I was fair. Oh, I had my faults. Lots of them. But I ran a courtroom the way the law intended. I didn’t show favoritism. No one could say I ran a kangaroo court.
CHAPTER
57
In chambers, it was a blessed relief to shed my heavy black robe. I hung it up, grabbed my bag, and slipped through the back door. I thought I’d make a clean escape. No journalists, no lawyers, nobody asking questions or telling me what they thought about the case.
My car sat in its designated spot. I aimed the key fob at the car, unlocked it.
“Judge Stone!”
I whirled around fast, like I’d heard a gunshot. A man was trotting up the hill, coming toward me. He’d left off his professional attire. No white collar, black jacket, black suit. I knew him on sight, though, even dressed in civvies.
So I couldn’t pretend otherwise, couldn’t just hop in my car and drive off. I leaned against the driver’s door with the fob still gripped in my hand.
He got closer. I could see that the man was sweating. Getting some exercise, I assumed. Probably out for a run in his T-shirt and basketball shorts.
As the pastor reached me, he turned his head, nodded toward the schoolyard. “I was coaching some kids. For the after-school program.”
“Is that right? That’s commendable, Reverend Erskine. Very generous of you.” I saw the kids on the playground at the bottom of the hill. A cluster of children were dribbling the ball, shooting baskets. “I know your time is valuable.”
I put my hand on the car door. I wasn’t up for chatting with him.
Erskine didn’t take the hint. “I thought I’d see whether the jury was picked,” he said. “I had a number of parishioners on that panel.”
My response was cool, though my hand holding the fob was damp. “All picked, all sworn in. They’re sequestered now. You understand what that means, Pastor. You can’t have any contact with anyone on the jury.”
“I know that. But you’ll be guiding them every step of the way.” He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say more. “It’s ironic, under the circumstances. Isn’t it?”
My heart started hammering. I pulled the door open, turned my back on Erskine, and crawled into the front seat.
He stepped up behind me. Dropped his voice real low, so no one could overhear.
“I haven’t told anyone, Mary. You were a member of the congregation, one of my flock. I would never violate your confidence. There’s a matter of confidentiality between a pastor and a parishioner.”
I tugged on the interior door handle. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“We have to. Because I don’t see how you can be impartial inhandling this case. I know you’re not pro-life, Mary. Not in your heart.”
“You don’t know anything about my feelings. What I think, or what kind of judge I am.” I wanted to shut him out, but he blocked me, I couldn’t close the door. “If you’d kindly get out of my way. I need to get home to my farm.”
He grabbed the car frame with both hands and leaned inside the vehicle. The unspoken message: He’d decide when the conversation was over. “Mary, you’ll have to face up to this someday. Because a woman who had an abortion, and never repented, will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
He shouldn’t have had the power to make me feel bad about myself. Not after all those years. But when he dangled my secret, about an abortion I had at the end of law school, and raised that threat of hellfire, it shook me. It was a shock, to hear it all spoken aloud, when I’d buried it down deep, for a quarter of a century. I wasn’t Judge Mary, not in that moment. I was plain Mary Stone, twenty-five years old, revealing my shame to the new pastor, so that I might ask for absolution. We were back on his turf, where he had power—and I had none.
He was still talking. Like he saw my weak spot, knew just where to jab me. “You can’t undo that sin. Can’t bring that baby back to life, the son or daughter you destroyed. But the Lord is offering you an opportunity to do good. Don’t you see that?”
He and I were both sweating now. I felt nervous perspiration beading on my lip. I swiped it off with the back of my hand.
He said, “The Lord is trying to reach you. Can’t you see it in your heart?”
I had to get that man out of my space. I started the engine. Erskine stepped back. I was prepared to lean on my horn if he didn’t. I slammed the door, shutting him out.
But he had the last word.
“You think you’re getting your sin washed away by feeding the poor on your farm on Saturdays? Mary, that’s not enough, and you know it.”
My hand shook as I put the car in reverse.
