“You took more than two thousand dollars worth of store merchandise over a span of five months,” the judge reminded him firmly.

“You certainly realize why the shop owners finally felt compelled to press formal larceny charges against you.”

“Yes, sir, I understand their position perfectly well,” Clarence whispered with a heavy nod of his head.

“Then give me just one valid reason why I should not sign this commitment order and remand you to the county jail right now,” Judge Lawson urged.

Clarence took a shuddering breath that made his thin wool sweater rise and fall against his narrow chest.

“I do not have a single excuse to offer you, Your Honor,” Clarence answered softly as his voice broke slightly in the quiet chamber.

I could no longer remain motionless on the polished wooden spectator bench behind him, so I pushed myself onto my feet before fear could talk me out of speaking.

“Yes, he does have a reason, Your Honor!” I called out across the silent courtroom.

Clarence spun his fragile frame around with surprising speed, his milky eyes widening as he looked directly into my face.

“Brenda, please sit back down in your seat and stay out of this,” Clarence pleaded with genuine panic ringing through his frail voice.

I had lived right next door to Clarence along Maple Street for more than three decades, watching him tend his garden through hot summers and bitter winters alike.

Never once in all those thirty years had I seen that proud old gentleman look so utterly terrified of what someone might say.

“Your Honor, this man made me swear on a bible that I would never repeat what he told me, but I refuse to stand by and watch him get locked in a cell when the court knows nothing about the truth,” I announced clearly.

I reached deep inside my leather purse, pulled out a worn piece of paper folded into four neat squares, and held it up for the bench to see.