Chapter 6 - THE HEARING
The courthouse stood in Fort Benton.
Two stories.
Red brick.
Too important-looking for a building heated by one smoky stove.
Martha had never been inside a courtroom.
Silas had.
That frightened her.
He had hired a lawyer from Helena.
Mr. Caldwell.
Smooth coat.
Smooth hair.
Smooth lies.
Martha’s attorney was Clara’s cousin, Samuel Avery.
Thirty-one.
Recently returned from law studies in St. Louis.
His office was above a saddle shop.
He looked twelve.
Martha asked if he was old enough to shave.
He said occasionally.
That made Grace like him.
The hearing began at ten.
Silas sat across the room.
Clean shirt.
Bruises gone from his knuckles.
Hair trimmed.
If someone had not seen Silver Creek, he looked respectable.
That had always been one of his strengths.
He could become the man people preferred believing.
Judge Whitcomb entered.
Everyone stood.
Martha’s hands were ice.
Jonas sat behind her.
Not beside her.
Samuel had explained appearances mattered.
Silas was already alleging adultery.
Jonas agreed immediately.
That hurt Martha strangely.
Not because she wanted scandal.
Because she wanted him nearer.
She did not say it.
Caldwell began.
“Mr. Holloway seeks only restoration of his daughters to their lawful home.”
Martha felt sick.
Lawful home.
As if fear became safe when legal.
Silas testified first.
He cried.
Actually cried.
Martha stared.
“I love my wife.”
He wiped his eyes.
“She has been unwell since Hannah’s birth.”
Martha’s stomach dropped.
There it was.
He was going to call her mad.
“She became melancholy.”
“Unpredictable.”
“Sometimes violent.”
Grace made a noise behind her.
Samuel touched Martha’s sleeve.
Stay still.
Silas continued.
“She resented giving me daughters.”
Martha almost stood.
Samuel whispered, “Let him lie.”
“How?”
“Because lies get heavier the longer men carry them.”
She stayed seated.
Silas claimed Martha threw dishes.
Hit him.
Neglected the girls.
Developed an inappropriate attachment to Jonas.
Then Caldwell asked:
“Did you strike your wife in Silver Creek?”
Silas lowered his head.
“I restrained her.”
Martha’s hands curled.
“She was hysterical.”
Caldwell nodded solemnly.
“And injuries?”
“She fell.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Samuel smiled faintly.
Martha understood.
Half of Silver Creek had seen.
Silas was lying against witnesses.
Samuel stood.
“Mr. Holloway, how many people witnessed your wife fall?”
Silas looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Twenty?”
“Maybe.”
“Thirty?”
“I wasn’t counting.”
“Did Sheriff Pike see?”
“Yes.”
“Doctor Mercer?”
“I suppose.”
“Mr. Avery?”
Silas looked toward Clara’s husband.
“Yes.”
“Did all three of your daughters see?”
Silence.
“Mr. Holloway?”
“Yes.”
Samuel walked slowly.
“Your testimony is that thirty people misunderstood you repeatedly striking a woman lying in the street?”
Caldwell objected.
Judge Whitcomb overruled.
Silas’s face reddened.
“She provoked me.”
There.
The courtroom shifted.
Samuel stopped.
“Provoked you into what?”
Silas realized.
Too late.
“Anger.”
“What did you do with that anger?”
“I told you, I restrained her.”
“With your fist?”
Caldwell objected again.
The judge frowned.
“Answer carefully, Mr. Holloway.”
Silas looked at Martha.
Hatred flashed.
Real.
For one second the respectable man disappeared.
Samuel saw it.
“So did Martha.”
Then witnesses came.
Doctor Mercer.
Sheriff Pike.
Mr. Avery.
Clara.
Widow Collins.
Each story built the same house.
Broken wrist.
Bruises.
Fear.
Threats.
Grace’s winter night outside.
When Grace testified privately, Martha cried in the hallway.
Jonas stood near the window.
She covered her face.
“I didn’t know Ruth was awake.”
“You couldn’t know everything.”
“I should have protected them.”
Jonas looked at her.
“You did.”
“No.”
“You survived long enough to get them out.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“For Grace, maybe ask Grace.”
Martha stared.
“She should hate me.”
“Does she?”
“No.”
“Then don’t put feelings in her mouth because they punish you.”
That sounded annoyingly wise.
Martha wiped her face.
“You’re irritating.”
“So I’ve heard.”
When Martha testified, the courtroom became silent.
Caldwell tried to shame her.
“Mrs. Holloway, you have resided for several weeks in the home of an unmarried man?”
“Yes.”
“Under his roof?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeping there?”
“Yes.”
Silas smiled.
Caldwell continued.
“And Mr. Webb sleeps where?”
“The barn.”
“Every night?”
“Yes.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I lock the door.”
That answer stopped him.
“What?”
Martha reached beneath her collar.
Removed the brass key.
Held it up.
“He gave me a lock.”
The judge leaned forward.
Martha continued.
“One key.”
Her voice steadied.
“He does not have another.”
Caldwell frowned.
“Are you suggesting this proves virtue?”
“No.”
She looked directly at the judge.
“I’m saying the first night I arrived at Jonas Webb’s ranch, he gave me something my husband never did.”
Silence.
“A door I could close.”
Her hand tightened around the key.
“And certainty that no man would enter unless I allowed it.”
Nobody moved.
Martha looked at Silas.
“For twelve years, my husband called food love.”
“Money love.”
“Fear love.”
“Obedience love.”
Her eyes filled.
“I believed him because nobody told me otherwise.”
She looked toward Jonas.
Then away.
“I know otherwise now.”
Caldwell tried to recover.
“You are romantically attached to Mr. Webb.”
Martha stopped.
The truthful answer frightened her.
“I don’t know what I am.”
Silas laughed.
The judge struck the desk.
Martha continued.
“I know I trust him.”
Caldwell smiled.
“Intimately?”
“No.”
“Emotionally?”
“Yes.”
“More than your husband?”
Martha looked at Silas.
“Yes.”
Caldwell seemed pleased.
Martha continued before he could speak.
“But that is because Jonas Webb has never hit me.”
The courtroom became silent again.
“Never threatened my daughters.”
“Never told me I owed him for food.”
“Never demanded I smile when I was afraid.”
Her voice broke.
“If that makes me immoral, then I do not understand morality.”
Judge Whitcomb looked down.
Caldwell sat.
The ruling came after lunch.
Temporary custody awarded to Martha.
Silas prohibited from approaching the girls without court supervision.
A further hearing would determine permanent custody and Martha’s petition for dissolution on grounds of cruelty.
Martha heard only:
The girls stay with you.
She closed her eyes.
Grace cried.
Ruth hugged her.
Hannah asked whether that meant they could go home.
Martha looked at Jonas.
Home.
The Webb ranch?
Temporary.
Maybe.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“We can go home.”
Outside the courthouse, Silas waited near the horses.
He was not supposed to approach.
He did anyway.
“You think you won?”
Jonas moved.
Sheriff Pike stopped him gently.
“I’ve got this.”
Silas pointed at Martha.
“You ruined my name.”
Martha looked at him.
“No.”
“People whisper when I walk past.”
“You did that.”
“You turned my daughters against me.”
“No.”
“You took my house.”
Martha almost laughed.
“I left your house.”
His face twisted.
“Same thing.”
There.
Ownership again.
Always.
Martha stepped closer.
Not too close.
Enough.
“You keep thinking everything I do is something done to you.”
Silas stared.
“It isn’t.”
She looked at the girls.
“I am done living inside your story.”
Silas’s jaw tightened.
“You’ll come back.”
“No.”
“You need a man.”
Martha looked toward Jonas.
Then back.
“I needed a lock.”
Silas’s face hardened.
Martha smiled faintly.
“I have one.”
They rode home.
That night, snow began falling.
Jonas built the fire.
Grace read aloud.
Ruth sewed.
Hannah fell asleep with her head on Martha’s lap.
Peace.
Fragile.
Almost unfamiliar.
Then a rider arrived near midnight.
Sheriff Pike.
He looked grim.
Jonas opened the door only after Martha unlocked it.
Pike removed his hat.
“Silas is gone.”
Martha froze.
“Gone where?”
“His house is empty.”
Jonas’s eyes narrowed.
Pike continued.
“He took two rifles.”
Martha felt the old fear return.
“And a box of dynamite from the old quarry storehouse.”
Grace went pale.
Jonas looked toward the barn.
Pike finished:
“We found a note.”
He handed it over.
Martha read.
IF I CANNOT HAVE MY FAMILY, WEBB WILL HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO HIDE THEM IN.
Martha looked toward her daughters.
Then toward the dark ranch beyond the windows.
Silas had lost in court.
May you like
Now he wanted fire.
And this time he planned to burn more than hay.
