((A/N: This story started when I was playing Mayella in a local theatre production of 'Mockingbird'. The man who played Atticus became one of my best friends in the world, so I wrote this story for him, and to help me get into Mayella's head. Believe me, she's not an easy character sometimes!
All characters belong to Harper Lee…I just play with them sometimes.))
"I killed my papa."
Atticus Finch stared at the young woman who had just uttered those words as he settled slowly into his seat. "I'm sorry, Miss Mayella?" he asked.
Her shoulders twitched irritably. "Mayella," she said sharply. "Just Mayella, Mr. Finch. And you heard me; I killed Bob Ewell, my papa."
Atticus took a couple deep breaths as he studied Mayella Violet Ewell. She was sitting across his desk from him, and obviously ill at ease in the comfortable chair. It had been several months since the trial; Mayella was about twenty, then, though she didn't look any older than about seventeen. Her handkerchief was in her hand, and she used it occasionally to wipe sweat from her forehead. As far as her clothes went, she'd tried to look her best, just as she had in the trial. Her dress was faded, but clean, and her bare feet had been carefully wiped at the door.
When he felt he was in control of his voice again, Atticus said, "Heck Tate insinuated that Boo Radley killed Bob Ewell." She looked blank, so the lawyer translated, "I mean, he thought Boo killed your father."
"Mr. Tate wadn't there, Mr. Finch," Mayella said, twisting her handkerchief around her fingers. "I was."
"Jean Louise didn't say you were there." Atticus's voice was calm, much like the tone he'd used in the courtroom to extract some true answers from the young woman. "Neither did Jem."
"The girl's nickname be Scout?" Mayella asked. "She was in that ham outfit; she didn't see nothin'. And the boy was unconscious by the time I killed Papa." She stared at Atticus. "You think I'm lyin'?" she demanded, suddenly angry. "Why would I lie 'bout this?"
"Why have you come to me with this?" Atticus asked, putting his hand palm-down on his desk in a consoling gesture. "I'm not a lawman."
"I know that." Mayella reminded Atticus of a cat, easily frightened and easily riled to anger. If she were a cat, she'd still be snarling softly. "But I need to tell somebody 'fore I leave."
Atticus's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Where are you going?"
She shook her head impatiently, waving the question away. "That idn't important right now. I'll tell ya when I've told my story." She stood up. "'Less you don't want to hear it…"
"Sit down, Miss Mayella," the lawyer said, shaking his head with a slight smile. "I do want to hear your story."
Slowly, the young woman settled back into the chair and shifted to make the worn leather fit her body again. She didn't even seem to mind the 'Miss Mayella' title at the moment; she was too busy thinking. "Where to start?" she asked at last, seemingly talking to herself. "You know 'bout everything with Robinson." A flush of shame colored her cheeks as she looked up at Atticus sharply. "You know I was lyin' on the stand, right?"
"Yes," Atticus said quietly, folding his hands on the desk and watching Mayella quietly.
She nodded slightly. "Then I guess I'll start there." Sitting back in the chair, she looked up at the ceiling. "It been about five months since that trial, hadn't it?"
Atticus nodded. It was hard to believe it had been that long, but Jem's cast had just been removed a couple days ago, marking the sixth week since Bob Ewell's death.
"Pa made me lie on the stand." Mayella wasn't looking at Atticus; she seemed riveted by her work-worn hands and the faded cloth she wrapped around her fingers again and again. "He tol' me that he'd make me regret the day I was borned if I didn't tell the story he wanted me to tell." Her eyes were distant as she lifted her head slightly and tossed her dirty blonde hair back. She was seeing that day in court again. Unconsciously, she wiped her forehead again as she swallowed. "I wanted to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth." She wasn't talking to Atticus anymore, though she was aware he was listening raptly. "When I took the stand, my legs felt like a newborn foal's; too weak to hold me up easy…"
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" The clerk sounded bored as he administered the oath that every witness had to take.
Mayella, her hands shaking, nodded and answered quietly, "Yes." Inwardly, she was laughing hysterically and couldn't quite stop. No, she wasn't going to tell the truth! A glance at her papa as she settled into the wooden witness chair confirmed that; he was lightly tapping his fist against his palm as a reminder of what would happen if she didn't tell the story he had created.
Mr. Gilmer stood up after looking over his notes and said, "Please tell the jury in your own words what happened the evening of November 21st."
November twenty-first. Was that the day the whole mess started? It seemed so far away now…more than six months back. Lost in her memories—her true memories—of that day, Mayella jumped when Mr. Gilmer cleared his throat and asked, "Where were you at dusk on that evening?"
'Focus, girl! You can make it through this alive.' Mayella took a deep breath and answered, "On the porch." 'There, see? Your voice didn't even shake too much.' But this was the easy part; Mr. Gilmer was on her side. Her eyes darted to Atticus Finch, sitting beside Tom Robinson with his arms crossed and watching Mr. Gilmer's questioning impassively. He didn't fool her now; she'd seen a flash of something through the impassivity when he was cross-examining her papa. He was very intelligent and had a knack for getting at the truth.
"What were you doing on the porch?" Mr. Gilmer's voice made her jerk away from looking at the other lawyer. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out as Atticus fixed that piercing gaze on her for a moment. Tears came to her eyes as she looked away and played with her handkerchief. How much had Tom told Atticus Finch?
Judge Taylor tapped his gavel lightly to gain her attention before saying, "Just tell us what happened. You can do that, can't you?"
'No, I can't!' Her sharp teeth closing on her bottom lip kept her inner cry back. She had her orders; she wasn't to cry until she was actually testifying.
"What are you scared of?" Judge Taylor asked. Mayella's shoulders shook as she shot another glance at Atticus. She was scared of everything right now. At least Atticus was a focus for her terror; she could forget that her papa would hurt her badly if she messed up.
Swallowing, she cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered, "Atticus Finch," to the judge. She'd forgotten he was old and more than half deaf.
"What was that?" the judge asked.
Forcing her voice to work with her, she pointed at Atticus Finch. "Him." Mr. Gilmer backed up so he wasn't on the other end of her finger, and Bob Ewell grinned as Atticus looked up from his pad of paper. "Don't want him doin' me like he done Papa, makin' him out left-handed."
An amused laugh rippled through the courtroom as Judge Taylor stared down at the young woman. Her gaze shifted between her papa, who was chuckling and nodding, Atticus Finch, who was watching her intently and without expression, and the judge, who was shaking his head and trying to find words.
"How old are you?" he finally asked, certain she couldn't be such a wilting violet without being rather young and intimidated by the surroundings.
'What's that got to do with anything?' But sassing the judge would be to display suicidal tendencies, and Mayella knew that. "Nineteen-and-a-half."
Blinking rapidly, Judge Taylor said, in a tone she was sure he meant to be kindly, "I see. Well, Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you…"
'Ha,' Mayella thought as she slumped down in her chair to avoid the defense lawyer's steady stare.
"And if he did, I'm here to stop him. Now, sit up straight and tell us what happened." Judge Taylor shook his head again and rested his arms on his bench. How had this girl managed to make it to almost twenty?
'All right, you can do this. You've practiced this over and over.' Mayella took a deep breath as she shifted her backside back in the chair, trying not to wince as she hit a bruise that hadn't quite gone away. "Well," she started, her voice a bit squeaky, "I was on the porch, and he came along, and, you see…" She swallowed again. So far, she was telling the truth. Now she had to start the lie Bob Ewell had invented, based loosely on an old truth. "There was this old chiffarobe in the yard Papa'd brought in to chop up for kindlin'. Papa told me to do it while he was off in the woods…" 'Getting stone-drunk, as usual,' she added mentally. "But I wasn't feeling strong enough then, so he came by—"
"Who is 'he'?" Mr. Gilmer interrupted, making her jump. She'd almost forgotten she was in the courtroom; she had practiced this while working on her flowers so much that she'd forgotten that she would be talking to real people when giving this testimony.
Her hands shaking again, Mayella pointed at Tom Robinson, who sat beside Atticus. "That'n yonder. Robinson." The black man looked away from her as his lawyer glanced sideways at him.
Mr. Gilmer turned to look at Tom and nodded, almost to himself, as he asked, "Then what happened?"
'Stick to the story,' the young woman reminded herself. "I said, 'Come here, boy, and bust up this chiffarobe for me, I gotta nickel for you.' So he came in the yard, and I went in the house to get the nickel." She took a deep, sobbing breath. "An' 'fore I knew it, he was on me." She didn't dare look at Tom, though she could feel him staring at her. "He got me 'round the neck." She demonstrated with her own hands, her calloused fingers tightening as emotion twisted her face slightly. "I fought, but he hit me agin and agin." She had to stop so she wouldn't burst out in tears; she needed to make it to the end of the testimony looking collected.
"Go on," Mr. Gilmer prompted gently, coming to stand beside her witness chair.
"An'…he…took advantage of me," Mayella managed, shaking as she curled into herself a bit.
"Did you scream and fight back?" Mr. Gilmer asked as he crossed to look at Tom Robinson, who refused to look up at the prosecuting attorney.
"Kicked and hollered as loud as I could," the young woman replied, regaining control over her voice.
"Then what happened?"
This was the part where she had to fudge a bit. "Don't remember too good," she said slowly. "But Papa come in the room and was hollerin'," 'You goddamned whore, I'll kill ya!' "Who done it? Then I sorta fainted," 'Yeah, helped a few times by Pa's fists…' "An' the next thing I knew, Mr. Tate was helping me over to the water bucket."
"You fought Robinson as hard as you could—tooth and nail?" Mr. Gilmer asked, unaware of his witness's mental dialogue as she fought for breath.
"I positively did," Mayella replied. 'Positively'. That was a new word for her, and she liked the taste of it, despite the fact that it came from her papa's mouth. Maybe she could survive this pit of huge words by learning some and using them as a block.
"You are positive he took full advantage of you?"
'What a goddamn stupid question! Would I say it if I wasn't 'positive'?' "I already told ya," she sobbed, turning in her chair to face the jury. "He done what he was after."
"That's all for now," Mr. Gilmer said, nodding to her. She shot to her feet instantly and tried to head for the bench again. While sitting beside her papa was a less than pleasant thought, anything was better than being the center of attention here. Mr. Gilmer's next words stopped her mid-step. "But stay here." He motioned for her to sit down again as he turned back to his own seat. "I expect big, bad Mr. Finch has some questions."
'Oh, thanks so much,' Mayella thought as she sank into the witness seat again and fiddled with her handkerchief. She felt like she was going to throw up as she glanced up at Atticus, who was shaking his head at Mr. Gilmer.
"State will not prejudice the witness against counsel for the defense," Judge Taylor said in a snooty tone as Atticus stood up and shuffled a couple of papers on his desk.
'Them's a lot of big words,' Mayella thought, wondering what exactly the judge had said.
"Miss Mayella," Atticus said in his low, cultured tone as he stood facing the jury. His voice sent a shiver of fear down her spine, and she curled into herself again. "I won't try to scare you for a while, not yet." Behind the curtain of her hair, Mayella rolled her eyes as the jury chuckled a little. Yeah, that was reassuring. "Let's get acquainted. How old are you?"
He couldn't be that stupid. She'd seen his mind for detail when he caught her papa out as left-handed. "Said I was nineteen, said it to the judge yonder." She jerked her head at Judge Taylor, sitting beside her, as she stared at Atticus, trying to figure out what his game was.
"You'll have to bear with me, Miss Mayella," Atticus said with a placating little hand gesture. Her shoulders jerked and her muscles tightened as he continued, "I can't remember as well as I used to. I might ask you things you've already answered, but you'll give me an answer, won't you? Good."
The nerve of him, assuming she would just go along with him like a little puppy without her saying that she would do so! "Won't answer a word as long as you keep mockin' me." The words burst out of her before she could check them and make them sound better.
"Ma'am?" the lawyer asked, looking genuinely startled.
Oh, sure, like he didn't know exactly what he was doing. "Long as you call me 'ma'am' and say 'Miss Mayella'." The mocking titles came out like they were coated in venom. How could he sit there and make fun of an Ewell, who everyone agreed were as bad as the dirt underfoot, with those fancy titles? "I don't have to take his sass," she added, turning to Judge Taylor with a pleading expression. He couldn't let her be mocked here; she was the victim, after all.
"That's just Mr. Finch's way," Judge Taylor replied, shooting down her hopes neatly. "We've done business in this court for years, and Mr. Finch is always courteous."
Scowling, Mayella turned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking further into the chair. Ignoring her, the judge went on, "Atticus, let's get on—and let the record show that the witness has not been sassed."
A soft laugh rippled through the room, and Mayella's scowl deepened as she kicked out a foot vindictively. No matter what, she decided, Mr. Finch wouldn't provoke her. She wouldn't give anything away.
"How many brothers and sisters have you?" Atticus asked, facing the jury. He acted as if nothing had happened, and this was just a nice, social call.
"Seb'm," Mayella replied shortly.
"You the oldest?"
"Yes."
"How long has your mother been dead?"
That question gained a bit of a reaction. Her shoulders twitched as she lifted a hand and played with the ring she wore on a bit of string around her neck. She knew exactly how long her mother had been dead, but she said, "Don't know. Long time."
"How long did you go to school?" Mayella expected Mr. Gilmer to react to that question as he had to the literacy question Atticus had posed to Bob, but the prosecuting attorney still sat in his chair. Apparently he decided it wasn't worth the effort to object.
"Two year?" Mayella asked, staring over the heads of the jury in her effort to remember. "Three year? Dunno."
"Miss Mayella, a nineteen-year-old girl must have friends." Atticus spoke in a loose, off-hand manner, but he was watching the witness's face carefully as he asked, "Who are your friends?"
The young woman's face furrowed as she looked at him. "Friends?" she asked. The word was one she'd heard before, but she'd never put it to practice in her life. Her closest neighbors were black, and the white folk she did interact with didn't spend more time around her than they had to.
"Don't you know anyone near your age?" Atticus asked, pressing the question further while moving closer to Mayella. "Boys—girls—just ordinary friends?" He put special emphasis on the word 'boys', and Mayella tightened up in anger again.
"You makin' fun o' me again, Mr. Finch?" the young woman demanded, leaning forward in her chair. She had a short fuse when it came to outsiders, and Atticus Finch seemed to posses a knack for setting her off.
He didn't press the question any more, allowing her reply to stand as the answer to his question. Instead, he switched topics instantly. "Do you love your father, Miss Mayella?"
Mayella's mind jerked to a halt as she tried to process this new question. Where had that come from? She hesitated, glancing at Bob, before asking, "Love him, whatcha mean?" Stalling was a tactic that was a winner most of the time. If she had a moment to think, she could come up with something that wouldn't get her hurt when she got home.
Atticus shrugged as he came to stand in front of the witness bench, deliberately standing so Mayella couldn't look at her father. "Is he good to you, is he easy to get along with?"
The lawyer's easy, conversational tone loosened Mayella's shoulders as she shrugged a little. "He does toll'able 'cept when—" She cut herself off with a soft gasp. Oh, chicken shit! She was in for it now; she'd meant to just say that her papa was tolerable to be around. But Atticus Finch was so damned charming when he wanted to be…
"Except when…?" Atticus prompted, moving closer to her carefully.
"I said he does toll'able," Mayella snapped, looking away from him quickly.
Atticus asked softly, "Except when he's drinking?"
A short silence prevailed as the young woman looked up at Atticus. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes met her hazel ones with the utmost compassion. His expression told her that he already knew, that it was all right to trust him. She could hear Bob stirring behind Atticus's back; she couldn't see her papa, so he couldn't see her. It would be all right. She kept her eyes on Atticus's as she nodded. In a small way, she wanted to fulfill the oath she'd taken to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Besides, the defense lawyer seemed to radiate a sense of trustworthiness; she could see him sitting down with her and gently drawing the whole truth from her.
Atticus smiled slightly. "When he's riled—has he ever beaten you?" He could see bruises on her arms and fading on her face; he knew the answer to his question already without her saying a word.
Mayella jumped in terror as the lawyer moved away again, leaving her exposed to the white-hot glare of her papa again. It so unnerved her after that moment of utter trust that she'd shared with Atticus that she couldn't quite find her breath for a moment.
"Answer the question, Miss Mayella," Judge Taylor said firmly, noticing the glare from Bob Ewell.
"My paw's never touched a hair o' my head," Mayella said, her voice coming out higher than she intended. Bob Ewell's expression promised trouble when they got home.
Atticus turned and considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "We've had a good visit, Miss Mayella," he said at last, leaning against his desk for a moment. "Now we'd better get to the case." She nodded slightly; the sooner this was over, the sooner she could be home again. "You say you asked Tom Robinson to come chop up a—what was it?"
Had he really forgotten, or was he trying something? Mayella didn't know, so she played it very safe. "A chiffarobe, a old dresser." Maybe he didn't know what a chiffarobe was, so he forgot that she'd already mentioned it.
"Was Tom Robinson well known to you?" Atticus picked up a pen from his desk and played with it idly as he watched her.
'Yeah, very well known…I watched him every day for years, walkin' by the house without his shirt on…' "Whatddya mean?" Mayella asked as a stalling device.
"Did you know who he was, where he lived?" Atticus expanded on his question as he set the pen back down before walking over to stand by Tom.
Mayella shrugged. "I knowed who he was. He passed the house every day." Carrying some tool, showing off his strength, even with a hand that was mangled…
"Was this the first time you asked him to come inside the fence?" Atticus looked away to ask that question. He already knew the correct answer and the answer Mayella would most likely give. Cross-examining, he reflected, was like playing chess; it was better to stay three moves ahead of the other side. For example, he had known Mayella would jump at the question, which she just did, and that he would have to repeat his question. "Was this—?"
"Yes!" Mayella exclaimed, cutting him off before he could repeat the incriminating question. "It was."
Atticus didn't have to tell her that he knew she was lying; his expression did it for him. "Didn't you ever ask him to come inside the fence before?"
"I did not." Mayella had recovered from the surprise of the question and was lying gracefully now. "I certainly did not." Another new word, 'certainly'. Maybe it would make Mr. Finch leave her alone.
'The lady doth protest too much, methinks,' Atticus thought, quoting from Hamlet mentally. "You never asked him to do odd jobs for you before?"
It was the term 'odd jobs' that triggered Mayella. Her eyes shuttled back and forth a bit as she remembered Tom chopping kindling for her, Tom carrying water for her geraniums, Tom tipping his hat to her as he went by every day…. She shifted in her seat. "I mighta," she conceded, trying to ignore her papa's angry stirrings from the bench. "There was several niggers around."
Atticus was surprised he'd managed to get that much of a concession from her; he'd expected to use more badgering before she admitted getting a Negro to do odd jobs beyond the one time she'd said in her testimony. From the look of Bob Ewell on the bench, he wasn't happy and would probably have words with Mayella when this was over. Atticus hoped it would only be words. "Can you remember any other occasions?" the lawyer asked, pressing his advantage.
"No." Just like that, a wall was erected around Mayella's thoughts and facial expressions.
"All right," Atticus said, sighing mentally. This young lady was a tough witness, and he could guess why. "Now to what happened. You said Tom Robinson got you around the neck—is that right?"
"Yes," Mayella said softly, staring at the lawyer as her brows creased a little.
"You say—'He caught me and choked me and took advantage of me'—is that right?" Atticus walked closer to her as he quoted her exactly.
"That's what I said," the girl replied, surprised. How could he remember exactly what she had said and forget her age? She had the sensation of a fist closing around her throat. He was a trickin' lawyer, just like her papa had exclaimed. And she'd trusted him with even a small part of the truth…
"Do you remember him beating you about the face?" Atticus asked, tucking a hand into his vest pocket as he watched Mayella. She inhaled sharply, but didn't answer as her hand went to her right eye subconsciously. Deliberately taking the silence as misunderstanding, Atticus went on, "You're sure enough he choked you. All this time you were fighting back, remember?" She nodded confirmation, so he continued in a deliberate manner, "Do you remember him beating you about the face?"
Mayella looked wildly around the courtroom, looking for help in any quarter. Her papa was glaring holes through her, but he wasn't providing an answer for her. Mr. Gilmer was stirring in his seat, seemingly ready to jump up and get her out of the witness chair. She hoped he would, but Atticus was dividing that steady stare between her and the other lawyer. She jumped as Atticus said, "It's an easy question, Miss Mayella, so I'll try again. Do you remember him beating you about the face?"
Her mouth worked for a moment as she stared at the jury, thinking. At last, she said slowly, "No, I don't recollect if he hit me." A look at her papa and Atticus showed that was the wrong answer: Bob Ewell looked as if he wanted to get up and hit her right at that moment, and the defense lawyer's shoulders relaxed a little. Tom Robinson met her eyes for the first time, and his expression of hope seared her to the bone. Casting a terrified look at her papa, she cried, "I mean yes, I do, he hit me!"
Tom's shoulders sagged in defeat and Atticus looked disappointed. Arching a dark eyebrow as he glanced at the nodding Bob Ewell, the lawyer asked, "Was your last sentence your answer?"
Torn between fear of her papa and the desire to save Tom Robinson, Mayella stammered, "Yes, he hit—I just don't remember—it all happened so quick!" To avoid the questions—and Tom's look of sadness—she buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed a little, trying to make the judge feel sorry enough to let her get off the stand.
"Don't you cry, young woman," Judge Taylor said in his soft voice. Mayella's shoulders twitched; so much for keeping Atticus Finch from scaring her! They were all liars and tricksters!
"Let her cry, if she wants to, Judge," Atticus said casually, resting against the edge of his table. "We've got all the time in the world." He meant it as a reassurance to the crying young woman; he knew the truth. He just wanted her to say it, without him calling her a liar outright.
Sniffing wrathfully in an effort to act composed, Mayella snapped, "Get me up here an' mock me, will you? I'll answer any questions you got." And the sooner he asked them, the better. Then she could leave.
"That's fine," Atticus said, standing up straight. His heart ached for the young woman. Because he knew the truth, he knew she wasn't to blame for this mess. But he had to get the truth from her so Tom would have a fighting chance. "There's only a few more. Miss Mayella, will you identify the man who attacked you?" He turned and stared straight at Bob Ewell, pinning the small man with the force of his gaze. Anger of a kind he rarely felt rose in him; how could Mr. Ewell call himself a man and hurt his daughter so badly?
Swallowing, Mayella followed Atticus's stare as she said, "I will." In that moment, she almost pointed at her papa; she could tell the lawyer already knew. But Atticus wouldn't defend 'white trash' when she got home. He wouldn't stand between her and her papa to take the bruises and possible broken bones. For the sake of her body, she pointed at Tom Robinson. "That's him right yonder."
Tom looked away from her pointing finger, wincing as if she had physically hurt him. In a sense, Mayella decided, she had. Well, to hell with it. It was his life or hers, and she had seven siblings to protect from her papa.
Atticus turned to the black man. "Tom, stand up," he ordered quietly. Tom looked up at him, his brows furrowed. The lawyer turned to Mayella as he said, "Let's let Miss Mayella have a good look at you." Tom stood up, and Mayella's eyes were drawn instantly to the chains around his ankles. Tears brimmed in her eyes as her body shook. She didn't want this!
"Is this the man, Miss Mayella?" Atticus asked, pointing at Tom as he stared steadily at the young woman.
She couldn't answer. In that moment, what she was doing became real in a way it had never been before. Her gaze rested on his crippled left hand. Despite that deformity, he was so handsome. He was the gentlest man she knew; the only one who hadn't tried to hurt her. And because of this, because he had helped her when she wanted him to, he was in chains. It was her fault! She was the one who had tried to seduce him! The words almost escaped her, but she reeled them back, gripping the armrests of the chair as she contemplated flight.
Atticus's voice cut through her thoughts sharply. "Is this the man who attacked you?"
Biting her lip until she tasted blood, Mayella made up her mind. She had to live! There was no other goal in her mind; she just wanted life. "It most certainly is." Her condemning words emerged as a croak, and she saw Tom's face crumple. She had just sentenced him to death. No white jury would free him based on her words.
The lawyer looked at his client, then back at Mayella, letting the silence stretch as he made her listen to the echo of her words and think on the implications. Then he asked quietly, "How?"
The simplicity of the question and the gentleness of Atticus's tone sparked Mayella's defense. It was obvious that she was losing in the logical sense, so she lashed out with emotion: "I don't know how, but he did! I said it all happened so fast, I—"
"Let's consider calmly," Atticus interrupted, knowing what she was doing. While he admired her use of tactics, he knew he needed to stop her before she gripped the jury by their heartstrings and made them decide her way based on emotion.
Mr. Gilmer slapped his table, making Mayella jump, as he shouted, "Objection! He's browbeating the witness!"
'Thank you!' Mayella almost screamed. Gilmer was supposed to be on her side, after all, and he was letting Atticus scare her into true confessions. Idiot!
"Oh, sit down, Horace," Judge Taylor replied, laughing. That laugh sliced through the last of Mayella's courage, and she huddled in her chair, shivering. She was alone here. Atticus could ask her anything he wanted, and the judge would just laugh when Mr. Gilmer tried to protect his young witness. No one would help her; no one could or would save her.
Atticus glanced at the judge with a nod before continuing his attack. "Miss Mayella, you've testified the defendant choked and beat you. You didn't say he sneaked up behind you and knocked you cold." Again, he wasn't calling her a liar, not outright. He was merely showing her the holes in her testimony, and his next words opened a loophole for her to slip through: "Do you wish to reconsider any of your testimony?" As he asked that question, he walked to stand beside her again, blocking her father's view of her.
Mayella looked up at him, shuddering and tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice was low as she asked, "You want me to say something that didn't happen?" It would be just what she'd expect from a man; her papa and Mr. Gilmer both wanted her to say things that didn't happen. And here she'd hoped Atticus was different…
"No, ma'am," Atticus replied, keeping his voice hard despite the pity he felt for the young woman. "I want you to say something that did happen." Again, he was providing her a place to tell him that she'd been forced to lie, and she wanted to tell the truth now.
Mayella smelled the loophole, but she didn't trust it; it could be a noose that closed around her neck the moment she tried to slip through it. "I already told ya," she snapped, turning away from him and hiding behind her curtain of hair.
The lawyer paused for a moment as he phrased the question in his mind. "He hit you?" he asked, turning and walking to stand before the jury box again. He ignored her nod as he continued; "He blackened your right eye with his right fist?"
Mayella's eyes went wide. Now she saw where he was going with this, and she realized she didn't have an answer for him. Obviously, someone hitting with only their right fist would bruise the left side of the face, and Tom Robinson's left hand was crippled. "I," she started, trying to think on her feet, "ducked and it—it glanced off." Atticus nodded slightly, the corner of his mouth pinched, and she rushed on, trying to convince him. "That's what it did. I ducked and it glanced off."
'Right,' Atticus thought, realizing that Mayella was just like a child. He'd seen Jem and Scout invent truly good whoppers on the spot when they were covering some misbehavior. She wasn't even a good liar when she had to invent quickly. He let it go as he said, "You're a strong girl. Why didn't you run?"
"Tried to—" Mayella said, trying to regain some control over the avalanche.
"And you were screaming all the time?" Atticus asked, setting up the question as carefully as he would have set a piece to capture the king.
"I certainly was." Mayella was fighting just to breathe while shuddering with fear.
"Why didn't the other children hear you?" Had he thought Mayella was a chess player, Atticus might have added, 'Check' to the end of that question. Instead, he added, "Where were they?"
Mayella's shoulders shifted as she squirmed in her chair and played with her handkerchief. She couldn't say they were down at the dump; the whole town knew the Ewell family only scavenged before dark, and her papa had already said it was almost sundown. But nor could she say where they really were. God only knew how her papa would react to the fact that she'd nicked nickels from 'his' beer money for a whole year to send the kids to town for ice creams. She was proud of that idea. Everyone won, or would have if all had gone as she wanted. The other kids had a rare treat, and she had a chance to be alone with Tom Robinson.
"Why didn't your screams make them come running?" Atticus probed as a dentist might probe a rotten tooth. He let her squirm for a moment longer before he asked, "Or didn't you scream until you saw your father in the window?"
Mayella jumped as if she'd been struck by lightning, looking at her papa. Mr. Gilmer opened his mouth to protest, but Judge Taylor silenced him with a look; he wanted to hear what Mayella would say to the stream of questions.
"You didn't scream till then, did you?" Atticus asked, forcing Mayella's attention back to him forcefully. She still refused to answer; how could she answer in a way that would make him shut up without telling the truth? "Did you scream at your father instead of Tom Robinson? Is that it?" Mayella's hand clenched around the armrest as she fought for every breath. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she wished it could drown out the questions.
Atticus crossed to stand in front of the young woman, making her cringe away from him as he asked, "Who beat you up? Tom Robinson or your father?" That drew a snarl from Bob Ewell and a stunned stare from Mayella; how did he know? How could he know? Mayella couldn't think straight; her throat constricted on any words she might want to say.
The defense lawyer allowed her a moment to squirm before nailing her with the base question. His voice soft, he asked, "Miss Mayella, what did your father really see in that window?" He watched as her eyes shuttled back and forth in desperate terror. She was a trapped animal, and he knew she would probably turn on him in a moment. He decided to push it as far as he dared with his final question: "Why don't you tell the truth, child—didn't Bob Ewell beat you up?"
Mayella's mouth worked in dead terror. She didn't look at Atticus; she didn't look at anyone as she tried to think. At last: "I—I got somethin' to say," she announced breathlessly.
The defense lawyer looked at her for a long, silent moment before he asked, "Do you want to tell us what happened?"
'Yes!' Mayella's heart screamed the single word, but she swallowed it hard. She was going to make it out of this alive, no matter what strings she had to pull. "I got somethin' to say," she repeated, "an' then I ain't gonna say no more." Pointing with a trembling right hand—and ignoring the bruises on the inside of her wrist—she declared, "That nigger yonder took advantage of me!" Ignoring Atticus's placid expression, she turned to look at the jury. She had to shame them into believing her! Atticus knew the truth, but it wasn't his decision to make. "An' if you fine, fancy gentlemen don't wanta do nothin' about it, then you're all…" She couldn't think of any insults bad enough. This was the moment when she wanted Atticus's big vocabulary; he'd know how to cut them to the bone with a couple words. Her inability to think of anything really bad just made her angrier. The best she could come up with spat out of her mouth: "You're yellow, stinkin' cowards. Stinkin' cowards, the lot of you!" She was almost screaming by that point, and her sobs made it hard for her to talk, but she had more to say.
Her voice came down to a controlled shout as she looked at Atticus Finch. He was leaning against the edge of his table, looking for all the world like she was just telling him the time of day. How could he be so casual when he had ripped her world to shreds around her? "Your fancy airs don't come to nothin'," she informed him, nearly snarling. He hadn't gotten a confession out of her; in a petty way, she'd won. To drive the point home, she added, "Your ma'amin' and Miss Mayellarin' don't come to nothin', Mr. Finch!" With that, the last of her strength left her. She collapsed over her knees and sobbed. Sobbed in relief that she was done, sobbed in fear for what would happen after this, sobbed for Tom Robinson—she knew her words had killed him as surely as if she had fired the gun herself—sobbed for all the pain she wasn't ever able to express normally.
"That's all!" Mr. Gilmer snapped, coming out of his seat like a rock from a slingshot and moving to stand beside his sobbing witness. "You can step down now," he told her, gently resting a hand on her trembling back. She twitched away from his touch, light as it was, and made her stumbling way back to the witness bench. Mr. Gilmer then looked at Judge Taylor. "Sir, the State rests."
"You can take a break for a moment, if you want," Atticus said quietly as Mayella paused for the thousandth time to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.
Shaking her head, Mayella sniffed. "Haven't much more to say, really. I don't need to tell ya what Tom said; you know what he said."
The lawyer nodded as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach, watching her steadily. She had decided to trust him. That struck him deeply; after everything that was revealed in the courtroom and what Tom had told him aside from the trial, Mayella had decided to trust a man with what she had really been thinking while on the stand.
Blowing her nose again, Mayella sank further into the chair and looked at her lap. "When the trial was over," she said in a tiny voice, "we left the courthouse. Papa mighta looked happy in the room, but he was so angry when we got outside…