Parlor Games A Novel

THE TRIAL

GIFTS GIVEN AND PROMISED



MENOMINEE—JANUARY 24–25, 1917



When court resumed, Sawyer began by querying Frank about communications between herself and me.

“The Baroness wrote you many letters and telegrams from 1913 to 1916, correct?”

“Yes.”

Sawyer walked back to the plaintiff’s table, retrieved a paper, and strode up to Frank with it. “Is this a letter she wrote to you in December 1913?”

“Yes.”

“Your Honor, may I read this?”

The judge nodded.

The slightly stooped Sawyer positioned himself before the jury box, his bow legs spread like those of a broken-down cowboy. “The letter, gentlemen, reads: ‘My dear Frank, I cannot tell you how pleased I am at the renewal of our friendship. All these long years I have missed your entertaining ways and delightful companionship. We do have great fun together, don’t we? I never again want to lose that. I’m so glad you agree that we need never again part. Now, I intend to sail to London for the New Year and want you to join me. We can take the train to New York together and celebrate New Year’s Eve there first. Say you will, please. Daisy can take care of the particulars. Your loving friend, May.’ ”

Sawyer deposited the letter at his table, and walked back to Frank. “And did you celebrate New Year’s Eve in New York with the Baroness?”

“Like it was the end of time.”

“Was liquor served at this party?”

“Liquor is served at all May’s parties.”

“And did you indulge?”

“Yes, against my better judgment. I’d sworn off liquor altogether after May and I quarreled in 1903.”

“And what was the result of your drinking?”

“I was sick as a dog the first part of the crossing. Needed the doctor on board to attend to me.”

“How did the Baroness take this?”

“She came around to my room often and took some meals with me. She offered to be our purse holder and suggested we pool our funds. So I gave her my six hundred dollars in cash and a check for fifteen hundred dollars in stock dividends. Soon after we landed, she said the money was gone, so I had to wire home for more.”

“Miss Shaver, yesterday you mentioned a gift of pearls. When and exactly how did this come about?”

“It was 1913, while we were in London. I remember this clearly because it was shortly after the Baron’s death. Even though he and May had been apart many years, she was suddenly shot through with sentiment, which made no sense, because she’d told me years before that she never loved the Baron. Anyway, she claimed he had given her thirty-five prize pearls that she’d always wanted to make into a necklace. Daisy intended to give her fifteen more pearls, but May told me that, due to the significance she attached to the pearls, such a gift would mean more coming from me. So I gave her fourteen thousand dollars in stock shares, and she selected fifteen pearls, which cost ten thousand dollars.”

“And did you ever see the leftover four thousand dollars?”

“No,” said Frank, pointedly fixing her gaze on me.

Alvah Sawyer changed his line of questioning at this point, shifting the focus to Daisy Emmett, which prompted Judge Flanagan to empty the courtroom of the jury and spectators for the rest of the day. The lawyers and judge proceeded to argue the legal ins and outs of including Daisy and my two brothers in the lawsuit. Sawyer claimed they were all accomplices in a conspiracy. But my attorney argued, first, that there was insufficient evidence of any conspiracy, and, second, that bringing them into this case would confuse the jury as to who was on trial and whose conduct was at issue. In the end, the judge ruled that they could be tried separately if, depending on the outcome of this case, a grand jury determined that their involvement warranted it.

We recessed around 4:30 p.m., leaving me time to mail out the new baby gift for my dear friends Helen and David O’Neill, a young Chicago couple whom I had introduced. The darlings had just had their first baby, and I’d ordered an engraved sterling-silver rattle to commemorate the joyous occasion.



The next morning, Frank ascended to the witness stand for a third round of testimony. She was not only getting her day in court—she was getting several long and drawn-out days. I hoped she found all the attention edifying. The townspeople certainly enjoyed the show. Each day the crowds hoping for seats grew larger, and this morning many had to be turned away, which no doubt upset them after they’d trekked to the courthouse in such frigid weather as had blown in overnight: It was minus four degrees at eight this morning.

But the crowd of sixty who did get seats probably regretted wasting their time, for Sawyer and Frank spent the morning wading through envelopes of bills and papers—bills for hotel expenses in Menominee; bills for my mother’s illness and burial; expenses for Daisy’s room in a Paris hotel; drayage and freight bills; tailors’ bills; and papers recording all manner of such petty Menominee household expenses as milk and bakery items. Every chance he got, Sawyer worked in questions like “So the funds to pay for this were obtained by fraudulent representation?” or “Were you led to believe you would be paid back?”

My attorney objected quite often. Judge Flanagan finally agreed that this exercise had run its course and directed Sawyer to compile the items under consideration. Sawyer proposed to break the list into three categories, which he claimed would account for every penny of the $106,252 requested in the suit.

Goodness gracious, I almost felt I should apologize to the poor spectators who had given up a warm hearth to listen to all this tripe. But, then, this pesky trial is dragging out much longer than necessary, even with the judge urging Sawyer to condense his examination at every turn.

I believe, however, that the spectators who chose to remain for the afternoon enjoyed themselves.

“Miss Shaver,” said Sawyer after the lunch break, “the Baroness sought your help with a wide array of living expenses, correct?”

“Oh, yes, even when we weren’t together, I heard about her finances.”

“Would you please read these two letters from the defendant, starting with the one on top.” Sawyer handed Frank two sheets of paper.

“The first one’s dated November 18, 1914,” said Frank. “ ‘Dear Frank, I hope you are well and that your work on that real estate matter is progressing. It is unbelievably cold in Menominee of late. I dearly hope that Chicago is not suffering the same blistering winds and drifting snows. Although I miss you very much, I cannot blame you for staying away just now. Only one thing worries me. I want Tokyo to have a coat, because the weather is so cold up here and he really must get out for exercise. You know how dear he is to me, and I should be very unhappy if he is not fit and healthy. Please see what you can do. Love, May.’ ”

Frank grinned at me and I returned the gesture, knowing the affection we shared for Tokyo. She shuffled the letter to the bottom and took up the next sheet. “This one’s from December 2, 1914. ‘Dearest Frank, we had a lovely Thanksgiving together, though your absence was noted and you were missed by all. When will you finish with that beastly real estate business? You really ought not deprive us of your company for so long. I for one won’t stand for it. The world is in such shambles, with Germany running amuck and now France and England declaring war on Turkey. Who knows what’s to come of it all? I detest being so far away from you. If you cannot come home for Christmas I have decided to spend it with you in Highland Park. Let’s talk about taking a trip to some sunny and warm place, perhaps Algiers. The war hasn’t touched it at all, and I understand it’s quite lovely in the spring. Love, May. P.S. Tokyo adores his new red coat and warm fur collar.’ ”

Laughter welled up from the bottom of my belly. Frank tossed her head back and guffawed. The whole courtroom laughed. Even the judge allowed himself a chuckle.

Then the questioning turned to another coat.

“Miss Shaver,” said Sawyer, bracing an arm on the witness box and angling for a view of me. “The Baroness, through her lawyer, reported that she made you a gift of a sealskin coat. Is this true?”

“No, she only said she would.”

“Please tell us about this.”

“We were shopping in New York—in 1913, I believe—when we came across a moleskin coat that caught May’s eye. When I bought it for her, she said she’d pay me back and also have her sealskin altered to fit me. But then she never gave me the sealskin. And I never got my money for the moleskin, either.”

I could hardly believe Frank included gifts given and promised as part of a lawsuit. I always thought a gift was a gift. When someone presents me with a gift, I do not expect to sign an IOU for it. And when I present a gift, I intend it just as that—a gift, for heaven’s sake. Given that, it simply makes no sense to recount the rest of the afternoon’s testimony.