The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [180]
“I was hopin you could tell me that one,” the judge said. “I was hopin maybe you’d heard if George is made up his mind yit.”
“There are rumors he won’t run,” Viridis said. “Just rumors.”
“Do Little Rock folks expect him to?”
Even if she could answer that, why should she? She owed no favors, of information or anything else, to this man. She shrugged her shoulders. “He probably won’t run,” she declared, and realized that she was encouraging the judge, for some motive she didn’t yet understand herself.
“Is that right? Wal, I suspicioned it myself, although George hasn’t told me. You’d think he’d tell me. We’re real good friends from way back. You’d think that I’d be the first person he’d tell when he makes up his mind, on account of several fellers have told me that I’d be first choice to step in and take his place if he didn’t run.” Judge Villines rambled on, talking aloud to himself more than to the two ladies. The two ladies smiled at each other. Neither of them could guess the real motive of the man’s visit, and they waited patiently for him to reveal it. The sun was on its way down. Judge Villines squinted at it as it sank behind the mountain that walled in Stay More on the west.
Finally he did spit. The old woman knew, as she would later explain to Viridis, that ordinarily a man spits only in the presence of his fellow men; when a man spits in the presence of women, with no other man present, it can mean only one thing: he is nervous about having something important to say. He said it: “No, the governor, ole George, he aint said a word to me about whether he plans to run or not. He did say one thing, though. He said, and I quote him, that I better take care of this Nail Chism business. It could hurt what chance I’ve got to be a candidate for the nomination for governor. It’s real bad news that Nail is runnin around loose. I shore do need to have a little talk with him.”
Viridis interrupted. “If you’re trying to get me to tell you where he’s hiding, I’m afraid I don’t know anything more about that than you do.”
The judge studied her to determine if she was telling the truth. “I jist want to talk to him,” he said. “I don’t mean him ary bit of harm. In fact, if I can jist git myself nominated for governor, one of the first things I aim to do is give him a full pardon.” The women swapped skeptical glances. “All I want to do,” Judge Villines went on, “is talk to him and tell him that I aint been mixed up in no way whatsoever with those men that he thinks framed him.”
Viridis laughed. “You,” she said. “You tried and convicted him and sentenced him to the electric chair. You refused to recommend to Governor Hays a second trial. You refused to sign a petition with six thousand other residents of Newton County, who believe Nail is innocent.”
The judge held up his hands as if she were raining blows down on his head. “Whoa, lady!” he begged. “All I was doin was my duty as the court! The court makes mistakes! Don’t ye know? The court kin only listen to the evidence and listen to the jury, and that there jury of twelve honest men convicted Nail, not me, and I jist had to impose the sentence prescribed by the law and voted by that jury!”
“Did I hear you confess you made a mistake?” Viridis asked.
“I reckon you did! I reckon I did! Everbody makes mistakes, and I’m here to tell ye that if I had to do it all over again, I would’ve found some way the court could’ve let him off! That’s all I want to tell him! If you’ll jist tell me whar’s he’s at, I’ll crawl on my knees to him and tell him I’m sorry!”
The judge sounded as if he were about to break down. Viridis almost felt some sympathy for him. “You really believe that I know where he is?” she asked, and when he nodded, she said, “Well, let me tell you: if I knew where he was, that’s where I would be, right now, instead