Chapter One: Prologue
An iron hand in a velvet glove—-Charles V
—&—
A shot rang out. A prize bull fell to the ground. His hands were dripping with blood. He walked to Victoria's white basin and scrubbed hard. The water turned blood red. He removed his hands. They were still red. He panicked and grabbed the linen towel. It soaked up the blood, but his hands were still red. Leah came and dried them with that old yellow apron she wore. She was humming that lavender song she always did—
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Lavender's green dilly, dilly
Lavender's blue
You must love me, dilly, dilly
'cause I love you.
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly,
Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly,
Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
He nested his head in Leah's lap as he did as a boy. Someone was rubbing his shoulders—Mother? Victoria smiled at him with those understanding eyes. He closed his eyes. The blood was gone. He opened to tell them, but it was not so. It was on them now. Bloody aprons on both.
He awoke with a start and a sweat on his brow. It was almost dawn, and he would be at the courthouse with Nick soon. He would be there for Audra and Victoria the way they were for him.
"No sense going back to bed. I don't want to close my eyes until this damn mess is over."
—-&—
"Guilty as charged, Jarrod Thomas Barkley. You have been convicted of bribery of a public official and attempted murder of one, Cass Hyatt."
An audible gasp came from the crowd. Victoria could not keep the tears from her eyes, and Audra was sobbing. Heath put his arm around them protectively.
"Order! Order! In the court," as Nick jumped the railing and started bellowing at the judge. Tom Lightfoot and Nate Springer tried to hold him back from going after the judge.
Nick was warned by the bailiff and then restrained when he persisted. He was charged with disorderly conduct and contempt of court.
"Nick, Nick. Stop. It's over. I did it."
Two bailiffs took Nick out.
Jarrod looked blankly ahead.
Nate immediately requested an appeal. Jarrod stopped him.
"No. I have lived my life by the law. Now I must continue to do so."
"Any sentencing motions? Mitigating factors?"
"Your honor, I believe those came out at the trial. He had just lost his wife of a week—in his arms. She was killed by a bullet meant for him by Cass Hyatt, who has confessed to Sheriff Zack Fain. The sheriff himself testified that Mr. Barkley was beside himself in grief and not of right mind. The bribe was an impulse and never consummated. We can present a hundred character witnesses if need be. This is a tragedy, and sentencing Mr. Barkley will only compound this horrible situation."
"Still, Mr. Springer. He is an officer of the court. It is not acceptable."
"I did it. I knew what I was doing," Jarrod said softly.
"So, Mr. Barkley, do you waive your right to an appeal?"
"Yes"
Nate and Tom tried to talk him out of it.
"Will the attorneys please stop the conversation at the table?"
"Jarrod Barkley, I sentence you to one year in San Quentin, and I recommend suspension of your law license for five years to the board of ethics."
"You are remanded to the custody of the State of California. Make your goodbyes."
He turned with tears in his own eyes and hugged his family.
"I don't want any of you to come and see me there. I deserve this. I knew he was on the loose, that he threatened me, and I did not protect her. She is dead because of me." and he turned his head away.
The law clerk representative of Hannibal Jordan and TC Crown wrote down all of the details. His bosses got what they wanted. Jarrod Barkley is out of the picture.
—&—
Jarrod changed from his tailored slacks and dress shirt into the nondescript, formless prison uniform. He was given his cell, his comb, tin cup, and spoon. They issued him his change of clothes, blanket, and pillow. The clang of the door the first day caused his heart to seize in pure fear. Tears welled in his eyes, and he panicked. He shook the door and pounded the wall with his fist. He wailed like a wounded animal and was taunted by the cell block inmates.
A man touched his shoulder. He hadn't noticed or heard his cellmate climb down from his top bunk and come up behind him in his distress.
"Son, the first night is the hardest. Start counting the days. You will be out of here with good behavior... If you stay out of trouble, they will let you borrow books or possibly write letters. They got you scheduled to work with me tomorrow since you are an educated man. I will show you the ropes. 'Who to stay away from and which guards take bribes for extra food. I am not ever leaving here alive, but I can help keep you alive and, most importantly, sane, Mr. Barkley. Tomorrow we work. At night, we dream of home and what might have been."
Jarrod silently went to the bottom bunk and turned his face to the wall.
The older man spryly climbed to the top bunk, "Good night, son. Dream well. Those dreams will keep you sane."
—&—
As soon as the lights went out, a scratching noise began. It only took him a few moments to realize.
"Rats. I hate them"
He involuntarily shivered and pulled the blanket up higher.
He willed himself to try to sleep. And then he began a prayer out of frustration.
"It's been a long while, Lord, since I talked to you."
"Mr. Barkley, you'll find this, like the Apostle Paul. He shows up here."
He felt his face redden in the dark, "Didn't even realize I was speaking aloud."
He didn't have the words to reply to the white-haired man above him.
All the times he was scared in life came back to haunt him. He settled on pneumonia as a child. His mother and Silas by his bedside—overhearing the doctor worrying he wouldn't make it—-Silas and his mother praying over him.
Sleep finally overtook him.
Silas came to Jarrod in his dreams, "Mr. Jarrod, they's people that need ya. My mammy used to keep strong, looking at the stars when she couldn't walk anymore. Says old age took her legs but couldn't take her heart and her soul. Look at the stars even when you can't see them. They in yore head."
He awoke refreshed. He felt like he had slept for days. The man above was stirring too. The clanking of metal chamber pots and breakfast carts rang out the hall.
"Here's to the first day. 364 left to go". He said sardonically.
—
He and Edgar Buchanan became close over the first two months. He had been an English professor at Berkeley. He had been widowed for years and began a love affair with a young woman—half his age. He caught her with her young lover and killed him in an opium haze. Convicted of manslaughter. He was ten years into his sentence.
"I am guilty, as sin. Of all but one, seven deadly sins. Lust, wrath, pride, envy got me in here. Never had a problem with sloth. Couldn't with my father. I wouldn't have lived to my adulthood. But gluttony with my scotch was always there. I will die behind bars."
"I am with you on the scotch—-and the sloth, Edgar. Tom and Victoria Barkley would have beaten the sloth out of me. Pride and wrath were my downfalls. I got my wife killed by not heeding a warning that a man who wanted to kill me was paroled. My wife is dead because of me."
—&—
Three months later
Jarrod used all of his mental abilities to keep himself sane. Listening to conversations, retrying these men in a courtroom in his mind, memorizing passages, protecting the old men preyed on by young hooligans, and working hard wherever he and his roommate were sent. Privilege was earned as well as respect behind bars. On the hard days, he would use the exercises he learned early in the military. Many nights he did push-ups incessantly until he collapsed into a deep sleep from exhaustion. He drew out the constellations on his wall.
Edgar and Jarrod shared volumes they were allowed to check out from the library. Edgar would read from the Bible each night, and Jarrod would read from the poetry or novel they had with them.
Edgar was an accomplished musician before imprisonment and made a makeshift timpani using their tin cups. He would sing old hymns, ditties from his neighbor, a sea captain at home—-often at night, requests were passed down the long hall. After a month or so, Jarrod would add his baritone to the cacophony.
At first, many of the inmates called out horrific names and insults to the men. Recently, they only heard calls to "speak up" or "read that one again." The warden even complimented the men when he passed them cleaning the infirmary.
He took Jarrod aside, "Barkley, Buchanan, I have a meeting with the governor next month in prison reform. I would like to take you two with me to testify."
Both men agreed.
And he lowered his voice, "You have some mighty powerful voices arguing for your release and unfortunately —-for your continued confinement. Your brothers and mother- and your fancy lawyers are lighting up anyone who will listen. Some folks have cotton bolls in their ears and a pocket full of money. Don't have a name, but you need to get out of here. Reconsider your family visits, Jarrod. You are going to need all the help you can get"
Jarrod did not change his mind.
"I do not want my family to see me here. I would rather die a thousand deaths than to see the look in their eyes."
—&—
The door opened one night, several months later. Jarrod's eyes flew open. He had a bad feeling. Edgar had traded places with him for the night. His knee was swollen and his arthritis was aggravated from cleaning that day.
"I will brave the rats over this knee," he told Jarrod.
Jarrod listened to his friend breathe heavily and instantly fall asleep. They had talked considerably the last month and he had given him a letter to his father and daughters. He told him so many things left unsaid with his opium both knew he was dying. The swelling at his ankles and hands, the shortness of breath, and the palpitations of his heart belied a serious condition. There would be no medical interventions for a convicted man. That was the way of life behind the walls.
Silent footsteps padded across the room. He saw the glint of a knife. He was a second too slow as it entered his friend's chest.
Jarrod tackled him from the top bunk, and they fought over the knife. He inadvertently stabbed the assailant, and the man gasped for breath. The lights of a lantern came down the hall; the first light showed an inmate dying on the floor—-with a brand new knife. He was known for his outside contacts, and Jarrod was sure this wasn't his first killing. All he lacked was an explanation.
He turned his attention to Edgar.
"Help is coming. Hang on" as he applied pressure.
"It's too late, Jarrod. I am right with God. Promise me you will make me right with my family. You alone know the truth. You know I didn't have much longer in this world. This is an easier way to go than suffocating by my own breaths. See you on the other side, friend. Get out of here and back to your family."
And he closed his eyes with a slight smile on his face.
Jarrod stood up and let the guard frisk him. He looked at his bottom bunk saturated with blood.
"That was my bunk. It was meant for me. Just like Beth. But this time, there is something I can do at least to make it right—-. I promise you, friend."
—&—