Morning Glory

Miss Beasley poked ten fingers in his chest and pushed him back. 'Shut up, Mr. Harrington, and get out of our way or I’ll tell your wife how you ogle the naked aborigines in the back issues of National Geographicevery Thursday afternoon when she thinks you’re downstairs checking the Ten Most Wanted posters. Get in, Eleanor. We’ve wasted enough time.' When both women were in the car, bumping back down the curb, Miss Beasley craned around and advised in her usual unruffled, demagogic tone, 'Careful for Norris and Nat, Eleanor, they do a great service for this town, you know.' Down the curb they went, across the street and up the opposite curb, nearly shearing the pair of octogenarians off their whittling bench before Elly gained control and put the car in first. Miss Beasley’s breasts whupped in the air like a spaniel’s ears as the car jerked forward, sped around a corner at twenty miles an hour and came to a lurching halt beside the White Eagle gas pump on the adjacent side of the square. Four ration coupons later Elly and Miss Beasley were on their way to Calhoun.

'Mr. Parker is innocent, of course,' Miss Beasley stated unequivocally.

'Of course. But that woman came to the library chasin’ him, didn’t she? That’s gonna look bad for him.'

'Hmph! I got a thing or two to tell your lawyer about that!'

'Which lawyer we gettin’?'

'There isonly one if you want to win. Robert Collins. He has a reputation for winning, and has had since the spring he was nineteen and brought in the wild turkey with the biggest spur and the longest beard taken that season. He hung them on the contest board at Haverty’s drugstore beside two dozen others entered by the oldest and most experienced hunters in Whitney. As I recall, they’d given Robert short shrift, smiling out the sides of their mouths at the idea that a mere boy could outdo any one of them-big talkers, those turkey hunters, always practicing their disgusting gobbles when a girl walked by on the street, then laughing when she jumped half out of her skin. Well, Robert won that year-the prize, as I recall, being a twelve-gauge shotgun donated by the local merchants-and he’s been winning ever since. At Dartmouth where he graduated top in his class. Two years later when he took on an unpopular case and won restitution for a young black boy who lost his legs when he was pushed into the paddlewheel of a gristmill where he worked, by the owner of the mill. The owner was white, and needless to say, an unbiased jury was hard to find. But Robert found one, and made a name for himself. After that he prosecuted a woman from Red Bud who killed her own son with a garden hoe to keep him from marrying a girl who wasn’t Baptist. Of course, Robert had every Baptist in the county writing him poison pen letters declaring that he was maligning the entire religious sect. The church deacons were on his back, even his own minister-Robert is Baptist himself-because as it turned out, the murderess was a fervent churchgoer who’d almost single-handedly bulldozed the community into scraping up funds for a new stone church after a tornado blew the clapboard one down. A do-goodah,' Miss Beasley added disparagingly. 'You know the type.' She paused for a brief breath and continued intoning, 'In any event, Robert prosecuted her case and won, and ever since, he’s been known as a man who won’t knuckle under to social pressures, a defender of underdogs. An honorable man, Robert Collins.'

Elly recognized him immediately. He was the one who’d come out of chambers in intense conversation with Judge Murdoch on Elly’s wedding day. But she had little opportunity to nurse the memory before becoming distracted by the surprising opening exchange between the lawyer and Miss Beasley.

'Beasley, my secretary said, and I asked myself could it be Gladys Beasley?' He crossed the crowded, cluttered anteroom in an unhurried shuffle, extending a skinny hand.

'It could be and is. Hello, Robert.'

Clasping her hand in both of his, he chuckled, showing yellowed teeth edged with gold in a wrinkled elf’s face surrounded by springy hair the color of old cobwebs. 'Forever formal, aren’t you? The only girl in school who called me Robert instead of Bob. Are you still stamping books at the Carnegie Library?'

'I am. Are you still shooting turkeys on the Red Bone Ridge?'

Again he laughed, tipping back, still clasping her hand. 'I am. Bagged a twenty-one-pound tom my last time out.'

'With an eleven-inch beard, no doubt, and an inch-long spur, which you hung on the drugstore wall to put the old-timers in their places.'

Once more his laughter punctuated their exchange. 'With a memory like that you’d have made a good lawyer.'

'I left that to you though, didn’t I, because girls were not encouraged to take up law in those days.'

'Now, Gladys, don’t tell me you still hold a grudge because I was asked to give the valedictory speech?'

'Not at all. The best man won.' Abruptly she grew serious. 'Enough byplay, Robert. I’ve brought you a client, vastly in need of your expert services. I should take it as a personal favor if you’d help her, or more precisely, her husband. This is Eleanor Parker. Eleanor, meet Robert Collins.'

Meeting his handshake with one of her own, Elly inquired, 'You got a wife, Mr. Collins?'

'No, I don’t, not anymore. She died a few years back.'

'Oh. Well, then this is for you.'

'For me,' he repeated, pleased, accepting the quart of honey, holding it high.

'And there’s more where that came from, plus milk and pork and chickens and eggs for the duration of this war and without rationing coupons, to go along with whatever money you need to clear Will’s name.'

He laughed again, examining the honey. 'Might this be construed as bribery, do you think, Gladys?'

'Construe it any way you like, but try it on a bran muffin. It’s indescribable.'

He turned, carrying the honey into his messy office, inviting, 'Come in, both of you, and close the door so we can talk. Mizz Parker, as for my fee, we’ll get to that later after I decide whether or not I can take the case.'

Seated in his office, Elly quickly assured Robert Collins, 'Oh, I got money, Mr. Collins, never fear. And I know where I can get more.'

'From me,' put in Miss Beasley.

Elly’s head snapped around. 'From you!' she repeated, surprised.

'We’re digressing, Eleanor, on Robert’s valuable time,' returned Miss Beasley didactically. 'We’ll discuss it later. Alone.'

It didn’t take fifteen minutes for Robert Collins to ascertain the few facts known by the women and inform them that he’d be at the jail as soon as possible to talk to Will and make his decision about defending him.

Before that hour was up, Elly herself was standing in Sheriff Goodloe’s office with another jar of honey in her hand. He was deep in conversation with his deputy but looked up as she entered. Straightening, he began, 'Now, Elly, I told you at your house you can’t see him till you got a lawyer.'

She set the jar of honey on his desk. 'I came to apologize.' She looked him soberly in the eyes. 'About an hour ago I called you a piss-ant when actually I’ve always had a fair deal of respect for you. I always meant to thank you for gettin’ me out of that house I grew up in, but this’s the first chance I got.' She gestured toward the honey. 'That’s for that. It’s got nothin’ to do with Will, but I want to see him.'

'Elly, I told you-'

'I know what you told me, but I thought about what kind of laws they are that let you lock up a person without letting him explain to people what really happened. I know all about being locked up like that. It ain’t fair, Mr. Goodloe, and you know it. You’re a fair man. You were the only person ever stood up for me when they kept me in that house and let the whole town think I was crazy because of it. Well, I ain’t. The crazy ones are the ones who make laws that keep a wife from seeing her husband when he’s in the pit of despair, which is what my Will is right now. I’m not askin’ you to open his door or put us in a private room. I’m not even askin’ you to leave us alone. All I’m askin’ is what’s fair.'

Goodloe glanced from her to the honey. He plopped tiredly into his chair and ran his hands over his face in frustration. 'Now, dang it, Elly, I got regulations-'

'Aw, let her talk to him,' the deputy interrupted, fixing a slight smile on Elly. 'What’s it gonna hurt?' Sheriff Goodloe swung a glance at the younger man, who shrugged and added, 'She’s right and you know it. It’s not fair.' Then, to Elly’s surprise, the younger man came forward, extending a hand. 'Remember me? Jimmy Ray Hess. We were in fifth grade together. Speaking of fair, I’m one of those who used to call you names, and if you can apologize, so can I.'

Astounded, she shook his hand.

'Jimmy Ray Hess,' she repeated in wonder. 'Well, I’ll be.'

'That’s right.' He proudly thumbed the star on his shirt. 'Deputy sheriff of Gordon County now.' In friendly fashion he swung back to his superior. 'What d’you say, Reece-can she see him?'