Page 57 of Death on Gallows Path

“William Henry Harrison had the shortest presidency so far,” Uban continued. “Spoke two hours in the rain without an overcoat or hat at his March 4 inauguration, then repeated that ill-advised action afterward. Died April 4. Also was the last president to have been born before the Revolution.”

I’m sure a brilliant response to those history tidbits existed, but it didn’t pop into my brain.

“There is also an Owingsville in Kentucky, though that is not named after Colonel Owen, but for a man named Owings. He and another man each owned significant holdings nearby. When it came time to name the community, they wagered that whoever built a finer home would have his name used. Owings won.”

Wondering if it was my imagination or he was exacting a higher toll than usual, I asked, “Do any of these places connect to Gallows Path?”

“Not that I am aware of for Owingsville or Owenton, however as I was saying before you led me astray—”

I bit my tongue.

“—the last public hanging in this country was in Owensboro, which certainly connects to gallows, though I know of no connection to our Gallows Path. Except . . .”

He stared into space.

I could let this go. He’d said no connection.

I should let it go.

“Except what?” came out of my mouth.

He’d been waiting for that.

“Before we discuss that, you need a grounding in the events of 1936, when a 70-year-old woman named Lischia Edwards was robbed, raped, and murdered in her home. A 26-year-old black man named Rainey Bethea was arrested for the crimes, though tried and convicted solely for rape.

“To get to the punishment aspects of the case, it is necessary to go somewhat further back.”

Of course it was.

“Electrocution had replaced hanging for all death sentences in the state until a 1920 rape of a nine-year-old girl in Lexington. Outrage over that case prompted an exception to electrocution for those convicted of rape. They were to be hanged in the county where the crime was committed, with the sheriff carrying out the execution.”

“Did they charge him—”

“Rainey Bethea.”

“—with rape on purpose so he’d be hanged instead of electrocuted?”

“How can we know the intent of others across the distance of time? Or necessarily with contemporaries.”

Was that second sentence an apology? Or at least a reference to the residual wariness between us?

As an apology, it stunk.

As a reference, it was . . . a step.

To keep us from getting more off track, I said, “So he was found guilty of rape.”

“The jury deliberated four and a half minutes to return a verdict with the death penalty,” he said.

“Four and a half minutes?”

He continued without heeding my astonishment. “There were appeals and rejections of those appeals in a time frame inconceivable in our current judicial system. The crime he was convicted of occurred June 7. He was hanged Aug. 14.”

Trial, appeals, execution in nine weeks? Inconceivable was right.

“Was he railroaded?” I asked bluntly.

“Could we know that from this distance of time?”