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“But let us consider that if we do postpone the trial date, are we not giving in to the person who performed this hellish deed? Clearly his intent was to disrupt these proceedings. And if we do postpone the trial, he’ll believe he was successful. Then what will prevent him from trying to do something similar in the future?” He shook his head. “That is something that I, in good conscience, cannot allow. The trial will commence as scheduled.”
After Ambrose returned to his chambers and the courtroom had emptied out, Battle drifted over to DuBose.
“It appears that Judge Ambrose has his own unique way of trying a case. But I suppose I understand his reasoning. And he certainly seems sympathetic to your case.”
“Come on, Edmund. You know as well as I do that regardless of the defense we put on, the jury will find our clients guilty.”
“Now hold on, Desiree, I still have to prove my case.”
“You could sit in your chair over there the entire trial and not utter a single word and that jury will still send the Washingtons to the electric chair.”
“You’re getting a little paranoid, aren’t you?” he said.
“I am living in reality. I suggest you join me there.”
“Hell, you folks won the Loving litigation.”
“And you know how that matter was decided in the state courts. It was a resounding win for racism. We only prevailed in federal court.”
“You can appeal if you lose.”
“There is no federal jurisdiction for this case. And you know full well how often murder convictions are successfully appealed in the South with Black defendants. It’s basically zero.”
He fidgeted with a button on his jacket. “I know that I declined your plea offer. And I want you to know that it was not my call.”
“I appreciate your honesty that there is more going on here than a legal trial.”
“How is Mr. Lee doing?”
“Devastated and guilt-ridden, as is his family. I’m sure your sympathy for him is genuine. I doubt you would have grieved if I had been killed,” she added.
“Then you would be wrong, Desiree. Frankly, you’re one of the finest lawyers I’ve ever faced. Professionally, I respect the hell out of you.”
She took a step closer to him. “‘Professionally’? But would you allow yourself to be a guest in my home? If I cooked a pot roast, would you eat it? Would you invite me to your home to meet your wife? Or simply take a walk with me? Or does the mere thought of that disgust you?”
Without meeting her eye he said, “My son Brett thinks I’m dead wrong about all of this. That’s why he went to work with the Justice Department.”
“I hope his disagreeing with you has not affected your relationship.”
“Actually, it has.” He looked at her now. “If you want the God’s honest truth, Desiree, it’s not really about what I think or believe or don’t believe. If I were to do any of the things you just suggested. If I were to agree with my son... hell... I’d be... my family would be...”
“A wise woman once told me that if you let the bully win he never goes away. He owns you.” She paused. “President Johnson said this wasn’t a Negro problem or a Southern problem. He said this country’s original sin was an American problem. The North was tired after the Civil War and let white people enslave mine again, just in a different way. Over a century of oppression, terror, and killings, all after we won the damn war. Talk about a Pyrrhic victory.”
“I can understand how angry you must feel. Truly.”
“Don’t worry about my anger, Edmund. Concern yourself with this possibility: Maybe next time they tell you that the religion you practice isn’t the right one, so change it. Or that free speech is only allowed if it comports with their views. Or that the right to vote is only for the rich. Will you never draw a line in the sand?”
She took a step back and drew an imaginary one with her shoe.
“Here is my line, Mr. Attorney General. They can come and kill me next time, and there’ll be someone just as good or better to take my place. Because when right is on your side, it’s amazing how many people find the courage of their convictions.” She paused and added, “And you missed something truly special.”
He looked thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I make one hell of a pot roast.”
She walked out of the courtroom.
CHAPTER 57
