Mincer had immediately begun rotating the coin over his fingers. When he noticed Dwight observing his perfected movements, he chuckled and held the object face out for Dwight to see.
“It’s a Washington silver dollar. Payment from my first client,” the man let out a soft snort, and Dwight sensed there was an interesting story behind it. “It’s my good luck piece. Never tried a case without it in my pocket—except once, that is. The only time I left it on the bureau at home, I lost the case,” he snickered.
With a grin that matched the surprise in his eyes, Dwight reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver dollar exactly like the one the man held. “I was given this as a tip my first day driving a Hansom cab back in Louisville. It’s my good luck token as well.”
The two men inclined their heads at one another in instant camaraderie and Dwight recognized within David Mincer’s eyes the beginning of a long and important friendship.
“By the way, how’s your wife?” the older man asked.
“She’s fine, sir.” Dwight answered, choosing to add, “Due to our original agreement, it was rather awkward at first when I found myself here, but Mary’s a great girl and…we’re making it work.” He allowed a small smile as he thought of the many times that they had interacted, with each event becoming more and more stimulating. He had found out quite a few things about her, such as her favorite foods, colors, and music, etc. But there was still so much he didn’t know. She was rather close-mouthed. Somehow that made her utterly fascinating and he found himself wanting to learn all of her secrets.
“She’s had a rough time of it, I understand.”
“Yes, she has, sir. I don’t yet know all of the details as she doesn’t seem to want to talk about it at all, but…speaking of that, what can you tell me about the man who attacked her?” he asked bluntly. The thought of a man mistreating a sweet girl like Mary, knocking her down and deliberately injuring her…not to mention the other thing he had done…made Dwight’s blood run hot with anger.
Mincer’s brow furrowed. “Well, I have no firsthand knowledge. I was out of town for several days, including the night it happened. I only know hearsay. I do know, however, that his name is Washington Hobbs and he is one of a somewhat notorious gang of robbers, swindlers, and kidnappers. As I understand it, the night of the attack, the new deputy, Tobias Keller, caught up with him across the river at a seedy tavern near the waterfront. He brought him back and eventually the man was taken into custody by Constable Filkins from Platte City in Missouri.”
“Why did this Hobbs attack Mary, sir? He cut her leg with a knife?”
“As I say, I don’t know all of the details, other than they had apparently met on board the J. Houston, got off the boat together, and he attacked her right there on Main Street. The only other detail I know is that she was…well…wearing men’s clothing at the time.”
Dwight hadn’t heard that tidbit and he knew his eyes must have registered his surprise. Why would Mary be wearing men’s clothing? That seemed odd. Was she a part of his gang? Surely not…from what he knew of her, that was the farthest thing from a possibility.
The attorney pursed his lips as he scrutinized Dwight’s regard and gave a slight nod as he changed the subject.
“So, young man, Doc tells me you’ve set your sights on a career in law.”
Clearing his throat, Dwight changed directions in his thoughts, putting the puzzle of what happened to Mary…what happened to his wife, on the back burner. Fighting against his feelings of inadequacy, he answered, “Well…let’s say that it’s long been my desire.”
“Anything is possible to those who want it badly enough and work hard enough to get it, son—and with the Lord’s blessings, of course,” the man said with the strength of absolute certainty.
Dwight nodded in agreement and the man began to ask him questions about his background, his schooling, what classes he took in college, and what he’d done since then. At one point, he complimented Dwight for his unselfish act of setting aside his dream for the good of his family.
When their conversation reached a lull, Dwight asked, “How did you get your start, sir? If…if it’s all right to ask.”
“Sure, it’s all right,” Mincer responded as he rose from his chair and walked a few steps to a tall cabinet next to one of the windows. “Care for a drink, son?” he queried, holding up a decanter of what looked like whiskey.
“No thank you, sir. I’m…I’m not a drinking man.”
Mincer’s eyes reflected pleasure at hearing this and he replaced the item and turned instead to a pitcher. His next words confirmed a feeling Dwight had that he’d just passed another hurdle. “Glad to hear it, young man. In my younger days, I’m ashamed to say, I imbibed on occasion. But now, I’m content with my wife’s iced tea and cold lemonade. She adds a touch of lemon and sugar to the tea. Care for some?” he offered as he filled a glass with chips from a small ice chest built into the cabinet.
“I would sir, thank you.”
Once he was behind his desk again, both men sipping their delicious, cold drinks, Mincer began, “Well now, to answer your question, I was born in Iowa, but I spent my formative years here, in Brownville.”
Dwight inclined his head, already having found that out, but he didn’t interrupt.
Mincer continued, “I graduated from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, in ’70. Then the law department of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor in ’72. Ahh, let’s see, I headed to Battle
