past noon, but no one wanted to abandon the vigil in search of dinner. Some of us were not
hungry.
The morning had been taken up with a parade of witnesses, each of whom had shaded his testimony to reflect the guilt and malevolence of the defendant. The certainty of Frankie Silver’s conviction for murder seemed to seep into the minds of those who testified, tainting their recollections with the memory of strange looks or suspicious behavior where none had been observed before. The girl was a murderer, they reasoned: surely she must have acted like one. From one day to the next, a young woman who had spent her life in the company of these people, and married into their family, was transformed into a stock villain of melodrama. No one seemed to find it odd.
Nicholas Woodfin had tried to undo the damage caused by the witnesses’ premature condemnation. Again and again he asked, “Did you not tell this story differently before?” And always the answer was: “Upon reflection, I remembered more clearly what took place.”
At last the questioning was over, the witnesses were dismissed a final time, and Judge Donnell gave his instructions to the jury before sending them forth to begin their task anew. His summation was stern but fair, although he did not touch upon the matter of the altered testimony. He was careful to explain to the jurors that reasonable doubt did not mean conjuring fanciful solutions to the crime, and that although the defendant was a fair young woman, the law was no respecter of persons.
“There is a blindfold around the eyes of the goddess of justice,” he reminded them, “so that she may not see who is rich or poor, young or old, fair or ill-favored, and thus base her judgments upon these superficialities. Gentlemen of the jury, see that you, too, are blind to the temptations of offering mercy where none is warranted.”
I was surprised by the anxiousness that I felt in anticipation of their verdict. Usually, cases in Superior Court, even quite serious or tragic ones, leave me unmoved. I have no stake in the verdict; nothing that transpires in the courtroom reflects upon my ability as a lawyer or affects my purse. I am merely an observer, a procedural referee, if you will. Somehow, though, this time I found myself wishing with all my heart that Nicholas Woodfin would carry the day, and that little Mrs. Silver would be set free.
I made a point of seeking out Mr. Woodfin, who was standing by himself on the courthouse lawn, seemingly oblivious to the white flowering trees around him heralding spring. It will be winter for him a good while longer, I thought, watching him. His colleague Thomas Wilson had gone home to dine, and none of the spectators had cared to approach the young attorney. The man who defends a heartless killer is not a popular fellow.
“I feel sure that she cannot have done it,” I said to him in a low voice, for I did not wish to be overheard by anyone else.
Nicholas Woodfin smiled at the urgency in my voice. He was tired now, and he wanted nothing more to do with hope. “Have you another theory, Mr. Gaither?”
I shook my head. “None. I dismiss all the theatrics of today—all that wild talk of Mrs. Silver’s strange looks and malevolent behavior. That was the embellishment of people wishing to enlarge their roles in the one drama of their lives. It is yesterday’s testimony that puzzles me. The witnesses were quite firm on the point of her lying. Frankie Silver said that her husband had not come home, and yet pieces of his body were discovered in the cabin. I cannot explain that fact away.”
“No.”
“Yet it was a crime involving gore and dismemberment, done in stealth rather than in the heat of passion: this argues madness. But the woman I saw in the courtroom was clearly sane. No one could fault her self-control.”
“I wish she had a good deal less of it,” said Woodfin. “She is keeping back the truth.”
“Surely not,” I protested. “Do you know what she is hiding?”
He looked uneasy. “I cannot be sure.”
“She must speak out. Her life depends on it.”
The young attorney nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if she knows that,” he said. “I have told her so often enough, and Mr. Wilson has impressed it upon her in the sternest manner, but I cannot be sure that she believes us. She is so young and pretty that I