Judgement

Something totally different from my normal posts

I consider myself a moderately competent writer but have always had trouble with fiction. From time to time, I take a run at it but am almost never satisfied.

But I felt a change of pace might be good on this Substack site. Here’s a short story for you. It’s set in some unidentified mid-west American town in the 1880s. The Judge Parker referred to in the story was Isaac C. Parker, sole United States District Judge for the Western District of Arkansas in Fort Smith. Judge Parker sentenced 160 people to be hanged. Because of a weird quirk in jurisdiction, there was no means of appeal from his court. Judge Parker was indeed “the Hanging Judge.”

Mrs. Parker was suspicious of Mr. and Mrs. Smith from the day they moved into the old Harris place next door. It was nothing she could put her finger on. To Mrs. Parker, this was a challenge.

On the face of it, the Smiths seemed unexceptional.

Mr. Smith was in his early forties. He worked as a mechanic at the railway repair shop. Mrs. Parker soon learned that he was a reliable worker who turned the trick of being both sociable and reclusive. He was one of the few men in the shop who never patronized the adjoining saloon. Mr. Smith was never seen to take a drink, but at the same time, neither did he ever set foot in a church. In Mrs. Parker’s experience, this was an unusual combination. Church-going drinkers were not uncommon (Mr. Parker was one), but church avoiding teetotalers were not.

Mrs. Smith was about a dozen years younger than her husband. She kept a neat house and attended the First Baptist Church every Sunday where she was attentive to the sermons but not conspicuously devout. Mrs. Smith’s response to the collection plate reflected the same level of religious commitment – giving enough to be respectable but not enough to be enthusiastic. Like her husband, Mrs. Smith was simultaneously sociable but reclusive. She would greet people on the street and chat with neighbors over the fence, but she neither visited nor encouraged visitation. The couple had no children in their home and never made mention of any grown children. No relatives ever came to visit and the Smiths never mentioned where they were from.

Mr. Parker owned the general store in the town. He told his wife that the Smith’s purchases were modest, mundane and respectable. Mr. Harris at the Post Office assured Mrs. Parker that the Smith’s received no mail except for the Ladies Home Journal and the Saturday Evening Post.

Mrs. Parker’s was convinced the Smiths were hiding something. Her mission was to get at the truth. Her early efforts to build an investigative relationship fell flat. Mrs. Smith always seemed to have a plausible excuse when Mrs. Parker invited her over for tea and she was disturbingly oblivious to hints that she should extend an invitation to Mrs. Parker. A year went by before Mrs. Parker so much as saw the inside of the Smith’s house. When she did, there was really nothing to see. It was completely unexceptional. This, of course, confirmed Mrs. Parker’s belief that there was a secret to uncover. Nobody but the extraordinary could appear so ordinary.

The big break came when Mrs. Parker broke her ankle. Her resulting immobilization created the perfect opportunity to build a relationship. Mrs. Parker could justifiably ask Mrs. Smith for small acts of assistance, which Mrs. Smith was obligated to provide. In return, Mrs. Parker could ask Mrs. Smith in for tea. Given that these invitations were couched in terms of appreciation for favors already done, the norms of reciprocity meant Mrs. Smith could not refuse. Slowly, painstakingly, Mrs. Parker transformed the opening into a morning ritual of tea and cookies every day that their husbands were at work. Mrs. Parker was an experienced inquisitor and understood that overcoming her neighbor’s reticence would not be easy. So, Mrs. Parker played the long game. For two years, she did not probe or question. She suppressed her natural inclination to gossip about other neighbors or members of the Baptist congregation.

This showed the intensity of Mrs. Parker’s desire to learn. For two long, hard years she pretended to be someone she most emphatically was not – someone uninterested in either learning or transmitting the secrets of others. In this, Mrs. Parker was assisted by Mrs. Smith’s own reticence. If she had gotten to know other women in the town better, Mrs. Smith would have been warned.

In any event, Mrs. Parker’s strategy worked.

Mrs. Parker had vowed to wait two full years after establishing intimate social contact with Mrs. Smith before beginning an interrogation. She drew on unimaged reservoirs of self-control to fulfil her vow, but fulfil it she did.

On the second anniversary of the fortuitus broken ankle, Mrs. Parker dropped by her neighbor’s house for tea. After they were settled at the kitchen table, Mrs. Parker noted the anniversary and said it seemed like the accident had just happened yesterday. She was encouraged when Mrs. Smith agreed. Mrs. Parker expressed gratitude for having such a kind and helpful neighbor. She sensed the time was right. Besides, she could no longer restrain her curiosity.

“I’ve noticed that Mr. Smith is not a drinking man, even though he is not a churchgoer,” Mrs. Parker began before hastily adding, “I find his temperance very commendable.”

Then came the question. “I have wondered how he has the will to avoid the temptations of the demon rum without the support of regular worship. I know it is hard for a man. Even my own dear husband succumbs on Saturday nights even though he is in church every Sunday.”

Mrs. Smith replied, “Mr. Smith took the pledge at my request before we were married. He has never broken it.”

“Why did you ask him to take the pledge?” Mrs. Parker’s well-honed interrogation skills began to kick in. “Did he have a problem with drink, or was it just that you were always committed to temperance?”

There was a long silence.

Mrs. Smith got up and closed the curtains. She bolted the door. Then she returned to the table and looked a long time at her neighbor before speaking.

“I’ve never told this story to anyone. I thought I never would,” Mrs. Smith began. “But you’ve always been the soul of discretion and understanding. As you commented earlier, it’s been two years since we’ve been friends and I’ve never heard you gossip about anyone.”

In an exercise of supreme will, Mrs. Parker kept her face still and fought down the urge to give assurances of trustworthiness. Instead, she went for humility, saying “I try, my dear. As an imperfect servant of the lord, I try live by the words expressed in the Gospel according to Matthew, chapter 7, verse 1.”

It was the right answer. Mrs. Smith murmured, “Judge not that you not be judged.”

There was another silence. Mrs. Parker waited for her neighbor to speak.

“You must understand the trials that God placed before me. I never met my father. Oh no – not what you might think. He and my mother were married. I had two older brothers and a sister. My father signed up for the South before he even knew my mother was with child again. My father served in General Forney’s division at Vicksburg. I am told he died honorably.”

Mrs. Parker murmured appropriate sympathies.

“My oldest brother died in an accident. Measles took my sister. My mother and brother died of cholera when I was twelve. I was all alone in Fort Smith.” Mrs. Smith fell silent again, lost in memory. “It is one of the oddities of life that I gained through marriage the same name as the site of my greatest despair.”

Mrs. Parker nodded encouragingly.

“I think I would have died myself, but for Miss Laura. She took me in. At first, I just worked cleaning and scrubbing but after I reached the bloom of womanhood, I began to work in the business of the establishment.”

Mrs. Smith stopped again and looked searchingly at Mrs. Parker. The older woman nodded understandingly and said, “it is because of tribulations such as this that Christ spoke against judgement.”

Mrs. Smith seemed reassured.

“I worked there for some time, if you can call it work. One night, I entertained a man who had too much to drink. Well, you know what Shakespeare said about how drink affects both desire and performance. He blamed me rather than the whiskey.”

Mrs. Parker was both shocked and elated at this disclosure. It was far better than she had ever expected, but she understood silence was the best strategy.

“It was all very unpleasant,” Mrs. Smith said. “After I got out of the room, I went outside to compose myself. There was a bench on the porch. Sitting at the bench was a man. He had a sketchbook and was drawing. I was curious, so I sat beside him and looked at what he was drawing. It was a beautiful, detailed drawing of a woman. I recognized her. She was one of my – well, colleagues – in the house.”

“I asked the man, ‘who is that woman and why are you sitting here drawing her?’”

“He replied, ‘We were engaged to be married. But I drank. I was drunk and insensible on what was supposed to be our wedding day. I never arrived. I was drunk for a few months. By the time I sobered up, she was gone. Her reputation in our county had been ruined. By me. She fled to escape the shame. I began to search for her and have been told that she had fallen into very hard times and was working in brothels. So, I am going from town to town, brothel to brothel, searching for her. I want to ask for forgiveness and ask her to marry me.”

“I asked the man, ‘do you still want to marry her even though she has been working in a brothel? How can you forgive her for that?’”

“The man said, ‘I cannot judge her since it was my weakness and sin that were the cause of her misfortune. It is me who must ask for forgiveness. I can only pray that she will grant it.’”

“Then I asked, ‘why are you drawing the picture?’”

“He said, ‘I do not have a photograph. I have a picture of her in my mind. Before I go into a brothel, I draw her to ensure that I remember what she looks like.’”

Mrs. Parker was genuinely moved. She said, “That is an amazing story and an amazing man. Did he actually marry the girl?”

Mrs. Smith shook her head.

“I was just about to tell him that his search was about to end but we were interrupted by a terrible cry of agony from the house. We both jumped up. We saw a man jump out of a window and run away. We ran inside.”

The two women were silent for a moment before Mrs. Smith continued.

“The man’s search had indeed ended. His girl was dead. She had been stabbed.”

Mrs. Parker gasped.

“It was even more horrible for me. I realized the man who stabbed her was the one I’d been with earlier. I think he still had the desire, but still did not have the performance. So, he tried again with another girl. I had received a few cuffs from him. With her, the second time, well… he stabbed her four times. Then he fled.”

Mrs. Parker’s mind reeled. Then she put the pieces together and gasped, “so, you married the man drawing the picture on the porch. That’s why he does not drink – he repents. And that’s why he does not go to church – he has committed a mortal sin. You are the substitute for his first love.”

Mrs. Smith shook her head and replied, “No. Judge Parker hanged that poor man. I now know you are not related to that terrible, vengeful judge, but when we first moved here, I was not sure. That’s why I was so stand-offish. It was a long time before I could trust someone named Parker.”

“A Marshal learned of the man’s search for his betrothed and saw all the pictures he had drawn. Judge Parker decided that the man had hunted his fiancé down and killed her like a dog. The trial lasted three hours and the man was hanged the next week. Over 5,000 people gathered to watch that poor man die. On the gallows, he asked for forgiveness. Everyone thought it was because he killed the girl. There were only two in the crowd who knew otherwise.”

“But you were with him when she was killed. You saw the real killer run away. Did you just remain silent and let an innocent man die?”

Mrs. Smith again shook her head. “No, of course I spoke up. But remember. I was a woman who worked in a brothel. Judge Parker said I could not be trusted as a witness. I was not even allowed to testify in court. I protested and protested, but Judge Parker threatened to lock me up so I finally fell silent.”

This was almost too much for Mrs. Parker to process. She sat silent for a minute and then asked, “but if the man got hanged, who did you marry? How does this story fit in?”

Mrs. Smith softly smiled.

“I was in the crowd at the hanging. I met the killer. We recognized each other. Since we were the only ones who knew an innocent man was being hanged, we talked. The killer was not a bad man – just a man who had done a terrible thing when drunk. We agreed that we both were sinners who should not judge the other. We got married and moved here, to a place where nobody would recognize me or know my past.”

Mrs. Parker was speechless, so Mrs. Smith added, “but I did insist that he take the pledge before the wedding.”