Page 67 of Taming Lady Temperance

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, her heart pulsing with gratitude. Thank you for being here. And for sending James.

“Ready?” Her deputy’s soft voice echoed in her ear as he paused outside the courtroom’s private entrance.

Noreen peered into his warm blue eyes and absorbed the encouragement he offered so freely. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Ready.”

James escorted her inside. A loud hum of conversation filled the space and set her nerves to buzzing. In all the years she’d lived in Albany, she’d never actually been inside this courtroom. The ceiling stretched upward to cathedral heights, shrinking her to insignificance. The room itself was as large as the church she attended. The gallery section boasted three rows of wooden benches on an inclining floor, backed by large windows framed in dark wood that contrasted with white walls. Stained glass winked at her from the top of the windows, adding to the cathedral feel. Floral carpet runners cushioned the walkways and aisles, muffling footfalls as people entered to witness the spectacle of Noreen O’Sullivan’s fall from grace.

Goodness. Had everyone in town turned out for this event? Milton Taggert sat in the front row of the far-left section, his pointed glare finding her in an instant. Men she recognized from the Salt Fork surrounded him. Witnesses to her crime and others who were frequent patrons of his establishment. Wait . . . was that Arthur? Her own stepfather sat among Taggert’s supporters? Her cheeks warmed. At least her mother wasn’t sitting beside her husband. Had she come? Noreen scanned the other two sections of benches. She failed to find her mother, but other dear faces met her gaze and smiled encouragement.

Martha and Jane sat together in the front-center row and nodded to her when her eyes found them. A bit of the weight lifted from her shoulders. Hortense Lockwood and two other spinsters from the society sat near the aisle on the right, chatting quietly among themselves, not yet aware that she’d entered the room. They were here, though, and she felt herself grow a little stronger simply from their presence. Even her landlady had come. Though Mrs. Barker’s appearance likely had more to do with collecting gossip fodder than supporting her troublemaking tenant. Noreen recognized a few people who had marched in her temperance parade scattered throughout the gallery along with several scowling business owners.

So many people.

A warm hand settled at the small of her back. “You have friends here, Noreen,” James murmured softly. “Focus on that and ignore the rest.”

Right. Noreen took a breath and allowed him to guide her to a chair at a large table positioned directly in front of the judge’s bench. A half wall of dark balustrades hemmed her in from behind but did nothing to protect her from all the eyes peering at the back of her head as she took her seat.

“I’ll be right over there the whole time.” James tipped his head toward a chair to her left that afforded him a view of the entire room—judge, audience, and the accused. Her.

She nodded to him, yet the moment he stepped away from her, she longed to call him back.

You’re not alone, Noreen. You’re not alone.

The clock tower directly above their heads bonged out the ten o’clock hour, the sound vibrating her bones and quieting the onlookers.

A court official called the session to order and announced the arrival of Judge Lynch. Noreen rose to her feet as the gray-haired man entered the room from a side door. He wore a simple black suit with a white shirt and black string tie and carried a paper file in his hand. Thankfully, he wasn’t a man she recalled ever seeing in the Salt Fork.

Judge Lynch climbed the dais to the judge’s bench and sat in the black leather chair positioned between two narrow windows. “Have a seat, folks.”

Shuffling ensued as everyone, including Noreen, took their seats.

The judge opened his file and arranged the papers within to his satisfaction, then lifted his face to regard first Noreen and then the gallery. He had a very sober bearing, but he didn’t strike her as harsh or rigid, just . . . serious.

“The matter before the court today pertains to events transpiring on April 29, 1894, at approximately 7:25 p.m. when the accused entered the Salt Fork Saloon and destroyed numerous bottles of expensive spirits and cracked one mirror for an estimated total of one hundred fifty-two dollars and seventy-five cents in damages.”

At least he’d left out the details about her running up and down the bar, swinging her broom handle like a stickball bat. The man had at least a little kindness in him.

“I have before me witness statements verifying these happenings, an investigation report by the arresting officer, and a charge of malicious mischief for damaging property belonging to Mr. Milton Taggert of Albany, Texas.”

Judge Lynch looked up from his papers and made eye contact with Noreen. “Miss O’Sullivan, how do you plead?”

Pushing back her chair, she rose to her feet as James had coached her and faced the judge. “Guilty, your honor.”

A murmur broke out in the gallery, but one glare from the judge brought silence. Turning back to her, he nodded, rather like a grandfather encouraging one of his grandchildren. “Before I pronounce your sentence, would you care to address the court?”

“Yes, your honor.” She took a deep breath, wishing she could seek out James or one of her friends for courage. Instead, she imagined the Lord coming beside her and squeezing her hand. “I deeply regret my actions last Sunday. Earlier that evening, a young girl who is quite dear to me was found severely beaten and in need of medical attention. She’d been beaten by a man too drunk to recognize the severity of his actions. When I learned that he would not be held accountable because he was a family member and his victims refused to press charges, I became overwrought and attacked the only other thing I could think to blame—the liquor. My situation does not excuse my actions. What I did was wrong, no matter my state of mind at the time. I offer the explanation only to demonstrate the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the incident. This destructive behavior was completely out of character for me, and I assure you it will not happen again.”

“Thank you, Miss O’Sullivan. You may be seated.” Judge Lynch’s gaze moved beyond Noreen to the gallery behind. “Mr. Taggert, do you wish to address the court?”

Noreen twisted in her seat and saw the saloon owner rise to his feet.

“I do.” He pointed a finger at Noreen, his eyes narrow and jaw tight. “This woman has been trying to ruin me for months. She harasses customers outside my door on a regular basis, organizes parades to protest the legal sale of alcohol, and lays the responsibility for all of society’s ills on my doorstep. She might claim to have been overwrought when she vandalized my saloon, but I say she’s been building up to this attack for months. It was only a matter of time before she became violent.”

Noreen shook her head, her heart racing. That wasn’t true. But what if the judge believed him, believed that she was a danger to the town?

Judge Lynch raised an eyebrow. “Has Miss O’Sullivan ever threatened you or your establishment with violence prior to this incident, Mr. Taggert?”

“Not directly,” Taggert hedged. “But she’s threatened my ability to run my business the way I see fit.”