Free Let the Circle Be Unbroken by Mildred D. Taylor

husband had gone to their second-floor living quarters above the Mercantile shortly after six, as was their custom, had supper, and retired about eight o’clock. They were awakened about an hour later by noisesfrom below. With Mr. Barnett leading the way, they went downstairs to investigate and found three Negroes standing there and the store’s safe open. Mr. Barnett, trying to stop the burglary, had attacked one of the Negroes, but a second Negro holding an axe had hit him on the back of his head with the blunt of the axe. Once Mrs. Barnett saw her husband down, she had attacked the men herself, but was swiftly knocked out by one of them. When she came to, she found her husband still unconscious and bleeding badly from the head wound. The men were gone. At this point she started screaming and ran outside for help.
    When Mr. Macabee asked Mrs. Barnett who were the first to come to her aid, she replied that at the time she was quite dazed and couldn’t remember everyone, but she did remember Mr. Courtney Jones, proprietor of the pool hall, and R.W. and Melvin Simms.
    Mrs. Barnett’s testimony was liberally laced with tears and emotion, and it was clear that most of the court spectators greatly sympathized with her. The jury members sat with their backs to us, so we could not see their faces, but I had no doubt that they too were sympathetic. Even I, as much as I disliked the woman and felt no loss at all for her bigoted husband, felt pity for her.
    But not for long.
    Once Mr. Macabee had finished with Mrs. Barnett, Mr. Jamison, speaking loudly enough to be heard by everyone, yet evoking a calm quiet that seemed almost a whisper, began to question her. He was very gentle, apologizing that he had to ask her to relive that night again, but that he needed to know exactly what she and her husband had done upon hearing the noises in the store. Mrs. Barnett seemed leery of Mr. Jamison at first, but recounted that night’s events as she had been asked.
    She repeated that they got up.
    “Yes,” said Mr. Jamison.
    And went to their bedroom door.
    “Yes.”
    And through the living room—
    “Yes.”
    And to the hall and down the stairs—
    “Just a minute, Mrs. Barnett,” Mr. Jamison gently interrupted. “Did you turn on the light first? As I recall, there is a light switch at the top of the stairs leading down to the store.”
    Mrs. Barnett frowned in thought, trying to remember, then she said: “No sir, we didn’t turn it on ’cause it hadn’t been working for more’n a month. The one downstairs worked, but not that one. Jim Lee—bless his heart—had been intending to fix it, but never got ’round to it. It still ain’t fixed.”
    Mr. Jamison bowed his head slightly as if in respect for the kind intentions of the departed, then probing just as gently asked if the light was on downstairs in the store.
    Again Mrs. Barnett was thoughtful. No, she conceded, as if to a friend, the light was not on. She and Mr. Barnett always turned it off before retiring and the thieves had not turned it on.
    “Then, Mrs. Barnett, how did you see?”
    “Oh, we had a flashlight,” she answered matter-of-factly. “We always kept one by the bed. An oil lamp too. Never could tell when the electricity might go out.”
    “I see. You had a flashlight. . . . You didn’t tell me.” Mr. Jamison’s tone was not one of accusation but of feelings hurt by her neglecting to confide that bit of information to him.
    “I’m sorry,” apologized Mrs. Jim Lee Barnett.
    “What about your glasses, Mrs. Barnett? Did you have time to put them on? I notice that most times when I’ve seen you, you have them on . . . like now.”
    “Yessir, I always wear them. Had to since I was a young girl. Nearsighted, you know—”
    “And did you wear them that night?”
    There was silence as Mrs. Barnett pondered the question. “You know, I don’t believe I did. No, I didn’t, ’cause the flashlight was on Jim Lee’s side of the bed and I didn’t