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“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him handle a case with our people.”
While the judge and Whit continued their conversation, banker Arnold Cale entered along with three men dressed in expensive suits. His hovering and the concern on his face gave the impression that they were men of importance, so much so he made three people in the front row give up their seats so the men could have them.
“Stage line bigwigs, I assume,” Colt speculated.
Mr. Denby turned around and said, “Yep.”
Regan hazarded a glance over at Dun Bailey and found his cold eyes waiting. Having gotten over her initial fright, she refused to be intimidated and met his gaze without flinching, then smoothly turned away.
Whit left the table and made his way back to where Regan and Colt were seated. He didn’t look pleased. “Regan, the judge wants to speak with you.”
Regan thought she might know why. Every eye in the building watched her walk to the table where the judge sat waiting. The three stage line bosses were at the table as well, along with the outlaws’ lawyer.
The judge said, “You’re Mrs. Lee?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unfortunately, you’re not going to be allowed to testify here today.”
She nodded grimly.
One of the stage line bosses seethed in a quiet voice, “She’s our only eyewitness. She has to testify.”
“I understand that, but if this goes to trial, more than likely, her testimony will be thrown out because of her race.”
“This is ridiculous,” another one of the bosses said angrily.
“Yes, it is,” the judge agreed. “But such is the state of our country. My hands are tied. Sorry, gentlemen.”
Regan waited.
“Sorry to have taken up your time, Mrs. Lee.”
She didn’t say she didn’t mind, because she did. Being denied something as simple as telling the truth in a court of law due to the color of her skin was infuriating and humiliating. She took in the faces of the stage line representatives. They were visibly upset, too, but she wondered how they felt about her people when it didn’t directly impact their profits. “Good luck with your case, gentlemen.”
All eyes again turned her way as Colt joined her and they exited the bank.
Outside, she said, “I still want to see the undertaker about the casket, unless the country takes issue with that, too.”
He draped an arm across her shoulders, gave her a supportive squeeze, and placed a solemn kiss on her brow.
She was so furious, tears stung her eyes. “Will things ever get better for our people?”
“I don’t know. For every step forward, we’re forced to take two steps back.”
“And the Supreme Court is helping with those backwards steps.” Two years ago, the Supreme Court handed down an 8–1 decision that found the 1875 Civil Rights unconstitutional. Not only did the ruling forbid Congress from enacting measures to address discrimination, it allowed states to legally overlook such practices. Regan had no idea how or when the country would live up to the promises of the Constitution but she and everyone she knew were sick of the ill treatment.
Mr. Beck, the undertaker, was overwhelmed by Regan’s generous offer to pay for Betsy Meachem’s casket and paused to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief. “Wayne came in this morning before work to ask about prices. When I told him how much, I could tell by his face it was more than he could pay. I offered him a much cheaper version made of cardboard he could pay for over time, and he agreed.”
Regan refused to let the child be buried in a cardboard box as if she had no more value than a pair of shoes. “How long will it take before it’s ready?”
“A day at the most. Just need to have my carpenter nail the boards together. I’ll let Wayne know later today that it was donated anonymously.”
“Thank you.”
Two days later, Betsy Meachem was buried in the Paradise Cemetery. Most of the town turned out to pay their respects. As Regan stood beside her husband and watched the dark wood casket be lowered into the ground, she hoped little Betsy would rest in peace.
Chapter Fourteen
