Between Earth and Sky(24)

“What? If he’s afraid of speaking before crowds, I can coach—”

“That’s not the reason. He’s quite good in front of crowds, actually.” She smiled, remembering how clear and eloquent Asku could be, but her lips quickly slackened. “He doesn’t want our help.”

Stewart’s brow furrowed. His hazel eyes blinked. “I don’t understand. Why ever not?”

“He didn’t say.” A little lie, but how could she tell Stewart that Asku no longer trusted the white man? “He wouldn’t speak of the murder at all. Turned me out before I could persuade him of our intentions.”

“He does realize the severity of the charges?”

“Yes.”

Stewart pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Gates said he’d been uncooperative, but I thought with you here . . . I thought you were friends.”

“We were. We—” Damn her eyes. Alma fished inside her handbag for her hankie and blotted an errant tear. “We are.”

“We can’t do this without his cooperation.”

“The truth is on our side. Isn’t that enough?”

The quiet that followed made Alma’s skin itch. The waiter returned with their main course, and the silence continued. Stewart cut his roast duck into small, precise squares. He took one bite, chewed for several seconds, then put his knife and fork down, as if he could stomach no more. “Tomorrow I’ll book our return passage to Philadelphia.”

“We mustn’t leave. Not yet.”

“Without Mr. Muskrat’s assent, there’s nothing more we can do.”

Leave Asku to die? A sudden hysteria gripped her. Asku may not want their help, but he needed it nonetheless. “What about the insufficiencies in the investigation? You said yourself there were witnesses yet to be interviewed. And the murder weapon.”

“The trial date is set. There isn’t time to—”

“I can speak on Harry’s behalf.”

“One testimony is hardly enough to sway a jury.”

Alma’s skin flushed with desperation. It was all she could do to keep her voice below a shriek. “How can you countenance this injustice? Harry is an innocent man. You might as well hang the noose yourself.”

Stewart balled up his napkin and threw it atop his uneaten duck. “Enough of this, Alma. Who is this man to you?”

“I told you. A friend, a classmate.”

“Were you lovers?”

“No,” Alma said, louder than she intended.

“You haven’t kept in contact?”

“What? You think I’ve been carrying on an affair with a man a thousand miles away? Before today I had not seen or spoken to Harry in over fifteen years. If I’d passed him on the street I wouldn’t have even recognized him, he’s so altered.”

“Then why all this?”

“I . . .” How to put into words what she hardly understood herself? “He was my father’s favorite pupil.”

“Alma, you hated your father.”

Not always. Not before that night beside the elder tree. “And the brother of my closest friend.”

“Another friend of whom you never speak.”

“Must you attack me like you do those men in the courtroom? Like I’m some criminal?”

“Darling, that’s not what I meant.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

The waiter returned and cleared their plates. When he asked if they wanted dessert, they both shook their heads tersely and he left them to their silence. Stewart batted crumbs from the heavily starched tablecloth. Alma crossed her arms over her chest and gnawed again at the skin alongside her nails. How dare he riddle her with such questions. A friend on trial for murder—wasn’t that explanation enough? Never mind that there was more. Much more. She peeked up at him and felt her heart snag. “I’m sorry.”

Stewart said nothing but reached across the table and drew her hand from her mouth. Though his face remained hardened, he stroked her ragged cuticles with the pad of his thumb.

“It’s a dreadful habit, I know. Mother used to rub soap around my nails to stop me. It worked. For a while.”

Another silence.

“I may have been estranged from my father, but I never lost faith in his principles. Everything he stood for is on trial here as well. If we fail, if Harry dies, my whole life has been . . . a lie.”

“Your life is with me, back in Philadelphia. It has nothing to do with this anymore.”

A knot formed at the base of her throat. If only that were true.

Stewart sighed. “We’ll need to gather more evidence, letters of witness that speak to his character.” He pushed back from the table. “We’ll take the train tomorrow to La Crosse.”

Alma froze. “Why?”

“There must be someone there who’ll write on his behalf. Your mother, an old teacher?”

Miss Wells was headmistress now at Stover, or so Alma had heard. And she’d always been fond of Harry. But to go back, to see the town and school again. Alma swallowed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to send a wire?”

“And risk a delayed response? We can be there and back in a single day.” Renewed determination animated Stewart’s face. “After we obtain character letters, I’ll ask the judge for a continuance to delay the trial a few days. I need more time to sort through all the evidence.”