Mother Lode (45 page)

He turned his attention to the ocean where
the oysters came from, the flaw—the grain of sand that made the
beautiful tumescence inside, the fisherman, the buyers, the jewelry
makers.

“For the record then, Doctor, you judge him
‘sane’.”

“I do,” replied the doctor.

Jorie caught the last, wondered if it were
true.

He’d thought about what
he’d say all the way to the courtroom and during the proceedings.
He knew he could speak up whether the judge called on him or not.
He also knew if he confessed in court he’d be sent to prison, and
they probably wouldn’t give him any more bed sheets.
If I want to die, there are a hundred ways to do
it on the outside, probably none on the inside.

He turned his head to the window, where the
sun had disappeared and another Lake Superior storm was sending
tiny pebbles of sleet against the panes. Little pebbles were
hitting against the solid wall of his resolve, too. Trying to put a
chink in it.

Buck Boyce interjected, “The accused agreed
to tell me everything, but not until I brought his mother in.” He
turned to collect chuckles of appreciation, gathered none.

“Perhaps he was putting you on, Mr. Boyce,”
the judge said.

McKinney called on Mrs. O’Laerty. “It is my
understanding that you worked for Mrs. Radcliff for several
years.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And what was your relationship to the
accused?”

“I was there the day he was born, I was. I
saw the boy grow up. A kindhearted lad, loved his mum ever so
dearly. She and him was that close, they were.”

“Did you ever observe any arguments between
them?”

“No, sir, never. He was a very obedient lad,
mind you, always doin’ just what he was told.” She twisted her
handkerchief. “And after his pa passed, he stayed home to support
her, he was that devoted to her.”

“Did you ever detect any signs of violence
in the accused?”

“Oh, Lord, no! Himself wouldn’t hurt a
single crayture, not never.”

“Thank you, Mrs. O’Laerty.”

“Does
anyone
have anything further to add
to their testimony?”

Earl looked at Doc Johnson, who was shaking
his head.

“Your honor?” It was Buck Boyce.

“Yes, counselor?”

“I would like to raise the
issue of Radcliff’s sanity. Based on my talk with him, I submit
that the accused
is
insane, and a lunacy commission should be appointed
to—”

“Mr. Radcliff is not on trial for lunacy.
Let me remind you that the examining physician found him sane.”

Earl held his breath.

“Then, as ruling magistrate in this
court—”

Just as it looked as though they might be
home free, something caught the judge’s eye. Earl followed the turn
of his head toward the door. Under sheriff Lockheed, approached the
bench and whispered something to the judge.

“Show him in.”

Chapter 37

Earl’s heart sank. What could interfere now,
delay the outcome of this hearing? He didn’t know how long Jorie
would stay silent. He felt droplets of sweat run down his face. If
the lawyer Olsen decided to show up — he didn’t want to think about
it.

Lockheed held the door for a man Earl had
never seen before. He was clutching a burlap bag to his chest, and
Earl thought he looked like he hadn’t bathed or shaved since last
year.

Could this be. . .

The woodsman stepped forward a few feet,
stood with his back to the judge, searching for someone.

“Approach the bench.”

The man turned around, stared blankly at the
judge.

“Come here,” McKinney beckoned him. “Please
give the court your full name.”

“Colin Trethaway. Hain’t got no middle
name.”

“State your purpose.”

“I can’t read, but a neighbor told me you
was lookin’ for the man who ‘elped a young fellow in the snow storm
we ‘ad a few weeks back, t’ find his ma.” He paused, wiped his nose
on his sleeve. “I’m yer man.”

I knew it!

Colin Trethaway looked around the room,
spotted Jorie. “That’s ‘im!”

Earl watched Jorie, who was studying the
man’s face.

“We never found her, though. I ‘ad t’ git
‘ome before I froze.” He sniffled some more. “I ‘eard she
died.”

“Jorie Radcliff, do you recognize this man?”
the judge asked.

Jorie squinted, considered the man’s
countenance while Earl held his breath.

“It’s difficult to tell. It was snowing hard
that night, I couldn’t catch his features.”

Earl suppressed a sigh of
frustration. For God’s sake, what would this man be doing here if
he
hadn’t
been
the one to help him in the storm? This was a sheer stroke of luck,
and Jorie was not biting.

The man walked toward Jorie. “Well, hit’s
me, boy, don’t y’ know me?”

“That’s enough, Mr. Trethaway. Do you have
anything else to say before this court?”

Trethaway reached into his bag. “I brought
this.” He took a rusty lantern out of the bag, and held it up for
all to see. “Evidence.” He looked as though he’d just pulled a
rabbit out of a hat.

The judge concealed a smile. “Thank you. In
your opinion, Mr. Trethaway, the person whom you’ve identified was
sincerely trying to find his way back to rescue his mother?”

“Yes, sir. ‘E was hall upset cuz ‘e’d lost
‘is way. Didna have no lantern, and his ma, she was back in the
woods and couldna walk no more. I was ’eaded for ’ome in my wagon,
when ‘e come upon me an’ asked fer ‘elp. I wanted t’ git on ’ome,
but what’s a God-fearin’ man to do? Don’t the Good Book say, ‘Do
hunto hothers as ye would ‘ave—”

“Yes, thank you. Your testimony has been
most helpful. You may leave now.”

Colin Trethaway held the lantern up again.
“Will you be wantin’ this? Reckon I could spare it fer a few days,
if you could git it back t’ me. ‘Hit cost me a day’s work t’ come
down ‘ere.”

“No, you can take it with you.”

Trethaway remained, shifted his weight from
one foot to the other.

The judge said again, “You are
dismissed.”

The man looked at Jorie for help, then back
at the judge. “Well, hain’t there no reward?”

“For what, Mr. Trethaway?”

“Well, fer, fer. . .” he blustered some
more, then mumbled, “I’ll be jiggered,” and left the room.

When Trethaway left, Earl wanted to jump up
and down. At least that part of Jorie’s story was corroborated. He
could breathe a little easier.

Earl thought he caught a glance from George
McKinney that suggested relief. Then the judge released a small
chuckle. This seemed to give permission to the others, and a
collective release of tension came forth in chortles and titters.
From all, that is, but Boyce and Jorie.

McKinney went on. “As I was saying, before
the interruption, as ruling magistrate in this court, finding
insufficient reason to proceed toward trial, I will close this
case. But not before I admonish those present to proceed with
greater diligence in the future before petitioning this court with
unsubstantial cases that do not merit the expenditure of taxpayers’
money or the magistrate’s time.”

The judge paused. “I now declare this case
closed.”

He brought the gavel down swiftly. Mrs.
O’Laerty tried to give Jorie an encouraging smile, but he wouldn’t
raise his eyes. She turned slowly and left.

Earl could hear the buzzing in the corridor,
as folks who had waited for the outcome of the hearing voiced their
reaction. Sounds of disappointment that the case was not going to
trial outnumbered those of elation. Public trials were considered
real good entertainment.

The room emptied quickly, as did the
corridors. Earl called Lockheed over and told him he was taking
some time off, and asked his assistant to take over.

Jorie and Earl were the only ones left. They
sat with their hands in their laps, Jorie looking out the window.
The lad didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. It was so quiet, Earl
thought, you could hear a person change their mind.

He said, “You can go now, Jorie. You’re
free.”

Jorie turned slowly toward him. “Free of
what?”

“Free to leave.”

“Do you know anything about the prisons of
the mind, Mr. Foster?”

Oh, yes, I do!

He put his hand on the boy’s knee.

“As I said, you’re free to go anywhere, but
I’d like you to stay with Mrs. Foster and me for a few days. We
have a spare room.”

Jorie didn’t seem to be listening. But he didn’t put
up any resistance, either, as the sheriff led him downstairs,
across the bridge, and over to Hancock.

By the time Earl got home with Jorie, he
felt he’d done a day’s work, and it was only eleven-thirty. He was
glad there was no game tonight. He’d have to keep an eye on
Jorie.

He got the boy to eat a little soup, to take
a good soak and scrub in the copper tub. Then he showed him to his
room.

“He’s going to sleep,” he
told Cora. “At least I
think
he is.”

He told his amazed wife how Jorie was fixing
to hang himself that morning. “We have to keep a careful eye on
him.”

“It’s a good job the window in that room
sticks,” Cora said. “He couldn’t get it open without making a lot
of noise.”

“There aren’t any exposed pipes on the
ceiling, either, thank God.”

For the next few days he watched over Jorie like a
newborn. They played cribbage, talked about the forecast of a long,
hard winter, and went on walks in the evening. Daytime attracted
too much attention.

On one of these walks, Earl tried again to get Jorie
to talk about his mother’s death. If they could discuss it, maybe
he could help Jorie begin to forgive himself.

“Look, kid, I know why you wanted to take
your life, but —”

“Don’t you
understand?
I killed my mother!
Ask the doctor. I told him all about
it.”

“You told Doctor Johnson? When?”

“In jail, when he came to see me.”

Well, if Arthur wasn’t the cagey one! All
the time not letting on he knew anything.

“Yes, I know what you did.
And now I know
why
you did it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“It’s all in her diary.”

Jorie was quickening his pace. Earl found it
difficult to keep up.

“I never read it!”

“I thought you knew what was in it,” the
sheriff panted. “Well, I can tell you she—”

“It’s too late; it doesn’t matter.”

I thought that’s why you—”

“I don’t want to hear any more! Please
stop!”

“We have to talk about this, Jorie.”

“No. We don’t!”

With that, Jorie broke into a run and left
Earl behind.

Jorie hadn’t
read
the diary? But the
drawing on the cell wall. . . surely he
knew
about her plans for Eliza. .
.
Or did he?

He continued walking, trying to sort it all
out. Past the trees, dripping with melting ice, past the sounds of
horses in the distance – some trotting, others trudging slowly
toward the barn after a day’s work. He gripped his elbow. Where was
the snow now, when he needed it?

As Earl approached his house, he could see a
candle flickering in the upstairs window. Well, thank God the boy
had returned to the house.

When he’d first been released from jail,
Jorie felt a sort of numbness. Nothing seemed to matter any more.
He didn’t even want to read, and every time he started to go for a
walk, Mr. Foster wanted to go with him.

The only thing that really occupied his mind
was how he might end his life. At the top of his list were jumping
off the towering smokestack that crowned the shafthouse, or
capsizing a small boat, not in Portage Lake, but in the icy waters
of Lake Superior, where his body would never surface. But there
didn’t seem any urgency to do that either. For the moment, it
seemed enough to just play with the possibilities.

Mrs. Foster gave him butcher paper and a new
set of colored pencils.

“Maybe she’s afraid I’ll ruin her walls,” he
mused.

He used the pencils, and discovered to his surprise
that he had no inclination to make hard, angry scribbles. He found
himself drawing gentle landscapes and pictures of Eliza at the
piano and on the front porch swing. How dear she was! How he’d love
to see her.

He closed his eyes tightly and brought her
countenance to mind. He must capture her features exactly, before
they began fading from memory.

Scenes with her came before him—telling her stories,
holding her in front of him on the toboggan as they slid down the
hill, watching her try so hard to make Peggythis go without his
help.

Peggythis! First as through a haze, then in blazing
clarity, the last time he saw her came back to him.

On the day before he planned to leave town,
he’d climbed the hill. He couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to
her.

He could see his mother working in the
garden, and went quietly into the house, calling softly for his
sister. When she didn’t answer, he went upstairs to her room. He
found her in bed. At five o’clock.

“Jawie, you’re back!” She jumped up and down
on her bed.

He asked her to be still so they could have
a few minutes alone, and got her to lie down again.

“What are you doing in bed? Did you just
wake from your nap?”

“No. That was earlier.”

A feeling of awful dread crept over him.

He pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Do
you have a pillow, Izzy?”

“I don’t use it now.”

He looked around the room. “Where’s Pegasus,
and your toys?”