The prosecutor rested Henry’s case at close of session on a Thursday, and by Friday morning, the jury returned and Jürgen and I were walking up those stone steps to the courtroom for the last time. The trial made national media, although, blessedly, not a whisper of Jürgen’s real history made the press.

We took our seats at the front of the courthouse behind the prosecutor. On the opposite side of the aisle, Calvin and Lizzie sat behind Henry. Calvin offered Jürgen a sad, friendly wave. He had been apologetic and supportive throughout the entire ordeal, even when Jürgen had to work part-time for months until he built up his strength. Beside Calvin, Lizzie met my gaze and nodded politely. I returned the gesture.

I knew Calvin and Lizzie had separated, but it was evident throughout the trial that they were still close. I wondered if she and I would have been friends too, had we met under different circumstances. Despite everything, I grudgingly came to admire her strength and her loyalty to her brother—even in her clumsy attempt to protect him from what he’d done. I had a feeling that if that war never happened, and I had just met Lizzie Miller in a salon or at a dinner party or at a picnic, we’d have hit it off right away.

I was at Jürgen’s side when the jury foreman told us that Henry Davis had been found not guilty of one count of attempted murder by reason of insanity. No one cheered—there was no relief, not even from Henry and Lizzie. She reached forward and squeezed his shoulder, and she kept her hand there as the judge announced that Henry would be committed to a residential facility for treatment on an indefinite basis for the protection of the community.

“Are you disappointed with the verdict?” I asked Jürgen later.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s fitting. That man needs help, not prison. This feels like closure. I’m ready to put all of this behind us and to start the next chapter of our lives.”

51

Lizzie

Dallam County, Texas
1951

It was a beautiful afternoon and I was traveling across the Texas High Plains. It had rained the previous afternoon—one glorious inch of water drizzling down over hours. The sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the earth was still damp. I smelled the moisture in the soil as nature’s finest perfume.

The last time I drove down those roads, fences were buried in dust and every plant in sight was dead and withered. But today, mature wheat waved in the wind and newly planted windbreak trees stretched toward the sky around the fields. Life had returned, and it was glorious.