ARJ sat at the hotel room window most of the afternoon, staring at the building across the street and wondering what was happening at the trial. Mum rested behind him, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. He could hear the bed creak as she turned over again and again. They took dinner in their room as the sun descended lower in the west. Neither had much of an appetite or a desire to hold much conversation.
Mum returned to the bed, and ARJ moved back to the window. He could see the lamps lit through the courthouse windows, illuminating the rooms and dispersing the shadows. The noise of the town strangely reminded him of home, his real home – Ryde, where the neighbors were close, and one could hear the comings and goings all around the community. It was a big adjustment when they moved to Kansas and the farm.
Laughter erupted from below, followed by scuffling boots on the boardwalk. ARJ leaned out the window as far as he could to locate the source of the noise coming from the street. Dad had cautioned him to stay in the hotel, especially on Friday night. The unruliness of the cowboys and farmhands was ramping up as they filled the Wichita streets, pushing through the doors to the saloons.
Suddenly, the doors of the courthouse, where Dad sat, flung open, and the crowd filed out, hushed voices replacing the disorderly behavior of earlier that morning. He watched as Uncle Albert cut through the crowd and crossed to the hotel.
“Mum, they’re finished. Here comes Uncle Albert.”
Mum slowly rose from the bed, smoothing her dress and running her hands over her hair as quick steps climbed the stairs and sounded in the hall.
ARJ had the door open before Uncle Albert reached it. He immediately sensed a change in his uncle’s demeanor.
“Anna, I think you might have done it. You seem to have knocked some wind out of the prosecution!”
Mum let herself smile for an instant. “I was surprised they didn’t bombard me with questions this afternoon.”
“I think Sluss realized you’d captured the hearts of at least some of the jury with your testimony. He knew he risked pushing more your way by questioning what you had to say.”
“Is it over for today?”
“Yes. Arthur may be late. He and his lawyers were in deep discussion when I left. I’ll head to the farm to check on everyone and see you tomorrow morning.”
An evening breeze wafted through the open window. Mum sighed and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She took ARJ’s hand as they watched Uncle Albert walk toward the livery. She sighed, and ARJ knew she was thinking about JW and Eva Anna. She placed her hand on her belly and then looked back at the nearly empty courthouse,
“If only a person could be in two places….” Mum said quietly.
The sun was now below the horizon, and shadows
filled the room. Mum walked to the table and lit the candle. ARJ turned to watch her, keeping one eye on the doors across the street. She pulled an envelope from her pocket and sat in the flickering light.
“Is that a letter from Grandmother Jarman, Mum?”
Mum nodded. “Uncle Albert handed it to me before he left. He must have stopped by the post office.”
She opened the envelope and slipped the creased papers from it. ARJ watched as a flat yellow object fell from it and drifted silently to the floor. He left the window to retrieve it.
“Mum, it’s a pressed flower.” ARJ held his palm out for his mother to see.
“A buttercup….” Mum said, returning her eyes to the page.
ARJ examined the five yellow petals, round and encircling a powdery golden center.
Mum glanced up at him. “The buttercup is for you. Grandmother wants to know if you remember the meadow near Chatham House.”
He nodded. “Shiny yellow flowers grew along the edge of the field… and spiderwebs covered the grass!”
Mum smiled. “You and Grandmother must be thinking of the same day. Look what she drew in the corner of the letter for you.”
ARJ bent toward the page and spied a tiny spider. In the flickering candlelight, it seemed to be moving.
“A money spider!” he exclaimed, “Grandmother said I must never kill a spider. It would be bad luck!”
Mum carefully tore the corner from the letter and handed it to ARJ.
“I don’t think there is any danger that you’ll kill this one, and we could certainly use some luck right now.”
ARJ walked back to the window with his new treasures in hand. He looked down at the courthouse just as the windows went dark. A few moments later, the doors opened, and Dad came through, followed by two of his lawyers. The men shook hands, and Dad started across the street toward the hotel.
Waves of Wheat is a creative historical nonfiction novel being written by me, Shari Edwards, to tell the story of the Arthur Dibbens family, who came to America in March of 1872. The Dibbens family had been on the Isle of Wight, a small island just south of mainland England, for centuries. There are many Dibbens/Jarman cousins still living on the island. While I have to invent scenes and dialogue for this story, I attempt to stay close to the facts. ARJ was my great grandpa, my mother's grandpa.
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