SNOW SYNDROME

Erik looked at his tutor expectantly. Professor Henry Pedersen, sixty three years of age, the man he revered for having honed him into the excellent lawyer that he now promised to be, seemed lost in thought, considering how best to proceed. Over the last few years, here in the professor’s rooms within the cloistered Minnesotan University of Law, his teacher had taught him the finer points of litigation, making the lessons both fascinating and educational, digging up bygone cases, enabling the study of court strategies of attorneys, long since departed from this world. Old Henry, as his students affectionately referred to him, had a devotion to the law that transcended that of most legal pedagogues.

The central heating pipes in this ancient edifice groaned and creaked but, nevertheless, did their job splendidly and the Professor’s study was warm and cosy while, outside, snow, as ever in these Northern climes, fell constantly.

“I was debating whether to introduce you to this file or not. It relates to a case that occurred roughly fifty five years ago, back in 1919 but I believe that there is much to be learnt from the performance of Wilhem Larsson, the lawyer for the defendant, Pastor Emmett…”

“A pastor?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Nilsen. Nobody, they say, is above the law. Back then, just a year after our boys returned from the war in Europe, things were very different”.

Erik Nilsen smiled condescendingly.

“Though it is difficult for you to understand, people, often as not, walked everywhere. Very few owned cars and the church at which Pastor Emmett preached was four miles outside of the township of Virginia, population a mere 745 souls, midway between this city and Winnipeg across the border. All the land, hundreds of acres, surrounding the church was owned by an old Norwegian farmer who refused to part with a lot that would allow a rectory to be built”.

“Why?”

“I can’t recall exactly why, perhaps, he did not like Protestants. However, the Virginian town committee had no option but to erect a house for their preacher on the nearest available plot which was situated a further five miles north from the church”.

“So, the rectory was nine miles outside of Virginia?”

“Yes. I suppose, in order to compensate for the great distance and, in order to attract a decent quality of Pastor, they constructed a very fine house and the Pastor was pleasantly surprised. Equally, the people of Virginia were delighted for, as well as being a gentle and caring soul, the Pastor was a gifted orator and something of a war hero, having lost an arm in France”.

Erik Nilsen was busy taking notes as the Professor spoke, his pen scratching loudly on the surface of his book.

“Seven people occupied that house: Pastor Emmett, his wife, Mistress, their two children, Harry, aged four, Ingrid, aged two and three employees: Nora, the cook, Ella, the housemaid, a negro from way down south and Agnetha, a young girl whose job was to attend the children. The winters, of course, made the rectory a very remote place and, oftentimes, the road to the church was impassable, covered, as it usually was, in a thick carpet of snow; access to Virginia during those months, nigh on impossible which meant a large store of food had to be laid in just in case. The Pastor owned a Model T but, due to his war wound, was unable to drive it. Instead, on rare trips into town, Mistress would drive. Of a Sunday, the Pastor would walk to the church, needing snowshoes to make that trek but, by mutual agreement, the church remained unattended during the worst months of winter”.

Professor Henry, having set the scene, stood and paced his study before continuing, his prize student rapt. It was when laying out a legal scenario that the tutor became most energised, his zeal infectious.

“It was after the worst of the snow had begun to thaw, the road to town considered accessible, finally, that Mistress and the cook, Nora, drove into Virginia in search of much needed supplies. At the general goods outlet, the storekeeper’s wife, a shrewish, inquisitive gossip, noticed deep red weals on the back of the cook’s hands”.

Old Henry paused in his pacing of the room, staring off into space, momentarily, before continuing at a more hurried pace.

“Well, one thing led to another, word spread rapidly around town and, before long, a State Trooper called at the rectory to question Nora who claimed that the marks had been caused by Pastor Emmett in a fit of temper when he had taken a switch to her over a perceived misdemeanour. Both Ella and Agnetha were questioned and it was Agnetha, just seventeen years of age, who alleged that Pastor Emmett had been forcing himself upon her…”

“You mean…sexually?”

“Yes. Pastor Emmett, to the distress of his children, was arrested and charged with physical and sexual abuse of his employees and, as you can imagine, the case caused quite a furore, making headlines here in the twin cities and in Winnipeg, too. From the outset, the accused did himself no favours, refusing to answer any questions whatsoever, not even to assert his innocence; clamming up completely. His lone family, a sister in Saint Paul, however, brought in Wilhelm Larsson, a noted trial advocate, to represent her brother in the trial, set to take place in Duluth”.

“Oh yah. I’ve heard of Larsson, Professor”.

“I’m not surprised. He’d had a number of notable victories during his distinguished career but, ageing and not in the best of health, was close to retirement”.

“Who was he up against?”

“Alphonse Brecht, six two, in his prime, fancily dressed and with an eye on the governorship who knew full well that this high profile case could cement his ambitious yearnings. The press made a big thing of the contrast between the two; David vs Goliath and Larsson, of course, was further hindered by his client’s silence”

Nilsen loved nothing better than hearing about two litigators facing off against each other and listened eagerly as his tutor progressed to the trial itself.

“Witness number one, Agnetha Bang. Brecht took her carefully through her story; how, night after night, Pastor Emmett would come to her bedroom, situated, like all the other employees’ rooms, on the top floor of the house, and force himself upon her. This is an excerpt from the transcript”.

DA: “How often would these…molestations occur?”

W: “Most every night”.

DA: “And they were, of course, extremely distressing to you”.

Witness nods and breaks down in tears.

DA: “No more questions, Your Honour”.

“Jeez, Professor. Tears will swing a jury for sure”.

Old Henry passed another single sheet to Erik.

DC: “Miss. Bang…Agnetha. May I call you Agnetha?”

Witness nods.

DC: “You were in the service of Pastor Emmett for almost twelve months. Is that right?”

Witness nods.

J: “I’m afraid that you need to respond verbally, Miss. Bang. Yes or No”.

W: “Yes”.

DC: “And these alleged incidents occurred nightly, you say?”

W: “Yes”.

DC: “I see and did you ever, perhaps, use a…prophylactic?”

W: “No”.

DC: “And, yet, despite the regularity of these…molestations…as my learned colleague so eloquently referred to them, you never found yourself with child?’

DA: “Objection, Your Honour!”

J: “Sustained. Mr. Larsson, the witness is clearly upset with your line of questioning. I must ask you to refrain from such…”

DC: “I merely wish to point out how strange it is that the sort of conduct which is alleged to have occurred, every night for almost a year, did not result in a pregnancy…”

DA: “Objection, Your Honour!”

J: “Sustained. You’re testing my patience, Mr Larsson. Do you have any more questions of this witness?”

DC: “Just two more, Your Honour. Miss Bang, does your bedroom door at the rectory have a lock?”

W: “Yes”.

DC: “I’m sorry. Could you speak up so that we can all, especially the jury, hear your response?”

W: “I said, yes”.

DC: “Thank you. And I suppose it never occurred to you to use it?”

DA: “Your Honour, I must object!”

DC: “No more questions”.

“Hah, I like it. I can see why you thought highly of this guy, Professor”.

“Throughout the duration of the trial, Pastor Emmett’s wife, Mistress, was curiously absent. The second witness called was Ella Johnson, the housemaid. See the next page”.

DA. “Miss Johnson, you were employed by Pastor Emmett for how long?”

W. “I moved in same day they did”.

DA. “And, during your employment, would you say there was a strange atmosphere within the residence?”

DC. “Objection, leading the witness”.

J. “Sustained”.

DA. “I’ll rephrase the question. How would you describe the atmosphere in the rectory?”

W. “It were spooky as hell, let me tell ya. Got so’s I couldn’t sleep easy in ma bed”.

DA. “Thank you. Your witness”.

“So he never asked her if she’d been abused, Professor? I guess he’d established that beforehand and just used her to set the tone of abnormality in that place, huh?”

“Yes. That much is obvious. An advocate never asks a question he doesn’t know the answer to but these pages I’m sharing with you are focusing only on the pertinent points of testimony. Read on”.

DC. “Miss Jensen. Ella. Is it okay with you if I address you as Ella?”

“Oh, yah, he’s cute, Professor. Disarming a hostile witness from the get go”.

W. “It’s my name”

DC. “Indeed. Well, Ella, you say that your place of work was a spooky place. Could you elaborate?”

W. “Don’t know what that means”.

DC. “Apologies. Could you tell us why, in your own words, you felt things were…spooky?”

W. “Well, there were a fearful atmosphere, like a morgue. Hushed like. People spoke in whispers. That whole place creaked, the floorboards, the staircase. There were a lot of creeping around at night”.

DC. “Did Miss Bang ever inform you that your employer was…interfering with her in anyway”.

W. “Which one?”

DC. “Why, the Pastor, of course”.

W. “No”.

DC. “Ella, were you ever interfered with by the Pastor?”

W. “I was not”.

“Thoughts?”

“Well, she questioned who it was Larsson was referring to when he asked about her employer abusing her, indicating that another person may have been involved. Say, did that go unnoticed at the time?”

“It did. But not by Larsson, himself. Remember, he was questioning these people, who were the state’s witnesses, under cross examination. Her answer opened up a whole can of worms for the defence counsel and he just needed to line his ducks up before he had her recalled. Here, this last transcript marks the turning point”.

DC. “I must remind you, Ella, that you are still under oath. Firstly, I would like to ask you why, if you were so fearful, why didn't you leave?”

W. “Ain’t saying I didn’t”.

DC. “So you did. Can you kindly tell us about that?”

W. “I lit out one night when I thought ever’body were sleeping. I planned on walking all the way to Virginia…”

DC. “Go on”.

W. “It was darn near freezing. Got to the church and it began to snow; real heavy like. My boots, my dress, coat, ever’thing was soaked through. I carried on a bit further, maybe a mile or so but my feet was like blocks of ice. I felt like I would die out there if’n I continued. I ain’t one for snow”.

DC. “So what did you do?”

W. “Well, didn’t have no choice, did I? I turned around and headed back”.

DA. “Your Honour, what is the relevance of this line of questioning?”

DC. “Well, if you’d just let me finish, you’ll find out!”

J. “Proceed, Mr. Larsson, but I must warn…”

DC. “Ella, please explain to the court how, in your frozen state, you could not continue for a further, by your own reckoning, three miles to Virginia…and safety, yet, you were able to turn around and walk twice that distance back to that ‘fearful’ place?”

W. “Well I… I…”

DC. “I put it to you, Ella, that you did not walk back to the rectory, that night. An automobile came after you. Am I right? A vehicle driven, not by Pastor Emmett because of his disability…but by his wife, Mistress. She couldn’t have you run away and start spreading malicious gossip about the goings on at that remote place, could she? Ella, think carefully before you answer my next question: you’ve already told the court that Pastor Emmett did not abuse you in any way. Did his wife, Mistress ever interfere with you?”

“My God, the wife! Of course Ella’s answer was yes, right?”

“Not exactly. She confirmed that Astrid, the woman known as Mistress, had, indeed, made overtures of a sexual nature but Ella, a rather large, homely country girl, had made it quite clear that she would not tolerate any such nonsense and, for the most part, she was left alone by Mistress... and Nora, the cook…”

“The cook?”

“Yes. It transpired that Astrid and Nora had become lovers, hence the tell tale switch marks which the Pastor had inflicted, in outrage, once he realised what was going on. Agnetha, younger and naive, had, however, fallen into their clutches. It was the wife and the cook that were abusing her. Hard to understand, I know, but, you may recall, a year or two ago, there was a case in Sweden, where hostages in a bank robbery bonded with the would be robbers. It’s a complex, psychological development arising from being in close proximity with others, no matter how bad those others might be, particularly in remote locations such as the rectory in this case. It’s becoming known as Stockholm syndrome”.

“Oh yah, I’ve heard of it. So what happened next, Professor?”

“Well, the rest is rather irrelevant. The purpose of this exercise was to show you how a good attorney can read between the lines; see things that others can’t…”

“You betcha, Professor. I get that, sure. But, come on, what happened after that. Don’t leave me hanging”.

Old Henry began pacing, that last word of Nilsen’s having clearly caused him some pain, debating whether to continue with his narrative or not, finally figuring that Nilsen would dig out the case history in any case, now that his curiosity had been aroused.

“In a nutshell, the Pastor had remained silent to protect his wife who, perversely, he loved dearly. He, of course, was acquitted. Mistress and Nora were both arrested and charged; the former being found guilty and sentenced to six years in Shakopee. Nora Hansen, as an accessory, received three years and was sent to Stillwater. That’s it”.

“Aw, come on, Professor. If the Pastor loved his wife that much, did he forgive her, at least?”

Old Henry turned to the window, his back to the room, staring out at the heavily falling snow.

“Things were different back then. Six years meant six years. But, when Mistress Astrid was released from Shakopee, Pastor Emmett was there, waiting outside the gates for her, standing, expectantly, ankle deep in snow. In the interim years, he'd moved to Minneapolis with the children and tried to rebuild his life. He was, at heart, a good man but weak, obsessed with, and dominated by, his wife. Mistress stared through the falling flakes at the pathetic, one-armed man awaiting her who, in six years, she had never given a moment's thought. Behind him, staring out of the condensation streaked windows of the cab, were the confused faces of Ingrid and Harry, her flesh and blood, but she had eyes for neither. Somebody else, you see, had come to meet Astrid that day: Nora, the former cook, released three years earlier. Mistress did not even give her faithful husband a second glance before trudging through the snow to her lover’s car”.

“Jeez, what a tragedy”.

“Two days later, Pastor Emmett, heart shattered, was found hanging from a ceiling fixture in the living room of the home he had prepared for his wife. Nobody could figure out how a man with a disability like his could manage to perform such a macabre act, least of all his boy, Harry, who, alerted by the groaning of the rope as it swung back and forth, was the unfortunate who discovered his father”.

“Jeez!”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the end of the story. Ingrid Pedersen, just eight years old, devastated by the tragic loss of her beloved father, escaped the institution where the authorities had placed her and her brother, walked out into the snow and just…vanished. Not until the Spring thaw was her body discovered. A lamentable tale of lust and the consequences of giving way to such desires. And there the story ends”.

Erik Nilsen was stunned and saddened at this postscript. A lesson in law had evolved into a story of such catastrophic loss that he felt, somehow, like an intruder. Quietly gathering his papers, he prepared to leave, the pipes, for once, silent.

“Just one last question, Professor: the boy, Harry, what became of him?”

Even as he phrased his question, Erik, in a sudden epiphany, knew and wished with all of his heart that he could recall his words. How in hell had he not realised earlier? Pastor Emmett Pedersen -Professor Henry Pedersen. Henry - Harry, the Pastor’s son, the dates - Jeez! Everything aligned. Quietly inching towards the door, the sad, husky voice of an exhausted soul stopped him in his tracks as his tutor, weeping, every year of his life now showing in his tortured face, turned from the window.

“Me? I have spent every waking moment, every single second of every day, trying to forget”.