With Liz and Mom wrapped up in their homeschooling, I ended up spending a lot of time at the Wyatts’ house. That beating had really changed Joe. He pulled into himself and talked even less than before. But then Dog came along.
Joe had always wanted a dog. Uncle Clarence thought a dog that didn’t hunt or herd sheep and just sat around scarfing down dog food was a waste of money. After the beating, however, Aunt Al talked him into letting her get one for Joe, saying the dog could live off table scraps. We all went to the pound, where Joe picked out a black-and-white dog that was a mix of a bunch of breeds, Aunt Al said, some border collie, probably some hound, maybe a little terrier. Joe called him a purebred mutt and named him Dog.
“You’re lucky,” I told Joe. “I wish I had a dog.”
“We can share him,” Joe said.
Dog was a smart, saucy little guy who followed Joe everywhere. He went with Joe to the bus stop every morning, and when Joe got off the bus in the afternoon, Dog was sitting there waiting for him, regardless of the weather. That mutt really lifted Joe’s spirits.
It actually snowed a couple of times that winter, and Joe and I got into some fierce snowball fights with the other mill hill kids, the whole gang of us interrupting the fight to pelt passing cars and everyone, including Dog, running for the woods when the drivers got out to try and chase us down, shouting, “Come back here, you lintheads!”
When all was said and done, except for the Maddox mess, I was having a great time in Byler.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I had a pretty good feeling about the trial. We met a couple of times with Dickey Bryson, the prosecuting attorney. He was a bulky man and although his ties always seemed too tight, he smiled a lot and loved to tell jokes. He’d been a star linebacker on the Byler Bulldogs, his picture hung on the wall of the Bulldog Diner, and some people still called him by his high school nickname, Blitz.
The case was pretty simple, Dickey Bryson told us, and the trial would be, too. He’d start with the deputy who took Liz’s statement and the photos, then he’d put me and Uncle Tinsley on the stand to testify about Liz’s beat-up condition when she came home, then he’d put Wayne on to testify as to what he’d witnessed when he drove Liz and Maddox around, and finally, he’d put Liz on to give her version of events.
It seemed to me like a slam-dunk case. Maddox did what he did. He knew it, we knew it, and once the jurors heard the truth, they’d know it, too. After all, we had an eyewitness, and he wasn’t biased, he wasn’t a relative or a friend. He was completely impartial. How could we not win?
I kept repeating this to Liz, but as the trial date got nearer, she became a nervous wreck and sometimes would gag like she was going to throw up.
The morning of the trial, the sky was clear, but it was so wickedly cold that the rhododendron leaves were curled up like skinny cigars. Liz, Mom, and I were getting dressed in the bird wing when Liz put her hand to her mouth and rushed into the bathroom. Her stomach was empty, but I could hear her retching and heaving over the toilet. When Liz came out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Mom handed her a box of mints. “Nerves aren’t necessarily a bad thing,” she said. “Most performers have anxiety at showtime. Katharine Hepburn used to throw up every night before going onstage.”
I put on the lime-green pants I hadn’t worn since the first day of school, and Liz got out her orange-and-purple skirt. We wanted to look respectable, and these were the only dressy clothes we had—I mostly wore jeans, and Liz had gypsy-like outfits she’d put together from Mom’s old stuff in the attic. We’d burned all the clothes Maddox had bought us. I was afraid Mom was going to wear one of her hippie dresses or, even worse, one that showed off her cleavage. Instead, she pulled out a pair of black pants and her red velvet jacket, like she was the one going onstage.
“Mom, you sure that’s the right thing to wear?” I asked.
“You two can dress for the judge if you want,” she said. “I’m dressing for the jury.”
Uncle Tinsley was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. He had on a pin-striped suit with a vest and a little gold chain hanging from the watch pocket. No one felt like eating breakfast, so we piled into the Woody. During the trip into town, we all kept trying to buck Liz up.
“Don’t let Maddox scare you,” I said. “He’s just a bully.”
“You’ve got the facts and the law on your side,” Uncle Tinsley said. “You’ll do fine.”
“Keep eye contact,” Mom said, “take deep breaths, and channel your chi.”