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danced before him。
About once a month this ritual would get out of hand。 She would not protest； and the blankets would be jointly removed。 On those mornings Jake undressed even quicker and broke at least three of his rules。 That's how Hanna was conceived。
But not this morning。 He covered his wife； kissed her gently； and turned out the lights。 She breathed easier； and fell asleep。
Down the hall he quietly opened Hanna's door and knelt beside her。 She was four； the only child； and there would be no others。 She lay in her bed surrounded by dolls and stuffed animals。 He kissed her lightly on the cheek。 She was as beautiful as her mother； and the two were identical in
looks and manners。 They had large bluish…gray eyes that could cry instantly； if necessary。 They wore their dark hair the same way…had it cut by the same person at the same time。 They even dressed alike。
Jake adored the two women in his life。 He kissed the second one goodbye and went to the kitchen to make coffee for Carla。 On his way out he released Max； the mutt； into the backyard； where she simultaneously relieved herself and barked at Mrs。 Pickle's cat next door。
Few people attacked the morning like Jake Brigance。 He walked briskly to the end of the driveway and got the morning papers for Carla。 It was dark； clear； and cool with the promise of summer rapidly approaching。
He studied the darkness up and down Adams Street； then turned and admired his house。 Two homes in Ford County were on the National Register of Historic Places； and Jake Brigance owned one of them。 Although it was heavily mortgaged； he was proud of it nonetheless。 It was a nineteenth…century Victorian built by a retired railroad man who died on the first Christmas Eve he spent in his new home。 The facade was a huge； centered gable with hipped roof over a wide； inset front porch。 Under the gable a small portico covered with bargeboard hung gently over the porch。 The five supporting pillars were round and painted white and slate blue。 Each column bore a handmade floral carving； each with a different flower…daffodils； irises； and sunflowers。 The railing between the pillars was filled with lavish lacework。 Upstairs； three bay windows opened onto a small balcony； and to the left of the balcony an octagonal tower with stained…glass windows protruded and rose above the gable until it peaked with an iron…crested finial。 Below the tower and to the left of the porch； a wide； graceful veranda with ornamental railing extended from the house and served as a carport。 The front panels were a collage of gingerbread； cedar shingles； scallops； fish scales； tiny intricate gables； and miniature spindles。
Carla had located a paint consultant in New Orleans； and the fairy chose six original colors…mostly shades of blue； teal； peach； and white。 The paint job took two months and cost Jake five thousand dollars； and that did not include the countless hours he and Carla had spent dangling from
ladders and scraping cornices。 And although he was not wild about some of the colors； he had never dared suggest repainting。
As with every Victorian； the house was gloriously unique。 It had a piquant； provocative； engaging quality derived from an ingenuous； joyous； almost childlike bearing。 Carla had wanted it since before they married； and when the owner in Memphis finally died and the estate was closed； they bought it for a song because no one else would have it。 It had been abandoned for twenty years。 They borrowed heavily from two of the three banks in Clanton； and spent the next three years sweating and doting over their landmark。 Now people drove by and took pictures of it。
The third local bank held the mortgage on Jake's car； the only Saab in Ford County。 And a red Saab at that。 He wiped the dew from the windshield and unlocked the door。 Max was still barking and had awakened the army of blue…jays that lived in Mrs。 Pickle's maple tree。 They sang to him and called farewell as he smiled and whistled in return。 He backed into Adams Street。 Two blocks east he turned south on Jefferson； which two blocks later ran dead end into Washington Street。 Jake had often wondered why every small Southern town had an Adams； a Jefferson； and a Washington； but no Lincoln or Grant。 Washington Street ran east and west on the north side of the Clanton square。
Because Clanton was the county seat it had a square； and the square quite naturally had a courthouse in the center of it。 General Clanton had laid out the town with much thought； and the square was long and wide and the courthouse lawn was covered with massive oak trees； all lined neatly and spaced equally apart。 The Ford County courthouse was well into its second century； built after the Yankees burned the first one。 It defiantly faced south； as if telling those from the North to politely and eternally kiss its ass。 It was old and stately； with white columns along the front and black shutters around the dozens of windows。 The original red brick had long since been painted white； and every four years the Boy Scouts added a thick layer of shiny enamel for their traditional summer project。 Several bond issues over the years had allowed additions and renovations。
The lawn around it was clean and neatly trimmed。 A crew from the jail manicured it twice a week。
Clanton had three coffee shops…two for the whites and one for the blacks； and all three were on the square。 It was not illegal or unmon for whites to eat at Claude's； the black cafe on the west side。 And it was safe for the blacks to eat at the Tea Shoppe； on the south side； or the Coffee Shop on Washington Street。 They didn't； however； since they were told they could back in the seventies。 Jake ate barbecue every Friday at Claude's； as did most of the white liberals in Clanton。 But six mornings a week he was a regular at the Coffee Shop。
He parked the Saab in front of his office on Washington Street and walked three doors to the Coffee Shop。 It had opened an hour earlier and by now was bustling with action。 Waitresses scurried about serving coffee and breakfast and chatting incessantly with the farmers and mechanics and deputies who were the regulars。 This was no white…collar cafe。 The white collars gathered across the square at the Tea Shoppe later in the morning and discussed national politics； tennis； golf； and the stock market。 At the Coffee Shop they talked about local politics； football； and bass fishing。 Jake was one of the few white collars allowed to frequent the Coffee Shop。 He was well liked and accepted by the blue collars； most of whom at one time or another had found their way to his office for a will； a deed； a divorce； a defense； or any one of a thousand other problems。 They picked at him and told crooked lawyer jokes； but he had a thick skin。 They asked him to explain Supreme Court rulings and other legal oddities during breakfast； and he gave a lot of free legal advice at the Coffee Shop。 Jake had a way of cutting through the excess and discussing the meat of any issue。 They appreciated that。 They didn't always agree with him； but they always got honest answers。 They argued at times； but there were never hard feelings。
He made his entrance at six； and it took five minutes to greet