The Ballad of Frankie Silver - By Sharyn McCrumb Page 0,157

hands of the townspeople, you know, but the Stewarts were frontier folk. They must have figured there was no telling what townspeople would do.”

“There’s still some of that,” said Spencer. He stopped and listened. The woods were completely silent. No birds sang. No gnats swarmed above the damp earth. “She was brave, wasn’t she?” he said at last. “Frankie never told who cut up the body, and she never said who helped her escape. She died protecting her family.”

“It must have been hard to die like that, wondering if the truth might have saved you.”

“She tried to speak on the gallows. They asked her if she had any last words, and according to eyewitnesses—there was a lawyer named Burgess Gaither who told the story years later—they asked Frankie Silver if she had any last words, and she stepped forward and started to speak. But her father was in the crowd, and he yelled out: Die with it in you, Frankie!And she stepped back, and was hanged without saying a word.”

“It wouldn’t have saved her then. He knew that.”

“That’s what her father was saying to her then,” said Spencer. He pictured the grizzled old man, surrounded by shouting strangers, staring up at his daughter with the rope around her neck, and he’s

ashamed that his sorrow is mixed with fear for what she might say. Die with it in you.Mr. Stewart was saying: “We can’t save you, Frankie. We did all we could. We tried to keep you from getting caught, but the blood would tell. Then we hired you a lawyer and paid for the appeal, but we lost the case. We even broke you out of jail. We can’t save you. Don’t take the rest of the family down with you.”

“Yes.”

Die with it in you.Spencer shivered in the pale sunshine. “I have somewhere to go tomorrow,” he said softly.

“Yes.”

“I have to go to Nashville and watch a man die in the electric chair. I put him there.”

The old woman nodded. Her face showed no trace of surprise or alarm. She began to retrace their steps

back to the logging trail. It was time to go back.

Spencer followed her back through the tall yellow-flowered weeds. He said, “I think I understand what bothered Nelse Miller about the case now. I know why Frankie Silver has been on my mind.”

“Yes.”

“Will I be able to save him?”

Nora Bonesteel turned to look at the sheriff. “Knowing is one thing,” she said. “Changing is another.”

It was nearly three o’clock when Spencer reached the sheriff’s office. “We’ve finished interrogating the suspect,” LeDonne told him. “He confessed. I think there’s some mental deficiency there, so he’ll probably end up in a treatment facility.”

“Did you ask him about the Harkryder case?” asked Spencer.

“Yeah. It happened before he was born. He never heard of it. There’s a press conference at four. Do you feel up to conducting it?”

Spencer knew that he should. Elected officials have to stay visible to let their constituents know they’re on the job. He shook his head. “It was your case,” he said. “You and Martha handle it. I just came back to get the information you ran down for me on my case.”

LeDonne handed him a folder. “You don’t have much time,” he said.

“No. But at least I know who to ask.”

His old desk felt strange to him now, after weeks away from duty. He saw that the plant in his window looked better, since he had not been around to pour cold coffee into it, and there was a tidiness to his desktop that made him uneasy. He read through the laser-printed sheets in the folder, making notes as he went. It was coming together now. Everything was beginning to make sense, but still he had no proof.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number in Kentucky. He wished he had time to go in person, but there were only hours remaining. “Tom Harkryder, please,” he said when the ringing stopped. “Mr. Harkryder, this is Sheriff Arrowood from Wake County, Tennessee. I’d like to talk to you about your

brother.”

There was an intake of breath at the other end of the phone, and then a sigh. “I can’t help you with Ewell,” drawled the voice. “Bailing him out is a waste of money. Let him sleep it off.”

“I meant your other brother, Tom. Lafayette. Remember him?”

After another pause, Tom Harkryder said, “I can’t help him, either.”

“I think you could,” said the sheriff. “I think you could save his life—if you told what really happened