Trouble Page 6

  "The other matter?" said Henry's father.

  Henry's mother coughed quietly.

  "The matter of the pretrial hearing for Chay Chouan," said Mr. Churchill.

  "Oh," said Mr. Smith. "Of course."

  "You understand that you all absolutely must attend the pretrial hearing," he said.

  "Is it absolutely necessary that all of us attend?" said Mr. Smith.

  Mr. Churchill nodded like God. "I would go so far as to call it mandatory," he said.

  "Louisa will never come," said Henry.

  "Then Louisa must prepare herself, because she must come," said Mr. Churchill.

  "Louisa hardly comes downstairs anymore," said Henry. He didn't say that his father never went outside the house anymore, either.

  Mr. Churchill shook his head. "The judge needs to see a family that has been forever changed by an egregious incident," he said. "Everyone must be there."

  "Not 'forever,'" said Henry's mother. "Franklin is going to get well."

  Mr. Churchill inclined his head to acknowledge this, but Henry could see that he didn't believe at all that Franklin was going to get well.

  Henry wanted to smack his jowled face.

  "Nevertheless," Mr. Churchill repeated, "you all must be at the hearing. Louisa as well."

  So a week and a half later, Henry's parents and Louisa got into the BMW. Inside the carriage house, a yowling Black Dog was tied to the tool shelves. Henry figured the rope would keep her busy long enough for him to lug three bags of dry cement against the carriage house doors, then for him to scramble into the car, and then for the car to get out to the road. By that time, Black Dog would be at the carriage house doors, planning her escape. They left the service door to the house unlocked, since if Black Dog didn't get in that way, she would try to find another, more expensive, way in—maybe through the armorial windows, for example.

  They drove out beyond the back gardens—yowl, yowl, yowl behind them—and along the driveway and past the cove, and Henry looked down on the bones of the ship, streaky with salt as they dried in the new sunlight. Members of the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Historical Society had been at work on it, and now most of the backbone of the ship was naked and exposed, along with half a dozen orange barrel hoops, five cutlasses (whose placements were marked but which Dr. Cavendish had taken with him because Mr. Smith had let him—which was not Henry's recommendation), the long barrels of two small cannon, and the stout board along the backbone, whose chains and clasps were now cleaned of their seaweed coverings.

  Henry put his hand up to his neck, and shivered.

  He missed his kayak. He wished he were heading out in it now, on this green late-April morning, the waves swishing gently against the shore, each one bringing back a few grains of the sand that had been sucked away. He wished he could feel the waves rolling beneath him—the waves and the kayak and his body, one thing.

  But instead, he was in the silent car, dressed as if for a Father Brewood sermon, driving in midday traffic, heading for the Manchester courthouse and Chay Chouan's pretrial hearing. His father, in the front passenger seat, was staring blankly out the window. Louisa, next to Henry, was pressed against the seat and already crying silently.

  He wished he was in his kayak.

  ***

  Mr. Churchill met them in the courthouse lobby and escorted them to a paneled waiting room that had only a single high window in it. He led Henry's parents in, and asked Henry and Louisa to wait outside for just a few minutes. He closed the door.

  Louisa sat down on a bench in the hall, and Henry sat next to her. She was still silently crying—Henry figured that Mr. Churchill would be pleased at the effect. He reached over to take her hand, but she moved abruptly away from him and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Henry looked at her huddled and tight shape. His heart almost stopped. He almost began to weep himself. But instead, he leaned over to her. "Do you remember watching The Wizard of Oz?" he said.

  Louisa turned and looked at him.

  "Whenever the Wicked Witch came, I'd hold your hand, and we'd duck under the blankets we'd rigged up between two couches. Remember? And we'd wait until the music changed. And when it did, that meant Dorothy and Toto were back on the Yellow Brick Road again. And we'd come out from the blanket fort."

  Louisa nodded, even almost smiled. "And then we'd say—"

  "Oz," Henry finished.

  "Oz," Louisa said. "Because everything was okay for now."

  "Even though we knew we'd go under the blanket when the Wicked Witch showed up again."

  "But we could breathe until that happened," Louisa said.

  Henry held his hand out. Louisa looked down and took it. "Tell me when we can say 'Oz,'" she said.

  "I'll let you know." And they leaned in toward each other.

  This was how Mr. Churchill found them, and he was clearly disappointed—Louisa was not crying. He led them both into the small waiting room, and they sat down across from their parents at a smooth table. "Now," said Mr. Churchill, "to what all of you are required to do." He folded his hands together. "This is a pretrial hearing. That means the judge will be deciding whether there is sufficient evidence to recommend that Chay Chouan be bound over for trial on charges of aggravated assault and leaving the scene of an accident resulting in serious bodily injury. The hearing will probably be brief, since neither party is contesting the facts. It is still important, however, that you as a family present yourselves to the judge in a way that will incline him toward the prosecutor's position. So ..."

  Mr. Churchill described how the Smiths ought to present themselves in a way that would incline the judge toward the prosecutor's position. They would be, he said, the Grieving Family.

  By the end, Henry wanted to hit his jowled face again.

  Mr. Churchill looked at his watch. "Questions? No? Then I suggest we all go in."

  And so they did.

  The courtroom smelled a little like St. Anne's Episcopal Church without the scent of the beeswax candles. The oiled wood, the slightly worn cushions, the smell of reverence and formality everywhere. Henry settled into his seat as if it were a Sunday morning. Except for one of the Blythbury-by-the-Sea policemen, the reporter from the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle, Dr. Giles—who nodded at them—and Dr. Sheringham—principal of Longfellow Prep and father of Brandon Sheringham, perfect coxswain, and clearly the genetic source of his nose—the courtroom was mostly empty. Again, like St. Anne's.

  Then the Chouans came in, walking behind their lawyer.

  They sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom. Mrs. Chouan was a tiny woman, and she walked like a wary bird, a short bit at a time, looking down at the floor as if she could pretend that nothing else was around. Mr. Chouan was small, too, but with forearms like posts—which anyone could see because they stuck far out of a jacket that didn't fit him. He walked behind Mrs. Chouan; as he came in, the sight of the policeman made him take his wife's arm.

  The Chouans did not look at the Smiths. Henry could not take his eyes away from them.

  The Chouans sat—still warily—and then one of the doors at the front of the courtroom opened, and Mrs. Chouan gave a short cry that she stifled into her husband's shoulder. Chay Chouan came into the room with the bailiff and a policeman behind him. He was dressed in an awful orange jumpsuit that was too big for him. His head was down. His hands were manacled.

  Henry looked at Louisa, who was about to start bawling out loud. Mr. Churchill will be so pleased, he thought.

  Chay Chouan's lawyer left his parents and went to Chay. He walked with him to the defendant's table and they sat down together. Chay held out his hands, and the policeman unlocked the manacles and then went back to the door and stood at attention, one hand on a hefty revolver at his side, ready, Henry figured, for anything desperate. The prosecutor came in, nodded to the Smiths, and spoke briefly with Mr. Churchill. Then he sat and arranged papers around his table.

  Chay Chouan rubbed at his wrists.

  It looked, H
enry thought, like the "Prologue"! People introducing themselves around the court, like Chaucer announcing that he's going to tell the condition of each one of the pilgrims "er that I ferther in this tale pace"—and not giving away that he's going to take a few hundred lines to do it. Except here, Henry was himself one of the pilgrims.

  And everything mattered.

  When the prosecutor finished arranging his papers, everyone was still. For the next five minutes—a little longer than it once would have taken Franklin to run a mile—no one moved. No one seemed to breathe. Even Louisa was still. It was as if they were in a cruel lock, Henry thought.

  So when the judge finally came in—"All rise," called the bailiff—Henry was relieved. The Prologue was over. He could be the Grieving Brother pilgrim—and then get out of there.

  "This is the pretrial hearing for the People versus Chay Chouan, on the charges of aggravated assault and leaving the scene of an accident," announced the judge. "Mr. Quincy, please call your first witness."

  And he did. The Blythbury-by-the-Sea policeman walked to the witness stand, raised his hand, took his oath, sat, and told what everyone in the courtroom already knew. How he had come upon Chay Chouan running down the road and waving his arms to get his attention. How Chay Chouan appeared very excited. How he had said that there had been an accident, that he had fallen asleep at the wheel of his pickup, that he had hit someone running on the side of the road. How he had taken Chay Chouan into his patrol car and how they had driven back to the scene of the accident and found Franklin Smith alone and unconscious. How he had called an ambulance and, while they were waiting, worked with the defendant to put pressure on the bleeding. How the ambulance arrived within six minutes, and following its departure, how he had read Chay Chouan his rights and then placed him under arrest based upon his admission that he had struck the victim. How he had taken the defendant to the Blythbury-by-the-Sea police station, where he had called his family. How the next morning, in the presence of his lawyer, Chay Chouan had made a formal statement, acknowledging the fact that he had struck the victim when he fell asleep while driving alone, back to his family's home in Merton.

  "Do you have a transcript of the statement made by Mr. Chouan?" asked the judge.

  The policeman took the transcript out of a manila folder.

  "Give it to the bailiff, please. Mr. Chouan, I'd like you to look at this transcript to be sure that it is faithful to the statements that you gave that morning. If it is, then I would ask that both you and Mr. Giaconda sign and date it."

  The bailiff handed the statement to Chay, who set it down on the table. He and his lawyer read it over slowly. Chay nodded. He took the pen that Mr. Giaconda handed him and signed the transcript. Mr. Giaconda signed as well. The bailiff took the statement and handed it to the judge.

  "Is there anything else from this witness?" asked the judge.

  "No, your honor."

  "Then, Mr. Giaconda, your witness."

  Mr. Giaconda rose—a little. He was short, but he walked as though he dared anyone to tell him so. He stood next to the policeman on the witness stand, facing Chay.

  "Are you aware of any other police record for Chay Chouan?"

  "No."

  "Any tickets?"

  "No."

  "Speeding tickets? Parking tickets?"

  "No."

  "Tickets for broken taillights?"

  "No."

  "So, before this accident, Chay Chouan had no encounters with any law enforcement officers of the Commonwealth."

  "None that I am aware of."

  "In your police report, you wrote that when you arrived on the accident scene, there was a bandage on Franklin Smith's arm. What was that bandage made from?"

  "It was a shirt."

  "Was Chay Chouan wearing a shirt on the night he found you?"

  "No."

  "May we assume that Chay Chouan tried to bandage the wound at the scene?"

  "That is what I stated in my report."

  "Yes, you did. So Chay Chouan bandaged the wound and then went to find help, finally flagging you down and driving back to the scene with you. Officer, would you say that the charge of fleeing the scene of an accident is an appropriate charge for these actions?"

  "Objection," said Mr. Quincy. "Calls for legal opinion."

  "I'll restate. In general, is it the case that a person charged with fleeing the scene of an accident is trying to avoid complicity in that accident?"

  "Yes, in general."

  "Were the actions of Mr. Chouan on that night consistent with the actions of someone trying to avoid complicity in an accident?"

  "Not to my mind, no."

  "You testified that Chay Chouan was arrested after he admitted that he had struck the victim. Let us be clear on this point: Did that admission come before or after you had read him his Miranda rights?"

  "He blurted it out when he first came up."

  "So the answer to my question is, Before you read him his Miranda rights."

  "Objection," said Mr. Quincy. "The witness is capable of answering the questions without Mr. Gianconda's helpful editing."

  "I'll repeat the question without editing. Before or after?"

  "Before."

  "Thank you." Mr. Gianconda sat down.

  The prosecutor called Dr. Giles next, but Henry could tell by looking at the judge that things had already been decided. All he needed was enough to go to trial, and the policeman had already given enough. But it seemed as if the court wanted to "ferther in this tale pace."

  Dr. Giles spoke about the amputation of the mangled left arm below the shoulder, the damage to the rib cage, the collapse of one lung, and the trauma to Franklin Smith's brain, its indeterminate activity. When Mr. Quincy asked if the brain had been permanently impaired, the doctor said that it was his medical opinion that it might be irreversibly impaired, but he reminded the court that, as yet, the scans were still indeterminate. When the prosecutor asked if Franklin Smith's life was in danger, the doctor nodded.

  "Can you give the court a percentage, Doctor, on his chances for a full recovery?"

  Henry felt the Grieving Mother pilgrim stiffen beside him.

  "Typically, patients who have experienced the kind of trauma that Franklin Smith has experienced do not survive twenty-four hours. That already makes this case remarkable. And I understand that Mr. Smith was an exceptional athlete. That, too, works in his favor. I would say that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded."

  "Thank you," said the prosecutor.

  "Are there any questions for the defense?" asked the judge.

  Mr. Giaconda rose again.

  "Doctor, you said that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded. What does 'very guarded' mean?"

  "It means that we cannot be sure that a full recovery is likely."

  "Is 'possible' a word you could use?"

  Dr. Giles considered this. "Under certain circumstances, it might be a word I could use. I have seen the unlikely happen."

  "Thank you, Doctor," said Mr. Giaconda.

  Dr. Giles walked back to his seat.

  Unlikely, thought Henry. Seen the unlikely happen. He doesn't think that Franklin is going to make it. He thinks Franklin is going to die but he doesn't want to say so.

  And for the first time—for the first time really—Henry wondered if it might be so.

  It was as sweet as he had imagined. Just riding together. Just talking. Laughing, even. It was so easy, with the sky dark. No moon. No stars. Just talking.

  He had never believed this would happen. She was from Blythbury. It couldn't happen.

  But it had. And he was telling her things about himself he had never told anyone. That he loved Keats. That he wrote poetry himself. He told her that he wrote poetry.

  And when he had told her, she touched his arm, and he knew that she was smiling.

  Maybe this is what she had hoped for, too. Hope rose in him like a singing, fluting bird.

  And then, the runner on the side of the
road. Eyes locking and eyes turning and eyes coming back again. Hard.

  A scream, another, and blood. How could there be so much blood? And the arm! Where had it gone? The arm!

  Go home! Go home now! Go! Now!

  Don't see this.

  And then, alone, the smell of the blood.

  The smell brought it all back. How had he forgotten that smell? How it rose up to him from the sunlit fields—from what was lying in the fields. His tiny mother trying to hide his eyes. But she could do nothing about the smell, or the heated buzzing of the gathering flies.

  Desperately wrapping the stump, and then, and then, the other sound he remembered—or was it the sound he was hearing now? Moans.

  6

  DR. SHERINGHAM TOOK THE STAND. He sat like a principal, crossing his legs and perching his folded hands on his upper knee. He reached down to adjust his pant cuffs over his black socks. He reached up to adjust his yellow-and-blue tie. Then he waited for Mr. Quincy.

  "Dr. Sheringham, you are the principal of the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School in Blythbury-by-the-Sea."

  "Yes, I am," said Dr. Sheringham.

  "You are familiar with both Franklin Smith and Chay Chouan?"

  "The administration and faculty of Longfellow Preparatory make it a point to be familiar with all of our students."

  "Dr. Sheringham, please tell the court the circumstances of Chay Chouan's enrollment."

  "Chay Chouan and his parents met with me. They explained that they were hoping for an education superior to what they were finding in their local public school. I described our curriculum to them, as well as the many college and university connections that Longfellow could offer. They seemed very pleased. Chay Chouan matriculated the following fall term as a sophomore."

  "Were there any difficulties when he came to your school?"