AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Gracie Johnson was on trial for the murder of Lydia Davenport, a wealthy white woman who was active in Washington society at a level high enough to cause a nosebleed. Worse, Gracie was a black woman accused of killing her wealthy white employer.
The year was 1906. Before it was all over, I was afraid they were going to hang Gracie.
I had to be careful they didn’t hang me while they were at it.
Chapter 2
“I WILL NOT TOLERATE another outburst,” Judge Warren said to the spectators. He turned to look me in the eye. “And I suggest that you, Mr. Corbett, select your objections with greater care.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said, then immediately held my tongue in check with my teeth.
“Mr. Ames, you may resume questioning the defendant.”
Carter Ames, the city attorney, was a little old man about five feet tall. He strode to the witness stand as if he were every inch of six-two.
“Now, Grace, let’s go back to the afternoon in question, May twenty-third. In your testimony—before the unfortunate disruption occurred—isn’t it true that you essentially admitted to murdering Mrs. Davenport?”
“Excuse me, sir, I said no such thing,” Gracie shot back.
“The court stenographer will please read the testimony given by Miss Johnson a few moments before the courtroom interruption.”
“Got it right here, Carter,” the stenographer said.
Wonderful. Ames and the court stenographer were on a first-name basis. No telling which parts of Gracie’s testimony had been left out or “improved.”
The stenographer flipped back the pages in his tablet and began to read in a droning voice.
“Miz Davenport was always a mean old lady. Never had a nice word for anybody. Ask me, she had it coming to her. The day before she got killed, she told me she was fixing to fire me because I was too stupid to know which side of the plate do the fish fork go on. She was a mean old witch, she was. I’m telling you, she had it coming.”
I jumped up from my chair.
“Your Honor, obviously my client did not mean—”
“Sit down, Mr. Corbett.”
I had one more thing to say—I just had to get it out.
“Your Honor, the prosecutor is deliberately twisting my client’s words!”
Carter Ames turned to me with a smile. “Why, Mr. Corbett, I’m not twisting a thing. Your client has spoken for herself very clearly. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“In that case, court will adjourn for a two-hour recess, so we can get ourselves a cold glass of tea and some dinner,” the judge said. “I believe that Mrs. Warren said my personal favorite, chicken pot pie, is on the menu today.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Chapter 3
THE TWO-HOUR DINNER BREAK before Carter Ames and I gave our closing arguments seemed to last at least twice that long. I never had much appetite during a case, so I spent the interval pacing the block around the courthouse square, mopping my face and neck with a handkerchief.
Washington was in the grip of a torturous heat wave, and it was only June. The air was as thick and swampy as any summer afternoon back home in Mississippi. Carriage horses were collapsing. Society ladies called off their afternoon teas and spent their leisure time soaking in cool tubs.
Back home in Eudora I rarely had to wear the full lawyer suit with high stiff-starched collar and all the snaps and suspenders. Down south, folks knew how to survive the heat: move slowly, and wear light clothing.
It must have been ninety-five degrees when we finally returned to the courtroom. The newfangled electric fans barely stirred a breeze. Gracie’s face streamed with perspiration.
The judge entered. “Are you ready, gentlemen?”
Carter Ames sauntered toward the jury box. He put on a big friendly smile and leaned in close to the jury foreman. Ames was justly famous for the high drama and fancy oratory of his closing arguments in murder cases.
