I hesitated. In a way, that was a difficult question to answer. The events of that day flooded into my mind in such a painful swirl of pictures, I didn't know where to start. Sensing my misgivings, Mr. Greer tried a different approach.

"Where did you see him at your house?"

"When he walked in the door."

"Was the door closed when he walked in?"

"Yes."

"Did you see him do anything?"

"Yes."

"What did you see him do?"

"I saw him pull out a gun."

"Pulled out a gun, did you say?"

I nodded.

"All right. Now, what did you see him do with that gun, if anything?"

"Shoot Daddy."

"How many times did you see him shoot your daddy?"

"Two."

"After he shot your daddy, did you see him do anything else with that gun?"

"Yes."

"What did you see him do?"

"Shoot Mama."

"Where was your mother when she was shot?"

"She was standing close to the dryer."

"Did you later see your mother in the house?"

I nodded.

"Where did you next see your mother after she was shot?"

"In the bedroom."

"In the bedroom. All right, honey. Where was she in the bedroom?"

"Underneath the bed."

"Was your mother lying down?"

"Yes."

"How close did you get to her?"

"I got close enough to touch her."

"Was there any blood on her?"

"I didn't see none on her."

"Did you see any anywhere else?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"On the spread."

"On the spread. All right. Now, after you saw your mother lying there, what did you do then?"

"I went back down the hall."

"When you went back down the hall-" Mr. Greer said, but stopped and then turned to the judge.

"Your honor, this particular question is purely for corroboration of what her daddy had said." The judge motioned for him to continue. He asked, "Did your daddy say anything to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"He told me to run down to Aunt Pat's house and tell her to call the police."

"Did you do that?"

"Yes."

"Now, is Pat your aunt?"

"No. I just call her Aunt Pat."

"When you went to Aunt Pat's, did you say anything to Aunt Pat?"

"Yes . . . I said, 'Aunt Pat, Daddy has been shot by [Harris] Williams. Mama has, too, but I didn't get no answer out of her."

After his final question, Mr. Greer offered me one of his warmest smiles before taking a seat near Daddy. I could tell by the way his eyes sparkled around the edges that he thought I'd done a good job on the witness stand. I was briefly cross-examined and then escorted from the courtroom, thankful to be out of the spotlight and relieved to put some distance between me and the monster who had stolen my mother's life.

During the weeklong trial, the state called eleven witnesses while the defense summoned seven. Daddy sat in the front row every day that week, head half-bowed as if in prayer, listening to the proceedings. When asked by the press about his feelings, Daddy said, "I would like to see justice70 in this trial. I don't have the att.i.tude of seeking vengeance for what this man has done, but I feel that violent people should be confined or dealt with according to the law to protect society." in this trial. I don't have the att.i.tude of seeking vengeance for what this man has done, but I feel that violent people should be confined or dealt with according to the law to protect society."

Grandma Welch, who constantly fought back tears throughout the court case, admitted that being in the same room with the man who took her daughter from her was grueling. She told reporters, "It's so hard to look at him,71 knowing his finger pulled the trigger." It had to have been especially difficult for her to listen as the defense made the case that Harris was intoxicated and therefore should receive leniency. knowing his finger pulled the trigger." It had to have been especially difficult for her to listen as the defense made the case that Harris was intoxicated and therefore should receive leniency.

On Thursday, the shooter, Harris Williams, was summoned to testify. When his attorney called him to the stand, Harris hesitated. Although he had shown no emotion throughout the trial, evidently he had last-minute misgivings about offering his testimony. After privately consulting with his lawyer at the defense table, Harris rose and took his place before the court.

Their strategy was simple: make the case that Harris had been drunk, that he had no intent to harm anyone, and that he had no memory of the actual shooting and therefore the murder wasn't premeditated. The heart of their case rested on the fact that Harris had consumed a large quant.i.ty of alcohol-upwards of two and a half gallons of whiskey over several days-and that he thought highly of my parents; he didn't wish them any harm and was deeply sorry about his actions.

On Friday, both sides rested their cases.

a.s.sistant District Attorney Mike Easley was the first72 to offer his closing argument to the jury on our behalf. For twenty-two minutes, he recapped the facts of the case-how we were eating dinner, how Harris barged into our house armed with three guns, and then how he shot my parents after exchanging words with Daddy. to offer his closing argument to the jury on our behalf. For twenty-two minutes, he recapped the facts of the case-how we were eating dinner, how Harris barged into our house armed with three guns, and then how he shot my parents after exchanging words with Daddy.

As to the matter that Harris was drunk, Mr. Easley said, "Lt. Hayes stated there was nothing unusual about Harris in the morning or evening, no odor of alcohol. . . . Ptm. [Patrolman] Randy Williamson rode all the way to the jail with Harris and said there was no odor of alcohol. He talks about being irrational-he knew where he wanted to go to get that .38-caliber pistol. He wanted that gun that day."

Holding the murder weapon for the jury to see, Mr. Easley said, "This is the one he used to propel two bullets into the preacher and one into his wife. He shot three times and hit three times. That's a pretty good aim for somebody who's supposed to be drunk."

Regarding the character of Harris, Mr. Easley told the jury, "He is a violent and dangerous man and oftentimes mean-he likes to drink, play with guns, slap women, and beat on children. He says he's sorry. Reckon he was sorry when he hit the sixty-nine-year-old magistrate on the head with the cinder block?"

Attorney Easley was referring to a prior incident involving Harris for which he had served eighteen months in jail. "He went there with over sixty bullets and three pistols. Do you think he was going there to have dinner?"

Mr. Easley picked up one of the other weapons and then added, "This is a short-barrel pistol-you can't hunt with it. It's not a target pistol; there is only one purpose-to shoot someone. He'll tell you any poppyc.o.c.k he can because he stands to lose. He says he can't remember; is that a good enough reason? He says he's sorry. You tell a state trooper you're sorry you were speeding and see if he doesn't write you a ticket."

Mr. Easley concluded, saying, "If he had a defense, he would use it. He doesn't need a lawyer, he needs a magician. He's grabbing at straws and has an imaginary defense. Don't ignore the facts. This case has the most overwhelming evidence you'll ever see. Let the people know you will not tolerate this type of conduct."

Defense attorney Mr. Walton approached the jury and for the next fifty minutes attempted to soften the picture of his client. Regarding the whiskey, he said, "I wish it were possible for the stuff to be eradicated. Harris has a drinking problem, and he has some other problems." He added, "Harris went there drunk-absolutely and completely out of it. Only a person who was could do what he did. . . . Do you suppose he went there for the purpose of killing Mrs. Nichols? She was his best friend. Did he go there with the intent to kill his best friend?"

I'm glad I wasn't in the courtroom during his closing argument. To suggest that Momma was Harris's "best friend" was an outrageous claim. Momma hardly knew the man. Sure, she cared for Harris and wanted to see him get the help he needed. But it was his wife, Sue, who was close to my mother. Harris had only been interacting with my parents for about eight months.

Our lead attorney, Mr. Greer, also gave a few closing remarks to the jury. Speaking from the heart, he said, "I ask my G.o.d that I never convict an innocent person. There is so little doubt as to what has happened. When Harris opened the door without invitation, he had an intent to commit a felony, which he did. On the murder, he had the witness of a small child, and it's been said that from the mouth of babes come the truth. From Rebecca came the truth. I have worked with many small children as witnesses, but never one better than Rebecca."

As for the sentiment that Harris was sorry and would "trade his life for that good woman and for the suffering of Mr. Nichols"-as his lawyer had told the jury-Mr. Greer said, "All the tears he might shed will not bring Ramona back to her husband and children. The deed is done. Remorse or tears or feeling sorry will not bring her back. Harris was wrong in what he's done. He should have thought of the consequences before he had begun; if you have compa.s.sion for him, remember he's the man who took a mother away from Rebecca and little Daniel."

Judge Robert A. Collier spent forty-five minutes briefing the twelve members of the jury about the decision that lay before them. They, in turn, spent two hours and twenty minutes before sentencing Harris to life in prison for second-degree murder plus fifteen to twenty years for a.s.sault with a deadly weapon with the intent to kill and inflicting serious bodily injury on Daddy.

Harris had been tried and convicted. I sensed that Daddy was thankful for the sense of closure it afforded him, yet no amount of justice would ever bring Momma back to our family. With the trial behind us, we said our good-byes to our loved ones in Sellerstown and then returned to Mobile.

Two years later, however, there'd be another trial.

This time it would be Mr. Watts who faced charges.

Chapter 13

Putting the Devil onTrial.

I wanted to forget. I wanted to remember.

I had difficulty doing either.

A tug-of-war between equally compelling needs raged within me. In the years immediately following Momma's murder trial, I desperately wanted to forget what I had witnessed when she was gunned down in our kitchen. I longed to erase the mental picture of seeing her body sprawled under the bed. I needed to stop thinking about her lying in the casket, cold and lifeless.

And yet I wanted to cling to every precious detail of my mother. Her touch. Her smile. Her embrace. Her laughter. Her love. I needed her her. Now that she was gone, I counted the hours, wishing for each new day to come quickly to an end. As far as I was concerned, the faster the better. Every day that pa.s.sed would separate me further from the events I had experienced; the greater the distance, the more I'd be able to leave behind the sting of Momma's death.

I just didn't want to leave her her behind. behind.

It was the little things that seemed to rub salt in my wounded soul. Like the time I was shopping with Aunt Dot at the grocery store when I heard a little girl calling after her mother in the next aisle. My ears stung, and my heart ached at the sound of that precious word-Mom. In that moment, I was reminded that I would never again be able to call out for my mother and expect a response. Still, I refused to allow the memory of her to fade away.

The days without her seemed unbearably long. She had been my anchor, my guiding light. She had brought me into this world. We were supposed to spend a lifetime together. Momma was going to teach me about purity, modesty, conversational etiquette, and how to be comfortable in my own skin. She had promised to teach me how to play the piano, too. We were supposed to fight over shoes, clothes, and jewelry like all mothers and daughters do.

None of that would happen now.

A number of months after Momma died, I panicked. I was in my room cleaning on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, our usual cleaning day. As I removed the pictures, hairbrushes, and decorative items from their a.s.signed places on my dresser, I thought of Momma and how pa.s.sionate she was about cleaning. One moment I was cleaning, and the next instant I was mourning the loss of my mother.

What's more, I was borderline hysterical because I couldn't remember the soft, almost musical-like sound when she spoke; that tender, calming voice praying over me at bedtime; or the quality of her whisper as she tucked words of affection into my ear while settling me down for the night. Try as I might to get it back, the distinct timbre of her voice eluded me. I closed my eyes tight to block out any distraction, and yet I wasn't able to recall the way she said "I love you" anymore.

Lying in bed at night was especially difficult for me. The memories of us living in Sellerstown and the fear that prevented me from falling asleep back then would flood my mind. When the nightmarish thoughts became too much to bear, too loud to silence, I'd get out of my bed and wander to Aunt Dot's room for comfort-just as I used to seek the shelter of my parents' bed.

There I'd put into words the sadness filling my heart over the loss of my mother. In her gentle way, Aunt Dot would wrap her arms around me and listen to my woes with the patience and love of a saint. As we sat side by side on the edge of her bed, I could smell the scent of the lotion she used in her nightly beauty regimen lingering in the air. The fragrance was familiar-Oil of Olay-the same cream Momma used. Somehow G.o.d had given Aunt Dot a mother's love for us, even though she had no children of her own.

Although she sacrificed her sleep on numerous occasions, Aunt Dot never complained or demonstrated resentment that I was unloading my burdens on her. Instead, she empathized with my sadness and a.s.sured me it was a normal part of the grieving process. She said this lifetime was as short as the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, I'd be together with my mother again, and this time we'd be together forever.

Aunt Dot pointed me to Revelation 21, which says, I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of G.o.d is with men, and he will live with them. . . . He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has pa.s.sed away." He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." (vv. 3-5, NIV NIV) That eternal perspective continues to melt away my sorrow; it gives me something to look forward to when the feelings of aloneness creep up on me, even today.

Just as Aunt Dot helped me grieve, my grandparents doctored my wounded heart as best they could. Through pictures and stories, they reminded my brother and me of Momma's love for us. They encouraged us to trust G.o.d and to remember that our purpose in life didn't stop because He had called Momma home. Momma lived in such a way as to bring the Lord glory, they said. That was her goal; ours should be the same. While their words brought hope and comfort, no one could replace her.

After losing Momma, the main consolation in our move from Sellerstown was the fact that n.o.body was shooting at us anymore. The midnight phone calls had stopped. I could peek through my bedroom curtains anytime-day or night-and not see Mr. Watts stalking back and forth, shaking his fist in our direction. Even the cloud of fear that another bombing might happen eventually lifted.

In that respect, during the two years following Harris's trial, we lived peacefully. The main shadow hanging over us was the damage that had been done to Daddy's nerves. He had lost the love of his life, his companion in ministry, the mother of his two children.

His church was gone.

His friends were gone.