Wind and Lies, page 19
The church services for the Mormon cult began at nine o’clock Sunday morning. Magdalena dressed in faded Levi’s, a threadbare blue chambray workshirt, and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots of harness leather. The nuns had always insisted that the girls wear their finest dresses to mass on Sunday, but here with the Mormons she wanted to appear extremely poor. And extremely poor Papago girls dressed like this.
She wasn’t the only one dressed this way in the meeting hall. Many of the men and women were wearing the same, the best that they had. The white wives of the Patriarch, however, and their well-scrubbed daughters were all dressed in bonnets and long dresses of coarse white muslin or undyed cotton broadcloth, and their sons wore black canvas trousers and black leather shoes and starched white long-sleeve dress shirts.
The Patriarch began the service with the Lord’s Prayer, and an Indian girl of fifteen or sixteen dressed in a shapeless white smock recited it in Spanish after he finished. Many of the Indians repeated the Spanish words they had long ago learned by heart in the convent schools.
The Patriarch was an imposing man, stout and heavily bearded with dark, beady eyes under thick eyebrows, and he recited prayer after prayer in a bellow as though he were Moses repeating the words of God to the Israelites. The Indian girl repeated each prayer in Spanish. Then she sat down.
The old man opened a book and announced that he would read the entirety of the sacred books of Third and Fourth Nephi, for this was the record of the son of God coming to North America two thousand years ago and converting the Nephites to the one true church. The reading of these two books droned on for hours.
“And it came to pass that they who rejected the gospel were called Lamanites.” He closed the Book of Mormon and kissed it. He looked around at the Indians in the meeting hall and began to chastise them for the sins of their supposed ancestors a millennium ago. “And even the Nephites did dwindle in their belief,” he bellowed, “they did willfully rebel against the gospel of Christ. War and carnage did ensue between the Nephites and the Lamanites. And it came to pass in the three hundred eightieth year after the coming of Christ to America that the seed of all these corrupt people were scattered and became a dark and a filthy and a loathsome people, beyond the description of that which had ever been among them, because of their unbelief and idolatry.”
The Prophet Josiah raised his arms and his face and roared heavenward. “Know ye that ye are these dark and loathsome people who have abandoned Christ Therefore, repent and humble yourselves before Jesus and accept him as your savior, lest he shall come out in justice against you—lest a remnant of the seed of Jacob shall go forth among you as a lion, and tear you in pieces, and there is none to save you.”
The roaring had awakened the many Indians who had fallen asleep. Josiah left the stage and walked slowly through the people sitting cross-legged on the floor and patted many of them on the head. He stopped in front of Magdalena, and she looked up at him a little startled.
“Who art thou, woman?” he said in his prophetic basso profundo.
She had the sudden urge to beat her breast and say that she was the repentent Magdalene, the slut of Jerusalem. But she swallowed the sarcasm and said in a fittingly weak voice, “Magdalena Antone.”
“Hast thou come unto the Church of the True Vision to be baptized anew unto the only church of God and the Son of God?”
“Yes, sir.” She cast down her eyes solemnly.
“Lift up thine countenance, Sister Magdalena.” He put a rough finger under her chin, and she raised her face again.
“Thou art comely in my sight,” he said, his voice much softer, private between them. “Art thou a maid?”
For a few seconds she didn’t understand. Does he think I came here to sweep the floors? And then it dawned on her that this burlesque caricature of an Old Testament prophet meant “maid” in the New Testament sense. The Maid of Orleans.
“Oh, yes, sir,” she twittered innocently.
He smiled at her. “Perhaps thou art worthy,” he mused. “Thou shalt be tested.”
He turned around and crooked his finger at the tall, stout woman standing at the edge of the stage. She walked through the crowd of Indians to Porter’s side.
“This is Sister-wife Miriam,” he said. “She is first among my wives. She shall test you.” He walked away and entered the room at the side of the meeting hall.
The elderly woman scrutinized her. “The Prophet finds you suitable,” she said.
Magdalena stood up. The other Indians were all standing up, going toward the long buffet table set up in the back of the room.
“Suitable for what?” Magdalena asked.
“For bride, girl, for bride,” Miriam said, as though she were coaching a stupid child.
Magdalena’s eyes opened wide. “For what?”
“Are you pure, girl?”
What the hell do you say to that? Magdalena thought. Pure as the driven snow. Pure as cotton candy. “Sure, I’m pure,” she answered, trying not to sound too ridiculous.
Sister-wife Miriam was studying her intently, and Magdalena felt the woman’s power. There was a strength, an electricity about her, that was tangible.
Someone tapped Magdalena on the shoulder, and she turned around.
“Hi, nice to see you again,” Roberto Felix said.
She smiled, pleased to be diverted from Sister-wife Miriam, even if it was Roberto Felix. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she lied. “What a nice surprise.”
“We shall see you again on Tuesday evening?” Miriam said, annoyed by the interruption.
“Yes,” Magdalena said.
“Be prepared to stay for a while afterward to take instruction,” Miriam said and walked away.
She turned back to Roberto. “What a weird duck,” she said to him in Papago.
His reaction surprised her. “Oh, don’t say that.” His face was very serious. “She’s the chief wife of the Prophet, and she’s a very good woman. She has a lot of responsibility around here. And they’re giving you a huge honor.”
“If someone wants to marry me, I expect to be courted and proposed to,” she said lightly and laughed.
“Well, I’m not encouraging you to marry the Prophet, don’t get me wrong. I just might be interested in you for myself.”
She smiled as endearingly as she could at him, thinking that this all sounded like bad dialogue from The Guiding Light on the radio.
“Let’s get some lunch before it’s all gone,” Roberto said.
They walked to the buffet table, which had platters of various foods. They picked up paper plates from the end of the table and pushed their way to the food. They heaped potato salad and corned-beef hash on their plates. If there had been something other than that five minutes earlier, it was already gone. There were also no utensils to eat with. They walked outside to several long wooden tables set under the wide umbrella of a mesquite tree and sat down. It was at least a hundred degrees, but no hotter under the tree than it was inside. They ate hungrily with their fingers.
“What happens now?” Magdalena asked.
“Skits,” Roberto answered. “There’ll be a couple of hours of little plays. The Sister-wives all get behind a sheet with slits in it and there’ll be boys in front who put their arms through the slits and the Sister-wives pull them through. It’s like they’re entering heaven. And then some of them will do a skit about God creating the earth. There’ll be some more readings from the book.”
“You going?”
“Naw, I’ve seen it a bunch of times.”
“I don’t think I can take another couple of hours,” Magdalena said.
He laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I converted a couple of months ago, and I usually don’t go after lunch on Sundays. It’s mostly for conversions and marriages.”
“Do they get mad if you don’t show up?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t even think they expect too many of us to come back after the food is gone.”
They finished eating and licked their fingers.
“You want to go for a ride?” he asked.
“I got my car here.”
“You got a car?” He was impressed.
“Yeah, it was my grandfather’s,” she lied.
“Maybe we can go next weekend to a movie in Ajo,” he said hesitantly.
“Sure. When do they have them?”
“Friday and Saturday nights.”
“Okay, yeah.” But she wanted to offer him more encouragement than that. “I’m coming back here to the prayer meeting Tuesday night,” she said.
“I sometimes come.”
“Maybe you’ll be here, we can go for a ride after?”
A smile crossed his face. He nodded his head happily.
“I’ve got to go home,” she said, standing up. “I have to prepare for school tomorrow, fix up a lesson plan.”
“The teacher doing homework?”
She nodded. “I’m teaching American history and English. The books just came in yesterday. I’ve got to start reading them and prepare a course outline.”
“Sounds like a fun afternoon.”
“I love doing it, and it’s better than listening to more readings from their book.”
“They read it because they know that most of us can’t,” Roberto said. “My English ain’t so hot. I can speak, but I don’t read so good.”
“I hear they give away clothes Tuesday nights.”
He nodded. “Thursdays too.”
“See you?”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Chapter 20
Judge Robert Buchanan put on his glasses and opened the manila folder in front of him. “This is the time set for oral argument on the defendant’s motion for a lineup. Mr. Rabb?”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Joshua said, rising at the defense table. Edgar Hendly was sitting next to him in an Air Force surplus faded blue jumpsuit with MLDC stenciled in large white letters on the back.
“The only evidence that the government has in this case is the testimony of two children, an eight-year-old girl and a five-year-old boy, that they saw Mr. Hendly arguing with Melinda Lopez and then beating her unconscious. They say that this happened on Thursday night, April 29, 1948, a night when Mr. Hendly was admittedly in Sells. We are asking the court—”
The courtroom door slammed shut, distracting everyone. Edgar and Joshua turned around to see what was happening. Miriam Porter was standing in the aisle twenty feet away. On each side of her were the two children.
Tim Essert jumped up and rushed to her. “You can’t be in here, Mrs. Porter,” he said. “You’ve got to wait outside.”
“But I thought you said—”
“No, you misunderstood,” he cut her off loudly. “I told you to wait outside.”
She shrugged, turned around, and walked out of the courtroom followed by the boy and girl.
Tim Essert returned to the prosecution table. “I apologize for the interruption, Your Honor.”
“Don’t tell me that those two children are the witnesses in this case,” Judge Buchanan said, his face drawn.
“Yes, Judge,” Essert said.
Joshua was livid. He began to sputter with anger. “Your Honor, this is the shabbiest misconduct by any prosecutor that I have ever seen. I ask the court—”
“That’s enough!” the judge said. He banged his gavel on the bench. “Sit down, Mr. Rabb.”
Joshua sat down.
The judge fixed Essert with a vicious stare. “How dare you pull a stunt like this?”
Essert blanched and sat down slowly.
“Stand up when I’m addressing you,” Buchanan roared.
Essert leapt up.
“You have absolutely destroyed any chance that Mr. Hendly may have had of proving misidentification. I don’t know whether this court can permit the prosecution of Mr. Hendly to continue.”
Essert stiffened. “Your Honor, I have absolutely no fault in this. I did not contrive the presence of the witnesses.”
“Then why the hell were they standing here in the courtroom, Mr. Essert? A school field trip?” The judge was enraged, his voice squeezed and hoarse.
“No, Your Honor. I asked Mrs. Porter to bring the children for the lineup. I thought that Your Honor would order it, and I was going to do it right after this hearing. I have the men waiting in my office.”
“Bring them to this courtroom forthwith.” Buchanan banged his gavel and stormed off the bench.
“All rise,” the bailiff called out.
Joshua and Edgar stood up. J. T. Sellner was writing too absorbedly to stand. Frances stood up in the rear of the courtroom. She walked to the railing.
“You okay, honey?” she said.
Edgar stepped toward her, rattling his leg chains and belly chain.
“Hey, now, no contact with the prisoner,” the guard from the detention center said. He walked between Edgar and Frances.
“Just let them have a minute to talk,” Joshua said. “They haven’t seen each other in weeks.”
“They can talk, but they can’t touch,” the guard said, looking sternly at Joshua.
He nodded. The guard stepped out of the way.
“They treatin’ you good, honey?” Frances asked, tears dripping down her cheeks.
“Sure,” Edgar said. “I got a private room and all the food I can eat”—he patted his belly—“and I play checkers all day long with Luke here.”
The guard nodded.
“How’s Peggy?”
“She’s fine, Eddie. She gets pinker ‘n’ prettier ever’ day.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes hard with the back of her hand.
“I’d like to kill that woman fer what she just done,” Frances said to Joshua.
“You may not have to,” he answered and smiled. “She may have just killed herself. If the judge thinks that Essert set this up, Edgar could be going home with you in a half hour.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “Oh, God, I been prayin’, I really been prayin’!” She smiled at him. “I promised God I’d take better care of Edgar if I get him back.”
Edgar swallowed hard, not wanting to lose his composure. “You take plenny good care a me, honey. And I’m sorry fer alla this.”
She nodded. She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and rubbed her eyes with it.
Essert came into the courtroom, followed by four men. He looked frightened. The U.S. marshal knocked on the door to the judge’s chambers and returned to the bailiff’s table. A moment later, the judge’s secretary entered the courtroom, followed by the judge. Frances walked to the rear of the spectators’ section and sat down. The four men were standing with Essert behind the prosecution table.
Judge Buchanan had calmed down. He slowly studied the four men. They were all approximately the same size and shape and age as Edgar Hendly.
“When were you asked to take part in a lineup?” the judge asked, looking at the man on the end.
“Yesterday, Judge.”
Buchanan nodded. “Okay. I’ll see counsel in chambers.” He left the bench, followed by his secretary, Tim Essert, and Joshua Rabb.
The judge walked into his office and stood behind his desk. He motioned for the lawyers to come in.
“You sit on the couch over there.” He pointed at a leather sofa against the wall, behind the two chairs in front of the desk. “I don’t want to hear a sound from either of you.”
They sat down at opposite ends of the long sofa.
“Mrs. Hawkes,” Buchanan called out, “bring in Mrs. Porter. Keep the kids out there with you.”
He stood behind the desk, waiting silently. He appeared exhausted and angry.
“Come in, Mrs. Porter,” he said. “Have a seat here.” He pointed at one of the chairs and sat down in his leather swivel chair.
She looked around the room cautiously and sat down, holding herself stiffly. She looked defiantly at Judge Buchanan.
“When were you notified about this hearing today, Mrs. Porter?” the judge asked quietly.
“It was yesterday morning.”
“How were you notified?”
“Mr. Essert called the meeting hall in Sells, and they come and got me. He said there was going to be a thing in front of the judge where the children might be asked if they could identify the killer.”
“Can you be more specific, Mrs. Porter? Did he tell you it would be ‘a thing in front of the judge’?”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Well, I never pretended to know anything about legal stuff, you know, but he said something like that. Let me think here a minute.” She closed her eyes and squinted hard and sat quietly. “I believe what he said was that there was going to be some men stand up on kind of a stage-like thing, and to see if Ida Mae and Daniel would recognize the person who killed Melinda.”
“Did he tell you to come here to court?”
She squinted again, pondering. “I just don’t remember. I guess he said something about having some hearing or other in court, and I guess I just jumped to the conclusion that it was all going to happen here.”
“Has Mr. Essert talked to you today?”
She shook her head.
Judge Buchanan stood up. “Okay, thank you, Mrs. Porter. You may take your children and go home.”
She stood up hesitantly. “Then there isn’t going to be this thing that Mr. Essert said?”
“No, Mrs. Porter.”
She shrugged, turned around and stared for an instant at the attorneys, and left the office. Mrs. Hawkes closed the door.
Buchanan sat down and exhaled loudly. “Pretty fucked-up situation, Timmy,” he said quietly, looking hard at Essert.
Essert swallowed and stammered, “Judge, I—I—”
“Shut up, Timmy,” Buchanan said, his voice low. “I don’t want to hear from you two guys right now.” He leaned forward over the large oak desk and took his pocket watch out of his vest pocket. He opened the case, studied the dial, wound the watch, opened and closed the case several more times.
“Lawyers and judges always use big, important words like justice,” he said very quietly, looking from Essert to Rabb. “Most of the time we don’t know what we mean.” He grimaced and shook his head sadly. “I’ve been practicing law almost forty years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s only one word in the English language that means anything in a court of law: fairness.” He sighed deeply and looked at Essert.
