testifying just as terrible as the consequences of testifying. We all knew that when cases involving backwoods families are tried in court, the matter seldom ends there. The losing family continues its search for justice with violence and acts of reprisal, particularly against unfriendly witnesses, often for years after the original matter was settled by the court. The urge to avoid the matter entirely must have been strong for the people of Frankie Silver’s community.

The court set the trial date for Thursday, March 29, and Sheriff William Butler was ordered to summon 150 jurors on the Thursday following to be considered for service in the proceedings. This was a larger number of potential jurors than we usually called, but because of the sensational nature of the case, I thought it prudent to have men in reserve in order to provide the lawyers with a satisfactory selection of men from which to choose. Perhaps the notion of mountain justice would convince many of our own citizens that they wanted no part in the proceedings.

Nicholas Woodfin, the young lawyer who was brought in to represent Mrs. Silver in court, arrived in Morganton a few days beforehand in order to familiarize himself with the case and to interview his client. I do not know where he stayed, perhaps at the estate of his cocounsel Thomas Wilson a few miles outside town, or perhaps he took lodgings at the Buckhorn Tavern. Whatever his residence, I know that he did not lack for dinner invitations. One of Elizabeth’s sisters had caught sight of Mr. Woodfin, boots shining, brass gleaming, and clothes brushed free of the dust of travel, riding into town on his strapping bay gelding, and she had stopped in her tracks and stared upward like one who has been given a celestial vision.

“Why, he looks for all the world like a foreign prince!” Miss Erwin exclaimed. This pronouncement of the regal nature of Mr. Woodfin’s appearance was quickly communicated to every lady in the county, or so it seemed, and they vied with one another to show him every kindness during his visit. I venture to say that the mothers of unmarried gentlewomen in our county envisioned Mr. Woodfin’s role of rescuer of damsels extending well beyond his duty to his client Mrs. Silver.

“Anddoes he look like a prince, Burgess?” Elizabeth wanted to know. Tending to our infant son and to her duties at hearth and home had kept her so occupied that she had yet to see the distinguished newcomer. She relied on her sisters to keep her supplied with news.

“He is certainly an imposing figure,” I said, trying to temper my annoyance with justice. I do not recall such a fuss being made among the ladies whenI first arrived in Morganton. “Nicholas Woodfin is a man of medium stature, with dark eyes and features in the Greek mold, I believe you would say. His hair is very dark, though already it is flecked with gray.”

“What a pity,” said Elizabeth.

“Not at all, my dear. The last thing a young lawyer should wish to look like is-a young lawyer. Age suggests wisdom and experience. His clients find his mature countenance very comforting, I expect.”

“And has he seen his most important client yet?”

“Mrs. Silver? Yes, I believe so. He must interview her before the trial begins, of course. It must have been an interesting encounter. I wonder what they made of each other?”

“How so, Burgess?”

I shrugged. “I cannot imagine two people more dissimilar than Nicholas Woodfin and the rawboned backwoods girl whom he must defend. It must have been a memorable meeting for both of them. There he is, smelling of lavender soap and pressed linen, standing over her in his spotless wool suit and polished calf-leather boots, an attorney of law, well educated and mannered, conversant in Latin, and acquainted with the most prominent gentlemen in Carolina… and thereshe is-greasy-haired, lice-ridden, and unwashed from her months in a straw-floored cell of our Burke County jail: a scrawny, graceless girl, unable to read or write, and scarcely able to understand what is happening to her, I’ll warrant.”

“The poor girl must see him as a knight in shining armor,” said Elizabeth.

“If she has ever heard of such a thing, yes.”

“But, Burgess, I have heard that despite all her deprivations in prison, Mrs. Silver is very pretty, too.”

“I doubt if Mr. Woodfin would notice if she were the Queen of Sheba,” I replied. “He will have quite enough on his mind with a murder trial to prepare for. It is a great responsibility to have someone’s life in your hands. And he is such a young man. I do not envy him one bit!” I said these words with all the more force because they were not true.

There were other less notorious cases to be settled in the first few days of the Superior Court session, although nobody paid them much mind. All talk centered on the final day’s business: the State v. Frances Stewart Silver, scheduled to be tried on Thursday.

I saw Thomas Wilson in court, of course, for he had other cases on the docket to attend to, but it was several days before we managed to find a moment for conversation other than the perfunctory courtesies one utters in passing.

I saw him one morning walking from his office to the courthouse, and I fell into step beside him. After wishing him good day, I said: “I hear talk of nothing but the Silver case, Mr. Wilson. Someone said that if we could sell tickets to the trial, we could do away with Burke County’s property taxes for a year.”

He permitted himself a trace of a smile. “I fear that such an avid interest in the case is a misfortune for the accused woman. Strong interest means strong feelings, and the jury will feel pressured by that, whether they admit it or not.”

“At least you will not have former sheriff Tate to contend with. Having served on the grand jury, his obligation is discharged. I would not have wanted to try a murder case with his cold stare trained on me.”

He nodded. “Well, I will not be pleading this case before the court. The stares are Mr. Woodfin’s concern, but I do not think he minds. He is a great playgoer, is Mr. Woodfin. He says that a defense attorney is the principal actor in a tragedy. He even went so far as to say that clergymen ought to attend the theatre and pay close attention to the dramatic orations, as it would greatly improve their style of preaching.”

“He seems to have some unorthodox opinions for such a young man.”

“Yes, but I think he is very able. And I’m not sure that I don’t agree with him about the importance of being a dramatic orator. Juriesfeel a great deal more than theythink, it often seems.”

I protested, “Surely a logical argument, well presented-”

Wilson smiled again. “If you ever stand in the dock, Mr. Gaither, guilty of the crime of which you are accused, I’ll warrant that you will realize the value of making jurors weep instead of think.”

On Thursday morning the trial began. The family of the murdered man would be present in court, no doubt making certain that no Stewart kinfolk slipped into the ranks of the jury. By the same token, Isaiah Stewart and his sons, who waited outside the courthouse with expressionless stares, would see to it that none of the Silver clan sat in judgment of Frankie. Since both families were forty miles from home, I thought they stood a better chance than most of receiving disinterested justice.

The thought of all these grim backwoodsmen from beyond the mountains made me uneasy, for their notions of civilized behavior might differ widely from those of Morganton proper. The moment I reached the courthouse I had a word with Constable John Pearson, warning him to keep an eye on the spectators during the trial, particularly the Stewarts. They might all be armed, and they might attempt violence if the court did not rule in their favor. Taking the law into their own hands is a common enough practice on the frontier, where courts are too far removed to serve the needs of the settlers. Men in the wilderness learned to protect their kinfolk and their possessions without the benefit of the legal system.

Pearson narrowed his eyes at my warning. “You think they’ll fight, then?”

“I hope not,” I said, “but you must be vigilant. Watch everyone. Even our own local citizens. Regrettably, many of them are much the worse for drink on court days. They might become unruly. Feelings are running high over this case.”

“So are wagers,” grunted Pearson.

“They are betting on this case? On whether she is guilty?”

“No. Her guilt seems evident-at least no one is wagering otherwise. The bet is on whether Mrs. Silver will be acquitted or sent to prison,” said Pearson.

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