The Last Confederate (29 page)

But there was no answer—only silence and darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE LAWYER

“I—I can’t believe it, Sky! There has to be a mistake!”

Rebekah stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the set face of her husband, knowing that he would not have brought such news unless he was certain. Her knees felt wobbly, and she dropped down on the stool beside the table. She had been peeling potatoes for supper when Sky burst in, crying, “Rebekah! Thad’s come back—but he’s in jail—arrested on charges of treason!”

He began to pace the floor, his eyes electric with anger as he related the story. “Mark called me outside during the meeting with the secretary of war. Mark had just come from the jail. Said Major Lee had informed him and thought I ought to be told.”

“But how can Thad be a traitor?” Rebekah demanded.

Sky hesitated. “Well, we didn’t let it get out, but the soldier that was with Thad and Will Henry on that last scout came back telling the story that Thad had gone over to the Yankees. Claimed that he’d bragged about how he’d desert and get back to ‘the right side’ as soon as he got the chance.”

“They didn’t
believe
him, did they, Sky?”

“Well, some did and some didn’t. On the one hand, Thad was a marked man from the start—his being from the North. There’s been talk around the town about his being a Yankee at heart.”

“Most of that started with Len Oliver!” Rebekah snapped,
her eyes bright with anger. “He was mad because he lost our business!”

“Sure, and some of the officers knew that. But Thad was a paid substitute, and word’s gotten around about how he joined up to get a bounty so he could buy Toby’s freedom. Now, that may be admirable to us—but lots of the men didn’t like it. Sounds too much like something an abolitionist might do.” Sky stopped pacing and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “So the officers couldn’t make up their mind who to believe. I think Colonel Barton wanted to drop it, but the fellow who was with Thad has been stirring up the men. He got a bunch of them to bring a petition, and Barton didn’t have much choice but to declare Thad a deserter. He told me that it seemed likely Thad wouldn’t ever come back anyway, so he had to make the gesture to preserve the morale in the regiment.”

“But what does Thad say?”

“Don’t know.” Sky slapped his hands together angrily. “It’s not a civil case, Rebekah, and you have to have permission from an officer of the court to see him. Mark said the court would probably be appointed today or tomorrow—then we can get permission.”

“What about a lawyer?”

“Has to be someone in the army,” Sky replied. “I know quite a few lawyers in uniform, but right now I can’t think of one I’d trust with this trial. It’s Thad’s life!”

She rose and came to him, her eyes filled with fear. “What—what if he’s found guilty?”

“Rebekah, we’ve had a desertion problem since this war began,” Sky answered grimly. “Every general I know, including Stonewall Jackson, has had men shot—and that’s for plain
desertion.
Thad’s in even more trouble; he’s charged with treason—giving aid to the enemy. If he’s found guilty, they’d shoot him out of hand!”

“Sky—no!”

He took her in his arms, and they clung to each other
silently. When he drew back, he said heavily, “You better tell the children—if they haven’t heard already. They’ll take it hard—especially Pet. I’m going to see Major Lee.” He rushed out the door and she watched him leave, her heart heavy. The tragic news had left her shaken and weak; now she let the tears roll freely for a time. Finally she stepped outside and looked across the yard where Pet and Dan were sitting under the big elm shelling peas. “Children, come inside,” she called. “I—I have some bad news for you.”

****

Sky spent two hours with the officers of the regiment, then talked with several of the men. The last man he spoke with was Dooley, who had a sorrowful light in his eyes, but could only confirm what Sky had already heard.

“I don’t believe none of it!” Dooley protested, and spat on the ground emphatically. “That Studs Mellon—he lies so bad he hires somebody to call his dawgs—and he ain’t got no more sense than last year’s bird nest!”

Sky calmed him down and demanded, “Now, Dooley—did you see Thad riding at the head of that Yankee cavalry?”

“Well—yeah,” he replied grudgingly. “‘Course that don’t mean he’s joined up with ’em!”

“But it would have been unusual for a prisoner to ride at the head of a column, wouldn’t it, Dooley? Most of the eyewitnesses say he kept right up with the officers in the lead—that he didn’t make any attempt to escape.”

Dooley struggled to find an answer. He had gone over it many times—and he had to admit that it
looked
as if Thad had led the Yankees to their position, but he ended by swearing, “I don’t give a hoot what anybody says! Thad ain’t no traitor, an’ that’s all there is to it!”

Winslow agreed, though he realized that the members of the court would make their decision based on the evidence—and even Thad’s best friends could not change the hard facts. Sky rode slowly back to his office and sat staring at the wall
most of the afternoon. Finally, he got up and walked down the hall and turned into a room where three men sat at desks. “Major Rogers—would you have a few minutes?”

“Of course.” Rogers was a tall, bulky man with a sour face. He followed Winslow to his office, and took the chair that was offered. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and asked through the blue smoke, “What’s up, Sky?”

“Dave, who’s the meanest, smartest lawyer wearing a Confederate uniform?”

Dave Rogers had been the most successful lawyer in South Carolina before joining the army. He looked at Winslow, intrigued by the question. “I’m the smartest. Won’t that do?”

“Not this time, Dave.” He gave the lawyer a sharp glance and said, “I’ve got a friend in trouble who looks guilty. Every bit of evidence is against him—but I know he’s innocent. I don’t care what it takes, I want him off.”

Rogers puffed at the cigar, regarded a perfect smoke ring slowly disintegrate, then said quietly, “Novak.”

“You know about him?”

“Sure. It’s all over town, Sky.” He leaned back and studied Winslow. “He’s a gone coon,” he added. “I hear he’s sort of a protegee of yours. But talk is that the court’s not going to have much choice. Been lots of talk in town about his being a Yankee, but that doesn’t count for much. What does matter is that about a hundred eyewitnesses, including his commanding officer, saw him leading an enemy patrol to the position of our troops.”

“I haven’t talked to him, Dave, but I know he can explain how that happened.” He held up his hand, adding quickly, “Yes, I know that won’t carry any weight in court. That’s why I want someone who’ll use every trick in the book to get the boy off. I don’t care if the lawyer is the most ornery person who ever drew breath!”

Rogers stared at him, leaned back in his chair and slowly smoked the cigar. Finally he looked at the inch of gray ash as if it had the answer. “You better get Harrison Duke, or
Harry, as some call him,” he suggested, and a smile curled the edges of his lips. “He’s almost as smart as I am—and mean enough to suit you.”

“Who is he, Dave? I don’t recognize the name.”

“You would if you came from Chicago. He made a name for himself as a criminal lawyer. Never had a client hanged, which was quite a feat since he handled the really hard ones—those who were caught with a smoking gun in their hands standing over the body.” Rogers shook his head in admiration, adding, “Got elected as prosecuting attorney, and had the same kind of record. They say when a defendant heard that he was up against Duke, why, he made his will and got religion!”

“I’ll take him!” Winslow shot back.

“You can try,” Rogers replied slowly. “He’s so contrary that if you threw him in the river, he’d float upstream. Let me give you a note. He’s working for the secretary of state right now.” He rose and asked for a sheet of paper, then sat down and wrote a brief note. Handing it to Winslow, he commented, “You got one thing going for you, Sky. Harry Duke is a low cur—but he likes to tackle impossible cases. This one fits that category!”

****

Thad had been moved to the third floor of the jail, where he spent most of his waking hours looking out the window at the bustling crowds that passed like ants in and out of the courthouse. He knew it was the tenth of August, and
that
morning some official had made a speech or some sort of announcement from the steps of the courthouse that had resulted in a rousing cheer. He had asked the guard who brought his dinner what the speech was about. “Why, Jackson whipped up on Banks yesterday—that was the ninth, wasn’t it? Anyway, he gave the Yankees a good thumpin’!”

Thad ate the food listlessly, more to have something to do than to satisfy his hunger. The despair he’d felt at The Old Capitol seemed to return, and after he finished he lay down
and tried to sleep. He had drifted off into a half sleep when he heard voices, and then the door opened and a man wearing the uniform and insignia of a captain in the Confederate Army walked in.

Thad got up, for he had seen only one official in the two days he’d been there. A major had stopped by to tell him briefly that a court was being called, and as soon as it was appointed he would be allowed visitors. He was thinking of this when he asked, “Has the court been appointed yet, sir?”

“Yes.”

The officer stood there staring at Thad, saying nothing. He was, Thad saw, a youngish man in his late twenties. He was of average height and very slight of build. His face was narrow, but he had a broad forehead under thinning blond hair. The eyes were deep set and seemed to be greenish blue; it was difficult to tell under his heavy, drooping eyelids. His prominent nose overshadowed a wide mouth wearing a short mustache. His uniform was rumpled and he needed a shave.

He appeared to have finished his inspection and plumped down in the single chair, seeming to collapse with fatigue. He pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket, bit off a plug, stored it in his left cheek, then said, “I’m your lawyer, Novak. Name’s Harrison Duke.”

Thad was confused. “My lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“I—I thought I might talk to Mr. Winslow—ask him to find me a lawyer.”

“He’s the one who sent me.” Duke looked at Thad with sleepy eyes and asked, “You do it, or not?”

“Sir?”

“Bygad, don’t fool around with me, Novak!” The lawyer rose, went to the window and sent an amber stream out. He turned and commanded, “Now, you listen to me, son, just like I was your daddy. You are looking at your only chance in this world to live, so you answer me, and don’t lie. Did you do it?”

Thad stared back at him, angered by the callous tone. He didn’t like the captain and snapped back, “No, sir!”

Duke waited for Thad to protest his innocence, but when that didn’t come, he went to the chair and sat down. “Two years ago I defended a man who was accused of slitting the throats of his parents. First thing I asked him, too, was ‘Did you do it?’ “ Duke allowed a small smile to touch his wide lips, then added, “He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Yes, I did it—and I’d do it again if I got the chance!’”

Thad blinked at that, and Duke said, “I don’t like folks who murder their parents, and I don’t like traitors. But when I take a case, I’ll spit in the devil’s face to win. I’ll let the preachers decide what’s right and wrong; but in a court of law, the only thing I give a hang about is getting my client off.”

“Did you get
him
off—the man who killed his parents?”

“Yes. He walked out of the courtroom a free man.” Duke went to the window and spat again. When he came back, there was an odd light in his eyes. “A year later he used the same knife to murder his only brother.”

Thad was revolted by the story. “Didn’t that—bother you, sir?”

“Bother me? Why, it was none of my business!” Duke leaned back. “I need to know if you’re guilty so I can plan a way to gut the prosecuting officer. But most people don’t want to confess—even to their lawyers.” He waited again for Thad to protest his innocence, and when that didn’t happen, the man opened his eyes a little. “Well, Novak, guilty or not, I can’t say—but if you want me, I’ll do my best for you. May not be enough.”

Thad studied the thin face and the sleepy eyes. Harrison Duke was not the sort of man he’d have picked, but an instinct told him that the lawyer was just what he needed for this crisis. “I’d appreciate it if you’d do what you can, Captain Duke.”

“You know you can refuse—choose another lawyer? Won’t hurt my feelings a bit.”

“No, sir.”

Duke showed no pleasure, but grunted and scrunched up in the seat, closed his eyes, and said, “Tell me everything. All of it. If you leave out one detail that you think’s not important, that’s the very detail I might need to keep you from getting shot. Don’t stop—tell it all right from the beginning to this minute.”

Thad nodded and began by saying, “I guess you ought to know that I’m kin to Mr. Winslow—but he don’t know it . . .” Duke tilted his chair back against the wall, closed his eyes and didn’t move. He seemed to be asleep, but several times during the recital he rose, went to spit out the window, then returned to his chair and resumed the same somnambulant posture.