at least twice, not, Quill knew, because he couldn't afford another pair, but because he didn't want to break in new shoes. Like Myles (now on his way to London, with that perfect-looking woman!), Howie had his own kind of stubborn integrity. 'hard to say. I haven't been up before Justice Bristol yet. As you know, I'm accustomed to being on the other side of the bench.'
'Well, I voted for you, Howie,' said Meg, with an emphasis that seemed to imply Quill hadn't.
'Of course you did. So did John. So did Doreen and Axminster. So did Marge Schmidt. Why are you acting like I didn't vote for Howie?'
'You're the one that's acting as though I didn't vote for Howie.'
'I am NOT. Howie was a great town justice. And he's Hemlock Falls' best lawyer.'
'I'm Hemlock Falls' only lawyer,' Howie pointed out dryly.
'Whatever.' Meg's cheeks were still pink from the cold outside; she rubbed them vigorously and made them even pinker. 'The thing is, Howie, with everyone so made at the President and the governor, all the incumbents in all the elections in New York State got kicked out six weeks ago. Myles isn't sheriff anymore. You're not town justice anymore. And it's not your fault. It's not Myles's fault. It's nobody's fault. It's democracy. It's the voice of the people. Just read the newspapers. Of course,' Meg continued sunnily, 'the other fact is that you sentenced the mayor and the Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth and practically the whole male side of the Chamber of Commerce to three months of community service for public rowdiness. That may have had some... '
Quill, was exasperated, poked Meg into silence. Hemlock Falls tended to lag behind fashionable trends, but eventually caught up to such contemporary issues as male emancipation. S. O. A. P's first meeting, in the back room of the Croh Bar on Main Street, had ended in a public display which violated town ordinance 2.654 (prohibiting total nudity and drunkenness in public) and 4.726 (vandalism). Outraged citizens unsympathetic to the Men's Movement (Adela Henry and the members of H. O. W. mostly) had demanded their pound of flesh. Howie had reluctantly bowed to the legal demands of the aggressive plaintiff's attorney Mrs. Henry imported from Syracuse just for the occasion, and sentenced S. O. A. P. members to several weekends of highway cleanup. Reprisals had been effected at the polls in November.
Meg tapped her fingers against the wooden bench and ruffled her short dark hair. 'Is this Bristol ever going to show up? You said it'd take a few minutes. It's been more like an hour. We're booked for the holidays and the rest of the McIntosh family is coming in this afternoon and I've got to get back.' She looked at her watch, scowled, and rose to her feet. 'As a matter of fact, I should be at the Aga right now.'
'You can't leave. You're my witness.' Quill shoved her back into her seat.
'Quill, it's just a lousy ticket. I wasn't even there. You just want me here as a character witness, and Howie doesn't even think I need to be here, do you, Howie?'
'I'd like it. Just as a backup.'
'And besides, you always get tickets. There's not a thing I can do about it. There's never been anything I could do about it.' Meg began to edge her way out.
Howie stirred uneasily. 'Maybe you ought to hang on a little while longer, Meg. This won't take long. It's a matter of routine. We'll plead Quill guilty, have her throw herself on the mercy of the court to get the fine down, and that will be the end of it.'
'I didn't get a ticket,' Quill said. 'I told you. It's a frame. Meg? Where are you going?'
Meg paused at the end of the row. 'Honestly, Quill, I'm busy. Mrs. Whosis is coming in this afternoon to begin planning the food for the reception and I told her I'd have some samples.'
'Mrs. McIntosh,' said Quill. 'It's not Mrs. Whosis, it's Mrs. McIntosh. For the Santini wedding,' she explained to Howie. 'He's already here.'
Howie nodded. 'I've heard.'
'Have you met him?'
'Mm-hmmm.'
Meg jiggled impatiently. 'right. I'm suggesting pork tenderloin in persimmon sauce. If Santini wants pasta, I'll black his little eye.'
Quill, still feeling pitiful, gave her a woebegone look. Meg edged back along the bench and hugged her.
'You'll be fine. Howie, tell her she'll be fine.'
'As long as there aren't any surprises, yes, Quill, you should be fine. You're sure about no priors?'
Quill made a face in the direction of the judge's bench. She had a sudden, passionate regret that Myles was out of her life. Then, just as passionately, she decided she could save herself.
'So, there.' Meg avoided her sister's eye, edged her way along the wall to the aisle, waved, and jogged toward the back doors, looking both innocent and ingenuous in her wool leggings, scarlet knitted cap, and droopy scarf.
Quill sat back, unknotted the silk scarf at her neck, and retied it.
The courtroom was as cavernous as a church, and as sparsely populated. The jury box and the judge's bench were segregated from the spectator pews by low spindled railings. The prosecutor's desk, Howie had told her, was typically to the left in front of the raised judge's dais, the defense to the right. The desks resembled library tables; long, broad, and made of a hardwood stained an ugly coffee color. The whole arrangement was stark, putting Quill in mind of some strict and unforgiving religious sect.
Pictures of the incumbent President and the governor of the state of New York flanked an American flag on the front wall. Quill wondered where pictures of the new governor would come from in January when the new governor took office and what would happen to the old ones. Were former gubernatorial pictures destroyed thoroughly and with precision, like worn-out money sent back to the mint? Or did cartons and cartons of them get returned to the loser, who was probably in a severely depressed state to begin with and shouldn't have to deal with fading portraits of a vanished career? Quill had liked this governor, who'd forgone a presidential campaign because he didn't want a greedy, self-aggrandizing media poking around his family any more than they had already. As far as Quill was concerned, at least at this specific minute, a person's private history should remain private history.
