all bruised and battered. You could not have made it to shore on your own. You know it.”

  “Maybe he dumped us over in the first place.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Jenny did not back down.

  “Well, it really has nothing to do with me.”

  “Yes, it does. It has everything to do with you. And with me. If we hadn’t gone to the creek when we shouldn’t have, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. Freddie would be alive, your hand—” Virginia could not finish the comment about Jenny’s hand. “The Crells would still be in school. Rett would not—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jenny, coming to a halt. “You’re feeling guilty about all this?”

  Virginia’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, I do. I never should have disobeyed my parents. None of us should have gone to the creek when we had been told not to. Then none of this would have happened.”

  “Don’t be so … so thin-skinned, Virginia. Old folks are always saying don’t have fun. If we listened to them all the time … I don’t feel guilty.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  “Don’t think that you can hang all this on me, Virginia,” Jenny said hotly.

  Virginia shook her head slowly. “No … no, I’m just as guilty. I’ve already said that. I … I feel terrible that … that so many people have suffered because—”

  “Hear that, Trina,” Jenny said with another poke of her elbow. “Virginia feels guilty. I didn’t think church folks were supposed to feel that way. Didn’t they say the other night that God takes care of all that stuff?”

  Trina, who had been silent through the whole exchange, remained so.

  “God has forgiven me, even though I don’t deserve it,” Virginia went on, her voice now soft and controlled, “but that hasn’t eased the hurt of the Crells or the wrongful suffering of Rett Marshall.”

  “What’s the theft got to do with the creek thing?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Virginia, “but I think there’s some connection.”

  Jenny lifted her hands and went through an elaborate washing mime. “Well, I guess no harm has been done to Loony Marshall. Saw him out wandering again the other day.”

  Virginia said nothing.

  “Your pa got him off?”

  “He’s … he’s not off, exactly. He’s just out until … the trial.”

  “Then he’ll be locked up for good,” pronounced Jenny, showing no feeling at all for the man.

  “Maybe not,” said Virginia with more confidence than she felt. “Papa says there really isn’t much evidence against him.”

  “The stolen goodies were found right there in his drawer.” Jenny used some of her nasty words. “What more evidence does one need?”

  “Anyone could have put them there,” said Virginia.

  Jenny whirled around. “What do you mean? Anyone? Only the cleaning staff gets to go in there. And then you are given strict orders—just get in and get out.”

  Virginia turned to Jenny, a frown on her face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just change the bed, sweep up the floor, put the clean clothes in the drawer, and take out the dirty stuff—then get out. At least he doesn’t have clutter to make the job tough like old Mrs. Hanson.”

  Virginia was still frowning.

  “How do you know all this?”

  Jenny waved an impatient hand in the air and uttered another one of her vulgar words. “I worked there for the whole summer,” she exclaimed impatiently. “Guess I oughta know.”

  “Papa, I need to talk with you.”

  Virginia had not waited for her father to come home from the office but had gone round to see him after school. All the previous night she had battled with what to do about the conversation with Jenny of the day before. She still wasn’t sure how it should be handled, but she knew she had to talk with her father. Leave the decision to him.

  “Come in,” he welcomed her. “Shut the door.”

  Virginia stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. At her father’s nod she took the chair that faced his desk and knotted trembling hands in her lap.

  Her father sat back and waited.

  “It’s Jenny. Something she said yesterday. I … I don’t know what it means—if it means anything—but she worked all summer for Mrs. Kruz at the boardinghouse.”

  Her father still waited quietly, his face showing no change of emotion. Sometimes Virginia felt impatient at his patience.

  “Don’t you see? She cleaned Rett’s room. She was in there.”

  Her father studied her face intently. He seemed to know just how much those few short words had cost her. To think that Jenny had—perhaps—caused such pain, for whatever reason, was hard to accept.

  “Virginia,” he said, leaning across the desk toward her. “Thank you for sharing this difficult fact. I know it’s been … unpleasant for you.” He hesitated. “But remember, no one is guilty until proven guilty. Because Jenny had access to Rett’s room proves nothing. Now we are working with circumstances. What would be the motive? What could she possibly gain? Why would she do such a thing?”

  “She doesn’t like him,” Virginia said, her chin trembling.

  “That’s not a very good reason.”

  “She knows I do.”

  It was a fact. Virginia had to face it.

  “Surely … she …”

  “She might. Jenny is … is very mixed-up, I think. Her mother leaving and her father being cruel, I don’t think Jenny knows how to love. Just how to … to manipulate.”

  Her father sat quietly, shaking his head. “If—and I say if, Virginia—if this proves to be true, then Jenny needs us more than ever.”

  It was true. But how could one help a person like Jenny? Virginia was wondering.

  “We’ll just have to keep praying,” said her father. “In fact, we’ll have to increase our praying.”

  Virginia nodded silently.

  “And, Virginia,” his voice went on, “please, don’t try to force something here. Please. Be patient. This will be properly investigated. We’ll do a thorough check. This could be another dead end. Jenny could be perfectly innocent—I pray she is. But it will be checked. I promise you that. But, Virginia, let God work it out—in His own time. He will. I have every confidence that He will.”

  Virginia hung her head. She still wasn’t quite sure that her father’s way worked. At least it didn’t seem to work very fast.

  CHAPTER 22

  It was difficult for Virginia to keep her impatience in check. Her human side insisted that she should be doing something about the situation beyond simply praying. She wasn’t sure what that something should be, or she may have yielded to temptation and tried to accomplish it. Every night she asked her father about the progress of the investigation, and every night he gave her an answer that somehow satisfied her without giving her any specific information. He was good at that, she admitted. Perhaps that was one of the characteristics that made him a good attorney.

  Jenny did not seem to be aware of the dark cloud that hung over her head. She tossed it aside in the same fashion as she flipped her mane of gold-red tresses. She continued the friendship with Trina, but Trina did not seem quite as spellbound as she once had.

  Whether Jenny felt threatened by that or not, Virginia could not tell. She did seem upset that Georgie was now making friends with some of the boys from the church. Virginia heard whispers of “traitor” and “turncoat,” but there seemed to be no open declaration of war on him.

  One had only to look at Georgie to know there had been a change in his life. He looked so much more at peace with himself now that he had found peace with his God. He settled down, not feeling the need to be the constant class clown, putting down others in order to get a laugh. The change was so dramatic that even the schoolteachers noticed it.

  The trial
for Rett Marshall had been set for the first week in December. Virginia fidgeted and fumed as she saw the date draw closer and closer. For now, the man was enjoying his freedom. Each morning he pulled on his warm jacket against the chill of the winter wind to strike off into the forest of bare-limbed trees, seeking solace in the only way that he knew how—communing with nature. Whenever Virginia saw him she waved to him, and he responded with a jerky wave of his own and a broad, acknowledging smile. It tore at her heart to think that these might be the last days of freedom for this man who would never knowingly harm anyone or anything.

  “We’ve come up empty,” her father admitted as he lowered himself onto a kitchen chair. Virginia saw his hand rub the back of his neck, as though the tension had built there over the difficult days of searching for answers.

  She tried to keep her voice patient and even, so as not to bring further agitation to her father, but her emotion was evident in each word that spilled out.

  “What do you mean? Empty? Surely you have found some? thing … something to indicate … she was there.”

  What was worse? Virginia heard her heart cry. To condemn Rett—or Jenny?

  But she pressed on. “Did the sheriff talk to the land? lady?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And what did she say? Didn’t she tell him that Jenny worked for her over the summer?”

  “She did. Each Monday washday and some Wednesdays and Saturday afternoons.”

  “So—?”

  “So that proves nothing. She said Jenny seemed very reli? able and honest.”

  But she can’t be, Virginia wanted to cry. It had to be her who set up Rett.

  “We asked if anyone else had access to the rooms. She said no.”

  “See!” said Virginia.

  “Virginia—just because one had access to the room does not make one guilty of a crime.”

  “I … I know that. But if it wasn’t Jenny, who was it?”

  “Maybe it was Rett.”

  “Papa!”

  “Maybe he doesn’t realize the consequences of what he’s doing.” Her father’s voice sounded very tired. “There have been another three items reported missing.”

  “When?”

  “Within the last week.” He smiled. “You’ll never believe this, but one of them was a checkerboard.”

  “A checkerboard? Now that should prove it. What ever would Rett do with the checkerboard?”

  The smile disappeared. “Maybe the same thing he’d do with a crescent wrench. Look, Virginia, the stolen things do not make sense. There is no logical pattern. They seem—well, random. A few pieces of jewelry, some tools, a kitchen gadget or two, the checkerboard, a jackknife, even a child’s toy. It doesn’t make much sense. That’s why the sheriff thinks that Rett really did do it.”

  “The sheriff thinks that?”

  “Well, if one is honest, there hasn’t really been any good reason to think otherwise.”

  Virginia felt a sadness fill her heart. Her father was right, of course. Even though she had fought against it, it seemed that it was so. Rett had been pilfering throughout the entire town.

  “He’s going to hate it—prison,” said Virginia forlornly.

  “We’ll just have to pray….”

  But Virginia did not hear the rest of her father’s statement. She had heard it often enough—she had been praying. And it had really done little good.

  Virginia had never gone to a court session before, even though her father was the one defending most of the local clients. Usually his practice consisted of out-of-court claims. Little land disputes. Arranging of legal titles. Drawing up wills or settling family estates. But this was to be a full-blown court hearing. A man came from the city to act as judge. All of the evidence was to be placed before the court. Virginia, though she was reluctant to see poor Rett in such circumstances, could not keep herself away.

  The case seemed to draw the interest of the entire town. Even though Virginia arrived early, she had a hard time finding a place to sit. Two of the town’s merchants moved over, and she wedged herself on the bench between them. She felt hardly able to breathe, but it was the only spot she could find.

  Rett Marshall sat beside her father, head down and hands twisting nervously. Virginia was sure he had no idea what was going on around him. At the front of the room, at a simple borrowed table, a black-robed man with a stern face and white chin whiskers sat, a strange-looking hammer in his hand.

  To the side sat the town sheriff, sweating profusely in spite of the wind-chilled day, his hankie continually in use to wipe at his brow. For the first time, Virginia felt sorry for the man. He was only trying to do his job. He took no pleasure in condemning a local citizen to be locked away—whether in a jail cell or an asylum room.

  Across the table in front of the judge was a line-up of items. Virginia knew without asking that these were the things Rett Marshall was accused of stealing from neighbors.

  The judge smacked his hammer, and the people stood. Virginia stood with them and wondered fleetingly if there would still be room on the bench when she went to sit back down.

  After the judge had made his charge before those in attendance, they were allowed to reclaim their seats. Virginia pushed herself in again, an elbow nearly in her face.

  At last the proceedings began.

  The sheriff was the first to speak. He laid before the people the charges against the defendant, naming item by item on the table and telling the court where they had been found.

  “The pin,” cut in Mrs. Parker, unaware that observers are to be quiet in court. “I don’t see my red pin.”

  The sheriff mopped his brow again and admitted that the pin in question had not as yet been found.

  Mrs. Parker began to mumble in protest, but the judge whacked his hammer on the table and called for silence.

  The sheriff went on. “There isn’t much more I can say,” he said, “except the law has done all it could to make sure that the accused is not presented erroneously. I have followed every lead given in the case and have found no evidence to the contrary.”

  He sat down and rubbed the sodden hankie over his flushed face.

  The judge called on the defense.

  “Your Honor,” began Virginia’s father as he rose to face the judge. “We wish to beg the court’s indulgence as we present to the people the evidence in this case.” He turned toward the sheriff. “Our good sheriff has done his job thoroughly, having few leads to follow. But we wish to submit that, contrary to the accusations against my client, the stealing of property is not in keeping with the character of the defendant.”

  Character witnesses were called, Pastor Doyle being the first of them.

  “Do you know the defendant?” “I do.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “Have you ever known him to be guilty of an offense against another?”

  “Never.”

  “What kind of person would you describe him to be?”

  Hesitation followed as the question was carefully considered.

  “He is a free spirit—a soul who wanders the out-of-doors and lives there with the creatures that inhabit it. His one and only love is all things that have been made by the Creator. Material possessions seem of little worth to him.”

  “Knowing the man as you do, do you think him capable of committing this deed? Theft?”

  A long, aching silence. Pastor Doyle raised his head. His eyes were clear, but filled with compassion. “Sir,” he said, his voice ringing over the packed assembly, “I have lived and ministered for many years. Long enough to know that I can? not judge what is in the heart of another. Men have let me down. Brought deep disappointment and sorrow to my soul. Others have amazed and thrilled me with the depth of their valor and unselfishness. Only God can truly know the heart of a man. But with God as my witness, if this man has done as charged, I will be shocked and deeply saddened. I would not have thought him capable of such a deed.”


  Virginia felt the tears forming in her eyes and brushed at them with her sleeve. She was packed in too tightly to be able to reach her pocket handkerchief.

  The pastor was allowed to step down, and other witnesses were called. They all expressed the same sentiments, though not as eloquently as the pastor.

  “I call Clark Davis to the stand,” announced her father, and Virginia heard the familiar uneven step as her grandfather moved forward. She wanted to turn her head to look at him, but she could not see past the jacket of Mr. Lougin.

  The same procedure was followed, and her grandfather took the chair beside the wooden table.

  “Do you know the defendant?”

  “I do.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Since his birth—and his parents before him.”

  “So you would say that you know him well?”

  “’Bout as good as one man can know another.”

  “We have heard that the defendant is a lover of the outdoors.”

  “Thet’s true.”

  “So true that he rarely spends time in his room at the boardinghouse.”

  “Correct.”

  “In fact, he rarely spends time in town at all.” “Correct agin.”

  “Have you ever seen him loitering about the streets?”

  “No. He lives in the boardin’ house right at the edge of town. He strikes out right from there, gittin’ away from buildin’s as quick-like as he can.”

  “If he doesn’t care for town, why is he living in town?”

  “He was born and raised on the farm. Lived there most his life. His mama died several years back, but his pa and him still kept to the farm.

  “But his pa learned thet he was sick—heart trouble. My son, Dr. Luke Davis, told him he didn’t have long to live. He came to us then. Told us his story. He was right broken up over it. Wondered what he’d ever do with his boy.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, my wife and me we talked and prayed about it and went over to see Cam—thet’s his pa—and told him we’d keep the boy fer as long as we’d be able.

  “But he already had another plan. He said he was sellin’ the farm and movin’ to the boardin’ house. Then when he was gone, Rett would still be cared for. Have his meals and git his clothes washed and all.”