"It's damning evidence all right," the judge agreed. "Were there any witnesses to your mother's confession?"
"Yes, my brother Reginald was there… and the nigger's mother. She didn't count though. A southerner knows better than to trust anything a nigger says."
Harrison could feel the hate oozing out of the man. He looked at the jury to see how they were reacting. They seemed uncomfortable, for several squirmed in their chairs, but they didn't hate Lionel Adderley. Yet.
It was time for him to go to work.
"It's your turn, Harrison."
He leaned close to Adam. "Don't believe a word I say. If I nod, you'll know I'm lying. Tell your brothers and sister, but don't let anyone else hear you."
Harrison made a lot of noise scraping his chair back to distract anyone from overhearing Adam speak to the family.
He walked to the judge's table first. "Well, now, maybe that's damning evidence, and then again, maybe it isn't. We're going to have to see about that, aren't we?"
"We surely are."
Harrison turned to Lionel. He stared at him a long half minute. He wanted the jurors to see the look of repulsion on his face.
His voice was mild and mellow when he began his interrogation. "I like to think I'm like my father, God rest his soul. He was a good man. Are you like your father, Lionel?"
"I suppose I am. I'm his proud son."
"Well, then, you admire him."
"Yes. Everyone admired my daddy."
"What happened after he died? Did things change around the plantation?"
"The war came. That's what happened."
"I'll bet you think your daddy could have stopped it from happening. You think so too, don't you, being such a proud-of-your-daddy son and all."
"We'll never know, will we?" Lionel sneered. "He might have stopped it. He would have made a difference in our lives though. We lost everything and Daddy never would have let that happen."
"How old were you when your daddy died?"
"Seventeen."
"And your younger brother? How old was he?"
"Twelve."
"Seventeen's old enough to fight. Did you sign up for duty, Lionel?"
"No, but only because I have a physical ailment that prevented me from serving in the Confederate Army."
"What might that ailment be, Lionel?"
"Do I have to tell, Judge?"
"Yes, you do."
"My feet," he snapped. "They're flat. I broke the arches. I can't walk long distances."
"Flat feet kept you out of the Confederate Army?"
"Yes."
Harrison didn't believe him. He knew no one else in the courtroom did either.
"Did your father ever strike you?"
"No, never."
He was lying again. Harrison walked over to the table, picked up a Bible, and held it out for Lionel to see.
The judge hadn't bothered with the formality of swearing everyone in. Harrison decided to correct that error now.
"When this court was called into session and Honorable John Burns walked inside, it was more than showing him the respect he's due. It was the signal to everyone here that what was said from that moment on would be truthful. I don't have any patience with perjury. You're wasting the jury's valuable time as well as the judge's. I now ask you once again, did your father ever strike you?"
Lionel shrugged. "A slap every now and then. Nothing like…"
Harrison leapt on the opening. "Nothing like what he did to your mother?"
"She provoked him," Lionel shouted. "A man's wife should be obedient. Mother knew that. She liked to pick fights with him. She knew he had a temper."
"Were some of the fights about you boys?"
"Maybe. I can't say."
"You can't? Well, now, I've got a signed statement from one of your neighbors who happened inside your house one day and saw you and Reginald hiding behind your mama's skirts while your father beat on her. She let him pound away so she could protect you."
"I was very young."
"You were sixteen. Almost a man. You were already bigger than your mama."
"You make it sound worse than it was."
Lionel turned to the judge. "My daddy's behavior isn't on trial here. That nigger boy is. Do your job and remind your attorney."
"Don't you go telling me my job," Burns growled.
"That's telling him, honey," Blue Belle called out.
The judge smiled. " Harrison?" he said then. "I guess you know where you're headed."
Lionel was on edge. Harrison decided to let him relax a minute before he went in for the kill. He nodded to the judge before turning to the witness again.
"I agree with you, Lionel. Your daddy's behavior isn't on trial. Are you an honest man?"
"Every southern gentleman is an honest man."
"Was Livonia 's confession forced? Did you coerce her into signing the paper?"
"I most certainly did not. She wanted to tell. She'd held it inside for a long time. She was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"The nigger taking care of her. My mother knew that if she told, the nigger mama would kill her."
"Disregard that last stupid remark, jury. He's speaking what he can't know for certain," the judge ordered.
"If Rose was as mean as you paint her to be, why didn't she kill your mother a whole hell of a lot sooner and leave?"
"She didn't have the guts, that's why. She had opportunity. She was too stupid to know it."
"You weren't around your mama much after your father died, were you?"
"It was difficult to watch her losing her sight. My brother and I stayed in the main house. She and her nigger moved into a cottage on the edge of the property."
"Did you take over for your father?"
"I tried."
Harrison nodded. He walked over to the jury and looked at them. "Here's the way I see it. Lionel says his mother's confession wasn't coerced, and he expects all of you to believe him. He's white, after all. We should believe him over Adam, shouldn't we? Well, now, I think maybe I ought to find out if Lionel is telling us the truth. If he lies about one thing, he's gonna lie about another, isn't he? That's the way I see it. Yes, sir, I do. Lionel, what do you think of our little town?"
"I like it just fine."
"You like the people here?"
"Yes, I do. They're very pleasant."
"Did you spend a lot of time this past week in town?"
"My brother and I had to stay. We wanted to go riding up in the mountains, but there weren't any horses available to rent, and we'd come here by stagecoach."
"Did you spend some time in Morrison's nice general store?"
"Yes."
"Did you spend some time in the saloon?"
"Yes."
"So you met quite a few nice people, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Did you meet anyone you didn't like?"
Lionel pretended to have to think about it. "No, I liked everyone just fine."
"Even our own Blue Belle? Did you like her too?"
Lionel must have figured where he was being led. He gave the judge a quick glance, then closed his mouth.
"Answer his question, Lionel," the judge ordered.
"Yes, I liked her just as much as I liked everyone else."
Harrison 's voice changed then. He let his disdain and his anger sound in his tone.
"You got a strange notion about what's nice and what isn't. Fact is, you're lying, aren't you, Lionel? You hate every one of us."
"That isn't true."
"And Belle?" he prodded once again.
"I like Belle fine."
"He's lying, Judge," Blue Belle shouted. "He called me a filthy, nickel-dollar whore. He said it in front of Billie too."
"She is a whore." Lionel defended.
Harrison smiled. He turned around. "Thank you, Blue Belle," he drawled out. "It was right nice of you to help out.
"Now, we got us another problem, Judge. It seems what we consider nice and what the southern boys consider nice are two different things. Lionel, you think maybe nice means disgusting to you boys?"