A Dream of Daring Page 15

  “If you create more than twenty recipes, I’ll make you another hat—with forty pleats.” Solo stood on her toes, raised her arms, and placed the toque on his head. “You are now Chef Jerome.”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Solo.” Jerome bowed to her as if he had been knighted.

  From the moment she placed the toque on his head, Jerome’s nicknames for the girl vanished. She was no longer a squirrel, a tick, a she-beast, or the like. She was now Miss Solo.

  “There’s just one small matter left, Jerome.” Tom looked at his slave, who had grown a foot taller with his new hat. “The chef usually gets his hat and title after he’s cooked something worth eating. So when you get around to it, maybe you could make your way to the kitchen.”

  Jerome looked eagerly at the little cabin behind the house. It was the first sign of genuine interest that Tom had ever seen him display in anything.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Greenbriar courthouse stood across the street from the jail. Greek columns in front gave the white building stature, and azaleas blooming along the side gave it color. While the wall of pink flowers announced a new spring, a prisoner inside faced the darkest days of his life.

  A somber Tom Edmunton walked toward the entrance. Ahead, Rachel and Charlotte Barnwell lifted acres of crinoline to climb the front steps. Witnesses, reporters, and onlookers filled the courtroom that late March day for the beginning of the murder trial that had jolted the town, snaring two of its sons: their esteemed senator killed and one of their wealthiest planters accused.

  The courtroom was quiet and the mood solemn as an attendant assisted the town’s respected plantation mistress, and now its most recent widow, to a seat in the front row. Rachel slid onto the bench next to her mother. Tom sat behind them, looking on sympathetically. The unadorned walls of the room were as pale as the women’s faces.

  Two days of testimony followed.

  Prosecutor Will Drew was a tall, thin man in his forties with unusual, probing eyes on an otherwise average face, giving him both a forthrightness and simplicity that combined to inspire trust. He methodically presented the state’s case.

  The jury listened as the prosecutor developed his interpretation of how the crime occurred. He painted Cooper as a man driven by money and power, who saw a unique opportunity to amass a fortune through an unpatented new invention and so tried to steal the device; then when caught in the act, he committed murder to carry out his avaricious deed. The jury remained attentive as they heard the testimony of Tom, the sheriff, the coroner, and other witnesses.

  Defense attorney Sam Potter was a short, stocky man in his fifties with graying temples and a deep voice that suggested wisdom and authority. He endeavored to raise doubts about the prosecution’s case and to present Cooper’s account of the night’s events.

  Potter highlighted the fact that the murder weapon had not been found and made the point that for all anyone knew, it could be discovered at a location impossible for Cooper to have reached in the time available. The invention too had not been located, after it had been searched for in the radius of the murder site reachable by the defendant. If it was eventually located farther away, Potter noted, that would exonerate the accused, who not only was limited in the distance he could travel on the night of the crime but was also held in custody without bail thereafter.

  Potter questioned Nash, establishing that he knew the nature and location of the invention. Here was a man who had quarreled with the senator on the day of the crime and who wanted to court the senator’s daughter but wasn’t favored by Barnwell.

  Potter also questioned overseer Bret Markham, establishing that he was yet another man who had seen the invention at the Crossroads, a man who lived there and was on the property the night of the crime. This was a man who was found fully dressed in the middle of the night after the murder was committed.

  Prosecutor Drew countered by showing that both men saw the invention hours earlier and that there was no evidence that either of them was anywhere near it at the time of the crime.

  Potter pointed out that the inventor himself was on the premises on the night in question and at the murder site soon after the victim’s death. Tom arched his eyebrows at the prospect of becoming a suspect in the theft of his own property.

  Potter introduced witnesses to attest to the defendant’s character, then called Ted Cooper himself to testify. The defendant gave his own account of his actions and motives on that tragic night. He maintained that he had arrived on the scene only after Barnwell had already been killed. Cooper admitted that he had intended to steal the invention. “That device had to be destroyed, and I was going to do it,” he said unapologetically.

  His attorney stressed that the perpetrator had taken valuable time at the murder site to reattach the cover to the motor, something that never would have been done by someone intent on destroying the device but only by someone wanting to protect and profit from it. And that person, the defense claimed, could not be Cooper.

  “I’m a Southerner first.” Cooper leaned toward the jury as he fought for his life. “Whoever took that device is not of Southern mind or spirit, but is a traitor in our midst. By the inventor’s own words, his new machine will clear the fields of men. Think of it. What will happen if tractors work the fields in place of men? What will happen to our bondsmen? Why, of course, they’ll be emboldened.”

  Cooper seemed frightened by his own dire predictions.

  “They’ll want to acquire other skills and jobs. They’ll want to live away from our farms. They’ll want to be educated. Before you know it, they’ll want to do everything we do.” His voice rose, his fist hit the arm of his chair, and his body stiffened. “They’ll demand we set them free! And if we don’t, they’ll storm our towns and homes, riotous and uncontrollable, and outnumbering us eight to one. I tell you, there’ll be an insurrection!”

  A buzz shot through the crowd. The polarizing times and the gathering storm were on everyone’s mind, and remarks like Cooper’s discharged some of the sparks. The judge struck his gavel for order.

  “If the South knows its own son, it knows I would never want that invention to succeed. I would never covet that device, as the killer clearly did. As sure as I’m a Southerner, I’m innocent!”

  He stared at the jurors. The faces of those who held his life in their hands were solemn, alert, and unemotional.

  Will Drew cross-examined Cooper, forcing him to admit that he intended to take the invention, he left his room in the night to do so, he hitched a horse to haul the device away, he entered the place where the invention was kept, and he was discovered standing over the senator’s body with blood on his hands.

  The jury listened intently. After each side rested its case, the trial ended with closing arguments. The prosecutor presented his in simple terms.

  “This case is about a man who encountered a new invention, who learned it was not yet under patent protection, who recognized the potential worth of it, and who seized an opportunity to steal it in pursuit of riches. Driven by his own obsession for wealth, Mr. Cooper was tempted that night, and he crossed a line. When Senator Barnwell caught him in the midst of his vile act, he crossed another line. Once he slipped into the quicksand of evil, he could not extricate himself. He descended still deeper. This is why he plunged a knife into the chest of Wiley Barnwell!”

  He paused to allow the jurors to digest the words.

  “Whether any of us approves or disapproves of the invention or wonders what it can or cannot do or what it will or will not lead to,” he continued, “we’re not here to judge the device. We’re here to judge one thing only: Who killed Senator Wiley Barnwell?”

  He pointed to Cooper each time he mentioned him. “It is the defendant who was staying overnight at the Crossroads and had the opportunity to steal the invention. It is the defendant who schemed to steal it. It is the defendant who hitched a horse to haul it away. It is the defendant who returned to the Crossroads to reoccupy his room. It is the defendant who felt it
safe, with everyone asleep in the dark of night, to check that his victim was indeed dead and wouldn’t recover to name his attacker. And, members of the jury, it is the defendant who was caught standing over the senator’s body, his hands stained with blood.”

  Drew paused to move his eyes across the jurors, then returned to his seat.

  Cooper’s attorney rose to give the closing argument for the defense.

  “The prosecution would have you believe this is an open-and-shut case,” he told the jury. “But look at all the reasonable doubt we’ve exposed for you. First, the circumstances: Why would a man return to the place where he had earlier stabbed someone? And where’s the murder weapon? And the missing invention? Finding them might shed an entirely different light on the crime. We also know that there were other men besides Mr. Cooper who knew about the invention, knew of its whereabouts at the Crossroads, and could have had access to it as well.”

  He studied the faces of the jurors, one by one, as if wanting to imprint his perspective on their minds.

  “Beyond the circumstances, I call your attention to the man himself. We’ve established that the murderer went to considerable lengths to protect the invention, to put a heavy cover on the engine at the scene of the murder, an act that would delay his escape and increase his risk of being caught. The perpetrator had to have a compelling reason to want that cover on the engine. The reason can only be that he valued that device. He wanted to protect it, to develop it, and to profit from it.”

  Potter searched the jurors’ faces for an indication, a clue, a nuance. There were none.

  “This is a case in which the character of the man accused precludes him from having the motive to commit the crime. Mr. Cooper is a son of the South. We’ve presented solid testimony to establish his loyalty to our cause in words and deeds. Mr. Cooper, by his very character, could not be the thief who wanted to profit from the invention. That means he could not be the man who murdered Senator Barnwell.”

  At the end of the closing arguments, the jurors departed the courtroom as expressionless as they had arrived and had remained throughout the trial.

  After two days of deliberation, the jury announced that it had reached a verdict. It returned to the courtroom that was once again packed with witnesses, reporters, and townspeople eager to learn the outcome.

  “Foreman of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” asked the judge.

  The foreman stood up. “Yes, we have, your honor.”

  Cooper rose to face him.

  The eyes of Tom, Charlotte, Rachel, and the dozens of others present were pulled to the two men standing.

  “How do you find the defendant?” the judge asked.

  “We find the defendant guilty.”

  The crowd gasped. Charlotte’s head fell in a sudden release of two months of tension. Rachel stared numbly ahead. From his seat behind them, Tom’s arms curled around the women in comfort. The inventor closed his eyes, feeling relieved that justice had been done. But would he ever see his tractor again?

  As two guards flanked Cooper to escort him back to jail, the prisoner whirled to Tom, his eyes hateful, his voice a subhuman snarl. “One day, when you find that wicked device, you’ll know I was innocent!”

  The guards cuffed his hands. “You’ll all know!” He bellowed to the room at large.

  As the guards pushed him toward the door, he delivered a parting shot to Tom: “Fate won’t allow a patriot to die while a traitor lives. Fate will avenge me!”

  That fate was to be tested presently. Two days later the judge pronounced the sentence: Theodore Cooper would hang by the neck until dead.

  CHAPTER 11

  Ted Cooper appealed his case to the state’s highest court. It agreed to take up the matter, with a decision expected in early May. For the man in the cell, as well as the man with the padlocked workshop, it was a time of waiting, first for the trial to occur and then for the appeal to run its course.

  During that period, the household affairs at Indigo Springs were changing in unexpected ways. The month of March brought a happy improvement to Tom’s dining. The chef’s hat placed on Jerome’s head gave the slave a stature he had never before known. He found an area in which he could be the master, and it was a field that suited him. The newly designated chef restored order to the kitchen and taste to the food, rescuing Tom from the culinary mishaps of the plantation’s declining Aunt Bess.

  Under the new management, the smokehouse was better stocked than it had been in recent years. And the storehouse next to the kitchen was more orderly and well supplied. Jerome kept cornmeal, flour, and other dry goods in ample amounts and protected them from moisture and insects. He ensured that enough milk, butter, and eggs were always on hand. He caught fowl and fish from the plantation’s pond, and made fine meals of his catch. He mastered Aunt Bess’s roasted chicken, turtle soup, and other dishes. With a fondness for sweets, he learned to make her almond pudding, lemon cake, and gingerbread cookies.

  He bought imported items such as tea and coffee in town. Because Bayou Redbird was a major port town between New Orleans and Natchez, this brought to the riverfront, as well as to Greenbriar up the bluff, a brisk commerce and variety of shops that made it convenient for Jerome to find the ingredients he needed. He rewarded Tom’s outlay on spices and extracts by reviving a dish recently dropped from Aunt Bess’s collection: cinnamon buns with vanilla cream.

  For the first time, Tom was pleased with Jerome’s work. In retrospect, the inventor realized that his slave always had a keen interest in the kitchen and a rudimentary knowledge of its operation, which accelerated his learning. With the openness of a child eager to be complimented, Jerome solicited Tom’s opinion of his dishes and relished the praise he received. Tom gave him latitude, and Jerome’s talent rose as handily as his kneaded breads. The new chef’s primary job was to cook for his master, but he also made dishes for the servants at the big house and its dependencies, supplementing the food they prepared for themselves from their rations and vegetable gardens. Amazingly, Jerome seemed too absorbed with his newfound interest in cooking to indulge in his former pastimes of indolence and theft.

  Jerome delegated tasks to a few kitchen assistants, freeing time for him to expand his sphere. With Tom lacking interest in culinary affairs, Jerome took to managing the field hands’ cook and the other servants involved with food production, just as he had previously assumed the management of the household servants. He oversaw those who tended the hogpen, cow pasture, smokehouse, henhouse, pigeon cote, corncrib, big-house vegetable garden, and other food-related areas. He pressed them to do their jobs properly so that he could have a well-stocked kitchen.

  Soon Jerome was eager to try new recipes. He remembered a few dishes he liked that Aunt Bess no longer made. They were from the housekeeping journal of Tom’s mother, which the mistress would read to her cook. Jerome asked Aunt Bess about these dishes, but she no longer remembered the book or its recipes, and Pearl Edmunton had died several years ago.

  As soon as Jerome displayed a good grasp of the cooking and squeezed all he could from the shriveling fruit that was Aunt Bess’s memory, she was sent to join the other elderly slaves, who watched the children while their parents worked. When she took off her kitchen apron for the last time, it seemed to be to everyone’s benefit.

  One afternoon in late March, when Tom was returning to Indigo Springs after a few days away, he was hungry—and surprised to realized that he missed Jerome’s cooking. Tom had been attending to bank business, supervising Ruby Manor and the Crossroads as he’d promised Charlotte, and searching in vain for his invention.

  Headed home on horseback, he glimpsed his workshop on the hilltop. He had not yet entered it. While his own project was on hold, he was pleased that a padlock of another sort had somehow swung open to release the initiative of his most incorrigible slave.

  Within a system that didn’t allow him a choice, Jerome had found something he wanted to do. Within a system that didn’t allow him to learn, Jerome h
ad found a subject he wanted to understand. The unexpected change in Jerome was another step on the path to a future era, Tom thought, when all people would be as self-starting and self-fueled as the new engine he wanted to bring to that age. Could he somehow tap the will of the other slaves—for their benefit and his? He thought of one slave in particular who had gazed longingly at a picture card of couples dancing around a ballroom, a literate young woman who seemed to him terribly miscast in her new role as Jerome’s replacement in the stable. What would he do with Solo?

  Riding toward the big house, he pictured her. Dressed in a man’s shirt and trousers, her sleeves and pants cuffs rolled up to fit her small frame, she spent her days raking the hay and tending the horses, looking like the young slave boys who assisted her. At night, in her cabin near the stable, she read voraciously. She made frequent trips to Tom’s library for books. She returned her selections promptly and always in the same condition she’d found them, as if the dusty old volumes were sacred texts not to be crimped, bent, or soiled. By the location of the latest gap on the library shelves, Tom could tell the category of book she was reading—an ancient history, a biography of a distinguished person, a collection of poems, a novel, a travel journal, a geography of the world. She displayed a keen interest in every kind of book—and no interest in any person. She kept to herself, declining to socialize with the other slaves or to accompany them to town on errands. Within a group that was limited in its human interactions by outside forces, she was even more so by choice.

  Tom was drawn to the mysterious girl who seemed to be such a misfit. Wasn’t he too an outsider? Was that why she aroused his . . . curiosity?

  When he arrived at the big house that afternoon, his horse was tired and he needed food. However, no one was there to help him. He walked the animal to the stable, but Solo was not in sight. He looked for Jerome in the kitchen, but the cavernous brick hearth was dormant and the room was empty.