The Woods at Barlow Bend (12 page)

“Why not?”

“He was in shock.
Covered in Addie’s blood. Just in shock. I felt so bad for him. Having to see her die, right in front of him. And then he wrapped her in that blanket and carried her through the woods. If it were my Louise…I just can’t imagine it.” Cousin Stephen shook his head and let out another deep sigh. “I just can’t imagine it.”

“Just a couple more questions, Deputy
Andrews. I know you’ve been raked over the coals this morning,” said Mr. Jones. He paused as the audience collectively snorted in agreement. “How well do you know Hubbard Andrews?”

“I’ve known him my whole life. We grew up together.”

“And have you ever known Hubbard Andrews to be a violent man?”

“Absolutely not,” Cousin Stephen answered. “There ain’t a violent bone in his body.”

“‘Ain’t a violent bone in his body
.
’
Thank you, Deputy Andrews. That will be all.”

“Deputy
Andrews,” Judge Bedsole said, with an air of exhaustion in his deep baritone, “you’re dismissed.”

Cousin Stephen nodded at Daddy as he passed the defendant’s table and walked down the aisle. Several reporters followed Stephen out of the courtroom before Judge Bedsole ordered the prosecutor to proceed.

“Call your next witness, Frank.”

“The State
calls Reverend J.T. Mathis.”

J.T.
Mathis was the preacher at the Baptist Church in Searight. Momma talked about Reverend Mathis a lot during our visits with Papa Lowman and her sisters. She called Reverend Mathis a childhood chum. I never met him on our trips, so I was surprised by his boyish good looks. He had shiny blonde hair, thick and kind of wavy on top. He was sharply dressed in a freshly-pressed suit and crisp, white shirt. I could see the quick twinkle of shiny cufflinks as he walked to the witness stand. He was shorter than Daddy and a little thinner, but still handsome. Ever since the trial, I have always wondered why Momma never mentioned his good looks. As the good preacher repeated the bailiff’s oath, I thought how silly it seemed to swear in a preacher. Shouldn’t preachers be honest with or without an oath?

“Mr.
Mathis, please state for the record your full name and profession,” requested Mr. Poole.

“My name is Jacob Thomas
Mathis, and I am the pastor of the First Baptist Church in Searight.”

“And did you know Mrs. Addie
Andrews?”

“Yes,
Sir, I did.”

“How well did you know the victim?”

“Very well. We grew up together in Searight and remained friends over the years.”

“Did you and Mrs.
Andrews communicate on a regular basis?”

“Yes, Mrs.
Andrews would come see me when she visited her family in Searight. She often sought my counsel, and we prayed together during her visits.”

“Mrs.
Andrews sought your counsel?” asked Mr. Poole.

“Yes,
Sir.”

“Regarding what?”

“Objection, Your Honor!” said Mr. Jones, springing to his feet. “Surely, the conversations between a pastor and a member of his flock should be considered confidential.”

“I’ll
allow it, Mr. Jones. Reverend Mathis, please answer the question.”

“Addie, I mean Mrs.
Andrews, sought my counsel regarding her marriage.”

“And what concerns did Mrs.
Andrews have about her marriage?” asked Mr. Poole.

“Well, she had reason to believe that Mr.
Andrews was not faithful to their weddin’ vows.” The crowd perked up at that accusation. I could hear the gossip wheels starting to turn again.

“And what was your advice to Mrs.
Andrews?”

“I suggested that she speak to her husband regarding the rumors of infidelity and her suspicions.”

“Did she take your advice?”

“Yes, she confronted Mr.
Andrews last summer. She told him that the affairs were hurtful and that they must stop.”

“Objection!” Mr. Jones said, “We have no proof that these rumors were
actually affairs!”

“The jury will disregard
Reverend Mathis’s use of the word
affair,
” ordered Judge Bedsole. I didn’t see the point, though. The word turned my stomach and seemed to hang in the air. Even if I tried, and believe me I did, I couldn’t disregard the word. Did Momma really tell this man that Daddy had affairs? Did Daddy betray her?

“Please go on,
Reverend Mathis. Mrs. Andrews confronted the defendant, and then what happened?” said Mr. Poole, trying to get back on track.

“Well, nothing changed.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because Mrs.
Andrews told me. She told me about confronting Mr. Andrews in July and then of an incident in the fall before she died. I…I think in October.”

“And what did Mrs.
Andrews tell you happened in October?”

“That they attended a dance at the Methodist church in Frisco City. Apparently
, one of Mr. Andrews’s mistresses was there, too. Addie was humiliated.” Reverend Mathis glared at Daddy with hurtful disgust. Mr. Poole, seeing his witness agitated, crossed from behind the podium and stood in front of Daddy, blocking Reverend Mathis’s view.

“So, he humiliated her!” Mr. Poole pointed at Daddy with an arm so long and thin, it seemed to go on for miles.

“Yes.” Reverend Mathis agreed, but Mathis’s voice started to deflate. He dropped his gaze and gripped the wooden railing in front of the witness chair with one hand. His boyish face fell into a deep, sad expression. Until then, I had never considered the possibility that others out there in Nowhere, Alabama, may be missing Momma, too. Perhaps, she was loved by many, not just Daddy, Billy, Meg, Albert, Aunt Mittie, and me. Reverend Mathis obviously missed her, too.

“When did Mrs.
Andrews tell you about this incident?”

“During Christmastime.
She was in Searight to visit her family. We talked and prayed about her marriage for a long time that day.”

“And what was the outcome of your conversation?”

“Well, Mrs. Andrews decided that she had no choice but to ask her husband for a divorce.” At that, a gasp came from the Ladies Auxiliary, and pain hit me as if I’d been punched in the gut, but Reverend Mathis continued without pause, “She decided she would tell Mr. Andrews after the holiday celebrations were over.”

“Did she?”

“I don’t know. That was the last time I talked to her. She was dead a few weeks later.”

“Thank you,
Reverend Mathis. That will be all.”

Divorce
? I had heard the word and had heard rumors of people far removed from my world getting divorced, but no one in my family had ever been divorced.
Divorce
happened to other people, not my momma and daddy!

“Cross, Mr. Jones?” asked Judge Bedsole.

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Mr. Jones as he stood and quickly referenced his notes. “Reverend Mathis, you have testified that you and Mrs. Andrews were childhood friends?”

“Yes,”
Mathis responded.

“Wouldn’t childhood sweethearts be a more accurate description?”

“Well, we were sweethearts at one time, but that was ages ago.”

“Ages ago?
Are ya sure ya’ll didn’t start back up again?”

“No,
Sir. Absolutely not!” Reverend Mathis protested.

“Weren’t ya’ll doin’ a lot more than prayin’ in that little church?” asked Mr. Jones.

“No, Sir, and I take great offense at the suggestion that I would…”

“Didn’t you care for her?”

“Well, of course, but I wouldn’t…”

“And weren’t you supportive of Addie leaving Hubbard?”

“I didn’t see any other way for her…”

“So y
ou were pushing for the divorce?”

“I would never push someone towards…”

“And weren’t you prepared to leave your own wife for Mrs. Andrews?” Mr. Jones fired away at Reverend Mathis without hesitation until he finally broke the good preacher.

“Hubbard humiliated her!
You ruined her!” shouted Reverend Mathis, who stood in the witness stand and pointed at Daddy. Reverend Mathis leaned toward Daddy’s table and glared at him with more hatred than I have ever seen on one man’s face. The crowd erupted again.

“Rev
erend Mathis!” Judge Bedsole banged his gavel to silence the room, “Remain seated, Sir!”

Reverend
Mathis quickly sat, visibly embarrassed by his outburst and flustered by the line of questioning.

“So,” said Mr. Jones after the crowd fell silent, “You feel quite passionate about this woman, your beautiful childhood sweetheart, the one that got away but returned to you to cry on your shoulder about her supposed unhappy marriage.
An unhappy marriage to a man you obviously don’t like. A man that I am sure you would say anything about to
ruin.
You hate the fact that Mrs. Andrews chose to marry Mr. Andrews instead of you, don’t you? But you want all of us to believe ya’ll were just prayin’? Just doin’ the Lord’s work in that chapel, huh?”

“Objection!” shouted Mr. Poole.

“Withdrawn. Good to see you, Reverend. My best to Ruth. That’s it, Your Honor,” said Mr. Jones and took his seat again looking no worse for the wear for the heated exchange. The crowd smirked at Jones’s mention of Reverend Mathis’s wife by her first name. Mr. Jones’s moxie in the courtroom would dominate the dinner conversations all over Clarke County that night.

“Your Honor, I have a follow up for the Reverend,” said Mr. Poole.

“Go on,” said Judge Bedsole.

“
Reverend Mathis, was Mrs. Andrews eager to ask Mr. Andrews for a divorce?” asked Mr. Poole.

“No,
Sir.”

“And why not?”

“She was afraid of what his reaction would be,” answered Reverend Mathis. His face fell again with the words. This time his expression had a hint of guilt. He looked like a sad little boy, like Billy did in the weeks following Momma’s death.

“Thank you. Nothing further.”

“Thank you, Reverend Mathis. You’re dismissed. We’ll take a short recess. Be ready in fifteen.” With that, Judge Bedsole rapped his gavel again and disappeared through a door behind his bench.

Chapter 18

September 23, 1935

Grove Hill, Alabama

Uncle Melvin offered to hold our seats during the recess so that Aunt Mittie and I could get a bit of fresh air.
The temperature in the courtroom had risen quickly once the mid-morning sun poured in the windows and mixed with the dozens of spectators. The thoughts that Momma might have been as unhappy as Reverend Mathis described, and that Daddy could betray her in such a way, combined with the hot and humid air of the courtroom and swirled around my stomach. I jumped at Uncle Melvin’s offer to escape for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, in my haste to leave the room, I nearly ran smack dab into Mrs. Williams in the
hallway. I was completely shocked to see her, and even more so, that I didn’t hear her first before laying eyes on her. She was standing in the middle of the foyer, practically holding court for the Ladies Auxiliary. Of course, in her courtroom, she acted as both judge and queen.
Why on Earth is that old gossip here?
I thought to myself. Never having to hear Mrs. Williams’s obnoxious pecking again was supposed to be the one good thing about leaving Frisco City.

“I should be testifying next.
I’m just as nervous as a wet cat,” Mrs. Williams told her adoring fans. “I just pray to the good Lord for strength. I have heard that Mr. Jones is a bulldog with his cross-examination. Well, I’ll just remind him that I know his momma quite well, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a ‘tall if I were to bend him over my knee and remind him of his manners!” Mrs. Williams’s shrieking laughter bounced off every hard surface in the foyer.

If it had been possible for Mrs. Williams to speak at a remotely polite and soft volume, I would have questioned what I heard
, but there was no point. Every word was crystal clear. Mrs. Williams was a witness for the prosecution. She wasn’t there to support Daddy, but rather to assist in my losing both of my parents over the course of two years.

“Hattie,
Honey,” I heard Mrs. Williams call after me as I rushed by her. “Hattie, you must meet the Ladies’ Auxiliary!”

I know it is rude to ignore your elders, but thankfully, Aunt Mittie
abetted my transgression and helped me move quickly, without stopping, through the river of onlookers. We swiftly walked around the group and out the front doors of the courthouse before having to speak to Mrs. Williams or her adoring fans, and before I gave in to the temptation to point out the old crow’s hypocrisy. How she could accept help from Daddy for years and then stab him in the back, was beyond my comprehension. “Hubbard, Dear, the front latch is fussin’ with me again,” and “Hattie, Honey, when your daddy gets home, would you send him over, please?”
Disgusting
.

Those were just two of the
seemingly endless requests that came out of that uppity hag’s mouth over the years. Mrs. Williams had conveniently forgotten the good things Daddy had done for her, and just in time for her to be a star witness. Standing in the courthouse foyer, I heard Momma telling me in one ear to tell the old cow exactly what I thought of her, and then Ms. Jenkins’s reminders of poise, grace, and dignity in my other ear. Ms. Jenkins won that day, but I promised myself that I would never forgive Mrs. Williams. Were I an old lady from Sicily, I would have spat three times on her grave.

*****

Back inside the courtroom, Mrs. Williams tottered to the witness stand. Her round hips shifted up and down as if independent from the rest of her body. Between her crooked back and her considerable derrière, the skirt of her pale blue suit was at least three inches shorter in the back than in the front. Still, she managed to sit as if she was the Queen of England and the wooden chair was her throne.

“Mrs. Williams, please tell the court how you know the defendant, Mr.
Andrews,” said Mr. Poole.

“Mr. and Mrs.
Andrews, bless her soul, lived across the street from me for nearly fourteen years in Frisco City.”

“So, you knew the family well?”

“Oh yes. You see…I try to keep an eye out for everyone in town. Make sure everyone is safe. These are troublin’ times, ya know.”

As Mrs. Williams spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the juror’s faces strain as she got louder and louder.
Throughout her testimony, she fanned herself with a fan from a revival two summers ago, and kept dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. I knew it was wrong, but I asked God to make her faint from the heat right there on the stand. He refused my request, of course, but I think a few of the jurors wished her testimony to be short as well, if for no other reason than to protect their ears.

“Did Mr. and Mrs.
Andrews appear to have a good marriage?”

“Oh, they were quite smitten with each other, at first,” said Mrs. Williams.

“At first?” asked Mr. Poole.

“Objection,” said Mr. Jones, “Mrs. Williams is by no means
qualified to cast judgment on my client’s marriage, Your Honor.”

“I disagree,” said Mr. Poole, “Mrs. Williams was witness to the marriage for nearly its entirety.”

“Well, I also object to this line of questioning. My client’s marriage is not on trial,” said Mr. Jones.

“The state of the marriage speaks directly to motive, Your Honor,” said Mr. Poole.

“Agreed, Mr. Poole,” said Judge Bedsole, “overruled.”

“Go on, please, Mrs. Williams, you said the two seemed ‘smitten at first.’ Did the marriage appear to change?” asked Mr. Poole, picking up the line of questioning again.

“Over the last few years, their marriage seemed to change quite a lot, I’d say.”

“
Really? How so?”

“Well, at first
, they were perfectly in love and were quickly blessed with four beautiful youngins. But a few years ago, things started to change. I would hear them argue all the time, day and night. I mean, I tried not to listen, seems unchristian to eavesdrop on them, but sometimes you just hear what you hear.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Oh, you know, they’d be yellin’ about this and that.” Mrs. Williams began to wave the fan even more energetically. “I can’t repeat those words with a Christian tongue, Mr. Poole!”

“Of course, Mrs. Williams,” answered Mr. Poole.

“I felt so bad for the babies havin’ to hear their foul words,” continued Mrs. Williams, trying desperately to appear sympathetic to the four of us. “And Mr. Andrews would come and go at such strange hours.”

“Strange hours, Mrs. Williams?”

“Yes, Sir. Ever since my dear husband died, bless his soul, I just don’t sleep too well. So at night, I sit up with my bible. Do you know I have seen Mr. Andrews leave his home well after dark and not return till nearly dawn? Now, you just got to be up to no good stayin’ out all night. And with poor Addie and those babies all alone at home. Just no good.”

“In your recollection, how often would Mr.
Andrews leave his home in the evenings?”

“At least twiced a week, sir.
Only the Lord knows what he was up to.”

“Did he leave the night of October 30, 1933?”

“Well, now, let me think. That was a long time ago.”

“Do you remember the night of October 30, 1933?
Do recall anything from that night?”

“Oh, of course!
That’s the day that
The Romance of Helen Trent
premiered on CBS. Do you listen to the radio much, Mr. Poole?”

“Um, can’t say that I do.”

“Oh, you should get one. After my dear Thomas passed on, bless his soul, I bought a real nice one. You can hear programs from all over the country!”

“Well, that sounds nice…”

“Makes good company for an old widow like me. And you should listen to Helen Trent. It’s a wonderful program, very exciting.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Mr. Poole as he tried to get Mrs. Williams back on track.

“It is! I never miss an episode, that is, until today.”

“Well, I apologize that you’re missing your program.
Now, Mrs. Williams, do you recall anything else from October 30, 1933, from that evening?”

“Well, I do
recall there being a dance at the church that night. I still try to go, even though I’m not much for the dance floors anymore, I get terrible pains sometimes. Doc Stallsmith calls it arth-a-ri-tus. Well, my artharitus was flarin’ up real bad, so I went home early. I sat up soaking my feet in the parlor most of the night…”

“Mrs. Williams,” said Mr. Poole
sharply and then paused, rolling his shoulders back and wrapping his long fingers around either side of the podium. “do you recall anything from the
Andrews
residence on the evening of October 30, 1933?”

“Oh, yes!
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews came home a little while after I did. I had just sat down with my soak and my bible when I heard Addie yellin’ at Hubbard as they come up the street. They went in the house pretty quick, so I couldn’t hear as good once the door shut, but then, not even a minute later, Mr. Andrews stormed back out. He stomped down the front steps and started headin’ downtown.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Williams.”

“I don’t know where he was off to in such a state,” said Mrs. Williams, unable to stop herself, “but I betch you he was in search of that devil whiskey.”

“Mrs. Williams…”

“You know how you men get when you’re all rowed up!”

“Mrs. Williams…”

“Even my own sweet Thomas was tempted now and then. You men can be awful weak creatures. Full o’ sin.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Williams.
That will be all.”

“You are most welcome, Mr. Poole,” said Mrs. William
s in a nauseatingly sweet tone.

As Mr. Jones rose from his seat for his turn, I s
aid a quick prayer in my head.
Please, Lord, please. Let Mr. Jones rip that old hag apart.

“Mrs. Williams, how are you today?” asked Mr. Jones “I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Williams.
He was a good man.”

“Thank you, Paul.
I mean
Mr. Jones
.”

“And how is your
health, Mrs. Williams? Are you getting on all right on your own?”

“Oh, yes, just a little artharitus.
I guess I have slowed down a little bit.”

“But it sounds like you keep up with the world with that radio of yours?”

“Oh, absolutely. I listen as much as I can. Singers and sermons and news stories and, of course, Helen Trent.”

“Mrs. Williams,” said Mr. Jones as he turned away from the old woman and
walked toward the door, “what volume do you set your radio to?”

Mrs.
Williams did not answer.

“Mrs. Williams?” asked Mr. Jones still turned away from her.
She still did not answer. Turning back to face her, Mr. Jones asked, “Mrs. Williams, are you going to answer the question?”

“I’m not gonna speak to your back, young man.”

“I apologize. Now,” as Mr. Jones walked back toward the witness stand, “please answer the question.”

“I
already did. I listen to singers and sermons and news stories and my dramas.”

“No,
Ma’am, not that question. I asked you what volume do you set your radio to?” The crowd gave a knowing and sympathetic sigh. Mrs. Williams crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Mr. Jones continued the cross examination without forcing Mrs. Williams to admit she was hard of hearing.

“Mrs. Williams, do you still live on Bowden Street in Frisco City?”

“Yes.”

“And you have a pretty good view of the
Andrews home from your house?”

“Yes, from my parlor window there’s a straight shot to their porch.”

“Nothing obstructs your view, like say, a large oak tree?”

“Well, yes, there’s that big oak.”

“I bet that provides some nice shade,” said Mr. Jones, leaning once again on the jury box.

“Oh, yes, keeps their porch nice and cool in the summer.”

“That must be nice. And to the left of their house, what’s over there?”

“An old barn.”

“And more trees?”

“Well, yes, Mr. Jones, more trees.”

“So on the night of October 30, 1933, as you soaked your feet and read your Bible and listened to your radio, you looked up from your Bible just in time to see Mr. Andrews clearly leave his home, turn left, and walk all the way downtown? You saw him walk all the way downtown?”

“Well, I…”

“Was it a full moon?”

“I don’t
recall whether it was or wasn’t.”

“Was there light comin’ from the surrounding homes?”

“Well, I don’t know…it was very late.”

“Is it possible that you did not see exactly where Mr.
Andrews went?”

“I suppose.”

“Is it possible that Mr. Andrews exited his home, turned left, and then went in that barn, not downtown?”