“Aunt Myrna?” she asked when she reached her. “What have you done?”
“Well, it’s overdue,” Myrna said. “The town is growing, we need this vehicle and your Jeep is a sadly burned little critter.”
“Oh Myrna,” she murmured with tears in her voice. She embraced her tiny aunt and whispered in her ear, “You must be loaded!”
“Pretty much,” the little old lady replied.
Later that week, June gathered the staff together before the start of business. “I’m not coming into the clinic on Monday—I’m going to Pleasure. Jury selection is beginning for Leah’s trial. It’s up to you all what you want to do. I’m not opposed to closing the clinic.”
“I’ll call all our appointments,” Jessica said. “I can’t imagine that anyone will insist on coming in that day.”
“Are a lot of people going to Pleasure?” John asked.
“I don’t know,” June said. “But my dad is going, Judge Forrest is presiding and Birdie will be there for sure. George said he’s closing the café after breakfast. I just want Leah to know she has friends.”
“I’ll go,” Charlotte said. “I’ll tell Bud.”
“Well, count me in,” John said.
On Monday a sign was put on the clinic door—Closed for Court.
It wasn’t unusual for the town to have a consciousness and for things to happen in sync. In this case, the whole town felt they had let Leah Craven down. They would not again.
June and Sadie drove John over to Pleasure in the ambulance so they could go by way of Valley Hospital and make their rounds. That put them there a little later than the majority. June had told John to expect a good, solid showing, but even she was stunned by the throng, and among them were a few reporters with notebooks open and even a news van from a San Francisco station.
“God, who do you suppose called them?” John asked.
“It’s hard to know. Maybe everyone. We’re going to have to park and walk,” she said.
“No, keep going. They’ll let us through. Susan is going to kill me for not bringing her along!”
“Ohh, I don’t think so,” June said. “Look over there—see? Mary Lou Granger, Julianna Dickson and—”
“Susan! How did she know?”
“How did we know?”
“But she didn’t say anything.”
June smiled. “I’ll bet you anything she thought you’d try to talk her out of it.”
They parked and locked the ambulance, then slowly made their way through the throng of people, friends and neighbors, some of whom were carrying signs, trying to get to the front of the courthouse. There were easily a thousand folks present, not counting the media. As John and June edged through the crowd, they passed interviews taking place, reporters asking townspeople how close they were to Leah, whether they thought Leah guilty of some crime, what they thought the police should have done with her.
Unsurprisingly, they came upon Elmer, deep in an interview.
“So, you’re saying she should not have been arrested?” an attractive young woman asked him.
“I’m saying she wasn’t arrested by our police chief, the same man who discovered the body of Gus Craven. Our chief was called out to that farm dozens of times, to cart old Gus away before the drunken fool killed his wife and children. I guess he knew Leah Craven hadn’t premeditated any old murder. She was just trying to save her own life and the lives of her kids.”
“And the town is here because…?”
“The situation should never have come to this. If we were any kind of community, we’d have taken turns sitting out at that farm till Gus got the clear message we weren’t going to let him hurt his family anymore. We should have run him off years ago—and since we didn’t, Leah had to. In all innocence, Leah had to run him off before he killed her.”
“You advocate vigilantism?”
“Get out your Webster’s, young woman. Vigilantism is lawless, violent action that supercedes the law. Vigilantes would have chased Gus down and strung him up. What I regret is that we didn’t protect one of our own, and left her to protect herself as best she could. That she should go to trial for that is a travesty!”
“Travesty!” someone shouted. “Let Leah Go! Let Leah Go!” The chanting began.
“June?” John asked. “Do I smell what I think I smell?”
She whiffed the air. “Barbecue?”
They followed their noses and found what they were looking for. George, Burt and Sam had brought and set up the picnic grills. And seated at a small folding table downwind of the grills sat Myrna, selling tickets for hot dogs and chips.
“There you are, darling,” Myrna said, rising enough to kiss June’s cheek. “John, be an angel and go find your wife—tell her it’s her turn to spell me.”
“Aunt Myrna, did you phone all the television people?”
“I might have called in a marker or two. Have you seen Birdie, dear? Or the Barstows? Someone must have news of what’s going on inside!”
The courtroom didn’t have space for spectators because it was packed with prospective jurors. John Cutler, Leah’s public defender, and three lawyers from the prosecutors office interviewed them one by one. The three prosecutors were led by Marge Glaser, a righteous young woman with a stiff face who had not appeared before Judge Forrest before. Ms. Glaser was moved by the letter of the law, and obviously convinced that if Leah Craven had held the shovel that hit Gus Craven in the back of the head, she was guilty of a crime. But Ms. Glaser was having a little trouble.
John Cutler was young, fresh faced, quick to smile and anything but rigid. While Ms. Glaser was impeccably groomed, lint free with every hair in place, Cutler’s shirttail kept creeping out of his pants, his hair was longish and floppy, and he might have slept in his suit.
But he was having better luck, and the jury hadn’t even been selected.
“Do you have any history of domestic violence in your family, Mr. Schuck?” Ms. Glaser asked a prospective juror.
“No, ma’am,” he answered.
“Have you ever been called on to intercede in a domestic argument that had gotten, shall we say, rough?”
“No, ma’am.”
“And let me ask you one more question. Do you think it’s the job of law enforcement officers to make arrests in the event of a domestic situation? A family fight?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Thank you very—”
“If they can get there in time,” Mr. Schuck said. “If it was me, I don’t know if I’d wait on the police. Know what I mean?”
“That’s all, Mr. Schuck.”
“If anyone laid a hand on my daughter, for example, I’d likely beat him to a bloody pulp and take my chances.”
“Your honor!” Ms. Glaser pleaded.
“You’re dismissed, Mr. Schuck,” Judge said. Then he looked pointedly at Ms. Glaser. “Would you like to try again?”
“Yes, I would!” she shot back.
John Cutler slowly smiled. He hadn’t been able to ask very many questions so far.
Ms. Glaser quietly conferred with her legal team while the bailiff called another potential juror to the stand. This was the fifteenth interview in an hour, and it was clear that the prosecutor had not yet selected one juror she was completely satisfied with.
“Your name please?” Ms. Glaser asked.
“Mrs. Melba Leaver.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Leaver,” Ms. Glaser said, trying to be pleasant, but her smile was strained and her patience was thin. “I have just a couple of questions for you this morning. First, have you or anyone in your family ever been arrested for a felony?”
“No.”
“Do you work outside the home?”
“No, my husband wouldn’t like that.”
“I see. And you’ve been married how long…?”
“Thirty-six years. Five children.”
“Who would you say is the final authority in your home? You or your husband?”
“Oh, my hu
sband, most definitely.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Glaser said, looking pleased at last.
John Cutler stood. “Mrs. Leaver, has your husband ever, in anger, struck you?”
“What? No! He wouldn’t dare! I’d shoot him in his sleep!”
Marge Glaser dropped her head heavily to the table in utter frustration. “Mrs. Leaver works for me,” Cutler said, sitting down again.
“Your honor!” Ms. Glaser begged.
“All right, all right. Ms. Glaser, Mr. Cutler, my chambers. Leave your entourage here, if you don’t mind. It’s a small chamber.” Judge stood and left the bench, followed by the lawyers. He took off his robe, hung it on the rack just inside his office door and sat behind his desk. He waited for them to take their seats. Cutler was all loose and goosey, trying not to grin too wildly, while Marge Glaser was clearly miserable.
“Mr. Cutler, may I suggest you wipe that silly grin off your face? Your apparent success in this case has nothing whatsoever to do with your skill as an attorney.” Judge Forrest hoped that would make what he had to say to Ms. Glaser go down a little easier.
“Ms. Glaser, by the same token, you are undoubtedly a brilliant attorney and I would say your boss was a thinking man when he sent you to take on this case. The problem is, I don’t see any way you can make it work.”
“But your honor, if we had a change of venue—”
“You could move this trial to Australia and you would still have these facts to deal with—you have a woman who was, for better than sixteen years, severely beaten by her alcoholic husband. Her children were beaten. He was repeatedly locked up for violence directed at his family. And only after sixteen years, countless arrests, endless bruises and dozens if not hundreds of witnesses to the abuse, she whacked him in the head as he pummeled her child.”
“And hid the body!”
“Then charge her with unlawful burial without a permit! Ms. Glaser, there is no doubt she killed him out of fear for her life and the life of her child. Half the town saw their bruises the next morning as they both showed up for their jobs in the café. Your witnesses amount to sheriff’s department investigators and a county coroner, while Mr. Cutler here has a witness list the size of the Grace Valley phone book.”
“Your honor, I’ve offered to plead out with Mr. Cutler, and I’ll go as wide as manslaughter—”
“He can win this, Ms. Glaser, and I’ll tell you why. Self-defense is not against the law. Not here, not anywhere. But here’s an offer I’ll make you both. If you can agree to involuntary manslaughter, I’ll give Leah Craven a probation and community service sentence that will allow her to go home and take care of her family.”
“Your honor, this is most irregular. It’s clear judicial prejudice. It’s grounds for a change of judge.”
“Ms. Glaser, are you stupid or just stubborn? I’m giving you a break here! Leah Craven’s supporters are having a barbecue on the courthouse steps! If you manage to lose, and cost the county an extraordinary amount of money, do you think you’ll be in the same job next year? Now think about this, you two. You have thirty minutes to decide what to do. Out. Out!”
An hour later Leah Craven walked down the courthouse steps with her young attorney and wept openly as she was cheered by a riotous crowd. From coast to coast her face was seen on television, and her quavering voice heard as she said, “I hope Gus is finally at peace…because I am.”
Part of Tom Toopeek’s job was to drive around the back roads of Grace Valley and be familiar with every old abandoned logging road, farm path, orchard access road, crossroad and highway. If he ever had to chase someone, he’d better know every possible route of escape. And not just in daylight.
He was making a routine survey of the area to the east of town when he happened upon a darkly painted late model Ford truck parked off of an old abandoned road not far from June’s house. He parked his Rover down the road, got out his flashlight and rifle and had a look around.
He was an expert tracker, but he simply followed a footpath from the truck’s parking place to June’s backyard. He saw a flickering in her kitchen window and heard something squeaking. As he got closer he saw the flickering was candlelight and the squeaking was music.
He shouldn’t have, but telling himself he just had to be sure, he peeked in the dining room window. The table was set with candles and china; there was wine in glasses, an opened gift box with ribbon, tissue paper and bows spilling out. June was wearing a slim, sexy black dress with a slit up one thigh and she danced in the arms of a large man in a flannel shirt. She laughed and tossed her head seductively as he lifted her off her feet and twirled her around. Tom had never seen her like this.
Dancing?
He shook his head in bemusement and escaped to his Rover as quietly as possible.
One Last Thing…
“Sadie!” June called. “Hurry up, we’re late!”
The dog came running up the back porch steps, and if a dog could smile, this one was smiling. June, in her nicest summer dress, crouched down and fastened a flower wreath around her best friend’s neck.
In Grace Valley, at that moment, someone took a metal cutter to the padlock on the Presbyterian Church and opened it up. In through the large double doors flooded people—men, women and children dressed in their finery, smiling and greeting each other, laughing, joking, even singing.
June and Sadie rode to town in the ambulance. Whoever was “on call” had the ambulance and stayed with it. Today was her day, since John had another commitment.
When she got to the church, she had to park across the street at the clinic, there were so many cars. “Damn,” she muttered. “I bet they’ve started. Now, you remember to be very good.”
June and Sadie jogged across the street and into the church. Music filled the air, candles glittered at the altar, and flowers, more flowers than she’d ever seen in a church at one time, were displayed everywhere.
She and Sadie slipped into a pew at the back of the church, right beside Jessica. “Have you ever seen her more beautiful?” Jessica whispered.
June looked up the aisle. The church was full to bursting, so it wasn’t easy to see everyone, but by craning her neck she could get a wide-angle view. There stood Sam and Justine before Judge Forrest. Elmer was the best man, then Burt, then George, then John Stone. To the bride’s left were her four sisters. And standing behind her, having just given her away, was Standard Roberts. Witnessing was the town. And when Judge said, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together…” all that came to June’s mind was, Yes, we are gathered here together.
All together.
Dear Reader,
It was such an honor to be asked to create a Christmas story that would take place in Virgin River, especially because, in my mind, the miracle of Christmas is synonymous with that special town. Virgin River seems to be a place of kindness, friendship, love and miracles.
In this story you’ll meet Ian and Marcie, two courageous people who have weathered too many storms in their young lives. Both need two things to help them get to a place of peace and happiness: namely, faith and love. Between them they have a lot of history, but at the same time they’re just getting to know one another. And what they find in their renewed relationship could bring them closer to the peace and serenity they need so much.
The Virgin River novels are part of an ongoing series, and A Virgin River Christmas is a special addition to that series. While many of the well-known Virgin River characters are present in this book, you don’t have to read the first three in the series to feel at home here. But for those of you who have started at the beginning, and have waited patiently for this next book, let me put you in the time frame. A Virgin River Christmas takes place just a few weeks before Christmas—right in the middle of Whispering Rock—the third book in the continuing series.
Christmas can mean many different things to each of us. For Marcie and Ian, I’ve tried to create a special time for two people who couldn’t be more deserving.
It was a privilege to create this story. I hope you’ll treasure it.
My best wishes to you and yours,
Robyn Carr
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5385-2
DEEP IN THE VALLEY
Copyright © 2000 by Robyn Carr.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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*(new reissue available June 2010)
Robyn Carr, Deep in the Valley
(Series: Grace Valley Trilogy # 1)
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