After Meg checked out on Monday, she stopped by Nancy’s room. Knocking but receiving
no answer, she eased the door open enough to look in. She heard one of the same songs
she had heard at least a dozen times before, and Nancy, looking a little paler, was
napping. Rather than disturb her, she shut the door and left. Later than night, when
the phone rang, she was not at all surprised to hear Nancy’s voice.
“I wanted to call before the trial.”
“Thanks,” Meg answered. Holding the phone with her shoulder, she continued ironing
a new maternity dress that she was going to wear the next day.
“I hope you find what it is you’re looking for Meg.” Nancy’s tone was strangely serious.
“How are you feeling, Nancy?”
“A little tired, that’s all,” Nancy answered. Then, after pausing for a moment, she
continued. “You know, the pain hasn’t been too bad recently. But the treatments make
me exhausted. I guess taking them may be a waste of time and effort. After all, the
result’s going to be the same. All I’m doing is trying to give myself a few more days.”
Meg had almost forgotten that Nancy was dying. She’d simply put that fact in the back
of her mind. Nancy’s personality—her life—had almost caused Meg to believe the young
woman might really beat the odds. But in reality, there weren’t any odds given on
this race. All bets were off. Nancy was going to lose. She was living on borrowed
days as she had already beaten the doctor’s timetable by over two months.
“Nancy,” Meg’s voice was soft. “You love life a great deal.”
The statement was a good one, one that must have caused Nancy to stop and think a
minute before answering. What she said was more than just the simple yes Meg had expected.
“Oh, Meg. I don’t know that I love life that much, but what I love is what life brings
me. The longer I live the more wonderful people I get to meet and the more people
I get to love. Beating the odds gave me a chance to get to know you. It may sound
kind of funny, but you’ve made me feel very fortunate. You have made me think about
things that I’d never thought about before. Your doubts have even brought me closer
to God.”
Putting the iron down and sitting on her bed, Meg quipped, “I’ve brought you closer
to God?”
“Yes,” Nancy returned. “You see, I’ve never had anyone I loved taken from me. I was
raised in a children’s home and then foster care. So in a way, maybe I was feeling
a little sorry for myself until I realized that those who are left behind have it
the worst. My husband will know the real pain—the kind of pain a pill can’t cure.
I realized that from watching you.”
Nancy took a deep breath. “And that boy, the one who is going on trial tomorrow, he’s
going to know pain, too. Maybe you won’t think it’s enough, but if your attorney does
her job, he will still know pain. I wish I could give you the peace that I feel to
go along with the drive that’s pushing you on to get the justice you are sure you
need. I think if you had that peace, the kind that only the knowledge of knowing God
gives you, you could do something far more special to commemorate the way Steve died
than just put his killer away.”
“Nancy, I’m not sure you really want to go there.”
“Meg, I’m sorry, there I am again getting into areas I don’t need to get into. Forgive
me, won’t you? Sometimes I sound just like a know-it-all old woman. I guess in a way
I am old.”
Strangely this time Meg felt no anger over what Nancy had insinuated. It didn’t change
the way she felt about the trial or Jim Thomas, but it did give her another viewpoint
that sounded a little more constructive than “this is all in God’s plan.”
“Nancy,” Meg answered, “no apologies needed. You at least attempt to give me reasons
rather than pat answers. Folks like my mother claim to have all the answers, but they
don’t seem to have anything concrete to back them up. You make me think and I appreciate
that.”
Nancy weakly laughed and then added another bit of unsolicited advice, “I really think
the only map we need to live by can be found in Matthew 25:35-40. In fact, that’s
what has driven me to be your friend.”
“Those are the verses on touching the least of these?” Meg asked.
“Yeah. They are.”
“But you are the one that’s sick,” Meg argued. “I should be touching you.”
“And you have. But while I’m sick, you are the one who has been broken. I was put
here to reach out to you.”
Nancy let her words linger for a moment and then came back on the line. “There’s one
more thing, Meg.”
“What’s that?”
“My folks died when I was two,” Nancy explained. “I never really knew them.”
“I’m sorry,” Meg said.
“So am I,” the woman replied. “But how can you miss what you don’t remember? Anyway,
you need to know what happened to them.”
“Go ahead.”
“They were killed by a drunk driver.” Nancy let the words soak in before adding, “I
was in the back seat and was uninjured. So, you have given me something else that
is very special. I now feel their loss for the very first time, because I see how
Steve’s loss has hit you. I suddenly believe my dying would be easier if I’d had parents
to hold my hand. I can only hope they will be on the other side to greet me.”
Meg was dumbfounded. She didn’t know what to say. Alcohol-related accidents took thousands
of lives a year, but up until this moment she’d only measured that cost in her own
terms. Yes, Cheryl’s story had further fueled her need for revenge, but it had not
touched her heart. Nancy had now put what happened into a whole new light. There were
millions of people living right now that shared Meg’s pain. They probably also shared
her need for justice.
“Good-bye, Meg.” Nancy said.
The phone went dead before Meg had a chance to reply.
E
VEN THOUGH SEVERAL PEOPLE, INCLUDING HER MOTHER, HAD OFFERED
to accompany her, Meg wanted to make this trip on her own. With road construction
along several streets, a water crew dealing with a massive leak on Elm Street, a four-car
police chase along Pine, and a half dozen erratic drivers pulling out in front of
her all along her route, she now wished she had ridden with someone else as the drive
to the courthouse had been nerve-wracking. She felt lucky just to get there in one
piece. On the top of those hair-raising and heart-stopping experiences, the gloomy
skies offered another ominous sign. It just didn’t look like a good day. As Meg parked
the Mustang and stepped out into the damp air, she felt as through there was a huge
weight on her shoulders. Even after taking a deep breath, that weight was still there.
It continued to ride her back as she strolled quickly and fearfully across the courthouse
grounds and to the front stairs.
Standing on those limestone steps she looked back toward her car. Suddenly the deal
she’s been offered looked good. She’d probably have upwards of a half million dollars
if she’d taken it. On top of that, she wouldn’t have to be facing a trial whose outcome
she couldn’t predict. As she considered the price she
was paying her eyes literally found the writing on the wall. She’d been in this building
hundreds of times in her life but had never noticed the cornerstone until this moment.
There it was plain as day and it was speaking directly to her. Under the date of construction,
“1897,” there were four words, “Justice will be served.” She stopped and studied that
pledge for a few moments. Would it ring true this week or would this be a time when
the system failed to bring justice? Right now, she felt anything but confident.
As the pledge burned into her head, she glanced up at and studied the imposing four-story
structure. Built of white limestone it was impressive but also foreboding. Why not?
People paid taxes here, they tried criminals here and they filed complaints here.
For all those reasons and a hundred more the courthouse just seemed to be a place
you didn’t want to visit. But, nevertheless, this was a place she had to be. She owed
it to Steve.
After climbing the outside steps, Meg pushed open the ten-foot doors and made her
way into the hall. There were steps to the right leading to the second floor. Made
of granite, they were worn from more than a century of men and women climbing them
to see if justice would be served. And though she now wanted to turn and race out
the door, to not make this final climb, Meg solemnly put her feet where so many others
before her had trod. Reaching the top, she noted a friend marching down the hall toward
her.
“This is the day.” Cheryl grimly announced. “Are you ready?”
A knot blocking her throat, Meg could only nod.
She had also gotten up an hour early on this special morning just to make sure that
her hair, as well as her makeup, painted the picture Cheryl needed. She chose a royal
blue maternity dress, dark hose, and pumps. She picked this dress because it made
her look much further along than she actually was.
Cheryl stepped back and studied Meg. “You look perfect. It’s just what we need.”
“Thanks.” At least one thing was going right. The assistant district attorney had
requested Meg look like a demure mother-to-be—a woman that a jury would take pity
on—and she had evidently succeeded.
“Your look will earn the jurors’ sympathy,” Cheryl assured her. “That is the first
step in getting the maximum sentence.”
“Thanks. I went through four or five dresses before I felt right about this one.”
“It’s just what we need,” Cheryl added.
As she seated herself in a chair directly behind Cheryl’s place at the prosecutor’s
table, she didn’t know how to deal with her contradictory emotions. She was experiencing
butterflies, and while she had expected that, she also had a conflicting deep-rooted
confidence the case was so cut-and-dry that they had to win. These two polar opposites
were fighting a war for her mind. And right now neither was winning. In an effort
to dismiss these emotions, she spent the final few minutes before things began taking
stock of those who had gathered in this historic chamber. She didn’t know most, but
there was one who really stood out.
Jasper Tidwell was heavy, white-headed, and probably mid-sixties. Meg had expected
the attorney to be slick, refined, and polished, but Tidwell was rumpled and wrinkled.
He wore a baggy gray suit that must have been at least twenty years old, unpolished
and scuffed brown shoes, and a wide, ugly, dark green tie decorated with yellow dots
held in place by a large, brass tie clip, all pulled together, or maybe torn apart,
by a light blue shirt. A month overdue for a haircut, his glasses seemed permanently
attached at the bottom of his rather large nose. He really appeared to be more a feeble
but kindly old man who spent his spare time feeding pigeons at the park than a member
of the state bar. In fact, due to his attire and unkempt look, Tidwell seemed to be
the lovable, gullible, grandfatherly type. Could this be the famed lawyer she had
been told to fear? At first glance, he did not seem like the sly, evil man Cheryl
had painted him to be.
As Meg continued to study Tidwell, he leaned over the railing and started a conversation
with two well-dressed gentlemen who looked to be businessmen. All three men were smiling
as they spoke. By the time Tidwell spied Meg, he’d finished his conversation and pulled
a pocket watch from his coat. After checking the time, he nodded and shot her a pleasant
smile.
“Meg,” Cheryl whispered.
Turning her gaze back to the assistant district attorney, Meg raised her eyebrows
to indicate an affirmative response.
“Don’t let his looks mislead you,” Cheryl’s eyes were directed toward the defense
table. “He’s a shark and a smart one, too. If he smells blood, he’ll go for it. There
are hundreds of guilty folks walking free, thanks to Tidwell.”
Meg nodded, not quite able to reconcile Cheryl’s words with what she was seeing. Still,
the warning did serve to put her on guard.
Standing up, Tidwell turned toward the back wall. Throwing his arms out and forcing
a huge smile, he robustly welcomed Jim Thomas into the courtroom.
“James, my boy, and how are we today?”
Thomas, dressed in a conservative dark blue suit, white oxford cloth shirt, and silk
tie, managed to force a smile of his own as he replied in a polite voice. “Fine, sir.”
Now showing his true colors, the grandstanding Tidwell made a big show of walking
halfway down the center aisle of the room to embrace the boy. Then, in a voice just
loud enough so the crowd could overhear but not loud enough to appear as
if he had wanted them to overhear, he asked. “Is your father, Judge Thomas, coming?”
“He’ll be along in a second,” the younger Thomas assured the attorney.
“Oh, good.” A whimsical smile now filled the Tidwell’s face. “There’s no doubt, my
son, of all the men I have practiced before, your father, Judge Alfred E. Thomas,
is the finest. Our community is blessed to have him. Fine man, a very fine man!” Glancing
around the almost-full room as if to make sure that all those present had heard, the
attorney then slapped his client on the back and the two of them walked toward the
front of the courtroom. As they passed the row where Meg sat, Tidwell announced just
loud enough for Cheryl and Meg to overhear, “Don’t worry, James, we’ll have this little
misunderstanding cleared up in no time.”
Cheryl shook her head. She had likely seen this kind of stuff out of Jasper Tidwell
on many occasions. She’d even warned Meg that the old man always played the crowd
to try to unhinge the prosecution’s emotions. Yet while those from the district attorney’s
office had long since learned to handle it, Meg’s blood was boiling. How dare this
man refer to Steve’s death as a little misunderstanding! She glared at the bench where
Thomas and Tidwell were sitting, and just as she did, the attorney turned around and
smiled at her. He continued to stare and grin until she finally turned the other way.
“Meg,” Cheryl’s tone was very assertive. “Ignore him. He wants you to get mad. That’s
his plan. Don’t let him get to you. Stay cool.” Cheryl reached over the railing and
patted Meg’s hand in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. There were now two
people in the courtroom the young widow hated.