Agee was a man possessed. He used a bullhorn to shout orders here and there. He herded new arrivals into their places. He organized the black preachers. He assured Ozzie and the colonel everything was okay.
Everything was okay until a handful of Klansmen made their routine appearance. The sight of the white robes was new to many of the blacks, and they reacted loudly. They inched forward, screaming and jeering. The troops surrounded the robes and protected them. The Kluxers were stunned and scared, and did not yell back.
By eight-thirty, the streets of Clanton were gridlocked. Deserted cars, vans, and buses were scattered haphazardly through parking lots and along the quiet residential streets. A steady stream of blacks walked toward the square from all directions. Traffic did not move. Driveways were blocked. Merchants parked blocks away from their shops. The mayor stood in the center of the gazebo, wringing his hands and begging Ozzie to do something. Around him thousands of blacks swarmed and yelled in perfect unison. Ozzie asked the mayor if he wanted him to start arresting everybody on the courthouse lawn.
Noose parked at a service station a half mile south of the jail, and walked with a group of blacks to the courthouse. They watched him curiously, but said nothing. No one would suspect he was a person of authority. Buckley and Musgrove parked in a driveway on Adams Street. They cursed and walked toward the square. They noticed the pile of rubble that had been Jake's house but said nothing. They were too busy cursing. With state troopers leading the way, the Greyhound from Temple reached the square at twenty minutes after nine. Through the dark windows, the fourteen passengers stared in disbelief at the carnival around the courthouse.
Mr. Pate called the packed courtroom to order, and Noose welcomed his jury. He apologized for the trouble outside, but there was nothing he could do. If there were no problems to report, they could continue deliberations.
"Very well, you may retire to the jury room and get to work. We will meet again just before lunch."
The jurors filed out and went to the jury room. The Hailey children sat with their father at the defense table. The spectators, now predominantly black, remained seated and struck up conversations. Jake returned to his office.
Foreman Acker sat at the end of the long, dusty table and thought of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Ford Countians who had served in this room and sat around this table and argued about justice over the past century. Any pride he may have felt for serving on the jury of the most famous case was greatly overshadowed by what happened last night. He wondered how many of his predecessors had been threatened with death. Probably a few, he decided.
The others fixed their coffee and slowly found seats around the tables. The room brought back fond memories for Clyde Sisco. Prior jury duty had proved lucrative for him, and he relished the thought of another handsome payoff for another just and true verdict. His messenger had not contacted him.
"How would y'all like to proceed?" the foreman asked.
Rita Mae Plunk had an especially hard and unforgiving look about her. She was a rough woman with a house trailer, no husband, and two outlaws for sons, both of whom had expressed hatred for Carl Lee Hailey. She had a few things she wanted to get off her large chest.
"I got a few things I wanna say," she informed Acker.
"Fine. Why don't we start with you, Miss Plunk, and go around the table."
"I voted guilty yesterday in the first vote, and I'll vote guilty next time. I don't see how anybody could vote not guilty, and I want just one of you to explain to me how you could vote in favor of this nigger!"
"Don't say that word again!" yelled Wanda Womack.
"I'll say 'nigger' if I wanna say 'nigger,' and there ain't a damned thing you can do," replied Rita Mae.
"Please don't use that word," said Frances McGowan.
"I find it personally offensive," said Wanda Womack.
"Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger," Rita Mae yelled across the table.
"Come on," said Clyde Sisco.
"Oh boy," said the foreman. "Look, Miss Plunk, let's be honest, okay. Most of us use that word, from time to time.
I'm sure some of us use it more than others. But it's offensive to many people, and I think it'd be a good idea not to use it during our deliberations. We've got enough to worry about as it is. Can we all agree not to use that word?"
Everyone nodded but Rita Mae.
Sue Williams decided to answer. She was well dressed, attractive, about forty. She worked for the county welfare department. "I didn't vote yesterday. I passed. But I tend to sympathize with Mr. Hailey. I have a daughter, and if she was raped, it would greatly affect my mental stability. I can understand how a parent might crack in that situation, and I think it's unfair for us to judge Mr. Hailey as if he was supposed to act completely rational."
"You think he was legally insane?" asked Reba Betts, an undecided.
"I'm not sure. But I know he wasn't stable. He couldn't have been."
"So you believe that nut of a doctor who testified for him?" asked Rita Mae.
"Yes. He was as believable as the State's doctor."
"I liked his boots," said Clyde Sisco. No one laughed.
"But he's a convict," said Rita Mae. "He lied and tried to cover Ft up. You can't believe a word he said."
"He had sex with a girl under eighteen," Clyde said. "If that's a crime, then a bunch of us should've been indicted."
Again, no one appreciated the attempt at humor. Clyde decided to stay quiet for a while.
"He later married the girl," said Donna Lou Peck, an undecided.
They went around the table, one at a time, expressing opinions and answering questions. The N word was carefully avoided by those wanting a conviction. The battle lines became clearer. Most of the undecideds leaned toward guilty, it seemed. The careful planning by Carl Lee, knowing the exact movements of the boys, the M-16-it all seemed so premeditated. If he had caught them in the act and killed them on the spot, he would not be held accountable. But to plan it so carefully for six days did not indicate an insane mind.
Wanda Womack, Sue Williams, and Clyde Sisco leaned
toward acquittal-the rest toward conviction. Barry Acker was noticeably noncommittal.
Agee unfurled a long blue and white FREE CARL LEE banner. The ministers gathered fifteen abreast behind it, and waited for the parade to form behind them. They stood in the center of Jackson Street, in front of the courthouse, while Agee screamed instructions to the masses. Thousands of blacks packed tightly behind them, and off they went. They inched down Jackson, and turned left on Caffey, up the west side of the square. Agee led the marchers in their now familiar battle cry of "Free Carl Lee! Free Carl Lee!" They screamed it in an endless, repetitive, numbing chorus. As the crowd moved around the square, it grew in number and volume.
Smelling trouble, the merchants locked up and headed for home and safety. They checked their policies to see if they were insured for riot damage. The green soldiers were lost in a sea of black. The colonel, sweating and nervous, ordered his troops to circle the courthouse and stand firm. While Agee and the marchers were turning onto Washington Street, Ozzie met with the handful of Kluxers. In a sincere and diplomatic way, he convinced them things could get out of hand, and he could no longer guarantee their safety. He acknowledged their right to assemble, said they had made their point, and asked them to get away from the square before there was trouble. They huddled quickly, and disappeared.
When the banner passed under the jury room, all twelve gaped from the window. The incessant chanting rattled the glass panes. The bullhorn sounded like a loudspeaker hanging from the ceiling. The jurors stared in disbelief at the mob, the black mob which filled the street and trailed around the corner onto Caffey. A varied assortment of homemade signs bobbed above the masses and demanded that the man be freed.
"I didn't know there were this many niggers in Ford County," Rita Mae Plunk said. At that moment, the other eleven held the same thought.
Buckley was furious. He and Musgrove watched from a third-floor window in the library. The roar below had disrupted their quiet conversation.
"I didn't know there were this many niggers in Ford County," Musgrove said.
"There ain't. Somebody shipped these niggers in here. I wonder who put them up to it."
"Probably Brigance."
"Yeah, probably so. It's mighty convenient that they start all this hell-raising when the jury is deliberating. There must be five thousand niggers down there."
"At least."
Noose and Mr. Pate watched and listened from a second-floor window in chambers. His Honor was not happy. He worried about his jury. "I don't see how they can concentrate on much with all this going on."
"Pretty .good timing, ain't it, Judge?" Mr. Pate said.
"It certainly is."
"I didn't know we had that many blacks in the whole county."
It took twenty minutes for Mr. Pate and Jean Gillespie to find the attorneys and bring the courtroom to order. When it was quiet, the jurors filed into their seats. There were no smiles.
Noose cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for lunch. I don't suppose you have anything to report."
Barry Acker shook his head.
"That's what I figured. Let's break for lunch, until one-thirty. I realize you cannot leave the courthouse, but I want you to eat for a while without working on the case. I apologize for the disturbance outside, but, frankly, I can't do anything about it. We'll be in recess until one-thirty."
In chambers, Buckley went wild. "This is crazy, Judge! There's no way the jury can concentrate on this case with all that noise out there. This is a deliberate effort to intimidate the jury."
"I don't like it," Noose said.
"It was planned, Judge! It's intentional!" Buckley yelled.
"It looks bad," Noose added.
"I'm almost ready for a mistrial!"
"I won't grant one. What do you say, Jake?"
Jake grinned for a moment, and said, "Free Carl Lee."
"Very funny," Buckley growled. "You probably planned all this."
"No. If you will recall, Mr. Buckley, I tried to prevent it. I have repeatedly asked for a change of venue. I have repeatedly said the trial should not be held in this courthouse. You wanted it here, Mr. Buckley, and you kept it here, Judge Noose. You both now look foolish complaining."
Jake was impressed with his arrogance. Buckley growled and stared out the window. "Look at them. Wild niggers. Must be ten thousand out there."
During lunch the ten thousand grew to fifteen thousand. Cars from a hundred miles away-some with Tennessee plates-parked on the shoulders of the highways outside the city limits. The people hiked for two and three miles under a blistering sun to join the festivities around the courthouse. Agee broke for lunch, and the square quieted.
The blacks were peaceful. They opened their coolers and picnic baskets, and shared with each other. They congregated in the shade, but there were not enough trees to go around. They filled the courthouse in search of cold water and rest rooms. They walked the sidewalks and gazed in the windows of the closed shops and stores. Fearing trouble from the horde, the Coffee Shop and the Tea Shoppe closed during lunch. Outside of Claude's, they lined the sidewalk for a block and a half.
Jake, Harry Rex, and Lucien relaxed on the balcony and enjoyed the circus below. A pitcher of fresh, slushy mar-garitas sat on the table and slowly disappeared. At times they participated in the rally, yelling "Free Carl Lee" or humming along with "We Shall Overcome." No one knew the words but Lucien. He had learned them during the glorious civil rights days of the sixties, and still claimed to be the only white in Ford County who knew all the words to every stanza. He had even joined a black church back then, he explained between drinks, after his church voted to exclude black members. He dropped out after a three-hour sermon ruptured a disc. He had decided white people were not cut out for that kind of worship. He still contributed, however.
Occasionally, a crew of TV people would stray near Jake's office and serve up a question. Jake would pretend not to hear, then finally yell "Free Carl Lee."
Precisely at one-thirty, Agee found his bullhorn, unfurled his banner, lined up the ministers and gathered his marchers. He started with the hymn, sung directly into the bullhorn, and the parade crawled down Jackson, then onto Caffey, and around and around the square. Each lap attracted more people and made more noise.
The jury room was silent for fifteen minutes after Reba Betts was converted from an undecided to a not guilty. If a man raped her, she just might blow his head off if she got the chance. It was"now five to five with two undecideds, and a compromise looked hopeless. The foreman continued to straddle the fence. Poor old Eula Dell Yates had cried one way, then cried the other, and everyone knew she would eventually go with the majority. She had burst into tears at the window, and was led to her seat by Clyde Sisco. She wanted to go home. Said she felt like a prisoner.
The shouting and marching had taken its toll. When the bullhorn passed nearby, the anxiety level in the small room reached a frenzied peak. Acker would ask for quiet, and they would wait impatiently until the racket faded to the front of the courthouse. It never disappeared completely. Carol Corman was the first to inquire about their safety. For the first time in a week, the quiet motel was awfully attractive.
Three hours of nonstop chanting had unraveled whatever nerves were left. The foreman suggested they talk about their families and wait until Noose sent for them at five.
Bernice Toole, a soft guilty, suggested something they had all thought about but no one had mentioned. "Why don't we just tell the judge we are hopelessly deadlocked?"
"He'd declare a mistrial, wouldn't he?" asked Jo Ann Gates.
"Yes," answered the foreman. "And he would be re-
tried in a few months. Why don't we call it a day, and try again tomorrow?"
They agreed. They were not ready to quit. Eula Dell cried softly.
At four, Carl Lee and the kids walked to one of the tall windows lining each side of the courtroom. He noticed a small knob. He turned it, and the windows swung open to a tiny platform hanging over the west lawn. He nodded at a deputy, and stepped outside. He held Tonya and watched the crowd.
They saw him. They yelled his name and rushed to the building under him. Agee led the marchers off the street and across the lawn. A wave of black humanity gathered under the small porch and pressed forward for a closer look at their champion.
"Free Carl Lee!"
"Free Carl Lee!"
"Free Carl Lee!"
He waved at his fans below him. He kissed his daughter and hugged his sons. He waved and told the kids to wave.
Jake and his small band of hombres used the diversion to stagger across the street to the courthouse. Jean Gillespie had called. Noose wanted to see the lawyers in chambers. He was disturbed. Buckley was raging.
"I demand a mistrial! I demand a mistrial!" he yelled at Noose the second Jake walked in.
"You move for a mistrial, Governor. You don't demand," Jake sard through glassy eyes.
"You go to hell, Brigance! You planned all this. You plotted this insurrection. Those are your niggers out there."
"Where's the court reporter?" Jake asked. "I want this on the record."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Noose said. "Let's be professionals."
"Judge, the State moves for a mistrial," Buckley said, somewhat professionally.
"Overruled."
"All right, then. The State moves to allow the jury to deliberate at someplace other than the courthouse."
"Now that's an interesting idea," Noose said.
"I see no reason why they can't deliberate at the motel. It's quiet and few people know where it is," Buckley said confidently.
"Jake?" Noose said.
"Nope, it won't work. There is no statutory provision giving you the authority to allow deliberations outside the courthouse." Jake reached in his pocket and found several folded papers. He threw them on the desk. "State versus Dubose, 1963 case from Linwood County. The air conditioning in the Linwood County Courthouse quit during a heat wave. The circuit judge allowed the jury to deliberate in a local library. The defense objected. Jury convicted. On appeal, the Supreme Court ruled the judge's decision was improper and an abuse of discretion. The court went on to hold that the jury deliberations must take place in the jury room in the courthouse where the defendant is being tried. You can't move them."
Noose studied the case and handed it to Musgrove.
"Get the courtroom ready," he said to Mr. Pate.
With the exception of the reporters, the courtroom was solid black. The jurors looked haggard and strained.
"I take it you do not have a verdict," Noose said.
"No, sir," replied the foreman.
"Let me ask you this. Without indicating any numerical division, have you reached a point where you can go no further?"
"We've talked about that, Your Honor. And we'd like to leave, get a good night's rest, and try again tomorrow. We're not ready to quit."
"That's good to hear. I apologize for the distractions, but, again, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry. You'll just have to do your best. Anything further?"
"No, sir."
"Very well. We'll stand adjourned until nine A.M. tomorrow."
Carl Lee pulled Jake's shoulder. "What does all this mean?"
"It means they're deadlocked. It could be six to six, or eleven to one against you, or eleven to one for acquittal. So , don't get excited."
Barry Acker cornered the bailiff and handed him a folded sheet of paper. It read:
Luann:
Pack the kids and go to your mother's. Don't tell anyone. Stay there until this thing is over. Just do as I say. Things are dangerous.
Barry
"Can you get this to my wife today? Our number is 881-0774."
"Sure," said the bailiff.
Tim Nunley, mechanic down at the Chevrolet place, former client of Jake Brigance, and Coffee Shop regular, sat on a couch in the cabin deep in the woods and drank a beer. He listened to his Klan brothers as they got drunk and cursed niggers. Occasionally, he cursed them too. He had noticed whispering for the past two nights now, and felt something was up. He listened carefully.
He stood to get another beer. Suddenly, they jumped him. Three of his comrades pinned him against the wall and pounded him with fists and feet. He was beaten badly, then gagged, bound, and dragged outside, across the gravel road, and into the field where he had been inducted as a member. A cross was lit as he was tied to a pole and stripped. A bullwhip lashed him until his shoulders, back, and legs were solid crimson.
Two dozen of his ex-brethren watched in mute horror as the pole and limp body were soaked with kerosene. The leader, the one with the bullwhip, stood next to him for an eternity. He pronounced the death sentence, then threw a match.
Mickey Mouse had been silenced.
They packed their robes and belongings, and left for home. Most would never return to Ford County.
Wednesday. For the first time in weeks Jake slept more than eight hours. He had fallen asleep on the couch in his office, and he awoke at five to the sounds of the military preparing for the worst. He was rested, but the nervous throbbing returned with the thought that this day would probably be the big day. He showered and shaved downstairs, and ripped open a new pack of Fruit of the Loom he had purchased at the drug store. He dressed himself in Stan Atcavage's finest navy all-season suit, which was an inch too short and a bit loose, but not a bad fit under the circumstances. He thought of the rubble on Adams Street, then Carla, and the knot in his stomach began to churn. He ran for the newspapers.
On the front pages of the Memphis, Jackson, and Tu-pelo papers were identical photos of Carl Lee standing on the small porch over the mob, holding his daughter and waving to his people. There was nothing about Jake's house. He was relieved, and suddenly hungry.
Dell hugged him like a lost child. She removed her apron and sat next to him in a corner booth. As the regulars arrived and saw him, they stopped by and patted him on the back. It was good to see him again. They had missed him, and they were for him. He looked gaunt, she said, so he ordered most of the menu.
"Say, Jake, are all those blacks gonna be back today?" asked Bert West.
"Probably," he said as he stabbed a chunk of pancakes.
"I heard they's plannin' to bring more folks this mornin'," said Andy Rennick. "Ever nigger radio station in north Mississippi is tellin' folks to come to Clanton."
Great, thought Jake. He added Tabasco to his scrambled eggs.
"Can the jury hear all that yellin'?" asked Bert.
"Sure they can," Jake answered. "That's why they're doing it. They're not deaf."
"That's gotta scare them."
Jake certainly hoped so.
"How's the family?" Dell asked quietly.
"Fine, I guess. I talked to Carla every night."
"She scared?"
"Terrified."
"What have they done to you lately?"
"Nothing since Sunday morning."
"Does Carla know?"
Jake chewed and shook his head.
"I didn't think so. You poor thing."
"I'll be okay. What's the talk in here?"
"We closed at lunch yesterday. There were so many blacks outside, and we were afraid of a riot. We'll watch it close this morning, and we may close again. Jake, what if there's a conviction?"
"It could get hairy."
He stayed for an hour and answered their questions. Strangers arrived, and Jake excused himself.
There was nothing to do but wait. He sat on the balcony, drank coffee, smoked a cigar, and watched the guardsmen. He thought of the clients he once had; of a quiet little Southern law office with a secretary and clients waiting to see him. Of docket calls and interviews at the jail. Of normal things, like a family, a home, and church on Sunday mornings. He was not meant for the big time.
The first church bus arrived at seven-thirty and was halted by the soldiers. The doors flew open and an endless stream of blacks with lawn chairs and food baskets headed for the front lawn. For an hour Jake blew smoke into the heavy air and watched with great satisfaction as the square filled beyond capacity with noisy yet peaceful protestors. The reverends were out in full force, directing their people and assuring Ozzie and the colonel they were nonviolent folk. Ozzie was convinced. The colonel was nervous. By nine, the streets were crammed with demonstrators. Someone spotted the Greyhound. "Here they come!" Agee screamed into the loudspeaker. The mob* pushed to the corner of Jackson and Quincy, where the soldiers, troopers, and deputies formed a mobile barricade around the bus and walked it through the crowd to the rear of the courthouse.
Eula Dell Yates cried openly. Clyde Sisco sat next to the window and held her hand. The others stared in fear as the bus inched around the square. A heavily armed passageway was cleared from the bus to the courthouse, and Ozzie came aboard. The situation was under control, he assured them over the roar. Just follow him and walk as fast as possible.
The bailiff locked the door as they gathered around the coffeepot. Eula Dell sat by herself in the corner crying softly and flinching as each "Free Carl Lee!'" boomed from below.
"I don't care what we do," she said. "I really don't care, but I just can't take any more of this. I haven't seen my family in eight days, and now this madness. I didn't sleep any last night." She cried louder. "I think I'm close to a nervous breakdown. Let's just get outta here."
Clyde handed her a Kleenex and rubbed her shoulder.
Jo Ann Gates was a soft guilty who was ready to crack. "I didn't sleep either last night. I can't take another day like yesterday. I wanna go home to my kids."
Barry Acker stood by the window and thought of the riot that would follow a guilty verdict. There wouldn't be a building left downtown, including the courthouse. He doubted if anybody would protect the jurors in the aftermath of a wrong verdict. They probably wouldn't make it back to the bus. Thankfully, his wife and kids had fled to safety in Arkansas.
"I feel like a hostage," said Bernice Toole, a firm guilty. "That mob would storm the courthouse in a split second if we convict him. I feel intimidated."
Clyde handed her a box of Kleenexes.
"I don't care what we do," Eula Dell whined in desperation. "Let's just get outta here. I honestly don't care if we convict him or cut him loose, let's just do something. My nerves can't take it."
Wanda Womack stood at the end of the table and nervously cleared her throat. She asked for attention. "I have a proposal," she said slowly, "that just might settle this thing."
The crying stopped, and Barry Acker returned to his seat. She had their complete attention.
"I thought of something last night when I couldn't sleep, and I want you to consider it. It may be painful. It may cause you to search your heart and take a long look at your soul. But I'll ask you to do it anyway. And if each of you will be honest with yourself, I think we can wrap this up before noon."
The only sounds came from the street below.
"Right now we are evenly divided, give or take a vote. We could tell Judge Noose that we are hopelessly deadlocked. He would declare a mistrial, and we would go home. Then in a few months this entire spectacle would be repeated. Mr. Hailey would be tried again in this same courtroom, with the same judge, but with a different jury, a jury drawn from this county, a jury of our friends, husbands, wives, and parents. The same kind of people who are now in this room. That jury will be confronted with the same issues before us now, and those people will not be any smarter than we are.
"The time to decide this case is now. It would be morally wrong to shirk our responsibilities and pass the buck to the next jury. Can we all agree on that?"
They silently agreed.
"Good. This is what I want you to do. I want you to pretend with me for a moment. I want you to use your imaginations. I want you to close your eyes and listen to nothing but my voice."
They obediently closed their eyes. Anything was worth a try.
Jake lay on the couch in his office and listened to Lucien tell stories about his prestigious father and grandfather, and their prestigious law firm, and all the people they screwed out of money and land.
"My inheritance was built by my promiscuous ancestors!" he yelled. "They screwed everybody they could!"
Harry Rex laughed uncontrollably. Jake had heard the stories before, but they were always funny, and different.
"What about Ethel's retarded son?" Jake asked.
"Don't talk that way about my brother," Lucien protested. "He's the brightest one in the family. Sure he's my brother. Dad hired her when she was seventeen, and believe it or not, she looked good back then. Ethel Twitry was the hottest thing in Ford County. My dad couldn't keep his hands off her. Sickening to think about now, but it's true."
"It's disgusting," Jake said.
"She had a houseful of kids, and two of them looked just like me, especially the dunce. It was very embarrassing back then."
"What about your mother?" asked Harry Rex.
"She was one of those dignified old Southern ladies whose main concern was who had blue blood and who didn't. There's not much blue blood around here, so she . spent most of her time in Memphis trying to impress and be accepted by the cotton families. I spent a good part of my childhood at the Peabody Hotel all starched out with a little red bow tie, trying to act polished around the rich kids from Memphis. I hated it, and I didn't care much for my mother either. She knew about Ethel, but she accepted it. She told the old man to be discreet and not embarrass the family. He was discreet, and I wound up with a retarded half-brother."
"When did she die?"
"Six months before my father was killed in the plane crash."
"How'd she die?" asked Harry Rex.
"Gonorrhea. Caught it from the yard boy."
"Lucien! Seriously?"
"Cancer. Carried it for three years, but she was dignified to the very end."
"Where'd you go wrong?" Jake asked.
"I think it started in the first grade. My uncle owned the big plantation south of town, and he owned several black families. This was in the Depression, right? I spent most of my childhood there because my father was too busy right here in this office and my mother was too busy with her hot-tea-drinkers clubs. All of my playmates were black. I'd been raised by black servants. My best friend was Willie Ray Wilbanks. No kidding. My great-grandfather purchased his great-grandfather. And when the slaves were freed, most of them just kept the family name. What were they supposed to do? That's why you've got so many black Wilbankses around here. We owned all the slaves in Ford County, and most of them became Wilbankses."
"You're probably kin to some," Jake said.
"Given the proclivities of my forefathers, I'm probably kin to all of them."
The phone rang. They froze and stared at it. Jake sat up and held his breath. Harry Rex picked up the receiver, then hung up. "Wrong number," he said.
They studied each other, then smiled.
"Anyway, back to the first grade," Jake said.
"Okay. When it came time to start school, Willie Ray and the rest of my little buddies got on the bus headed for the black school. I jumped on the bus too, and the driver very carefully took my hand and made me get off. I cried and screamed, and my uncle took me home and told my mother, 'Lucien got on the nigger school bus.' She was horrified, and beat my little ass. The old man beat me too, but years later admitted it was funny. So I went to the white school where I was always the little rich kid. Everybody hated the little rich kid, especially in a poor town like Clanton. Not that I was lovable to begin with, but everyone got a kick out of hating me just because we had money. That's why I've never thought much of money. That's where the nonconformity started. In the first grade. I decided not to be like my mother because she frowned all the time and looked down on the world. And my old man was always too busy to enjoy himself. I said piss on it. I'm gonna have some fun."
Jake stretched and closed his eyes.
"Nervous?" Lucien asked.
"I just want it to be over."
The phone rang again, and Lucien grabbed it. He listened, then hung up.
"What is it?" Harry Rex demanded.
Jake sat up and glared at Lucien. The moment had arrived.
"Jean Gillespie. The jury is ready."
"Oh my God," Jake said as he rubbed his temples.
"Listen to me, Jake," Lucien lectured. "Millions of people will see what is about to happen. Keep your cool. Be careful what you say."
"What about me?" Harry Rex moaned. "I need to go vomit."
"That's strange advice coming from you, Lucien," Jake said as he buttoned Stan's coat.
"I've learned a lot. Show your class. If you win, watch what you say to the press. Be sure and thank the jury. If you lose-"
"If you lose," Harry Rex said, "run like hell, because those niggers will storm the courthouse."
"I feel weak," Jake admitted.
Agee took the platform on the front steps and announced the jury was ready. He asked for quiet, and instantly the mob grew still. They moved toward the front columns. Agee asked them to fall to their knees and pray. They knelt obediently and prayed earnestly. Every man, woman, and child on the front lawn bowed before God and begged him to let their man go.
The soldiers stood bunched together and also prayed for an acquittal.
Ozzie and Moss Junior seated the courtroom and lined deputies and reserves around the walls and down the aisle. Jake entered from the holding room and stared at Carl Lee at the defense table. He glanced at the spectators. Many were praying. Many were biting their fingers. Gwen was wiping tears. Lester looked fearfully at Jake. The children were confused and scared.
Noose assumed the bench and an electrified silence engulfed the courtroom. There was no sound from the outside. Twenty thousand blacks knelt on the ground like Muslims. Perfect stillness inside the courtroom and out.
"I have been advised that the jury has reached a verdict, is that correct, Mr. Bailiff? Very well. We will soon seat the jury, but before we do so I have some instructions. I will not tolerate any outbursts or displays of emotion. I will direct the sheriff to remove any person who creates a disturbance. If need be, I will clear the courtroom. Mr. Bailiff, will you seat the jury."
The door opened, and it seemed like an hour before Eula Dell Yates appeared first with tears in her eyes. Jake dropped his head. Carl Lee stared gamely at the portrait of Robert E. Lee above Noose. They awkwardly filled the jury
box. They seemed jittery, tense, scared. Most had been crying. Jake felt sick. Barry Acker held a piece of paper that attracted the attention of everyone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?"
"Yes, sir, we have," answered the foreman in a high-pitched, nervous voice.
"Hand it to the clerk, please."
Jean Gillespie took it and handed it to His Honor, who studied it forever. "It is technically in order," he finally said.
Eula Dell was flooding, and her sniffles were the only sounds in the courtroom. Jo Ann Gates and Bernice Toole padded their eyes with handkerchiefs. The crying could mean only one thing. Jake had vowed to ignore the jury before the verdict was read, but it was impossible. In his first criminal trial, the jurors had smiled as they took their seats. At that moment, Jake had become confident of an acquittal. Seconds later he learned that the smiles were because a criminal was about to be removed from the streets. Since that trial, he had vowed never to look at the jurors. But he always did. It would be nice to see a wink or a thumbs up, but that never happened.
Noose looked at Carl Lee. "Will the defendant please rise."
Jake knew there were probably more terrifying requests known to the English tongue, but to a criminal lawyer that request at that particular moment had horrible implications. His client stood awkwardly, pitifully. Jake closed his eyes and held his breath. His hands shook and his stomach ached.
Noose handed the verdict back to Jean Gillespie. "Please read it, Madam Clerk."
She unfolded it and faced the defendant. "As to each count of the indictment, we the jury find the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity."
Carl Lee turned and bolted for the railing. Tonya and the boys sprang from the front pew and grabbed him. The courtroom exploded in pandemonium. Gwen screamed and burst into tears. She buried her head in Lester's arms. The reverends stood, looked upward, and shouted "Hallelujah!" and "Praise Jesus!" and "Lord! Lord! Lord!"
Noose's admonition meant nothing. He rapped the gavel half-heartedly and said, "Order, order, order in the seemed content to allow a little celebration.
Jake was numb, lifeless, paralyzed. His only movement was a weak smile in the direction of the jury box. His eyes watered and his lip quivered, and he decided not to make a spectacle of himself. He nodded at Jean Gillespie, who was crying, and just sat at the defense table nodding and trying to smile, unable to do anything else. From the corner of his eye he could see Musgrove and Buckley removing files, legal pads, and important-looking papers, and throwing it all into their briefcases. Be gracious, he told himself.
A teenager darted between two deputies, through the door, and ran through the rotunda screaming "Not guilty! Not guilty!" He ran to a small balcony over the front _steps and screamed to the masses below "Not guilty! Not guilty!" Bedlam erupted.
"Order, order in the court," Noose was saying when the delayed reaction from the outside came thundering through the windows.
"Order, order in the courtroom." He tolerated the excitement for another minute, then asked the sheriff to restore order. Ozzie raised his hands and spoke. The clapping, hugging and praising died quickly. Carl Lee released his children and returned to the defense table. He sat close to his attorney and put his arm around him, grinning and crying at the same time.
Noose smiled at the defendant. "Mr. Hailey, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and found not guilty. I do not recall any expert testimony that you are now dangerous or in need of further psychiatric treatment. You are a free man."
His Honor looked at the attorneys. "If there is nothing further, this court will stand adjourned until August 15."
Carl Lee was smothered by his family and friends. They hugged him, hugged each other, hugged Jake. They wept unashamedly and praised the Lord. They told Jake they loved him.
The reporters pressed against the railing and began firing questions at Jake. He held up his hands, and said he would have no comment. But there would be a full-blown press conference in his office at 2:00 P.M.
Buckley and Musgrove left through a side door. The jurors were locked in the jury room to await the last bus ride to the motel. Barry Acker asked to speak to the sheriff. Oz-zie met him in the hallway, listened intently, and promised to escort him home and provide protection around the clock.
The reporters assaulted Carl Lee. "I just wanna go home," he said over and over. "I just wanna go home."
The celebration kicked into high gear on the front lawn. There was singing, dancing, crying, back-slapping, hugging, thanks-giving, congratulating, outright laughing, cheering, chanting, high fives, low fives, and soul brother shakes. The heavens were praised in one glorious, tumultuous, irreverent jubilee. They packed closer together in front of the courthouse and waited impatiently for their hero to emerge and bask in his much deserved adulation.
Their patience grew thin. After thirty minutes of screaming "We Want Carl Lee! We Want Carl Lee!" their man appeared at the door. An ear-splitting, earth-shaking roar greeted him. He inched forward through the mass with his lawyer and family, and stopped on the top step under the pillars where the plywood platform held a thousand microphones. The whooping and yelling of twenty thousand voices was deafening. He hugged his lawyer, and they waved to the sea of screaming faces.
The shouting from the army of reporters was completely inaudible. Occasionally, Jake would stop waving and yell something about a press conference in his office at two.
Carl Lee hugged his wife and children, and they waved. The crowd roared its approval. Jake slid away and into the courthouse, where he found Lucien and Harry Rex waiting in a corner, away from the mad rush of spectators. "Let's get out of here," Jake yelled. They pushed through the mob, down the hall and out the rear door. Jake spotted a swarm of reporters on the sidewalk outside his office.
"Where are you parked?" he asked Lucien. He pointed to a side street, and they disappeared behind the Coffee Shop.
Sallie fried pork chops and green tomatoes, and served them on the porch. Lucien produced a bottle of expensive cham-
Rex ate with his fingers, gnawing on the bones as if he hadn't seen food in a month. Jake played with his food and worked on the ice-cold champagne. After two glasses, he smiled into the distance. He savored the moment.
"You look silly as hell," Harry Rex said with a mouthful of pork.
"Shut up, Harry Rex," Lucien said. "Let him enjoy his finest hour."
"He's enjoying it. Look at that smirk."
"What should I tell the press?" Jake asked.
"Tell them you need some clients," Harry Rex said.
"Clients will be no problem," Lucien said. "They'll line the sidewalks waiting for appointments."
"Why didn't you talk to the reporters in the courthouse? They had their cameras running and everything. I started to say something for them," Harry Rex said.
"I'm sure it would've been a gem," Lucien said.
"I've got them at my fingertips," Jake said. "They're not going anywhere. We could sell tickets to the press conference and make a fortune."
"Can I sit and watch, please, Jake, please," Harry Rex said.
They argued over whether they should take the antique Bronco or the nasty little Porsche. Jake said he was not driving. Harry Rex cursed the loudest, and they loaded into the Bronco. Lucien found a spot in the rear seat. Jake rode shotgun and gave instructions. They hit the back streets, and missed most of the traffic from the square. The highway was crowded, and Jake directed his driver through a myriad of gravel roads. They found blacktop, and Harry Rex raced away in the direction of the lake.
"I have one question, Lucien," Jake said.
"What?"
"And I want a straight answer."
"What?"
"Did you cut a deal with Sisco?"
"No, my boy, you won it on your own."
"Do you swear?"
"I swear to God. On a stack of Bibles."
Jake wanted to believe him, so he dropped it. They rode in silence, in the sweltering heat, and listened as Harry Rex sang along with the stereo. Suddenly, Jake pointed and yelled. Harry Rex slammed on the brakes, made a wild left turn, and sped down another gravel road.
"Where are we going?" Lucien demanded.
"Just hang on," Jake said as he looked at a row of houses approaching on the right. He pointed to the second one, and Harry Rex pulled into the driveway and parked under a shade tree. Jake got out, looked around the front yard, and walked onto the porch. He knocked on the screen door.
A man appeared. A stranger. "Yeah, whatta you want?"
"I'm Jake Brigance, and-"
The door flew open, and the man rushed onto the porch and grabbed Jake's hand. "Nice to meet you, Jake. I'm Mack Loyd Crowell. I was on the grand jury that almost didn't indict. You done a real good job. I'm proud of you."
Jake shook his hand and repeated his name. Then he
remembered, Mack Loyd Crowell, the man who told Buckley to shut up and sit down in the grand jury. "Yeah, Mack Loyd, now I remember. Thanks."
Jake looked awkwardly through the door.
"You lookin' for Wanda?" Crowell asked.
"Well, yes. I was just passing by, and remembered her address from the jury research."
"You've come to the right place. She lives here, and I do too most of the time. We ain't married or nothing, but we go together. She's layin' down takin' a nap. She's pretty wore out."
"Don't wake her," Jake said.
"She told me what happened. She won it for you."
"How? What happened?"
"She made them all close their eyes and listen to her. She told them to pretend that the little girl had blond hair and blue eyes, that the two rapists were black, that they tied her right foot to a tree and her left foot to a fence post, that they raped her repeatedly and cussed her because she was white. She told them to picture the little girl layin' there beggin' for her daddy while they kicked her in the mouth and knocked out her teeth, broke both jaws, broke her nose. She said to imagine two drunk blacks pouring beer on her and pissing in her face, and laughing like idiots. And then she told them to imagine that the little girl belonged to them -their daughter. She told them to be honest with themselves and to write on a piece of paper whether or not they would kill those black bastards if they got the chance. And they voted, by secret ballot. All twelve said they would do the killing. The foreman counted the votes. Twelve to zero. Wanda said she'd sit in that jury room until Christmas before she'd vote to convict, and if they were honest with themselves, then they ought to feel the same way. Ten of them agreed with her, and one lady held out. They all started cryin' and cussin' her so bad, she finally caved in. It was rough in there, Jake."
Jake listened to every word without breathing. He heard a noise. Wanda Womack walked to the screen door. She smiled at him and began crying. He stared at her through the screen, but could not talk. He bit his lip and
nodded. "Thanks," he managed weakly. She wiped her eyes and nodded.
On Craft Road, a hundred cars lined both shoulders east and west of the Hailey driveway. The long front yard was packed with vehicles, children playing, and parents sitting under shade trees and on car hoods. Harry Rex parked in a ditch by the mailbox. A crowd rushed to greet Carl Lee's lawyer. Lester grabbed him and said, "You done it again, you done it again."
They shook hands and slapped backs across the yard and up to the porch. Agee hugged him and praised God. Carl Lee left the swing and walked down the steps, followed by his family and admirers. They gathered around Jake as the two great men came face to face. They clutched hands and smiled at each other, both searching for words. They embraced. The crowd clapped and shouted.
"Thank you, Jake," Carl Lee said softly.
The lawyer and client sat in the swing and answered questions about the trial. Lucien and Harry Rex joined Lester and some of his friends under a shade tree for a little drink. Tonya ran and jumped around the yard with a hundred other kids.
At two-thirty, Jake sat at his desk and talked to Carla. Harry Rex and Lucien drank the last of the margaritas, and quickly got drunk. Jake drank coffee and told his wife he would leave Memphis in three hours and be in North Carolina by ten. Yes, he was fine, he said. Everything was okay, and everything was over. There were dozens of reporters packed into his conference room, so be sure and watch the evening news. He would meet with them briefly, then drive to Memphis. He said he loved her, missed her body, and would be there soon. He hung up.
Tomorrow, he'd call Ellen.
"Why are you leaving today!" Lucien demanded.
"You're stupid, Jake, just stupid. You've got a thousand reporters in the palm of your hand, and you're leaving town. Stupid, just stupid," Harry Rex shouted.
Jake stood. "How do I look, fellas?"
"Like a dumbass if you leave town," Harry Rex said.
"Hang around for a couple of days," Lucien pleaded. "This is an opportunity you'll never have again. Please, Jake."
"Relax, fellas. I'm going to meet with them now, let them take my picture, answer a few of their stupid questions, then I'm leaving town."
"You're crazy, Jake," Harry Rex said.
"I agree," said Lucien.
Jake checked the mirror, adjusted Stan's tie, and smiled at his friends. "I appreciate you guys. I really do. I got paid nine hundred dollars for this trial, and I plan to share it with y'all."
They poured the last of the margaritas, gulped it down, and followed Jake Brigance down the stairs to face the reporters.
