Someday the Rabbi Will Leave Read Online Free Page A

they’ll pervert the—the—”
    â€œThe service. Precisely. I guess, what I’m trying to say is that we Jews have always been suspicious of religiosity, in accordance with the commandment ‘Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain.’”
    She nodded. “You want to know something, David? You didn’t get around to talking to Feinberg about a raise.”
    â€œMiriam, Miriam, did you hear what I was saying?”
    â€œOf course. You’ve said it before, you know. But right now, I’m concerned about your getting more money. We’ve got to be thinking of Jonathon’s college. And Hepsibah is growing up. She’s going to need dresses and shoes instead of the jeans and sneakers she’s been wearing.”

4
    Scofield was one of the old Barnard’s Crossing names like Meechum and Crosset. There was a Scofield Alley that led down to the public wharf, and a bit of grass with a couple of benches that was listed in the town records as Scofield Park. But in contrast to the dozen Meechums and the half column of Crossets, there was only one Scofield—John—listed in the telephone directory. According to town gossip, “the Scofields were cautious folk and tended to marry late, so they didn’t have too many kids.”
    Unfortunately, this did not lead to prosperity except for a brief period in the nineteenth century when a Judge Samuel Scofield had taken a flyer in the China trade and made a lot of money from one voyage. But then his innate caution took over and he did not venture again. By the time of his death, the fortune was largely dissipated. But the good judge at least managed to establish a scholarship at both Harvard College and Harvard Law School with the stipulation that it was to be given only to someone bearing the name of Scofield. In the absence of a candidate, the money was to go to the general operating funds of the college and the law school, respectively.
    Perhaps because there had been no applicants for years and the Admissions Committee felt a little guilty, John Scofield, whose marks at Barnard’s Crossing High had been only fair, indeed on the low side, was admitted to the college. And four years later, he applied and was admitted to the law school.
    At twenty-eight, John Scofield was a tall, blond young man with pale blue eyes and large square white teeth, and handsome in a stolid sort of way. He shared an office in Salem with four other lawyers, all young men like himself struggling to build a practice. He was a little better off, however, since they were all married, while he had only himself to support—“Scofields tend to marry late.”
    Across the hall was the office of the elderly trial lawyer, J. J. Mulcahey, from whom they rented. John Scofield spent a lot of time in Mulcahey’s office because he had a lot of time to spend and because the old man liked to talk, especially when he had a drink or two in him. Occasionally, Mulcahey gave him some work, largely clerical, for which he paid him, usually quite generously. Now and then Mulcahey gave him a case that he was either too busy or too lazy to handle himself. Which is how Scofield became the attorney for the defense of Juan Gonzales. The morning of the trial, however, found him not in court but in Mulcahey’s office. The older man glanced at the clock and asked, “Don’t you go to trial this morning?”
    â€œIt’s all over,” said Scofield, smiling with satisfaction. “I did some plea bargaining.”
    â€œWhat you settle for?”
    â€œSix months and a year’s probation. I figure that’s a lot better than taking a chance on three to five.”
    â€œI would have got him off,” said Mulcahey.
    â€œCummon, J.J. He was guilty as hell.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with it? That’s for the jury to decide. What happened?”
    â€œWell, Gonzales had his whole family there, and every now and