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CHAPTER 7
Addison County Courthouse was a period piece. It reeked of New England. Every cornice and birds-eye maple stairwell was un-restored, meticulously crafted from the finest materials and maintained in like fashion. It was timelessly elegant. The imported marble which formed the outer vestibule, floors, and selected rooms had been retro-fit during the early part of the twentieth century, but was otherwise original.
Similarly, with only minor changes, the politics established by the founding fathers were carried on, Brenda Pittman positioned firmly at the helm. She was not the mayor, or even alderman. She would never have allowed herself to be subjected to the indignity of running for public office. Brenda became the ultimate lobbyist, and her influence touched everyone, but she wasn’t a bully.
There was no heavy-handed arm-twisting in her repertoire, this would have indicated a lack of control. She ruled with a velvet glove. Both sides of the political aisle knew which way the winds blew, and if they were uncertain, they merely asked for her guidance, which she always willingly offered. The system worked to the benefit of the community and with the possible exception of a few politically ambitious detractors, the townsfolk adored her.
Brenda served on the board of directors of seven local charities, she was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and she somehow had the time to sell a few million dollars worth of real estate every year. Not bad for a local girl who had never spent a day in college. In truth, there was probably only one person in town who didn't treat her like she walked on water. Unfortunately, that person was her husband.
Lately, Brenda's personal life had become untenable. She and Luther had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for more than a year. She simply could no longer abide his vulgarity. Any tenderness was a relic of the past. They rarely shared a meal and discussions of anything other than family finances were non-existent.
It hadn't always been this way, they’d been happy, once upon a time. She was pretty without being presumptuous, and he was tall and athletic. He returned from Viet Nam a Green Beret hero. Their wedding was idyllic, and no one questioned that they would spend eternity together. Brenda’s influence helped his election and he had given her the space she needed to fulfill her many activities.
Evidently, she had failed to address his personal ego as completely as he would have liked. Lately, she sensed the rage building inside him. Of course, there could be no middle ground for discussion. Once, she suggested they see a counselor and his reaction was chilling. He merely smiled at her, looked away, and laid his pistol on the table. Within the last year, he had started to question her at length about her whereabouts. If she came home late, he was either cold and withdrawn or loud and abusive. He had never struck her, though. He was too smart for that.
A counselor related to Brenda that Luther was probably inwardly jealous of her accomplishments and resentful of being left out of her politics. She warned that Luther felt inwardly castrated by her, and his indignant attitude could possibly erupt into violence. Brenda shrugged it off as nonsense. Luther wouldn't dare hurt her, his position as sheriff was too high profile, and if she so much as hinted that he had caused her pain, all the power of local government would be brought down upon him.
In the off chance that her counselor was right, Brenda consulted her attorney, Ray Michaud. Ray was a close family friend, and he was willing to listen without passing judgement. However, since he was also Luther’s friend, Ray refused to take her case. The possible conflict of interests prohibited it, ethically. Instead, he referred her to a good divorce lawyer in Middlebury. The papers would be served within the week. So the die had been cast. Brenda had few reservations about her decision and she knew in her heart that it was the only workable solution for both of them. Now, she must find a way to tell her mother.
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