Keeping Faith

Parts 41-45

by MrsNickB

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

Part 41

Nick was all too aware that his wife was bitterly disappointed at having to miss the Harvest Festival. It was one of two major events on the Stockton social calendar, the Spring Dance being the other. Laura Barkley loved to attend both for sentimental reasons. The Spring Dance was the first time she and Nick danced together. It wasn't until after they were engaged Laura confessed to Nick that she had fallen in love with him that very night. The couple had only met a week before. Nick would always tease her by saying, "What took you so long? I knew I loved you the first day we met." Laura always answered back by saying she had three handsome Barkley men to choose from so she needed at least a week to decide. Nick always smiled at the thought.

Victoria had arrived home from the festival a few hours before and helped Nick get Colleen ready for bed while Etta Lewis, Laura's nurse, helped Laura with her bath. After Nick had tucked his daughter into bed and read her a bedtime story he settled in the parlor where his mother told him about Hope getting hurt and how it eventually led to Sally Driscoll's revelations.

Having locked up for the night, Nick retrieved his surprise from the kitchen and headed upstairs. He knew Laura would be finished brushing her golden hair by now, the nightly one hundred strokes was a ritual she never missed, and would now be writing in her journal. He paused at the door to watch her, admiring the glow of the lamplight on her fair hair. She wrote in her journal:

"Nick has been an attentive angel all day. His actions continue to remind me how very lucky I am. I know I don't deserve such a wonderful man in my life. He continues to be by my side. Today he must have spent an hour rubbing my back and shoulders, and when he was done he made me soak my swollen feet in a tub of cool water. Etta Lewis, the nursemaid my dear husband hired to keep me in my place, has been Nick's biggest supporter. I've little choice but to do their bidding. True, I tire easily these days and I do welcome the naps the two of them insist I take, but I would never give them the satisfaction of knowing I appreciate their loving care. Wicked, willful me."

Nick decided to make his presence known. He strode into the bedroom and set down the two large picnic baskets he carried with a thump. "Ah, good, I knew you would still be up."

"Nick, what's all that?" she said as she pulled off her spectacles and laid down her pen. She closed her personal journal and tucked it safely away in a small drawer inside her desk.

"You have been moping around here all day because you missed the Harvest Festival so I thought I would bring it to you. Welcome to the Nick Barkley Very Private Harvest Festival Picnic."

"Oh Nick! I love you for this! There's nothing better than a Nick Barkley picnic!" She laughed as she stood from her desk. Nick spread a blanket on the floor of their bedroom, and Laura shook her head at him. "Now, surely you don't expect me to get down on the floor?"

"Don't worry. I'll help you down, and I'll help you up. Come on." He took her hands in his and gently guided her to the floor, taking care to place a pillow down for her to sit on.

"Well, that wasn't too bad. What have you got for us to eat?" She lifted the lid of the picnic basket, but Nick slapped it down.

"Oh no you don't! Get out of that! There's a surprise in there for later. You can't see it now."

"Surprise? Let me see it. You know I don't have any patience!"

"No! Now get your grubby little paws off that." He poured a drink of cider from a bottle and handed her a glass. "Drink up, it's good for you."

"Where did this cider come from?"

"Barkley Orchards, now drink up!"

"Is it safe?" She smiled teasingly as she held the glass to her lips.

"Now, would I give you anything that was bad for you?! Drink it!" he ordered. Nick began to take the food out of the basket. "Now, I have your favorite: roast beef, potato salad, and some of Silas' brown bread."

"Mmm. What about creamed carrots? I know Silas made them today."

"I made sure he saved some for you. And guess what we have for dessert?"

"Please tell me its pumpkin pie," she grinned.

"No, sorry, it's pumpkin pie! All for me though." Nick teased.

"It is not! Don't be mean!" Nick laughed as he leaned over and kissed Laura's cheek.

"All for you, Milady."

She placed her arms around Nick and kissed him. "I love you. Do you know that?"

"Yes, but I don't mind you repeating it every now and then."

"I love you." Laura smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

"I love you too. Come on, dig in."

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod had the dining table laden with an array of food as he led the blindfolded lady doctor into his home. Agatha held onto Jarrod's arm with both her hands as she carefully walked by his side.

"This is ridiculous, Jarrod. When can I take the blindfold off?"

"In a minute, be patient. We're almost there." He held out a chair for her and guided her to sit down. Then he untied the blindfold. Agatha's eyes adjusted to the candelabras which gave a dancing glow to the midnight feast.

"Oh my, Jarrod. It's so beautiful. How did you do this?"

"I happen to know the chef at the new French restaurant in town, The Normandy. I had to do some minor legal work for him and this is my fee. A sumptuous feast for your dining pleasure."

"But, why me?"

"You said I didn't feed you. It's the least I could do for an employee." Jarrod sat beside her at the head of the table and placed a napkin on his lap.

"I see." She couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice at being referred to as an 'employee'.

"I'm sorry, Agatha, is something wrong? You don't like roast duck?"

"No, of course not, it's wonderful, Jarrod." She sipped a glass of water.

"I have some wonderful wine, aged to perfection in the Barkley wine cellars. Or so Nick has promised me." Jarrod pulled at the cork until it popped out to cup in his hand. Once opened, he poured first in his glass for a taste test. "Ahh, perfect. May I pour yours?"

"Please do." Agatha presented her wine glass. When he'd filled hers and his, Jarrod held up his glass.

"A toast." Agatha nodded. "To my favorite lady doctor from a very grateful attorney."

"How many lady doctors do you know?"

"Only one, but I am still grateful for all you have done to help me with this upcoming trial."

"You're welcome." The couple quietly sipped their drinks. "May I also make a toast?"

"Please do."

"To Sally, may she taste freedom soon."

"Agreed." They sipped their wine again.

* * * * * * * *

Laura dabbed her face with a napkin after taking the last bite of her pumpkin pie. "I couldn't possibly eat another morsel."

"You hardly ate at all," Nick complained.

"My stomach feels quite full, I assure you. I need to get up. My leg is starting to cramp."

"Well, I have the solution to that." Nick helped her up from the floor. "We can dance."

"Will you sing a song we can dance to?" she asked as she steadied herself on her feet with his help.

"No, I have something else." Nick reached down and pulled a wrapped box from the picnic basket. "Happy Harvest Festival."

"We don't give gifts for the Harvest Festival," Laura laughed.

"I'm beginning a new tradition. It was to be an anniversary gift. I had Audra buy it for me in Paris, but it didn't get here in time."

"Oh yes, that's when you gave me red roses instead and took me out to the new French restaurant."

"Now, wait, don't forget, I bought you a new dress too for the occasion," he reminded her.

"I thought it was a last minute thing. I remembered that I was afraid you had forgotten our anniversary."

"I would never forget our wedding anniversary, June, no wait, July, or was it, oh yes, August 25th." He emphasized every month with a finger tapping the side of his forehead.

"You know very well it was the fifteenth of August, Nick Barkley!" Nick laughed as she slapped his hand away from his head.

"Just testing to see if you remember."

"Now how could I forget the most wonderful day of my life?" she smiled widely.

"And how could I forget the most wonderful night of my life?" Nick burst out laughing when he noticed Laura's cheeks coloring. "You still turn red every time you think about it, don't you?"

"Oh, stop it! Give me my gift you incorrigible man!" Laura eagerly unwrapped the gift Nick still held in his hands. Inside she found a mahogany box with an inlaid tapestry framed on the top.

"Oh, Nick, it's beautiful. Is it a jewelry box?"

"Open it and see," he replied as he still held the box in both hands. When she opened the box it played a Strauss waltz. "Now we can dance." Nick announced and then placed the box on a nearby table. He took his teary-eyed wife in his arms, and they danced around the massive bedroom.

* * * * * * * *

Agatha sat alone on the rich brown brocade sofa. Jarrod entered carrying a silver tray of tea and chocolate French pastries. Agatha gasped at the feast he laid before her. "Oh, Jarrod, this is too much. I couldn't possibly eat anymore. I'll burst!"

"We have all night to digest our food," he answered as he sat beside her and poured the tea in gold rimmed china cups.

"It must be well past midnight. I should be-" Jarrod stopped her protest with a firm kiss on her lips.

"There is no time we need to worry about. Tomorrow is Sunday, a day of rest and it begins now."

"Why did you do that?" Agatha asked.

"Do what?" Jarrod answered her with a question as he turned to pour his own tea.

"Why did you kiss me like that?"

"You needed it."

"I needed it?"

"Yes, you needed to be kissed. Far be it from me to deny you anything you need. I've already denied you enough."

"You have?" she asked softly.

"Yes. You said it yourself that I had forgotten to feed you."

"Oh, but, you have more than made up for it."

"Have I?" Jarrod moved closer and placed his arm around Agatha's shoulders. "Are you sure there isn't something else you need?"

"Something else?"

"Yes?" Jarrod nuzzled her neck and nibbled on her ear.

"I-, don't-, think-," Agatha stammered and her eyelids fluttered down as she succumbed to his ministrations.

"You don't think what?" Jarrod asked as his other arm gripped her tiny waist and pulled her close to him.

"I-, don't-, remember-."

"Then it's best forgotten, don't you agree?" Jarrod's hand roamed from her waist and traveled up to cup her breast. As Agatha leaned back on the sofa, Jarrod covered her body with his.

"Oh, yes, I agree." Agatha spoke breathlessly into his opened mouth as their tongues danced a delicious waltz.

Part 42

It was a cold November morning, but Jarrod could feel the perspiration forming on his upper lip as he sat at the defendant's table. He felt Agatha's presence behind him, though he did not turn around. How could he? The guilt ate him alive. He had taken advantage of an innocent. He cursed her for not confessing she was a virgin. He cursed himself for not showing more restraint.

"Citizens all rise, the first district court of San Joaquin County will now come to order. The Honorable Judge Hannibal Williams presiding. All matters of petition will be brought forth to the bench."

"Please be seated," Judge Williams ordered as he spread his black robe and took the judge's bench. "Read the first petition," requested the judge. The court clerk stood and read from the clip board in his hand.

"The State of California vs. Mrs. Sally Driscoll. The charge is murder in the first degree. The State alleges that Mrs. Driscoll did murder her husband, Samuel T. Driscoll."

The judge nodded to the district attorney. "Is the State ready to present their case?"

"We are, Your Honor," Phil Archer replied as he stood from the table opposite Jarrod's, and with an approving nod from the judge, Archer began. "The State intends to prove that Sally Driscoll savagely and brutally murdered her husband in his sleep on the sixth of April of this year, and she did so without remorse to the dastardly deed as it was not a crime of passion as my opponent might imply but a willful, calculated and planned act by the defendant." Archer stood before the jury, a look of confidence stretched across his face. "Yes, gentlemen of the jury. The State will prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that the murder of Sam Driscoll was planned and you will have no recourse but to demand the death penalty for the accused."

Archer thanked the judge and the jury for their attention and sat back at his place, satisfaction stamped on his face.

Judge Williams then nodded to Jarrod who now had a gleam of confidence in his eyes. He stood like a knight in shining armor ready to do battle against the fire breathing dragon that was Philip Archer. Jarrod buried his thumbs in his vest pockets and studied the courtroom floor with a bemused glint. He took his time before he spoke as he sauntered over to the jury box. When he stood in front of the jurors he gave them a confident smile.

"Gentlemen of the jury, I agree with my learned colleague. A crime has indeed been committed, but the victim is not a dead man. Look, look there, to the defendant's table-." Jarrod pointed to Sally Driscoll. She was wearing a dark blue dress with crisp white trim at the collar and wrists. A white snood held her light brown hair in place at the nape of her neck and small wisps of curls framed her pale face. Her appearance seemed pleasing to some of the jurors as their serious faces softened. "There is your victim, Sally Driscoll. She is a victim of our tolerance and silence. If there is anyone guilty here it is us, gentlemen!"

A murmur in the courtroom began to grow until Judge Williams pounded his gavel. Jarrod Barkley's eyes surveyed the room. The courtroom was his ship and he had full command. He waited patiently before he continued.

"Now you may wonder why I would make such a seemingly outrageous comment. But I intend to show this court that Sally Driscoll was a victim of society's apathy. Apathy, gentlemen, that let us all turn our backs on our fellow man. Mrs. Driscoll was a victim of her husband's physical abuse. I am sure that any one of you would stop a man if he was beating his horse. I know I would, and I am willing to bet that you would to. Am I correct?" He waited and watched as each member of the jury nodded their agreement. "And yet, gentlemen, when we know a man is beating his wife, we turn a blind eye. Why is that?"

Jarrod quietly walked to the defendant's table and sat beside his client. The silence in the courtroom could almost be felt as the spectators waited for what was to come.

* * * * * * * *

Sheriff Madden was called as the first witness for the prosecution. Phil Archer stood by his table while he questioned the lawman.

"You just testified, Sheriff that you heard gun fire coming from the direction of the Driscoll home. Tell us what you found when you entered the murder scene."

"Alleged murder scene,” Jarrod interrupted as he sat by his client. "Your Honor, I object, the District Attorney is leading his own witness."

Archer smiled and before the Judge could make a ruling on Jarrod's objection, and apologized to the court. "Of course, alleged murder scene. Go on, Sheriff Madden, if you please."

"The Driscoll cabin was dark, but I could smell gun powder so I drew my gun. I called out a warning that I had a gun."

"Exactly what did you say?"

"I said, 'Driscoll! Its Sheriff Madden! Put your gun down! I'm coming in!'. "

"Go on, what did you do?" Archer coaxed.

"The cabin had a back room separated by a curtain. I went in and saw Sam Driscoll on the bed."

"Dead?"

"That's right."

"Go on."

"There was blood everywhere. Then I saw Mrs. Driscoll. She was covered with blood. I thought she was hurt. I thought maybe someone-."

"The court is not interested in what you thought, Sheriff Madden. Please just tell us what you saw. You said Mrs. Driscoll was covered in her husband's blood." Archer insisted.

"I object, Your Honor. I don't believe the Sheriff testified as to whom’s blood was on Mrs. Driscoll's clothes." Jarrod interrupted again.

"Sustained," the Judge agreed. "Please go on with your testimony, Sheriff."

"I saw Mrs. Driscoll covered with blood. I asked if she was hurt."

"What did she say to you?"

"She said, ‘My husband's dead.’”

"Go on, Sheriff, please, tell the court what else did she say?"

"I asked her what happened. She said, 'I killed Sam.'."

Archer moved from the table and stood in front of the Sheriff. "She said I killed Sam. Isn't that correct?"

"Yes," the Sheriff nodded. Archer had a sly smirk when he turned toward his opponent. "Your witness," he said to Jarrod.

Jarrod stood but his head was bent down reading notes that he scribbled on a legal pad. "Sheriff, you said, and I quote, 'Driscoll! Its Sheriff Madden! Put your gun down! I'm coming in!' Is that correct?"

"Yes."

Jarrod walked over to the witness stand and rested his hand on the rail. "When you used the name Driscoll, you were referring to the defendant?"

"No, Sam, " the sheriff answered.

"Why is that?"

"Sam's been known to shoot up things when he's liquored up. I figured he had a gun."

"Did Sam Driscoll wear a gun?"

"No. He usually kept it at home."

"Why is that?" Jarrod asked.

"Like I said, Sam's been known to shoot things up when he's drunk. I made him keep his gun home when he went into the saloons."

"How did you do that, Sheriff?"

"I told all the bartenders in town to make sure they didn't serve Driscoll if he was carrying a gun."

"So he never carried a gun?"

"Nope, never."

"He certainly must have frequented the saloons then, didn't he?"

"Objection, Your Honor." Archer complained.

"I'll rephrase my question. Sheriff Madden, did you often see Sam Driscoll in saloons?"

"Yes, I did."

"And did you often see him drunk? Enough times that you had to arrest him for disturbing the peace?"

"Yes."

"Your Honor, the victim's drinking habits are not in question here. Many men have frequented the saloons and even gotten drunk enough to be arrested for disturbing the peace, including my opponents own brothers on occasion. Mister Driscoll is not on trial here."

"Neither are my brothers, Counselor, and I will thank you not to refer to them here in this court room," Jarrod spat out.

The Judge brought down the gavel. "Enough, gentlemen, this court is interested in the evidence at hand. Not petty squabbles between counselors."

"My apologies, Your Honor. If I may continue?" Jarrod said before asking the next question. "You mentioned in your testimony that you found Mrs. Driscoll covered in blood, and you thought she was hurt."

"Yes, she was covered with blood. I figured someone came in and robbed them."

"Sheriff, have you had other occasions to enter the Driscoll home?"

"Yes, a couple of times."

"Explain, please."

"Well, sometimes when Driscoll was drunk he fought with his wife. I've had to come there to break up the fights," the sheriff explained.

"How often did this happen?"

"Whenever Sam came home drunk. They had some bad fights."

"When you say they had fights, are you speaking about physically?"

"Yeah."

"Sheriff Madden are you testifying that Sam Driscoll was known to beat his wife?"

Yeah, I am."

"Thank you, Sheriff. You may step down."

Archer quickly stood up. "If I may be permitted to re-direct, Your Honor." The Judge nodded his approval. "Thank you. Sheriff, you just testified that Sam Driscoll beat his wife. Please tell the court exactly when you did witness this beating."

"Well, now, I never exactly saw him beating her, but-"

"I see. So you're assuming that he beat her?"

"I've seen marks on her."

"I see, and have you ever asked her about these marks?"

"Yes, Mrs. Driscoll said she tended to bump into things."

"She tended to bump into things." Archer repeated. "So she never actually admitted to her husband hurting her."

"No, but often women-"

"Thank you, Sheriff. You may step down."

* * * * * * * *

The next witness for the prosecution was Sam Driscoll's former fight manager, Barney Walker.

"Mr. Walker, how long have you known Sam Driscoll?"

"Oh, Sam and I went way back together. We grew up in Boston. Later we got into the fight game. He was known as 'The Boston Terrier' back then. A better fighter you won't find anywhere!"

"What type of man was he?"

"He was a great guy. Always willing to help his fellow man. A friendlier man you'd never meet. He'd give ya the shirt off his back if ya asked for it."

"Do you know Sally Driscoll?" Phil Archer stood by the witness stand and flipped through the papers attached to his clip board.

"Sure do. I was best man at the wedding."

"How did they meet?"

"Sally worked in a saloon. Sam took a shine to her and soon after they were hitched."

"When they met, Sam was a very successful prize fighter, wasn't he?"

"You bet, I was his manager. He won a lot of purses back then."

"So I suppose any saloon girl would have jumped at the chance to latch onto a successful man like Sam Driscoll."

"Sure enough! I warned Sam about her."

Archer looked up from his clip board. "You warned Sam about her? Explain to the jury what you mean by that."

"Sure did, fastest way for any man to lose his money is to take up with some woman. Ya know? A fighter's gotta concentrate on his performance, can't be worrying about no skirt. Women drain the strength right out of a man, if ya know what I mean."

"I'm sure we all understand. Thank you, Mr. Walker. Your witness." Archer said as he glanced over at Jarrod.

Jarrod walked over to the witness stand and leaned on the rail. His eyes trained on the jury rather then the witness. "Now, Mr. Walker, you testified that you were Sam Driscoll's fight manager when he met his wife."

"Yeah, that's right."

"In Arizona?"

"Yeah, Tucson."

"What brought you and your prize fighter to Tucson?" Jarrod asked giving the witness a slight smile. He knew he had to relax the would-be hostile witness before he went in for the kill.

"There was a big purse to win, so naturally I brought Sam there. They had some fighter from the army who had never been defeated, and I knew Sam could best him."

"How much was the purse?"

"It was a thousand dollars,” Barney Walker answered.

"Well, that's quite a bit of money. Tell me, Mr. Walker. Who puts up that kind of money for a fight?"

"The promoter, and then there's an entrance fee."

Jarrod raised his eyes brows and shot his witness a look. "Who pays the entrance fee?"

"The fight manager, me."

"How much was the entrance fee?"

"Aw, well, it was a mighty big purse. We had to put up two hundred and fifty dollars."

"My goodness, that is a lot of money,” Jarrod began, "but I suppose it's worth it for a thousand dollar purse. Exactly how does one get the entrance fee?"

"Well, you win it by winning other purses."

"I see, but isn't it a fact that at the time you and Sam Driscoll showed up in Tucson you didn't have the entrance fee because Driscoll was on a losing streak. In fact you were short the money needed, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah, I guess we were a little short, but Sam won the thousand dollar purse!"

"Granted, but where did the two hundred fifty dollar entrance fee come from?"

"Somebody invested it. People do that ya know."

"Somebody? Really? Exactly who had that kind of money to invest in a town like Tucson? It's not exactly known for its wealthy citizens."

"Sally did," the fight manager said quietly.

"Sally? You mean Mrs. Driscoll? She gave you two hundred fifty dollars to invest in the fight?"

"Yeah."

"I suppose they were married at the time?"

"No. Sam married her after he won the purse."

"Oh, I see. Now let me get this correct and do interrupt me if I’m wrong, won't you? Sally Driscoll gave you the entrance fee for the fight."

"I told ya she did, yeah." Walker said exasperated.

"And of course when Sam won the thousand dollar purse, he paid Sally back from his winnings. Correct?"

"No. He didn't have to. He married her."

"Ahh, I see. Perhaps Sam married Sally for her money?" Jarrod smiled at the witness, before he continued. "You're right; Sam Driscoll was a generous man. He had no problem giving the shirt off someone else's back. I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor."

Judge Williams asked the witness to step down and adjourned the court until the following day.

Part 43

News from the first day of the trial had spread like wild fire around Stockton and the court room had standing room only the next day. Nick had escorted his mother and sister-in-law, Hope, to the trial.

The prosecution was confident enough and rested, leaving the defense to begin with its first witness. Jarrod called his brother, Heath Barkley, to the stand.

"Mr. Barkley, I would like to take you back to a time about six years ago, Christmas Eve.

Do you recall what happened on that date?"

"Yes, I rode into town looking for Doc Merar."

"Why?" Jarrod asked as he moved toward the witness stand.

"My sister-in-law was gonna have her baby. My brother, Nick, asked me to go fetch the doc, and I did."

"And did you find Doctor Merar?"

"Yes, Mrs. Merar told me he was at the Driscoll home because Mrs. Driscoll had broken her arm."

"Please tell the court what you witnessed when you went to the Driscoll home."

"I heard Doc Merar yelling at Sam Driscoll."

"Did you hear what was said?" Jarrod asked his witness.

I heard Doc Merar say, 'She's a woman, not your punching bag! I think Sam had been hitting his wife."

Archer immediately stood up and voiced his objection. "Objection! The witness is not here to speculate on facts not in evidence. He must confine his testimony to things he personally witnessed!"

"Objection sustained. Mr. Barkley, please restrict your comments to what you actually saw, not what you speculated had happened before you arrived."

"Did you see anything, Mr. Barkley?" Jarrod asked.

"I looked in the window and saw Sam Driscoll pull a gun on Doc Merar."

"What did you do?"

"I drew my gun and went in. I was afraid he was gonna shoot the doc."

"Please tell us what you saw and heard when you went in, Mr. Barkley." Jarrod instructed.

"Sam was sitting at a table, and he was arguing with the doctor."

"Where was Mrs. Driscoll?"

"Sitting on a bed in the corner. Her arm was wrapped in a splint," Heath answered. Jarrod encouraged Heath to go on with a nod of his head. "Sam and the doc were having words, then Sam got real angry and pushed the table over. He got up and cocked his gun. I did the same with mine. Sally got up from the bed and tried to stop Sam. That's when he hit her."

"Excuse me," Jarrod interrupted. "Are you saying that you witnessed Sam Driscoll hitting his wife?"

"Yes. He gave her the back of his hand, and she went flying across the room. She landed on the floor near the bed."

"What happened next?"

"I wanted to help her, but Doc Merar pulled me back cuz Driscoll had aimed his gun at me. Doc Merar wanted to check Sally for any new injuries but she refused and all but threw us out of there. She seemed to be afraid of what her husband would do next."

"What happened then?" Jarrod asked.

"Me and the doc left. There was nothing else we could do."

"Thank you, Mr. Barkley. Your witness." Jarrod said to the prosecutor. Archer stood up with his clipboard and pencil in hand. He slowly walked over to the witness stand.

"Now, Mr. Barkley, you testified that Mrs. Driscoll kicked you out. Did she say she was hurting?"

"No."

"Then, when you left the house with the doctor, Mrs. Driscoll was in fine health?" Archer asked.

"I didn't say that. Mrs. Driscoll didn't want the doctor to examine her. She was anxious for us to leave."

"Where was Mrs. Driscoll when she asked you and the doctor to leave?"

"She was standing beside her husband."

"Really? Standing beside her husband. Then she wasn't hurt at all was she?"

"She was hurt alright,” Heath ground out.

"Oh, and where did you receive your medical degree?"

"She had a broken arm. I saw that."

"Do you know how she broke her arm? Did Doctor Merar tell you anything about what went on before you got there?"

"No. The Doctor never talked about his patients."

"So you have no idea how Mrs. Driscoll hurt herself."

"I think I have a pretty good idea. I say Sam Driscoll gave her a broken arm."

"What you think Mr. Barkley is not relevant to this court. Your Honor, I would like to have the last statement stricken from the record as an opinion and not a point of fact."

Nick's hands clenched on the bench ahead of him. He hated to see that joker, Archer, strutting in the courtroom, trying to discredit the testimony of a Barkley. He remembered how Archer had gone after Heath when that sharpshooter had gotten killed some years back. It was all a personal grudge against the Barkleys, and Nick doubted Archer had really reformed since then. Nick's attention was temporarily sidetracked, daydreaming about putting his fist through Archer's smug face. Victoria, sensing her son's rising anger, placed a restraining hand on his forearm. Nick sat back in his place beside his mother.

"The witness's last statement will be stricken from the record and the jury will disregard it. Mr. Barkley, your testimony is required here, not your opinions,” the Judge clarified. "You may continue with the witness, Counselor."

"I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor,” Archer stated.

"You may step down. Call your next witness, Mr. Barkley."

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod closed his eyes briefly before calling the next witness. He strove to modulate his voice, not wanting to give a hint of emotion as he called her name. "The defense calls Doctor Agatha James."

She rose from her seat just behind the rail, her suit perfectly tailored, showing off her womanly curves while not being overtly seductive. He was momentarily distracted watching her hips sway ever so slightly as she made her way to the witness stand and smoothed her skirts in a feminine gesture. He shook his head. Now was not the time to be sidetracked by the beautiful doctor. She was not his...lover, but rather his witness for the defense here in this courtroom. She was all that stood between his client and death. Jarrod cleared his throat before he spoke. "Doctor James, Mrs. Driscoll is a patient of yours?"

"Yes."

"How long has she been your patient?"

"Since she was arrested," Agatha answered.

"And how did that come about?"

"Sheriff Madden asked me to examine her because he felt she had been hurt."

"And was she?"

"Yes. She had bruises about her arms and legs."

"Would you say she had been in a struggle?"

"Objection, Your Honor. Miss James wasn't there to witness a struggle. The defense is putting words in her mouth," the prosecutor interjected.

Agatha glared at the severe attorney and answered him tersely. "No one puts words in my mouth, Sir, and I'll thank you to address me by my proper title, Doctor James."

Jarrod turned his face away to hide a laugh at Phil Archer's expense. Nick could be heard laughing loudly in the gallery. The Judge brought his gavel down to quiet the guffawing court room. "Order in the court!" the Judge demanded. "Mr. Archer, your objection is overruled, and you will address the witness by her proper title. Go on, Mr. Barkley."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Jarrod smiled. "I believe Dr. James is more than qualified to judge if a person was injured or not. Do go on, Dr. James."

"Excuse me?" Agatha had been so mesmerized by Jarrod's handsome countenance she had lost her train of thought for a moment. She wet her lips nervously. Taking a deep breath, she tried to still her racing heart. She had a job to do. She must be professional. She must not be distracted by Jarrod or anything that had passed between them. She'd been swamped with emotions watching him in the courtroom today. Would it ever get any easier, seeing him? Forcing down her rising feelings, she strove for a look of serenity and competence as Jarrod came to stand before her.

"I asked if you thought Mrs. Driscoll had been in a struggle." Jarrod reminded his witness as he stood before her.

"Oh, yes, that was obvious. She had fresh bruises." Agatha answered after she gave her head a mental shake. She decided to focus on Jarrod's tie instead.

"Did you question your patient?"

"Yes, but she didn't volunteer any information."

"Did she speak to you at all?"

"No, not a word. She was in shock."

"Have you had occasion to examine her further, since that day?" Jarrod subconsciously straightened his tie when he noticed the witness staring at it. 'My God, she has the most magnificent green eyes,' Jarrod thought. 'Mustn't look at them. I have a trial to conduct.' Nothing would deter him from eliciting the answers he needed to free Sally!

"Oh yes, many times." Agatha answered.

"Please tell the court your findings, doctor." Jarrod went back to the defense table and picked up a file folder. He began to randomly flip through its pages as he waited for his witness to answer his last query. It was his way of avoiding getting lost in her eyes.

"I found that Mrs. Driscoll has been physically abused repeatedly. She'd suffered broken bones. A collar bone broken twice, both arms have been broken at various times and I noticed several places where some former breaks hadn't set well. Also she has scars on her back and shoulders and healed over burn marks."

"Burn marks? From cooking?" Jarrod asked, finally looking up from his papers.

"No. The burn marks were circular, possibly cigar burns."

"Please tell the court, doctor. Where are these cigar burn marks located on Mrs. Driscoll's body?"

"On the upper chest and below the stomach." Groans and murmurs filled the court room. Jarrod waited until the Judge brought the room to order with his gavel. Once quiet was restored Jarrod gathered the papers in the file folder on his desk and brought it over to the clerk.

"Your Honor, I wish to submit into evidence Mrs. Driscoll's medical records which will show, without a doubt, the physical abuse she had suffered at the hands of her husband."

"Let me see those," the Judge ordered. The court clerk stood and handed the file to the Judge. Judge Williams took his time looking through the reams of evidence before him. After several reflective minutes he addressed the defense. "You may go on with questioning your witness, Mr. Barkley."

"I have no further questions at this time, but reserve the right to recall the witness at a future date," Jarrod remarked.

"Very well, Mr. Archer."

Philip Archer slowly stood from his seat. He carried his clipboard and a pencil which he continually tapped on the base of the board. He stealthily made his way to the witness stand.

"Doctor James. How long have you been a doctor?"

"Several years."

"And where did you practice?"

"I interned at the San Francisco Hospital under Doctor Donald M. Landover."

"There aren't many women in your line of work, are there?"

"No." Agatha sat ramrod straight and folded her hands in her lap to hide them from shaking. She feared, most of all, the cross examination Archer would give her.

"How long have you been in Stockton, Dr. James?"

"About a year and a half."

"You worked with Dr. Howard Merar when you first came here?"

"Yes, I've had the privilege of working with Dr. Merar."

"And you took over his practice when he retired. Isn't that also correct?"

"Yes."

"So all of his patients come to you now?"

"Not exactly, some do."

"Some do. Well, exactly how many of Doctor Merar's former patients are now coming to you for their medical needs?"

"I really haven't taken a count. It's not very important."

"Oh, but I think it is, Doctor. I think it's very important. Isn't it a fact that the only patients you do have are the Barkley family? And isn't it also a fact that the Barkley family are your supporters? Your benefactors? Isn't it also a fact that Mrs. Nick Barkley was instrumental in securing your position here?"

Jarrod stood up quickly, his anger barely held in check. "Objection, Your Honor, the prosecutor is badgering the witness! Barraging her with questions and not letting her answer one of them! Exactly what type of cross is that?!"

"Objection sustained. You will give the witness a chance to answer the questions, Mr. Archer," the Judge ordered.

"Of course, Your Honor. I beg the apology of the court. Please answer the first question, Miss, ah, Doctor James." Archer continued.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember the first question you asked, sir."

"Would the clerk read back the first question?" Archer suggested.

"Isn't it a fact that the only patients you truly do have are the Barkley family?" the clerk recited the words back in a monotone voice.

"No, the Barkleys are not my only patients. On occasion several of their ranch hands have come to me with injuries, and of course the sheriff has brought a few of the men he has incarcerated."

"Read the next question for the witness," Archer ordered the clerk again.

"Next question: And isn't it also a fact that the Barkley family are your supporters? Your benefactors?"

"The Barkleys have been very supportive in what I've been trying to do here in Stockton, and that is providing the best care possible for my patients."

"What patients, Doctor? The Barkleys? Aren't they your only patients, and isn't that where your true loyalty lies? There isn't anything you wouldn't do for your benefactors, the Barkleys? Am I right? Isn't that a fact, Doctor?!"

Jarrod stood angrily and began yelling. "Objection! Your Honor! Objection! Counsel is badgering the witness!"

But Archer only spoke louder. "Isn't it also true that you are romantically involved with the defense attorney, Jarrod Barkley?!" Archer leaned over the witness stand and jutted his face in front of Agatha. "Wouldn't you do anything for him, even perjure yourself? Maybe alter a few medical reports, because you're in love with him?!"

"Objection, Your Honor!! Objection!!!" Jarrod raged at the top of his lungs. The Judge banged the gavel loudly, but the court erupted in angry voices, with Nick's being the loudest.

"Archer! You're nothing but a jealous bastard! You always have been and always will be!" Nick roared.

"Order in the court! If there is another outburst like that I will find the gallery in contempt! NOW! SILENCE!! I DEMAND SILENCE!" The Judge cried out.

Both Hope and Victoria pulled down on Nick's arms to get him to sit.

Heath stood before his brother. "Nick, sit! It won't do any good if you get arrested! SIT!" Heath whispered through clenched teeth as he pushed his brother down by the shoulders.

On the witness stand Agatha was turning red with rage as well as embarrassment and finally slapped Phil Archer soundly across the face. "I love Jarrod Barkley, but I would never lie for him, NEVER!" Agatha covered her mouth with her hands after she realized what she said.

The Judge's crashing gavel finally brought quiet to the court room. Jarrod stared at Agatha and she began to cry in embarrassment. She stood and ran from the court room.

"Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning at ten! I want both attorneys in my chambers, now!" Judge Williams stood and furiously entered his office behind the bench. Both attorneys dutifully followed him. Jarrod closed the door behind them. Judge Williams tore off his black robe and had barely hung it on the coat rack beside his desk when he turned on the lawyers. The two stood before him, trying to tone down there own anger as they awaited their fate.

"In all my days on the bench I have never witnessed such unprofessional conduct as I have witnessed here today! I am holding you both in contempt!"

"Your Honor...” Jarrod began.

"Don't! Don't either of you say a word! Two hundred dollar fine, each of you, by tomorrow morning!" The Judge pointed an angry finger at both of them then seated himself down behind his black lacquered desk. He pulled out a side drawer from his desk, and took out a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. He poured himself a generous portion, ignoring the two men in the room. The Judge gulped down the hot liquid then moved both the bottle and the now dirty glass from their view as he returned them back to their hiding place.

Judge Williams stared at Jarrod who stood his ground waiting for his dressing down. "You will keep that big mouth brother of yours from this courtroom. I'll throw him in jail if I see his face in my court again!"

"Oh, but..."

"Don't! I already warned you, Barkley!" Then the Judge stood up and placed both fists on his desk as he glared at Phil Archer. "If you ever treat a witness like that again in my courtroom I will have you disbarred! Is that understood, Mister Archer?!"

"Yes, Sir. I mean, Your Honor," he said sheepishly.

"Tomorrow I will call Doctor James back to the stand, and you will formally apologize in front of the court for your unprofessional behavior. Now the two of you get out of my sight before I have you both disbarred!"

"Yes, Your Honor," they said in unison.

"GET OUT!" Judge Williams screamed.

Part 44

Jarrod and Nick had quarreled once again, but this time at least it was out of love and support and not out of jealousy and anger. Those days were, thankfully, behind them. Jarrod was grateful his brother wanted to support him during this most difficult trial, but Nick's presence in Judge Williams' courtroom would only antagonize him, and Jarrod couldn't risk any ill-will against his client, Sally Driscoll.

The three brothers argued well into the night in the library of the Barkley mansion, but in the end it was a little girl with a well-worn stuffed toy horse tucked under her arm that stopped the three shouting men.

"Papa, I can't sleep," Colleen said as she scrubbed at her eye with a tiny fist. Nick went to his daughter and bent down to gather her up in his arms.

"Why not, Pixie face?"

"Too noisy. Mama said for you to come to bed or else."

"Or else what?" Nick smirked at his wife's baseless threat.

"Or else she'd lock the bedroom door," Colleen answered in her best mommy threat.

"Now, there's a good argument for you," Jarrod countered. "Your wife and child need you here more than I need you in that courtroom."

"True enough, Nick," Heath agreed. "You know Laura needs you close by. You said yourself she's not had an easy time of it."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But you two listen to me, when it comes time to punch that son-of-..." Nick gave his daughter a quick glance, "counselor out, I get the first crack at him! Kiss your uncles good night, Colleen."

Nick brought her to Jarrod first for a hug and a kiss.

"G'night, Uncle Jarrod. I love you," Colleen squeezed his neck.

"Good night, Princess. I love you, sleep tight," Jarrod smiled and patted her dark curly hair.

Then Nick carried her over to Heath.

"G' night Uncle Heath, I love you."

"I love you too, Sweetie. Don't let the bed bugs bite ya now," Heath warned good naturedly with a kiss on her bed-warmed cheek.

"Oh, Uncle Heath, there's no bugs in my bed, silly!"

Nick left the room with his daughter, and Jarrod gave Heath a silent nod of thanks.

"Well, I best be going home to my hopefully sleeping children. If I know Hope, she's finished her rosary beads and is waiting up for me."

"Good night, Heath. Sorry to keep you here so long," Jarrod apologized.

"No problem, I enjoy a good fight with Nick every now and then, as long as he doesn't use his fists," Heath joked and gathered his hat that hung on the corner of the chair. "See ya."

Jarrod nodded again to Heath's retreating back and gave a heavy sigh. What did he have to go home to? A cold, empty house. He was glad to be able to come over to the mansion this night, even though he knew it would conclude with a quarrel with Nick. Still, it was better than going home to an empty and pitifully quiet house. Jarrod walked out of the library and gathered his hat and coat from the foyer. The sounds of Nick's laughter wafted down the golden carpeted stairs as he roughhoused with his daughter on her way to bed. Suddenly, Agatha James' smiling face came into Jarrod's mind. He shook the thought of her from his head as he opened the front door and left.

* * * * * * * *

The courtroom was filled to capacity as before on this new day. Doctor Agatha James was once again asked to take the stand. Agatha stood from her seat and cautiously made her way to the witness box. Her eyes darted toward the prosecution table. Philip Archer was her sworn enemy, of that she had no doubt, and she braced herself for a final showdown. Judge Williams was the first to address her. "Yesterday, you left my courtroom before you were properly dismissed."

"Yes, Your Honor, I apologize. I was overwrought."

"Of course, I understand under the circumstances. Do you think you'll be able to continue today?"

"Yes, of course." She folded her hands carefully in her lap. She didn't want to damage Jarrod's case further by slapping the District Attorney again.

"Mr. Archer, your witness," stated the Judge.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Phil Archer straightens his tie before he proceeded to the stand. He stood before the doctor and gave her his sincerest look. "Doctor James, I would like to offer my apology for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and unprofessional."

The doctor's eyes widened. She had not expected a white flag. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jarrod giving her a sly smile and a wink. "I agree." Agatha said tersely, enjoying her small victory, and then she faced the Judge. "Am I excused now, Your Honor?"

The Judge nodded to the prosecutor. "I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor," Archer said reluctantly. He knew to question the woman doctor now would only antagonize the jury, and he needed them on his side if he was to win his case. Archer decided to save his most effective cross for the next witness. Sally Driscoll would be his victim.

"Please call your next witness," the Judge ordered the defense.

Jarrod stood. "I call Mrs. Sally Driscoll to the stand." Jarrod took Sally's elbow and walked her to the stand, whispering words of encouragement in her ear. The clerk presented the defendant with the Bible to swear on, but she nervously twisted the handkerchief in her hand and stared blankly at the Bible until the clerk prompted her to place her hand on it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then said, "I do," after the clerk droned out the oath. Sally's eyes went wide and darted about the room, fearful to focus on any unfriendly face.

Jarrod addressed her with a confident smile. "Mrs. Driscoll," Sally visibly jumped when she heard her name then softly mumbled another apology.

"That's quite all right, Mrs. Driscoll. Now, please tell us in your own words what happened on the night your husband, Sam, died."

"I was in bed sleeping when he came in. He was noisy."

"Was he drunk?"

"I smelled liquor on his breath," Sally continued. "He was swaying side to side when he walked. He woke me up." She continually licked her lips and twisted the handkerchief into a ball over and over again.

"How did he wake you up? Did he call to you?" Jarrod asked.

"No, he slapped me on my-, on my rump," she whispered shyly.

"So your drunken husband woke you from a sound sleep by hitting you awake?"

"Objection, leading the witness," Archer complained.

"Your Honor, I'm merely establishing how Sam Driscoll, not so gently, woke his wife, nothing more," Jarrod pleaded with his right hand raised.

"I'll allow it, objection overruled. The witness is stating what she observed. Please speak up Mrs. Driscoll so the jury can hear you," the Judge instructed.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry," Sally said with downcast eyes. The thought of looking into any man's eyes terrified her.

"Would you tell us what happened after you woke, Mrs. Driscoll?" Jarrod said as gently as he could.

"He pulled me out of the bed."

"When you say he pulled you how exactly do you mean?"

"He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the bed. I landed on the floor," Sally answered unraveling the twisted ball in her hands.

"Were you hurt?" Jarrod asked.

"No more so than usual. Just a bruise, nothing really," she said it so matter-of-factly Jarrod was stunned for a moment at her words.

"What happened next?"

Sally twisted the handkerchief around her finger, tighter and tighter. "He said things to me."

"What things?"

"Said I was, not, not good enough to-. He used bad words, horrible words, I can't say. He called me ugly. He said I looked like a washer woman, my hands always red and cut up from the lye soap. But I told him I couldn't help it. We needed to eat. He didn't make enough money at the livery, and what he earned, he spent."

"Was he angry when he came home that night?" Jarrod prompted.

"Oh yes, he was mad 'cuz of Lila."

"Lila? Who's Lila?"

"She's a woman at the saloon. He favored her, but that night she was busy and couldn't service him. He was real angry, said he was stuck with me." The twisted handkerchief painfully cut off the circulation in her finger, and she quickly pulled it off. She stared as it unraveled quickly, the pain ceased, and she sighed in relief. "That's when he took the gun."

"The gun? Where was the gun? Did he have it on him?" Jarrod asked.

"No, he kept the gun on a peg on the wall beside the bed." Jarrod reached down and gently touched her fisted hand. Sally fearfully pulled away from his grasp.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Jarrod apologized. "Please continue to tell us everything that happened."

Sally looked up at Jarrod for the first time. He gave her an encouraging smile, but then she looked over his left shoulder and saw Agatha and Hope sitting together in the gallery. The two women held their hands up, entwined together, showing their solidarity. Sally focused her eyes on those locked feminine hands.

"Sam grabbed my nightgown. It ripped as he threw me on the bed. He kept saying words to me, but I wasn't listening anymore. I blocked it out. I knew what he was going to do, and it wouldn't hurt if I went away. I have a safe place I go to in my mind, a place where he isn't hurtin' me, and I am safe. I tried to take my mind there, knowing what was coming, but I heard the gun. He sometimes put it to my head when he-, but he didn't this time. I knew he was going to use it on me, and I had to stop him. I kicked him away with my legs. He fell to the floor, but he got up and grabbed me again by the nightgown. This time he pulled me off the bed and was waving the gun in front of me. I pushed the gun away from me, and it went off. He fell back onto the bed. Blood was everywhere." Sally's testimony was flat, devoid of all emotion. The handkerchief lay on her lap, folded in precise neat corners. Her eyes blankly staring out.

Jarrod looked at his client thoughtfully. He called her name. "Mrs. Driscoll? Mrs. Driscoll? Sally? Can you hear me?"

In the gallery, Agatha James' tears sprung to her eyes. She knew Sally sometimes went inside herself, to her safe place. It was a pattern the doctor had seen before in abuse victims, and Sally was surely that.

"Sally? Can you hear me? Sally?" Jarrod repeated.

Sally shook herself from her stupor. "What? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I'm sorry," she apologized again.

"That's quite all right, Mrs. Driscoll. I have one more question for you." Jarrod waited until he was sure he had her attention. "Sally, you testified a moment ago that you 'blocked it out'. Exactly what did you mean by that?"

"In my mind," Sally said flatly. "Sam couldn't hurt me if I blocked it out in my mind. It's like I'm in another place. A better place."

"How often did you go to this better place?"

"Many, many times."

Jarrod turned toward the jury, the sad truth evident on his face. The foreman, a wizen old man, with a bib of grey whiskers covering his chest, turned his eyes away in shame.

"Thank you, Mrs. Driscoll." Jarrod indicated his conclusion. Sally placed her hands on the rail and stood, but Jarrod stopped her with his hand on hers. "Mr. Archer would like to ask you a few questions." Jarrod gave her a reassuring smile, and Sally sat back down.

Phil Archer walked over to his victim like a hungry lion after it's prey. He could hear the trap door spring under the woman's feet. He would win and she would swing, of that he had no doubt. He eyed her with confidence.

"Isn't it a fact that you didn't fulfill your wifely duties, causing your husband to look elsewhere for affection?"

"Affection? There was no affection," Sally said sadly.

"Please, Mrs. Driscoll, surely you don't expect anyone here to think of you as a delicate flower of womanhood. Didn't Sam Driscoll find you in a saloon? Didn't he rescue you from a life of being pawed by drunken men?"

"I thought so."

Archer tapped the pencil on his clipboard. It was annoying, he knew, but this practice had goaded many a lying witness into confessing a truth, and he wasn't above using any trick in the book to win his case.

"Mrs. Driscoll," Archer tapped his pencil on his clipboard, tap, tap, tap, tap. "You stated that you blocked all the bad things out of your mind. Is that what you telling us?"

"Yes." Sally remembered Jarrod's instructions to keep her answers to the district attorney as short as possible. 'Give him as little information as possible, Sally, please.' Jarrod had said.

"Then perhaps, Mrs. Driscoll," Archer came closer to the stand, his face inches from hers. "you blocked out the fact that you pulled the trigger and murdered your husband in cold blood! Isn't that a fact? You blocked it out of your memory because it was too awful to remember! You killed your husband! Isn't it time you told the court the truth, Mrs. Driscoll?"

"No! No!"

"No what, Mrs. Driscoll? It's not time to tell the truth?! Well, I think it is! Certainly this court is waiting to hear the truth! Tell the court, finally, tell the court how you murdered your husband in cold blood. The truth, Mrs. Driscoll! For once in your tawdry, wasted life tell the truth! Stop lying!"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Jarrod sprang from his chair. "He's badgering the witness!"

The Judge frowned, ready with his gavel to stop the questioning, but Archer persisted while the witness professed her innocence.

"I'm not lying! The gun went off. Sam held the gun." Sally spoke slowly, deliberately as she willed herself courage from Hope Barkley and Agatha James, their entwined hands together in a show of strength.

"You most certainly are lying! Admit it! You sit in this courtroom and willfully testify that your husband beat you, but he's dead. He's not here to defend himself! You are the one on trial, not Sam Driscoll! We have only your word, the word of a saloon girl who took Sam Driscoll to her bed and promised to give him money if he married her and took her away."

"Your Honor! I have not heard a ruling on my objection! Please, Your Honor!" Jarrod shouted above the gallery noises.

Judge Williams banged his gavel several times in an attempt to regain control of his courtroom. "Overruled!" the Judge shouted, but no one heard him above the din of the courtroom so he continued to bang the gavel.

"That's not true. Sam did hurt me!" Sally shouted above the pounding gavel.

"Sheriff Madden testified that you have never lodged a complaint to him that your husband beat you. Are you saying the sheriff is lying? That he's not doing his job? What other lies have you told us?" Archer continued without regard for the Judge's ire.

"I'm not lying! I didn't tell the sheriff. I should have, but I didn't. I'm sorry now."

"Sorry? Oh I'm sure you're sorry, sorry that you've been caught!" Archer spat out and stalked back to the prosecution table like a lion toward his den after a satisfying kill.

Jarrod had enough of Archer's theatrics and stood again from his chair. "Your Honor! The District Attorney is not even questioning my client, but merely badgering her!"

"I overruled your objection! Mr. Barkley! Now, sit down!"

"Where are the questions?! If I know my law, the D.A. is supposed to ask questions of the witness, and not spew out accusations!" Jarrod blared, disobeying the order.

The Judge realized he was losing control of his courtroom and gave an exasperated sigh.” Very well, Mr. Barkley," the Judge relented. "Mr. Archer, do you have any questions for this witness?"

"I have, Your Honor," Archer stated.

"Then get on with it," the Judge huffed; he cursed his bad luck of having two lawyers before him who hated each other.

"What proof do you have that your husband abused you? He's not here to defend himself."

Sally pulled the hair back at the nape of her neck. "Here's your proof." There were five perfectly round burn marks with newly healed skin wrinkled and edged into the circles. "I have others in places you can't see. Sam never wanted them to show. He made sure they didn't."

The courtroom gave a collective gasp. Archer recoiled from the sight. He knew now his only hope was his summation.

"I have no further questions for this witness," Archer admitted and took his seat.

Part 45

The clock struck eight as Jarrod scrunched up the yellow paper and tossed it into the waste basket. He had been sitting at his office desk since four o'clock when the court had adjourned for the day. All the witnesses had been questioned, and the summation was all that was left. The court clerk had brought over the copy of the day's court transcripts, and Jarrod piled it on top of the others from the previous days.

The oil lamp on his desk reflected on the half eaten roast beef sandwich he had ordered from the Cattlemen's Restaurant. He had taken a few tentative bites, not really tasting the delicate morsels of rare beef resting between the freshly baked loaf, too engrossed in his thoughts to appreciate the meal.

Jarrod rubbed his blurry eyes. He wished it had been the weekend. At least then, he would have two days to write a brilliant summation, instead of one dark overnight. It was too much to hope for that Judge Williams would recess until Monday, but tomorrow was Friday and the Judge was more than anxious to see an end to the long, drawn-out trial.

The death of Sam Driscoll had happened in April and had it not been for his wife, Carol's murder, the trial would have been over long before this. It was now fast approaching the beginning of December, and no one in Stockton wanted this trial hanging over anyone's head during the festive times looming before them.

Maybe if he walked away from it for a while he could think clearly. Jarrod stood by the window. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled at his collar with the crook of his finger. He heard the strains of a player piano grinding out a bawdy tune from the Golden Slipper Saloon at the corner of Webber Street.

'Enough,' Jarrod thought to himself. Court convenes at ten tomorrow morning. He had to find something to grab the jury. 'Your summation is key!' his professor at Berkeley had taught. 'Look to your trial transcripts. Hear the witnesses again, see the faces of the jury. You will have your summation there if your client is lucky enough to have a smart attorney.'

Jarrod faced his desk again. The reams of court testimony lay before him. He thumbed through them, glancing at each testimony: Sheriff Madden, Barney Walker, Heath Barkley, and Agatha James. Her words caught his eye.

Isn't it also true that you are romantically involved with the defense attorney, Jarrod Barkley?!"

"Wouldn't you do anything for him, even perjure yourself? Maybe alter a few medical reports, because you're in love with him?!"

"I love Jarrod Barkley, but I would never lie for him, NEVER!"

'I love Jarrod Barkley...’, the words blared out at him like a 4th of July brass band. Why didn't he see it before? Why didn't he hear it? Jarrod threw the transcript on the desk with the others and rushed over to the coat rack to retrieve his jacket and hat. Within moments the office door slammed behind him, and he made his way down the stairs and out into the darkened street, rolling down his sleeves and struggling into his jacket as he walked.

* * * * * * * *

Agatha lay in a cold bed with her medical journals surrounding her. She again adjusted the glasses perched on her nose and pushed herself under the covers, gathering another quilt to cover her cold feet. A tapping sound caught her attention, but she dismissed it as a tree branch scraping on the window pane. The tapping continued and became louder, more earnest. She then recognized the sound coming from the back door, rather than the front door of her surgery. 'It couldn't be the Sheriff,' she thought. He would rap on the front door. Maybe someone was hurt, afraid the doctor wouldn't hear anyone at the front door, so the needy patient came to the back. Agatha quickly threw on her wrap and tied it loosely as she rushed to the back door leading into her small kitchen, which sometimes served as her laboratory.

Agatha drew back the lace window curtains. "Jarrod! What's wrong?! Are you hurt?" she exclaimed as she unlatched and pulled open the door.

"I need to talk to you." Jarrod placed his hat on the counter by the door.

"Of course. Please come in." Jarrod marched in, his eyes darting about anxiously. When she closed the door behind him, he faced her.

"What you said on the stand, is it true? Did you tell the truth?" Jarrod began.

"Of course I told the truth!" Agatha was indignant at the question, and she pulled her wrap tightly around her. Jarrod moved closer, his face inches from hers.

"You said you loved me. That's what you testified to on the stand. 'I love Jarrod Barkley,' you said."

"Ah, I meant-." Agatha stuttered. "You misunderstood." She turned and moved away from him, but he followed behind her.

"No, I didn't. Archer asked you, point blank, if you would perjure yourself for me. And you said, no, 'I love Jarrod Barkley but I would never lie for him'."

"That's not true. I didn't say that exactly. It was taken out of context," she said facing him again.

"And how was it taken out of context, tell me that?"

"Well, I was speaking-, ah, I was speaking of my affection for the Barkley family." Agatha couldn't face his searching blue eyes and turned away again as she spoke. "Your family has been wonderful to me, and I care a great deal for all of them."

Jarrod raised his eyebrows and spoke through a crooked smile. "I see. You love all of us, as a family."

"Exactly," she agreed with a nod of her head.

"It just came out as my name only. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, of course."

Jarrod folded his arms in front of him. "I don't buy it."

"What?!" Agatha's face pinked as she turned toward her accuser. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I am!" Jarrod said tersely. "I think you do love me. You know, I am used to this sort of situation."

"I beg your pardon?" Now Agatha stared back, her arms crossed in front of her.

"I've had this happen before to me. It's not unusual for clients to become infatuated with their attorneys and although you weren't my client, per se, we did work very closely together." Jarrod tucked his thumbs in his vest pocket and prowled the kitchen as if he was addressing the court.

A small hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks. "And of course, you had no emotional reaction to me at any time. The great Jarrod Barkley is above all that."

"Now, I didn't say that. I realize we made a little faux pas that evening in my home." Jarrod moved away to continue his pacing.

"We made a little faux pas? We?" The doctor queried.

"Oh yes, my dear. I'm not taking the total blame for that. You never told me that you were a... well, you never told me."

"You mean, you assumed I was, shall we say, experienced."

"Well, you're a mature woman and I-, well, needless to say it was a grave mistake on my part to assume anything, and I am most apologetic for that." Agatha glared icily as she waited for him to continue his explanation. Jarrod's usually silver tongue began to sputter as he spoke. "I didn't-, well-, I should never-. I am very sorry."

"You're sorry?" she repeated, like a mother to a errant child.

Jarrod turned to face her. "Very well, I suppose I deserve that. As a gentleman I take full responsibility. I owe you that at least."

"Owe me?"

"Yes. Once this trial is over, whatever the outcome, you and I will go away and make things right."

"Make things right? Exactly what do you mean, make things right?"

"We'll be married, of course. I have a friend who is a Justice of the Peace not far from here and we can be married quietly, of course my-"

"No," Agatha interrupted, cutting him to the quick.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," she repeated. "I don't wish to marry you."

"Are you-? I mean-. You're turning me down?" Jarrod sputtered again.

"Exactly. Good evening to you, Mr. Barkley." Agatha firmly opened her kitchen door. Jarrod ignored her dismissive action and stood in front of the doctor.

"You're refusing to marry me? But you said you loved me! You said it under oath, mind you. I have it in the transcript!" Jarrod pointed to an imaginary paper in the palm of his hand.

"Counselor Barkley, I don't care where you have it. I am not marrying any one who doesn't love me. I deserve better than that, so you can be on your way without feeling any sense of obligation to me. Good evening." She pulled the door wider.

"You're refusing me?" Jarrod spoke with a hint of anger.

"I think I made that quite clear," she said coolly.

Jarrod slammed his hat back on his head. "You'll regret this!" he promised as he walked past her into the dark alley outside. Agatha quietly closed the door behind him and dashed away her tears with the palm of her hand.

"I already do," she admitted quietly to herself.

Jarrod muttered to himself as he stalked back to his office. He bumped into Sheriff Madden who was doing his nightly rounds.

"Evening, Jarrod," the sheriff greeted.

"She will regret ever doing this to me! I'll show her! I tried to do the gentlemanly thing!" Jarrod said stopping in front of the sheriff. "The problem with women is they have no sense of what it is to be a gentleman!"

"I suppose that's true, Jarrod, but-"

"Women!" Jarrod stomped back to his office.

* * * * * * * *

If there was any strain between the two attorneys, it didn't show on their eager faces as they waited to present their summations to the jury. Jarrod noticed briefly that Agatha was not sitting in her usual spot next to his sister-in-law, but dismissed the doctor from his mind. He was still seething from her refusal to marry him. Hope Barkley squeezed Sally's shoulder, offering her support, as she sat behind her. Sally had been in Heath and Hope's custody since she left the Stockton jail. Hope opened her mouth to speak to Sally but was stopped by the court clerk announcing the arrival of Judge Hannibal Williams to the bench.

The judge banged the gavel once and ordered the court to be seated.

"Is the state ready with its summation?" spoke the judge.

"We are, Your Honor," Archer answered as he stood. The judge turned his attention to the defense table.

"Mr. Barkley, I trust you are also prepared?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Very much so." Jarrod stood in respect.

"Good. Mr. Archer, your summation."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Philip Archer stood from his chair. He confidently glanced at the clipboard on his desk but chose not to retrieve it. Instead he strolled over toward the jury, taking the time to straighten his tie and give them a slight smile.

"Gentlemen of the jury," Archer began. "Stockton's citizen, Samuel Driscoll, was murdered on April 6th of this year. We are now into December, and I know none of us wants to prolong justice any further. I will present the evidence as succinctly as possible. First, Sheriff Madden testified that he found Sam Driscoll covered in blood. He also found the defendant covered in blood. Her victim's blood. When the sheriff questioned her, she confessed. 'I killed Sam'. "

Archer paused to give the words weight.

"Now, what more do we need? Let's ask ourselves, why? Why did she kill her husband? She tells us now that her husband beat her, but the sheriff also testified that she never filed a complaint with his office. All the sheriff knew was occasionally Sam Driscoll was arrested for drunkenness. In fact, it was the defendant who begged to have her husband released from jail time and time again. Now, why would a woman who claims to have been beaten by her husband beg the sheriff to release him to her custody?"

Archer gave a small chuckle and walked back to prosecutor's table to glance again at his clipboard. "So, gentlemen of the jury, why would a wife want her abusive husband back home? I'll tell you why, gentlemen, because it never happened." Archer walked over to the witness stand and pointed to the empty chair. "Sally Driscoll sat in this chair and showed us scars she claimed were inflicted by her husband, but I say to you, those marks were already there, long before she met her husband. Because, gentlemen, the murder of Sam Driscoll was premeditated! Oh, yes! I know about the medical records and the so called bruises and whatnot, but, gentlemen, let's not forget where the defendant came from. Sam Driscoll, the murder victim, found her in a saloon. You and I know what kinds of women work in saloons. What kind of treatment they are used to receiving from drunken cowhands. Who's to say just when the actual physical abuse took place and by whom? How many, gentlemen of the jury? How many men have mistreated her, a saloon harlot?"

The district attorney now stood with his hands on his hips and watched the jury with a satisfied gaze. He knew he had given them a viable motive for murder. Still, he had one more card up his sleeve, and he was about to play it. Archer walked back to the table and picked up his clipboard. Quietly, he flipped through the papers it held, and then he turned toward the jury box. He then pulled the chain hanging from his vest pocket. At the end of the chain was a round silver pin that held the Latin words of his college fraternity. He rubbed a thumb over the lettering as he slowly walked over to the witness box again. He gave a wistful smile as he began to twirl the chain in his hand. He thought about how hard he worked to earn the precious bauble. Philip Archer was very proud of his fraternity pin.

He gave the jury a sideways glance. "Gentlemen of the jury, I'm not a hard man. I have compassion just as you have. I know it is difficult to decide to hang a guilty party, particularly a woman. So let me propose this to you. Sally Driscoll confessed that she blocked out unpleasant memories from her mind. So maybe she blocked out what happened the night of April 6th. If that is the case, gentlemen, then by all means convict the woman, not to hang, but to spend her natural life in prison. That would show great mercy on your part, gentlemen of the jury, if you are so inclined. Yes, she blocked the fact that she killed her husband, for that moment, and then, when she was questioned by the sheriff she confessed: 'I killed Sam.'

Philip Archer nodded courteously to the jury and seated himself. His summation delivered.

To be continued…