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Authors: Shelley Pearsall
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exactly where it was and forgetting my little basket on a barrel, I told Mr. Perry that I was feeling an attack of the shaking ague coming on and I had to get home before I felt any worse. I ran all the way back to the cabin, holding my arms against my stomach and blinking tears out of my eyes.
I couldn't understand how they could speak so cruelly against kind and gentle Peter Kelley, who was only trying to do what he thought was right. Who else would have defended Indian John if he hadn't stepped forward? Wasn't there a single soul who was taking Indian John's side?
I tried asking Amos what he thought. One evening while he was cutting kindling, I stood by the chopping stump, rolling the strings of my apron around and around my finger.
“You want something, Reb?” Amos said finally, giving me a half grin. “Or are you just standing there to see what work looks like?”
“I'm wondering something,” I said.
“Wondering ain't getting anything useful done.”
“I'm wondering about the Indian's trial.”
Amos stopped chopping and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “What about it?”
“I'm wondering why they're going to the troubleof a trial and a jury and lawyers if everybody already believes he's guilty.”
Amos went back to chopping. “Because that's the way justice is,” he said, over the sound of the ax. “If you was a man, you would see that. Even a guilty Indian gets a trial in this country before he gets hanged. That's the fair way things get done.”
“But what if—” I paused and took a deep breath. “What if it comes out in the trial that maybe he ain't guilty?”
Amos sighed loudly. “Why don't you ever use your head, Reb? If he wasn't guilty, there wouldn't be a trial, now would there? There wouldn't be no need for a jury or lawyers if he was innocent, right? What kind of sense would that make?” He picked up the ax and lowered it hard, sending splinters of wood everywhere. “Now just go on and leave me alone.”
What Amos meant was a bafflement to me. My mind twisted and turned trying to understand his words. They didn't make an ounce of sense, truly they didn't. No matter which way I looked at them.
When I saw Mr. Kelley again, I decided I would ask him what he believed and I would warn him about Mr. Perry and the other men. Even if, like Amos, he thought I was nothing but a rattlebrained fool.
Peter Kelley finally came back on a day that Laura was making soap at the Hawleys’. When I opened the door and saw his familiar coat, I knew that Laura would never forgive herself for leaving. We had just about given up all hope of seeing him again. Day after day we had jumped at each knock on the door, only to find another person waiting outside.
“May I come in?” Mr. Kelley said in a hurried voice. He had a square haversack slung over one shoulder, and in his left hand, he held a brown leather book that was stuck full of papers.
I nodded and wished that Laura was there. Mercy was playing with a big pile of wood shavings on the floor behind me, and I am sure that I looked like the foolishest thing, with wood shavings stuck all overmy clothes. All the things I had been intending to ask Peter Kelley had suddenly left my head.
“Laura ain't here,” I said as he stepped inside. “She's gone off to the Hawleys’ for the day.”
Mr. Kelley hesitated. I watched as he gazed up at the loft above our heads and then back at the door he had come through. I could tell he was considering whether to leave or stay.
“I don't know when I can find a way to return, not with all the men in the fields and the settlement as busy as it is,” he mumbled, as if he was speaking to himself more than me. He gave me an uncertain look. “You'll keep an ear out for your Pa and brothers?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You'll tell me if you hear anyone coming down the road?”
I nodded again.
Reluctantly, he started up the steps to the chamber loft. While he was talking to Indian John, I sat in the open
I couldn't understand how they could speak so cruelly against kind and gentle Peter Kelley, who was only trying to do what he thought was right. Who else would have defended Indian John if he hadn't stepped forward? Wasn't there a single soul who was taking Indian John's side?
I tried asking Amos what he thought. One evening while he was cutting kindling, I stood by the chopping stump, rolling the strings of my apron around and around my finger.
“You want something, Reb?” Amos said finally, giving me a half grin. “Or are you just standing there to see what work looks like?”
“I'm wondering something,” I said.
“Wondering ain't getting anything useful done.”
“I'm wondering about the Indian's trial.”
Amos stopped chopping and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “What about it?”
“I'm wondering why they're going to the troubleof a trial and a jury and lawyers if everybody already believes he's guilty.”
Amos went back to chopping. “Because that's the way justice is,” he said, over the sound of the ax. “If you was a man, you would see that. Even a guilty Indian gets a trial in this country before he gets hanged. That's the fair way things get done.”
“But what if—” I paused and took a deep breath. “What if it comes out in the trial that maybe he ain't guilty?”
Amos sighed loudly. “Why don't you ever use your head, Reb? If he wasn't guilty, there wouldn't be a trial, now would there? There wouldn't be no need for a jury or lawyers if he was innocent, right? What kind of sense would that make?” He picked up the ax and lowered it hard, sending splinters of wood everywhere. “Now just go on and leave me alone.”
What Amos meant was a bafflement to me. My mind twisted and turned trying to understand his words. They didn't make an ounce of sense, truly they didn't. No matter which way I looked at them.
When I saw Mr. Kelley again, I decided I would ask him what he believed and I would warn him about Mr. Perry and the other men. Even if, like Amos, he thought I was nothing but a rattlebrained fool.
Peter Kelley finally came back on a day that Laura was making soap at the Hawleys’. When I opened the door and saw his familiar coat, I knew that Laura would never forgive herself for leaving. We had just about given up all hope of seeing him again. Day after day we had jumped at each knock on the door, only to find another person waiting outside.
“May I come in?” Mr. Kelley said in a hurried voice. He had a square haversack slung over one shoulder, and in his left hand, he held a brown leather book that was stuck full of papers.
I nodded and wished that Laura was there. Mercy was playing with a big pile of wood shavings on the floor behind me, and I am sure that I looked like the foolishest thing, with wood shavings stuck all overmy clothes. All the things I had been intending to ask Peter Kelley had suddenly left my head.
“Laura ain't here,” I said as he stepped inside. “She's gone off to the Hawleys’ for the day.”
Mr. Kelley hesitated. I watched as he gazed up at the loft above our heads and then back at the door he had come through. I could tell he was considering whether to leave or stay.
“I don't know when I can find a way to return, not with all the men in the fields and the settlement as busy as it is,” he mumbled, as if he was speaking to himself more than me. He gave me an uncertain look. “You'll keep an ear out for your Pa and brothers?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You'll tell me if you hear anyone coming down the road?”
I nodded again.
Reluctantly, he started up the steps to the chamber loft. While he was talking to Indian John, I sat in the open