Mary Elizabeth Counselman

“ You’d think a guy twenty-two years old, in combat three years and got his feet almost frozen off, didn’t know the score! What’s the matter with everybody?” Bob’s anger was mounting. "Listen! I got a medal last year for killing fourteen North Koreans. For gunning ’em down! Deliberately! But now, just because I’m driving a little too fast and some old creep can’t get his wagon across the highway..."
"Bob!"
"... now, all at once, I’m not a hero, I’m a murderer! I don’t know the value of human life! I don’t give a hoot how many people... ”

“ Bob blew his horn mockingly, and trod impatiently on the accelerator.
Marian must be tired of waiting! And the thought of holding her in his arms, laughing with her, telling her about that crazy dream-trial... Dead men! Trying him, the living, for the traffic-death of a child yet to be born! "The extreme penalty!” If not lynching, what would that be? He smiled, amused. Was anything that could happen to a man really "a fate worse than death... ? ”

“ Backing out of the parking space in a bitter rush, Bob drove the convertible south, out of Gareyville on 31, headed for Oak Grove. Accidents! Anybody could be involved in an accident! Was a guy supposed to be lucky all the time? Or a mind-reader, always clairvoyant about the other driver?
AS THE white ribbon of highway unreeled before him, Bob’s anger cooled. He smiled a little, settling behind the steering wheel and switching on the radio. ”

“ He hung up, chuckling, and strode out into the street. Dusk was falling, the slow Southern dusk that takes its time about folding its dark quilt over the Blue Ridge foothills. With a light, springy step Bob walked to where his blue convertible was parked outside the drugstore, sandwiched between a pickup truck and a sedan full of people. As he climbed under the steering wheel, he heard a boy’s piping voice, followed by the shushing monotone of an elder:
"Look! That’s Bob Trask! He killed that old Negro last Fourth-o-July...’’
"Danny, hush! Don’t talk so loud! ”

“ A guy could have lousy luck twice, couldn’t he? Look at the statistics! Fatal accidents happened every day...
Yawning, at peace with himself and the lazy countryside sliding past his car window, Bob let the speedometer climb another ten miles an hour. Sixty-five? He smiled, amused. Marian was such an old grandma about driving fast! After they were married, he would have to teach her, show her. Why, he had had this old boat up to ninety on this same tree-shaded stretch of highway! A driver like himself, a good driver with a good car, had perfect control over his vehicle at any... ”

“ Bob switched on his headlights, dimmed. There was, at this hour, not much traffic on the Chattanooga Road.
Glancing at his watch, Bob pressed his foot more heavily on the accelerator. Six-fifteen already? Better get to Marian’s before that parent of hers insisted on dragging her off to a movie. He chuckled. His only real problem now was to win over Marian’s mother, who made no bones of her disapproval of him, ever since his second wreck.
"Show me the way a man drives a car, and I’ll tell you what he's like inside... " Bob had laughed when Marian had repeated those words. ”

“ The gnome with the lantern was trying to help him up from where he lay on the chapel floor in front of the pulpit. "Nasty lump on your head there! I’m the sexton: live up the road a piece. I heard your car hit the ditch a while ago, and called the Highway Patrol. Figgered you was drunk...” He sniffed suspiciously, then shrugged. "Don’t smell drunk. What happened? You fall asleep at the wheel?”
Bob shut his eyes, groaning. He let himself be helped to one of the front pews and leaned back against it heavily before answering. Better tell the truth now. ”

“ Getting yourselves up like... like people who are dead... ! You’re doing it to scare me!” He laughed harshly. "But it doesn’t scare me, kid tricks like... like..."
He broke off, aware of another figure that had moved forward, rising from one of the forward benches. A burly man in overalls, wearing a trucker’s cap... One big square hand was pressed to his side, and he walked as though in pain. Bob recognized those rugged features with a new shock.
“Kid... listen!” His rasping whisper sounded patient, tired. “We ain't here to scare nobody... ”

“ Bob bristled abruptly, caught between anxiety for the child under his car and an instinct for self-preservation. "Now, wait! I’ve got no record of reckless driving. I... I was involved in a couple of accidents; but the charges were dropped... Look!” he burst out. "While you’re standing here yapping, this child may be... Get on that scooter of yours and go phone an ambulance, you! I’ll report you for dereliction of duty!... Say!” he yelled, as the officer did not move, but went on scribbling in his book. “What kind of a man are you, anyway? ”

“ N-no... !” Bob rose shakily to his feet. "I... I... Maybe I just dreamed it all! That clonk on the head...” He laughed all at once, a wild sound, full of hysterical relief. "You’re positive there was no little girl pinned under my wheel? No... no signs of... ?”
He started toward the wide-flung doors of the chapel, reeling with laughter. But it had all seemed so real! Those nightmare faces, the whispering voices: that macabre trial for a traffic fatality that had never happened anywhere but in his own overwrought imagination... !
STILL laughing, he climbed into his convertible ”

“ It is imperative that contributors search the renewal databases and ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation. ”

“ I was... driving too fast. Too fast to stop when she stepped out right in front on my...”
He broke off, aware that the tall tanned officer was regarding him with marked suspicion.
"What little girl?” he snapped. "There’s nobody pinned under your car, buddy! I looked. Your footprints were the only ones leading away from the accident... and I traced them here! Besides, you were dripping blood from that cut on your... Say! You trying to kid somebody?”
"No, no!” Bob gestured wildly. "Who’d kid about a thing like... ? Maybe the other Highway Patrolman took her away on his motorcycle! He... ”