Turnersville, Wyoming
September 13, 1951

“I absolutely forbid it!” Robert Turner’s large, beefy fist landed on the dining room table with a loud crash, causing the dinnerware to bounce and water to slosh over the edges of the glasses.  “No daughter of mine is going to serve on a jury!  I simply will not have it!”

“Robert!” Millicent Graves Turner gently scolded her husband of twenty-five years.  “You will give yourself a stroke if you don’t calm down.”

“Milli, do you want our daughter making a spectacle of herself by serving on this jury?  It is completely outrageous, I say!  I cannot believe that Wyoming is going to permit this travesty once again!  Why, they gave it a try in 1870 and they found it didn’t work well at all.  Women are just not predisposed to serving on juries!  Especially young girls like Abigail.  No, I absolutely forbid it and that is my final word on the subject.”

“Daddy, it is the law,” Abigail dared to speak up.  “I have been given a summons and legally, I must appear for jury selection on the twenty-fourth or I could be sent to jail.”

“What?!  Are you serious?” Robert incredulously demanded.  “They would throw an innocent child in jail because her father forbids her participation on a jury?!  Why, that is absolutely preposterous!  I will call Judge Price tomorrow morning and we’ll just see about this!”

When Abigail appeared about to say something else, Millicent shot her daughter a look of warning, which Abigail obediently heeded. 

It was a well-kept family secret that Robert Turner was not well.  He was the son of Randolph Turner who founded the town many years ago.  Randolph had married late in life and fathered only one child, and like his father, Robert married late in life to a young southern belle by the name of Millicent.  She gave him a daughter, and Robert was thankful he’d lived long enough to see Abigail grown.  He would like to see her married, too, but Abigail was proving very stubborn when it came to selecting a husband.  Robert had brought home several young men for her to choose from, but Abigail seemed more interested in her studies and teaching school than she did in getting married.  Robert felt he should have forbidden her to go to college, but Millicent had insisted.  Robert finally agreed, just as long as Abigail continued to live under his roof.  He wasn’t about to permit his daughter to join in any of those crazy shenanigans that other young people took part in.  No, he had raised a young lady, and she was going to remain one!  He wasn’t about to have her exposed to the sordid details that would arise in a murder trial!

Abigail couldn’t wait for dinner to be over so she could go to her room and change out of the formal attire that her father insisted upon every evening at dinner.  He was hopelessly old-fashioned, but her mother was afraid that arguing with him could cause him to get so upset that he would have a fatal heart attack.  Abigail knew that was a very real possibility, so she did as her elderly parent asked of her… even though it sometimes pained her.  She wanted to serve on the jury, and she wondered what Judge Price would have to say.  She also couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be responsible for making a decision regarding a man’s innocence or guilt, his life or death.

However, if there was a way for her father to prevent her from serving on the jury, he would do so.  Her only hope was that Judge Price would tell her father that the law had changed and Abigail was considered an adult at the age of twenty-one, and that the fact she was a woman did not mean she was incapable of serving on a jury.  Of course her elderly parent would not like it one little bit, but he would have to accept it and permit her to do her duty as a citizen.  This from a man who thought it horrible that she was teaching first grade when she should be getting married and having children of her own.

It wasn’t that Abigail was opposed to marriage; she simply hadn’t met the right man yet.  She wanted to find the perfect love who made her heart sing.  Unfortunately, most of the men who came calling were just like her father.  They wanted a wife who would do exactly as she was told, and that wasn’t what Abigail wanted.  She wanted to be involved in decisions that affected her life.  Maybe someday she would meet a man who lived up to her expectations, but in the meantime she would teach little children and try her best not to resent being forced to live at home instead of getting her own apartment.  Abigail knew that she was not the only adult daughter who was expected to do as her parents instructed; it was actually normal for most young women to live at home until they married.  She simply wanted her Daddy to respect her as an adult.

Finally, dinner was over and she asked to be excused.

“I thought you would come into the living room and play the piano for your Mama and me, honey…?” Robert suggested in that way of his that made it sound like an order.

“I have school tomorrow, Daddy, and I have lessons to prepare,” Abigail explained.

“What on earth…?  They are first graders!  What kinds of lessons are there to prepare?” he asked, clearly surprised by her statement.

“Daddy, I need to come up with different ways to present things so the children will remember, and then apply what I teach them to their everyday life.  It does them no good to remember that the balloon in the drawing is red, but not be able to recall the name of the color when they get a new dress that is red.  I also need to cut out some decorations for my classroom so the children can color them tomorrow.  We are making red and yellow and orange leaves to put around the top of the blackboards to represent fall leaves.”

“That sounds interesting, dear,” Millicent said with a pleased smile.  “You really love your job, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mama.  I love the children.  Working with them makes me feel like I am contributing to the world in some small way.”

“You should be getting married and having your own children, Abigail.  Teaching school is for old maids.”

“Daddy, I haven’t met anyone that I can love, and I won’t get married until I do.”

“Well, I hope I am still around to walk you down the aisle,” Robert said sadly.

“I hope so, too,” Abigail agreed with him, and then she got to her feet and came around the table to kiss him on the cheek.  “I’ll come down and say goodnight in a bit.”

“Would you like for me to bring you some hot chocolate when Daddy and I have ours?” Millicent offered.

“Actually, if you call upstairs to me, I’ll come down and join you for a cup, Mama.”  She saw her father nod in approval.  He didn’t like to see her mother waiting on her hand and foot, and Abigail didn’t blame him.  If she was going to be treated as an adult, she needed to act like one.

“We would love that, dear; wouldn’t we, Robert?” Millicent asked her husband with a smile.

“Yes,” he said decisively.  “And don’t you worry about that jury thing, little one.  I’ll make it go away.”

“Daddy, I would like to serve on the jury.” She spoke up before she lost her nerve.

“Over my dead body,” he declared, and both she and her mother were treated to another lecture on why women did not make good jurors and why it wasn’t suitable for young girls to serve on a jury.  Abigail was nearly in tears when he stopped ranting.  “You get that nonsense out of your head, daughter.  You will not be part of a jury.”

*****

Abigail dressed carefully on the morning of the twenty-fourth, positive there would be reporters at the courthouse, ready to take pictures of her.  She was the first woman called to serve on a jury in Turner County since the 1870’s, and the fact that she was the granddaughter of Randolph Turner was well known.  The papers were already writing stories about it being fitting that she be the first woman to sit on a jury.  Her father was not one bit happy, and Abigail could only hope the stress wasn’t too much for his heart.  He’d done nothing but complain since he made his telephone call to Judge Price.  The Judge explained the law, and told Robert that he could not forbid Abigail to serve.  It was her legal duty to appear, and if she did not, then the Judge would issue a bench warrant, and she would be arrested.  Robert wasn’t about to permit that to happen, but neither would he permit his daughter to go alone into a courtroom.  He was planning to take her himself each and every day.

Abigail made sure she was dressed neatly and stylishly, and she wore heels that flattered her legs, but were quite respectable.  When her name was called she stepped forward and answered the questions that were put to her by both attorneys.  The brooding look on her father’s face let her know that he did not appreciate the questions; he thought she should be dismissed summarily because she was female, but she was asked to take a seat in the jury box.  Her father’s face went from brooding to angry and she hoped he wouldn’t make a scene.

When the jury selection was finally finished for the day, the Judge said that they would save opening arguments for the next morning. He also gave the jurors instructions that they were not to read the newspapers or listen to the radio or discuss the case with anyone.  Robert was waiting for Abigail when she walked into the hallway outside the courtroom.  “I’m not a bit happy about this, Abby-Gail,” he told her, calling her by her childhood nickname.  “I am afraid you are going to be exposed to things a girl your age shouldn’t know about.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy.  I can handle it.”

“Don’t you let anyone push you around, honey.  You have as much right to your opinion as any of those other jurors.”  Robert felt she needed his support; if he couldn’t protect her from doing the task, then he would at least give her some advice on how to handle herself.  “Just remember that your Grandfather founded this town, and you have more right to be here than anyone else.”

“I’ll be fine, Daddy,” she assured him, looking up into his worried eyes and smiling.

“I wish it was anything else but a murder trial.”  Robert squeezed her hand.  “That is nasty business, Abby-Gail.  Get your facts and make notes of them.  It will help you to make a good decision.  Trust your gut.  It won’t lie to you.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“You looked pretty up there today, honey.  If you need anything new to wear, you tell your Mama that I said she is to get it for you.”

Abigail didn’t bother to remind her father that she was working and earning a salary.  Buying new clothes for his daughter was something Robert could do for her right now, and he was jumping at the chance.  “Yes, Daddy.”  There were times it was exasperating to have a father who was old enough to be her grandfather, but she never ever doubted that Robert Turner loved his daughter with all his heart.  In spite of all his old-fashioned ways, Abigail loved her Daddy, and short of marrying a man she did not love, she would do anything she could to keep him happy and from worrying about her.

“Let me take you for an ice cream, honey,” he offered as he opened the car door for her and held it while she got inside.  He always treated her like a fragile angel he needed to cherish and protect, and Abigail felt tears sting her eyes. 

“I would like that very much, Daddy,” she said.

*****

John Oakes closed his dark eyes for a couple of seconds, asking the Almighty to give him patience.  They’d taken their fifth vote of the day, and as the four times before, there was one dissenting vote; one person who was keeping this trial from being over!  He just knew he was going to lose his temper if this did not get resolved quickly.

“Well…?” One of the other jurors demanded.

“Same as before,” John announced to the room in general.  “Eleven guilty, one not guilty.”

“We don’t even need to ask who is holding us up,” one middle-aged man said with a sneer, as he looked at Abigail.  “She’s the one who hasn’t got the good sense to realize the bastard is guilty as sin!”

“Miss,” William Cornell spoke softly, as he would if the girl was his granddaughter, “why are you voting for not guilty?  What are you hearing that the rest of us aren’t?”  He wasn’t angry, just curious.

“She’s just being a damned contrary female, and this is the reason we haven’t had them serving on juries.”  Angus Carter owned a shoe store and was losing business while he was sitting on this jury.  “Girl, you need to listen to the rest of us and vote for guilty.  You hear me?”

“Mr. Carter, I think we should all listen to what Miss Turner has to say,” John spoke up, doing his best as foreman to keep peace among the jury.  “Miss Turner, please speak up and tell us why you think the defendant is innocent.”

Abigail felt her cheeks turn pink as the eleven men looked at her expectantly.  “I don’t feel that Willy killed Misty Greene.”

“We know that, Miss Turner,” John said patiently.  “What we don’t know is why you feel that way…?  What information did you hear that the rest of us didn’t hear?”

“Willy said he was in the process of robbing a house clear across town from where the murder happened.  He wasn’t arrested until the next day.  I think the man who claimed to see Willy saw someone else who resembled Willy.  Did you see how he was squinting to look at a picture of a man who resembles Willy?  The defense attorney brought up his vision, and I think it was a valid point.  I cannot, in good conscience, vote guilty when I have doubts.  I think someone else murdered Misty Greene.  Willy didn’t know her; Misty’s mother testified that she’d never met him before.  Misty’s murder was a crime of passion.  She was stabbed over and over; that takes someone who is very angry, and it just doesn’t match Willy’s disposition.”

“You can’t believe a thing them people say!” Corey Smith didn’t much like black people, and the minute they sat down at the jurors’ table to deliberate he made his opinion of guilty known.  “Girl, if your Daddy was sitting in here, he’d send that boy to the gas chamber in a minute.”

“Mr. Smith, I am not my father, and I am capable of thinking for myself.  You all wanted to know my objections and I told you.  I am just as entitled to my opinion as you are to yours.” 

“Miss Turner, keep that redheaded temper of yours under control, please.  We are not going to start arguing, is that clear?” John Oakes scolded her.  While he didn’t care for Corey Smith’s attitude, he wouldn’t permit a girl half his age to speak disrespectfully to the man.  He looked around.  “Mr. Harvey, you haven’t said much.  “Would you care to tell why you find Willy guilty of murdering that girl?”

“The witness saw him running away.”

“Then why didn’t the police find Willy at home when they went to arrest him?” Abigail asked quietly.  She was still smarting over the scolding that John Oakes delivered.  It wasn’t one bit fair of the man, and she fully intended to tell him so before the day was over.

“He was covered in blood, and he went somewhere to get rid of the knife and his clothes.”  That was from Adam Wade.  He was a truck driver whose rig was parked until the trial was over.

“Those items were never found,” Abigail argued.

“Girl, that boy could have dumped them anywhere.  You just aren’t being reasonable.  If eleven of us think he’s guilty, then you ought to change your vote and trust us men to guide you to the right decision.”  Angus Carter was tired of talking.  He was losing business.  “I think we need to vote again, and this time maybe she’ll get it right.”

“Maybe someone will be convinced to vote with me,” Abigail stated, glaring at him.

“All right.  We’ll take another vote.  Miss Turner, I hope you won’t be stubborn just for the sake of having your way…!” John said.

Abigail had spent the last few days sitting beside him in the jury box and she’d thought him very handsome.  His hair was dark and he wore it longer than most men.  It curled on his neck, and a lock of it was constantly falling down over his eyes.  She’d noticed his hands, too.  They were strong hands, the hands of a man who worked outdoors most of the day.  John didn’t sit behind a desk or work in a store like most of the others on the jury.  He was a farmer, and his skin was tanned to prove it.  He also had an air of authority around him that led others to respect him.  It was no surprise to Abigail when he was named foreman of the jury.  Up until this point, she’d respected him and thought he was doing a good job, but now he was treating her like a pest just because she was a female!