Worthy Brown's Daughter by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online

had suffered. Matthew sighed. Law was like that. Victory and elation one minute, and a crushing defeat the next.

CHAPTER 8

    M atthew Penny paid eighty dollars a month to rent an office on the second floor of a three-story building on the fringes of Portland’s commercial district. The rent was a little more than he wanted to pay, but the cost was offset by a high-ceilinged loft above the office, which was intended for storage but served as the lawyer’s apartment. Matthew had furnished the empty space with a pine table and a rocking chair he’d taken in trade for legal services. He’d used credit to purchase a cot and a stool, which he used as a washstand. Each day, Matthew brought the water he needed from a nearby well, and, with a tin basin, a pail, a piece of soap, a toothbrush, a razor, a comb, blankets for the cot, and a few towels, his apartment was all rigged out.
    Three weeks after his trip to Phoenix, Matthew was in his law office with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, seated on a high stool, hunched over a slanted wooden desk, making copies of court papers that had to be filed by noon. Summer was hanging on, and the sound of steamer whistles, the conversations of passersby, and the clatter of wagon wheels invaded through his open window. When he looked up from his task, he could see sailing vessels bobbing at anchor at the end of a dusty street lined with two- and three-story whitewashed clapboard buildings.
    Matthew’s hand cramped constantly, and his eyes burned as he worked on the legal papers. He hated every minute of this scrivener’s work, but he didn’t have the money to hire a scrivener on a regular basis, so he did the small jobs himself. Matthew dipped his quill pen into the well, then shook off the excess ink carefully so none would spatter on his white shirt. The copies had to be duplicates of the original, and, worst of all, they had to be neat and legible. He sighed with relief when he had blotted the last copy of the last page dry.
    A freckle-faced boy was waiting impatiently for the documents. Matthew told him what to do with them then flipped a coin to him when he repeated his instructions accurately. The boy pocketed his pay, opened the office door, and froze in midstep. Worthy Brown filled the doorway, a floppy, wide-brimmed hat held before him in his thick calloused hands.
    The messenger squeezed past Worthy and bounded down the stairs, casting several curious glances over his shoulder on the way. Though the weather was warm, Worthy wore a red flannel shirt. His feet, which had been bare in Phoenix, were encased in badly worn, homemade shoes, which Matthew was willing to bet were brought out only on special occasions.
    “I wondered when you’d come calling, Mr. Brown,” Matthew said as he showed his visitor to a chair in front of his rolltop desk. The rolltop, the desk at which the scrivener’s work was accomplished; two wooden chairs; and a potbellied stove that provided warmth in winter were all one could find in the way of furnishings in Matthew’s office. Its sole decorations were Matthew’s framed certificate to practice law and a landscape showing Mount Hood that Matthew had purchased from a street artist.
    “I still don’t have money for your fee, Mr. Penny,” Brown said as his hands worried the brim of his hat in nervous anticipation of rejection.
    “You needn’t worry about legal fees. Your assistance in Phoenix was much appreciated. Now how may I help you?” asked Matthew, who had been wondering about Brown’s legal problem since the Negro had tantalized him with his vague references to it during their clandestine meeting.
    “Suh, Mr. Barbour has my child, and he won’t give her up.”
    “I’m not certain I follow you.”
    “He aims to own Roxanne, but that ain’t by our agreement.”
    “What agreement is that?”
    “May I explain? I don’t want to take up your time, but the story goes on some.”
    Worthy looked anxious, and Matthew saw that his hat