A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [149]
At ten a.m., Martin Stanley, the bailiff, stood up and announced that the court was in session, Judge Lyle Ottarson presiding. Judge Ottarson, Mr. Cartier had told us, was from Sioux City. There was a family farm in his background somewhere. “He knows the lingo,” was what Mr. Cartier had said.
The first person called to the stand was my father. Standing, walking, he was still himself, big and strong and hunched forward, his head swinging around like the head of a bull, and with just that suspiciousness, too. Ken LaSalle straightened his path to the witness stand. He focused on Monica Davis, the clerk, long enough to swear to tell the truth. Ken asked him the first question, whether he had in good faith formed a corporation and relinquished his farm to his two older daughters, Virginia Cook Smith and Rose Cook Lewis, along with their husbands, Tyler Smith and Peter Lewis? To this, Daddy answered, “By God, they’ll starve there. The land won’t produce for the likes of them. Caroline!”
Ken said, “Mr. Cook—”
“Caroline!”
Caroline sang out, “Yes, Daddy?”
Judge Ottarson said, “The witness will please refrain from addressing—”
“Caroline! It’ll gag ’em!”
The judge leaned forward and tried to catch Daddy’s eye. “Mr. Cook? Larry?”
Daddy swung his head around and caught his gaze.
“Mr. Cook, please answer the questions. You can’t talk to Ms. Cook just now. Do you understand?”
Daddy looked at him without answering. The judge said, “Proceed, Mr. LaSalle.”
“Larry?” Ken got up close to the stand. “Larry? Did you sign the farm over to Ginny and Rose?”
“I don’t care about going to jail. If they want to send me to jail, I don’t care about that.”
Ken said, “Nobody’s going to jail, Larry. This isn’t that kind of trial. We’re talking about the farm. Your farm, that your dad and granddad built. We want to know what you did with it.”
“I lost it. It’s well lost. Caroline, please forgive me!”
The judge said, “Mr. LaSalle, try once more.”
Ken nodded. He tried a firmer, more commanding voice. “Larry! Listen to me! What happened to your farm? Who did you give it to? Think about it.”
Suddenly, Daddy shouted, “She’s dead!” He gripped the arms of his chair.
The judge said, “Who’s dead, Mr. Cook?”
“My daughter.” He sounded conversational, almost meek.
“Which daughter? All your daughters are in the courtroom, sir.”
“Caroline! Caroline’s dead. Where is she? Have they buried her already? I think they stole the body. I think those sisters stole the body and buried her already.”
While he was saying this, Caroline was rushing to his side. She took his hands and put them on her shoulders, then she said, “Here I am, Daddy. I’m not dead at all.”
He said, “Somebody take her pulse.”
Rose let out a bark of laughter, which she quickly stifled. I was amazed, though. Amazed and horrified and excited, the way you always feel at a wreck.
Ken LaSalle held up a sheaf of papers, and said, “Judge, here’s exhibit A, the contract in question. I’ll introduce it in lieu of the witness’s response.”
Daddy said, “Could be they killed her. That day after church. She didn’t show up to get her share. And then, when I went down to Des Moines to find her, she wasn’t there, either.” He turned to look at the judge. “You’re a judge. I’ll swear to that. I swear that maybe they killed her and buried her.”
Caroline said, “I’m right here with you, Daddy. You live at my house now. You can live there always. As long as you like.”
The judge said, “Who killed whom, Mr. Cook?”
“Those bitches killed my daughter.”
“What are the names, sir?”
Now I sat forward, feeling the curiosity to hear uncoiling within me. Would he really say her name, with her living and breathing right in front of him? The photo of that nameless baby crossed my mind. Maybe there was another one after all, one that came before me. It wasn’t