Marbles
Chapter 2

Author's Note: The original introductory paragraph was cut out to be used later, because I don't think I want to reveal everything in chapter 2. I've got a much better place for it. I replaced it with something sufficiently better that'll hopefully make the story a bit better in turn. Lastly, thanks for those five reviews I got from those five different reviewers. It means a lot to me. My wheels are going over a rough spot right in the road right now, and any little bit of encouragement and help, well, helps. I'm glad to be giving back to you in the form of this. So, I hope you enjoy!
Love,
Meredith
Have A Happy New Year! I'll be either alone sitting on my couch or at my computer desk, or doing something with my mother, but either way, I'll be thinking about all of you the entire time.

Update: I replaced chapter 1 with a chapter 1 that I've fixed a few errors in. Don't bother re-reading, it's not much different, just closer to perfect mechanics.

OoOoO

One Summer, when Jem was pushing Scout on the tire swing in the yard, the children saw their father doing something that they'd never seen before. Jem had been watching the Radley house back then, every time they were outside, and during one such distraction, his hand slipped on the tire, and Scout toppled off onto the ground. Jem had heard her shout, and went to help her up. When he got her to her feet, he looked at Atticus on the porch, but the older man hadn't been paying attention to the disturbance. He was focused, instead, on three small glass marbles in his hand. Jem told Scout to look, and when she did, she asked her brother what Atticus had kids' toys for, but he didn't know. Atticus pocketed the glass balls soon after, and resumed his survey of the neighborhood, as if he hadn't been doing anything strange at all. Jem and Scout never asked again, and soon forgot all about the event. Little did they know, their father had gained, and had lost, more marbles since that day. They weren't just kids' toys to him. To him, each one had a meaning.

OoOoO

On March the second, the day that his children had found out about Mrs. Applewhite's death, Atticus Finch got into his car, drove out to the Ewells' dump, and went into the house. His hand was in his jacket, touching the five precious marbles he had brought with him on that day.

"Miss Mayella?" he said, knocking on the door. Mayella Ewell, who was at the stove making breakfast for her seven brothers and sisters, wiped her hands on her already dirty apron, and went to the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Finch," she said quietly.

"Good morning, Mayella. Could I come in?"

"Yes, you may."

Atticus entered the house, took his hat to his chest, and looked around. "My, my, it's been a long while since I visited last," he said, and turned to her with a smile. "It looks to me like you've been keeping up just fine."

"Yes, sir," she said to her feet. He looked the young woman over for a minute. She looked thinner, and her hair looked greasier than ever before. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, and she had brown spots and blemishes on her face. He then looked at the children around the table, making a mess of themselves, screaming and yelling, and pulling each other's hair.

Atticus cleared his throat quietly, and she looked up, alarmed. She turned pale quickly, though the lawyer didn't know why.

"Come out on the porch, Mr. Finch," she said suddenly, then turned to her family, and shouted, "All right, y'all shut your mouths, y'hear? I'm tryin' to carry on a conversation with Mr. Finch and y'all are spittin' your tongues at each other! I mean it, now, be quiet!"

The porch outside was considerably quieter. Mayella told Atticus to take a seat in one of the old rotting chairs that sat on the old rotting porch, and she took her own rotting rocker near him. The two sat in silence for a long time, while Atticus looked through the trees, at the murky pond beyond the house, lost in his thoughts. She was the first to speak up.

"I heard about your case, Mr. Finch," she said. He looked at her and nodded.

"Thomas Applewhite has asked me to defend him against his neighbor, Michael Dawson. Michael Dawson says he didn't do it, and is harshly accusing Mr. Applewhite, saying he lied terribly."

"What does Mr. Dawson have to do with the case, Mr. Finch?"

"Well, Mr. Dawson says he didn't have anything to do with it, but Mr. Applewhite says, 'nonsense, you were in bed with my wife more nights than I have been in eight years.'"

"Who do you believe, sir?"

"Miss Mayella, with all due respect," she shifted in her chair, "I've been asked to defend Mr. Applewhite. I will not state my true opinion because of that."

"Well, you can still tell him 'no', can'cha? You can tell him you want to defend Mr. Dawson instead, can'cha? If you don't trust Mr. Applewhite?"

"I've known Mr. Applewhite for many years, and I've known him for those years as a friend. He is a classy man, who would only lie - "

" - over somethin' like this," Mayella interrupted fiercely. Atticus raised his eyebrows, and closed his mouth, slightly puzzled. He sat back, honestly urging her, and wanting her to go on. "What if he's lyin', Mr. Finch? If he's lyin', you're gonna have a right mess on your hands, you are."

"Miss Ewell - "

"If you don't believe someone, you ought to go against him, oughtn't you? I mean, wouldn't you wanna avoid that mess as hard as you could? Oughtn't you put all your heart into bringin' out the truth?"

"Miss Ewell - "

"Oughtn't you?"

"Miss Ewell, you don't know who I believe," Atticus said firmly. Mayella stared at him for a long time, sat back in her chair, and looked back down at her feet. "I apologize, Mr. Finch," she muttered.

"That's quite all right." Atticus scrutinized her a minute, then folded his hands across his chest, and looked back at the greenish pond.

"Weather's been treatin' us, hasn't it, Mr. Finch?" Mayella said quietly.

"Indeed it has," Atticus replied, and sat still in the chair. A film of algae covered the portion of the pond he was looking at, and a dead bird washed up on shore with a brown bug-eaten leaf. He furrowed his eyebrows, wetted his lips, and sat, staring at it, for the rest of the visit.

OoOoO

Jem returned to the house, his step lacking buzz, and his face as glum as the old porch steps. He found Atticus on the couch in the living room, his head in his paper, and his ankles crossed on the coffee table. Jem had tried to get through the door quietly, but the screen door slammed shut no matter how carefully you tried to close it, and when he crossed in front of the doorway to the living room, he jumped at Atticus' cavernous voice.

"That's a boy with definite moxie if I ever saw one in my life."

Jem turned to him, but saw no indication that he'd spoken. His eyes were still scanning the newsprint, and his glasses were still nearing the end of his nose.

"Sorry, sir?"

Atticus folded his paper, turned his head, and looked at his son over his horn-rimmed frames, a serious look on his face. Scout had gotten her bull's-eye body language analyzing from her father. "Come and sit down."

Jem set his books on the floor in the hall, and slowly went and sat next to his father on the couch. He looked up at him for a while, then, finally remembering where he was, took a breath. "Atticus, can I ask you a question?"

"Go on."

"Well, I know that you never show much...hatred...for anyone. I know it's to set a good example for me'n Scout, and you're doin' a mighty fine job of it, I'll tell you."

Atticus nodded, and lifted the bridge of his glasses frames nearer to his eyes. His attention was double the attention he had given to Mayella a few hours ago.

"Have you ever felt like..." Jem shifted, and nearly laughed at the stupidity of his question. He understood why Scout had thought his presumption foolish. She had realized what had took Jem until he said it aloud, in the time it took to bat an eyelash.

He looked at Atticus again, who remained unmoving and attentive, and bit the inside of his lip. "Have you ever felt like hurtin' anyone? Or...killing them?"

Atticus furrowed his eyebrows, and sat staring at his son for a while. "Yes."

The answer frightened Jem.

"Anyone who has the kind of black heart to feel such malice against another human being."

Jem relaxed.

"You're referring, of course, to Mrs. Jane Applewhite's killer?" The boy was unaware of his slightly gaping mouth. His father never ceased to amaze him. "I don't know how you know about the murder, but - "

"Cecil Jacobs told me'n Scout after school."

"Ah...well, that doesn't surprise me in the least."

Jem stayed silent, biting his lip again. He couldn't elaborate on his question. He couldn't possibly ask his father, and a father like Atticus, if he killed the wife of the man he would be defending in court - if he was defending him.

"Atticus, has Mr. Applewhite asked you to be his defense attorney?"

"Yes, he has."

"Is that why you were at his house the other day?"

"Yes, it was."

"Listen, Atticus, I just - " The door opened in the kitchen, interrupting Jem. He looked back at his father, but had forgotten his thought. "That Scout?" He didn't wait for an answer, and bolted to the kitchen to see his upset sister. "What's the matter, Scout, why ain't you with Mr. Arthur?"

"Boo didn't come down today."

"Didn't come down?"

"Yeah, Mr. Nathan said - " Scout's face darkened when she looked at her brother, and she abruptly ended the conversation, and brushed past him. Atticus went into the hallway, but Scout had already gone to her room. Jem looked at him.

"She says Boo didn't come down today," he mumbled.

Atticus looked at Scout's bedroom door, sighed, and went to it. Scout looked up and answered his knock with a quiet "come in," and he did, his steps slow and careful, as if he were walking in a mine field. He sat on her bed, and she immediately rose and draped her arms around him.

"Why didn't Boo come downstairs today, Atticus?" she moaned. "Is it 'cause there's somethin' wrong with me? Maybe he don't like talkin' to me no more."

"Oh, I don't think it's that, Scout," he said, rubbing her back.

"Then what is it?" Her voice was muffled, her face buried in his shoulder.

"Well, Scout, maybe he was busy, or...not in a condition fit to talk to you."

"What do you mean?" she looked up at him and sniffed.

"Well, maybe he was...maybe he was upset. You know that Mr. Arthur hasn't had the best time of it. Now, tell me what happened."

"Well, Jem'n I walked from school, and he dropped me off at the fence, and - " Scout remembered hers and Jem's conversation. "Atticus, you didn't kill Mrs. Applewhite, did you?"

Atticus raised his eyebrows, and looked at his daughter. If there was one thing about younger children that he was almost never prepared for, it was the fact that they tended to say it like it is, and be incredibly straightforward without being aware of it.

"Who told you that?"

"Jem did."

Atticus's eyebrows dropped, realizing what his son had been trying to ask him before. "No, Scout."

"See? I told him you didn't. I knew it. Jem's so strange, Atticus. Why would he think that?"

"Jem's growing up, Scout." Atticus drew her closer, and put a hand on the back of her head. "He could be looking for something bad in me."

"But there ain't anything, right?"

"Every man carries a thousand troubles. I'm no different." Scout sniffed, and listened. "Every man has regrets, has...battles going on in his mind, and no matter how good you think a person is, everyone has not one, but multiple flaws."

"Like that Sunday we didn't go to church?"

"Something like that, yes." Atticus smiled a minute, but then he became serious once more, and he took on his authoritative tone. "Scout, I did not kill Jane Applewhite. No matter how many people tell you that I have, I have not." Scout nodded, and smiled, relieved.

"Thanks, Atticus. I knew there was somethin' wrong with Jem. You'd never do that." Scout gave her father a curt kiss on the cheek, hopped off of her bed, and went to wash up for supper. Atticus touched a finger to his glasses, and pushed them up slightly on his nose. He then stood, and went back to the living room to read his paper once more. The worst was ahead, he knew, but all he could think about now was that Scout knew the truth now. He'd gotten through to her. She was not like Jem, only because she was young. She only saw things in their simple forms, unlike Jem, who knew more and could contradict his own thoughts, the barrier that most men threw themselves up against very many times in their lives, in attempts to break it, though it simply could not be done.

There really was nothing Atticus Finch could not explain.

OoOoO

Author's Note: Hope you liked this, I certainly enjoyed writing it. Any Playwright/ATBAI readers will know that I ask for 5 reviews for a chapter, so if you read, please review. I finally got five for chapter 1. Thank you so much, again, you five!