The Natural Selection. Ona Russell

But do you feel well enough?”

      “Yes, I’m fine.”

      “I’m glad. You certainly look fine.”

      Sarah smiled and looked away.

      “The meeting is at four-thirty, you said?”

      “Uh huh.”

      “And he doesn’t know about the professor’s death?”

      “I’m not sure, but he certainly doesn’t know about me.”

      Mitchell rubbed his cleanly shaved, dimpled chin. So clean, he looked ten years younger. She’d never noticed that small mole over his lip before. “Reporters like to be in control,” he said. “He’s a master, but I wonder how he’ll react.”

      “Afraid the myth will turn out to be a man?”

      “Ha!” What impertinence! You really have recovered.”

      The waiter delivered their order. Portions big enough for an elephant, but the cake was stale. The strawberries, however, were delicious, soft, pulpy and incredibly sweet.

      “Rhea County is known for these,” Mitchell said, holding a perfect specimen between his long, tapered fingers. “They’re served with every meal. I’ve seen people even pass them around in court. By the way, that reminds me, I can get you a press pass tomorrow, if you’re interested.”

      Sarah almost hugged him. “Interested? Absolutely! I was hoping to get in. That would make it so much easier.”

      “Glad to help. The place is jammed, but maybe you even can sneak a peek at Mencken. Size him up before he does you.”

      “I don’t know that I want to. I might lose my courage.”

      “I won’t let you. At any rate, I think you’ll find the trial fascinating, unlike anything you’ve seen back home.”

      “You know, with all that’s been going on, I haven’t been able to keep up with the proceedings. What’s happened so far, anyway?”

      “The long or short version?”

      “Before the band returns.”

      “Oh, alright. Let’s see.” Mitchell lit another cigarette and sat back in his chair. “First of all, the jury was selected. Or rather tolerated. What a fiasco. Darrow had a hell of a time. A choice amongst brethren. All anti-evolutionists, just some less so than the others. The man was a joy to watch, though. He disposed of one fellow in particularly short order, a minister who claimed he could be impartial, despite the fact that he was, as he put it, “‘strictly for the Bible.’” Darrow pushed him to answer if he had ever preached for or against evolution. “‘Well, I preached against it, of course’!” he said. “‘Why, ‘of course’?” Darrow asked. And that was it. He zeroed in on those two little words and convinced the judge—no small feat, let me tell you—that the minister’s conviction against evolution was too firm.”

      “I’ve met him, you know,” Sarah said, twisting her pearls.

      “Darrow?”

      “Uh huh. At Obee’s. They were in law school together. Pretty good friends, too. Of course, as a dedicated agnostic, he found Obee’s Catholicism hard to take. They had some pretty heated debates on the matter. When Obee said his religion gave him a measure of peace, Darrow reminded him of the wars fought in its name. When Obee said he believed in a strict division between church and state, Darrow asked him why he kept a Bible in his chambers. When Obee said he believed in religious freedom, even the right not to believe, Darrow clapped, but said he still couldn’t understand how such a smart man could believe in all that hocus-pocus.”

      “No one ever said he wasn’t opinionated.”

      “True. But for someone who preaches tolerance, he can be fairly intolerant himself. And uncompromising. During dinner, he lambasted Obee for the few times he took the side of business. To him, the unions were right, even when they were wrong.”

      “Did you tell him that?”

      “I might have, had he asked.” She smiled. “Does he still wear pastel shirts?”

      Mitchell rubbed his chin again, this time targeting his perfectly centered dimple. “Hmm, come to think of it, yes. Yellow, I believe, on Monday, blue yesterday, and today . . . pink, yeah, pink. And suspenders. The guy looks like a bumpkin, but his eyes gleam like a wizard’s.”

      “I remember them,” Sarah said. “Exceptionally blue. And I remember his brows too, a very devilish shape. Especially when he spoke. I doubt whether he’d remember me, though.”

      “And I doubt that.”

      “Mitchell, you’re the limit. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’ve been reading Jane Austen, or one of those romance novels you claim to hate.”

      “Well, I mean it,” he said, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

      She felt herself flush. “Go on, the jury was selected and then what?”

      He grinned mischievously and cleared his throat. “Each side stated its case to Judge Raulston, who, by all accounts, is firmly in Bryan’s court . . . no pun intended. Darrow argued that the Butler Act was illegal because it promoted a certain religious viewpoint. Bryan countered that the issue was about S tate’s rights. Darrow pleaded for tolerance and enlightenment, Bryan for the Bible-believing majority. The literal interpretation of the Bible, that is. Tomorrow Raulston decides whether the case goes forward. No doubt he’ll rule in the prosecution’s favor. Bryan certainly had the crowd’s support. Every time he spoke, they applauded, so much so that Darrow finally had to ask the judge to shut them up.”