Where Mercy Flows Read Online Free Page A

father
     kicked her because she didn’t say, “Yes, sir,” fast enough when he told her to take out the garbage.
    I defended my father blindly for a few years, not understanding my schoolmates’ accusations any more than they did. What went
     on in court was never discussed at our dinner table. Any conversations between my parents about my father’s cases were held
     in private, and I rarely thought about his identity outside of our home unless someone brought it up at school. My classmates
     had an unfair advantage over me, as their parents rarely made the news.
    My ninth-grade social studies teacher, Mr. Murchy, had us dissect the
State of Washington v. Ronald Enrich
case because it was a current event, and one that raised quite a buzz around the beehive since both the accused and the judge
     (who happened to be my father) made their abode right here in Carter. Ronald Enrich was only seventeen when, in a fit of rage,
     he smashed his mother’s head repeatedly on the stone fireplace mantel in their home.
    Once the wave of horror at the actual crime spread through town, people began probing for a reason. Ron was such a handsome
     boy. He had big brown eyes and a disarming grin. Sure, he was involved in a few angry scuffles with players on opposing football
     teams, but that aggressive tenacity also got Darlington High into the state play-offs. (The team’s ensuing loss, while Ron
     was in jail awaiting his trial, was an outright embarrassment to the community.)
    Thelma Romack, a waitress at the Halfway Café, said Carol Enrich never left a tip and of course it was no reason to murder
     a person, but didn’t she have the most annoying laugh? Alice Forsythe said now that Carol was dead she held no grudge, but
     she would always remember how Carol took the credit for the success of last year’s homecoming weekend when Alice was the one
     who did most of the work.
    It turned out Mrs. Enrich had been reading Ronald’s mail. The public defender apparently had no qualms initially about the
     judge and the defendant being from the same small town, obviously thinking it would work in his client’s favor. He was wrong
     about that. The Judge had Ronald tried as an adult and he was sentenced to life in the state penitentiary. The public outcry
     was heard beyond Carter and our river valley. The case was discussed on a local radio talk show and followed by the Seattle
     network news stations. I saw my father’s picture on the second page of
The Seattle Times
, and the headline above it that read, THE JUDGMENT OF ALMIGHTY DODD .
    The class chewed and swallowed the facts as presented by
The Herald, The Seattle Times
and the
Darlington Weekly
, and then barfed up the verdict. Seventy percent thought Ronald ought to have been given leniency. Most of my classmates
     thought my father was a merciless tyrant, and the rest were undecided. I was in the seventy percent.
    As a child, I remember the Judge going to the courthouse every morning, returning as faithfully as the tide every night. Sometime
     after dinner he would retire to his study, which was sort of like the Holy of Holies because you had better have a good reason
     for going in there—or have a rope on your leg so someone could pull you out. The Judge was pretty intense when he was deciding
     a case. If Lindsey and I weren’t noisy, he might keep his door open just a crack. I rarely watched him read his boring old
     books, but once in a while his strange murmurings drew us to the bright wedge of light in the hall to spy. He would lean way
     back in his chair and talk to the ceiling and then he might be quiet for a long time, running those powerful hands through
     his dark hair. Finally, he would lurch forward, his open hand smacking the desk, and proclaim, “That’s it!” tumbling his startled
     spies backward in the hall.
    That’s the way I remember him. And now the powerful hand that raised the gavel was elbow-deep in a trough of horse dung.
    “So what’s the plan?