The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [264]
“The Charlton road?” Mr. Picton asked.
Clara nodded. “All of a sudden Mama drove the wagon over under a big tree, off the road. It was dark by then, and I didn’t know why she stopped. It was scary, on that road.”
“And where were you sitting, at that time?”
“I was in the back, holding on to Tommy so’s he didn’t bother Matthew—he was asleep by then.”
“Matthew was?”
“Yes, sir. And I didn’t want Tommy to wake him up so’s he’d start crying about his stomach again. It bothered Mama. I asked her why we stopped. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just sat up on the bench, staring at the road. I asked her again, and then she got down and came around to the back of the wagon. She had her bag in her hand. She said she had something important she needed to tell us.”
Hearing Clara’s voice start to trail off again, Mr. Picton said, “It’s all right, Clara. What did she tell you?”
“She said that she’d stopped … she’d stopped …”
“Clara?”
The girl’s eyes’d gone glassy, and for a minute my heart sank, thinking that she’d shrunk back into the horrified silence what’d gripped her for so long. I saw the Doctor’s jaw set hard, and I knew that he was worrying about the same thing. We both started breathing again, though, when Clara near-whispered:
“She said that she’d seen our dada.”
Judge Brown leaned over, cupping one of his big ears with his hand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up a little, young lady, if you can,” he said.
Looking up at him and swallowing hard, Clara repeated, “She said that she’d seen our dada. She said he told her he was with God. She said that he told her God wanted us to be with Him, too.”
Mr. Picton nodded grimly, glancing to the jury box. “For the jury’s information, Clara’s father, Daniel Hatch, passed away on December the twenty-ninth, 1893—approximately six months before the night in question. The cause was a sudden”—here Mr. Picton turned around to look at Libby—“a very sudden, and unexplained, attack of heart disease.”
“Your Honor,” Mr. Darrow said, standing up as quick as he could, “this kind of innuendo—”
“Mr. Picton,” the judge agreed, nodding to Mr. Darrow and then looking at the assistant district attorney, “I’ve warned you—”
“Your Honor, I suggest nothing,” Mr. Picton said, his eyes going wide and innocent. “The plain truth is that every medical man in Ballston Spa examined Daniel Hatch during his illness, and could find no explanation for his condition.”
“Then say that,” Judge Brown replied. “Half-truths are not better than lies, sir. Continue with your questions.”
Mr. Picton turned to Clara once more, letting his voice go soft again. “And what did you think that your mama meant, when she said that your dada told her that God wanted you to be with Him?”
Clara’s left shoulder shrugged again. “I didn’t know. I thought she meant that—that someday—but…”
Nodding, Mr. Picton said, “But that wasn’t what she meant, was it?”
Clara shook her head, this time hard enough to move the braid; and as the scar on the back of her neck became visible, I noted that one or two of the jurors caught sight of it, and silently pointed it out to the others. “She opened her bag,” Clara said. “And she took out dada’s gun.”
“Dada’s gun?” Mr. Picton asked. “How did you know it was your dada’s gun?”
“He kept it under his pillow,” Clara answered, “and he showed it to me once. He told me never to touch it, unless somebody bad was in the house. Somebody who was stealing, or … Mama left it there after he died.”
The girl’s voice trailed off, and her face began to get frightened: frightened in a way what even looking to the Doctor didn’t seem to help. Knowing that he’d reached a very dangerous point, Mr. Picton moved in closer to ask, “What happened then, Clara?”
“Mama, she—” Clara’s head began to shiver a little, and the left side of her body followed. Wrapping her good arm around herself, she worked hard to go on: “Mama came up into the wagon. She woke up Matthew and told me to give Tommy to him. So I did. Then she looked at me again. She told me it was time to