“When did all of that change?”
“That’s the strangeness of it. I’m not sure when it did. Over the years, my father soon abandoned me to my own affairs and without his influence, I began to think again. I’d listened to the speeches of those who had been formerly enslaved. I listened to abolitionists. When the War happened, I joined the Union army. I’m not sure why I did. Perhaps even then, I was trying to find my true self.
“After the War, I found employment with the Pinkertons. Everything had changed for me, but the one person who I had hurt the most had been my mother. It took me a few years, but I finally reached out to see if she was still on the plantation. I didn’t know if she lived or died. I was happy to find out she still lived. Although emancipated, she decided to stay on the plantation. There was nothing else she could do. I brought her back with me to Chicago last year, where she wouldn’t have to work or anything she didn’t want to do.”
“Did you ever—?”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about. Every time I tried to apologize for my sins, for my hurting her, I couldn’t get the words out of my throat. Even when I brought her to live with me, I pretended to those around us that she was my maid, not my mother.”
“How did she—”
“She went along with the subterfuge. I think it was because she was happy that I was with her again. In any capacity.”
“How did she die?”
“The conflagration.” A note of bitterness entered his voice. “Caused by the ever-elusive Mrs. O’Leary. It spread and destroyed most of Chicago. I was out on a case and I wasn’t there when my mother, from what others told me, was trapped by falling debris. She died screaming my name they said.”
His hazel eyes bore into hers. “I never had another chance to say I’m sorry. To beg her forgiveness. After all I had done to her, she never once spoke ill to me and I let her die without an apology.”
Camille sighed and hung her head. So many thoughts and emotions raced through her mind. She understood his torment.
A strong, but gentle finger lifted her chin. Gazing up into his eyes, she heard him whisper, “Now you know everything. All my secrets and sins. Tell me, Camille. Can you say with certainty that you still love me?”
***
Rounder rested against the oak tree a few feet away from the open plane of the sacred ground the next night.
He’d done it. He’d unburdened his soul, revealed his past. The weight on his shoulders had lifted in a miraculous way. Years of keeping his secrets and sins to himself, saying nothing but bearing them like yoke. Gone. It was gone.
Camille was right. There was freedom in speaking the truth. Pain, and hurt, for sure. But freedom. It was worth the agony of revelation.
It remained to be seen if Camille could bear to love a man like him.
“Do you know where the others are?” Camille whispered. Her form was covered by the darkness so he felt her more than saw her.
Sheriff Patience and a couple of deputies hid a few feet away. If he hadn't known where she’d be hiding, he wouldn't have been able to see her. As it was, she blended perfectly into the trees.
“Hidden. That’s all we need to know.”
“How long do you think it will be before he shows?” Camille whispered.
“As long as it takes.”
Earlier that day, his suspicions had been confirmed. According to his contacts in Chicago, Carl Fremont was of the medical profession, a surgeon, who was accused of ‘illicit medical practices’. Thanks to Mrs. O’Leary’s fire, his office burned down and, in the confusion, he’d escaped the authorities. Chicago authorities were on route to bring the man back. Sheriff Patience sent a message stating she would save a nice spot for him in jail.
As a sign of good faith, she invited Rounder to come along this evening in order to capture the man in the act. The previous night, she’d set a watch on the cemetery, but the grave site remained undisturbed. But she knew tonight that Carl would strike.
“How do you know that?” He’d asked her when he accepted her gracious offer.
“Women’s intuition.”
What could he say against that?
When he told Camille about this evening, she made no demure that she was going along. He hadn’t the heart to deny her. He felt exposed in her presence. If anything, her determination made him love her more.
Rounder wondered if Camille wanted to take back the love she said she’d had. Since she knew what kind of man he was, how horrible he’d been, she had to retract her declaration.
Did he want that? No, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. No man who had done what he did deserved the kind of love a woman like Camille could give. He’d squandered his mother’s love. It was a fitting end to have had a taste of love to have it snatched away.
“Camille, I don’t want you to feel as if you have to love me. I have told you everything I have done.”
“How do you feel since you have?”
He gave a small, soft laugh. “Unencumbered. Exposed. Free.”
“I thought you said telling the truth would do the opposite.”
“I was wrong.”
A sound from the cemetery brought their conversation to a halt. He crouched and peered around the trunk of the tree.
A tall figure came walking into the graveyard. There was no moon so there was no way to determine who the person.
Camille moved and whispered close to his ears. “It’s Sticks. His soul glows as bright as day in this darkness.”
What was Sticks was doing at the graveyard?
As they watched, his murky figure, which was darker than the surrounding area, came to the place where Mrs. Ashmore rest. Then, he knelt by it.
What was going on?
An owl call shrilled softly, the signal from Sheriff Patience. Swiftly, he mimicked the call. The prearranged signal that they were to remain still.
They watched for a long while as Sticks knelt by the grave. He did nothing else.
“There’s someone else coming. I can see a color I can’t describe. But…” she paused. “They feel like…smooth glass.”
Camille’s ability was coming in handy. A smaller figure came into view and he recognized it.
Mr. Ashmore, son of the deceased. Why would he be here in the middle of night?
“Sticks, I’m here.” Mr. Ashmore’s voice carried over the graveyard.
“Be quiet,” Sticks rasped, lower but still audible.
“What for? It’s not like we’re disturbing anybody.”
“I’m talking to Aunt Margie.”
“Kinda late for all that now, isn’t it, Cousin? You broke her heart many years ago when you turned back on decent living. Don’t think it’s going to change now that she’s dead.”
“Ain’t that the pot callin’ the kettle black? You the one who escaped with Crawley ten years ago and then left ‘im to die in that cave. Don’t cha think he wouldn’t forget somethin’ like that?”
“This ain’t about Crawley and you know. It’s about the diamond Aunt Margie left me.”
“I’m tryin’ to make it easy for ya. Give Crawley the diamond and he’ll go on and let the past lie.”
“You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?’
Camille shuddered violently, drawing Rounder’s attention away from the conversation. “What is it?” he whispered into her ear.
“Needles pricking my skin. It’s Crawley, he’s here.”
Rounder hadn’t expected anyone else but Carl and maybe one other person to be at the gravesite. If Crawley was here, then it meant he’d bring his gang as well.
No sooner had he thought it that he heard, “Yeah, Teddy, we know how stupid ya are.”
There was a flicker of light and then a lamp glowed in the darkness. It wasn’t much light, but it illuminated the faces of Sticks, Mr. Ashmore, and Crawley along with the rest of his gang. Carl Fremont, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, tagged along. The light didn’t reach the trees, but they coul
dn’t be too careful.
From this distance, he could see Mr. Ashmore’s face contort in fear. “Crawley!”
“Yeah ole friend, it’s me.” Crawley passed the lamp onto Larry. “The one you left in that cave to die, and thought you’d never see me again. Yeah, that Crawley.”
The man stuttered. “L-look Crawley l-let me explain.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to explain. Not after all this time.” A steely note had entered the man’s voice. “Time’s past for explanations. I want the diamond, Teddy, and I want it now.”
“I don’t have it. Why would I this time of night?”
Crawley’s fist lashed out, slamming into Mr. Ashmore’s jaw. The man staggered under the blow and then fell to the ground, falling against his mother’s gravestone.
“Don’t play stupid games with me, Teddy. I said I want the diamond.”
“Ya gotta believe me, I ain’t got it.”
A booted foot kicked the downed man in his gut. He coughed and doubled over, groaning.
“Crawley, simmer down.”
“Stay out of this, Sticks. You stick to those womenfolk you like hurtin’ so much. I’ll take care of this scum.” Crawley squatted down and snatched Mr. Ashmore by his collar. “I ain’t gonna say it again, Teddy. I want the diamond.”
“Crawley, I don’t—”
“You left me in dat cave, Teddy!” Crawley’s voice had deepened. “I waited for days for you to come back and ya left me there.” With a growl, he slugged the man again. “If it wasn’t for a group of Injuns, I woulda died.”
“Wait—” Mr. Ashmore croaked out, but his head was thrown against the gravestone.
“I’m done waitin’. Now I ain’t gonna ask ya again. Gimme the diamond.”
“Crawley, I ain’t lyin’. I don’t have it.”
Rounder wasn’t sure what to do. They were here to apprehend a resurrectionist, not witness a brawl among thieves.
“Oh I see.” The leader of the gang let go of Mr. Ashmore as quickly as he’d grabbed him. “You tellin’ the truth when you say you ain’t got it, aintcha?”
“That’s what I been saying.”
“You swallow it, Teddy?”
Mr. Ashmore froze by the gravestone, his eyes wide. Crawley smiled, his grin scary and eerie in the low lamp light. “I see. You did swallow it.”
“No, I didn’t, I swear.”
“Oh, yes you did,” Crawley denied in a teasing voice like one would have with a child which made the words more alarming. “See, if’n you did swallow it, that ain’t gonna be a problem, is it Sticks?”
“Crawley, he’s my cousin.”
He growled. “Is it, Sticks?”
Sticks glanced over at his cousin and then back at his leader. With a nonchalant lift of his shoulders, it was apparent to all that he’d washed his hand of it. “Naw, Crawley. It won’t be a problem.”
“Ya see, I got a good friend over by name of Carl Fremont. He’s a doctor. One night, we caught the good doctor and a group of his friends out here stealin’ bodies. Didn’t we, Carl?”
“Yes, Mr. Crawley.” Carl sounded like a scared little boy.
“How surprised do you think I was to see this man disturbing the rest of the dead? But everybody’s gotta make a living, right? When the fever hit this town, Carl had it real good. So instead of us turning him into that lady sheriff, we made a deal. He can keep stealing all the bodies and sending them up to that school further upstate. All he gotta do is give us any little trinkets he might find.”
Crawley turned back around. “Ain’t that right, Carl?”
“Yes, Mr. Crawley.” The man looked around nervously.
“A nice game of poker and everybody wins. Now, the nice part of this is that Carl’s a doctor. He knows his way with a knife and I’m sure, if you hold still—”
Crawley snapped his fingers and Barry and Pinky went around and yanked Mr. Ashmore up to his feet.
“No, Crawley. Don’t do this.”
“I’ll get that diamond from you,” the man promised as he motioned for Barry and Pinky to tie Mr. Ashmore up. “One way or another.”
Rounder knew they had to do something. They couldn’t let Mr. Ashmore come to any harm, even if he did do a fool-hardy thing. But they couldn’t shoot in the dark and there wasn’t any way they could beat off that many people in the dark. The sheriff hadn’t made the signal to go forward, so she had to be thinking the same thing he was.
Mr. Ashmore started to scream, pleading for his life.
“Rounder,” Camille whispered. “It’s strange but I feel—”
Before she could finish speaking, there was a loud noise, and then a flood of lanterns as men came rushing forward from behind the church. Lanterns swung back and forth as dozens of men surrounded Crawley’s gang carrying an assortment of weapons. Some had pitchforks, clubs, and rifles. There was so much light it illuminated the graveyard.
Crawley’s gang reached for their guns but the posse had hedged them in.
“Ya’ll ain’t stealin’ no more bodies, ya hear?”
Good lord! That was Cyril!
“We got us here a posse and if ya’ll don’t put down yer shovels…wait, they ain’t got no shovels.” Perky shouted.
“Wait, wait,” a man whose voice Rounder didn’t recognize came forward. ‘You mean to tell me ain’t nobody stealin’ bodies?”
“Well, I thought—” Cyril stammered.
“Ya did good, guys!” Sheriff Patience came out from her hiding place among the trees. “We got the varmints right where we want ‘em.” She dashed up to where Perky and Cyril stood with the posse.
“Sheriff, I didn’t know you’d be—ow!” Cyril exclaimed, clutching his hurt foot.
“Sorry about that, Cyril. Must have stumbled.”
Grabbing Camille’s hand, Rounder pulled her out and they also joined the group. Perky’s eyes widened as well. “You too, Rounder?”
Sheriff Patience began pacing around the group of men along with her deputies. “Now, I’m going to deputize a few of you so—”
There was a movement to his right and before he could register what it was, Camille was yanked from his grasp.
“Camille!” His gun was his hand and pointed at Sticks, but it was too late.
Sticks had his arms clamped around his wife’s waist, holding a pistol to her temple. The waving lanterns cast her fear-stricken face into sharp relief.
Those who had rifles cocked them, including the sheriff, aimed them at Sticks.
“No, don’t shoot!” Rounder begged.
“Camille!” Perky and Cyril yelled.
“Well, well. Looks like we can be good friends now, dontcha think so, Honey?” Sticks chuckled menacingly.
“Let go of her,” Rounder ordered.
“You got to be friendly with her. Now it’s my turn.” He licked the side of Camille’s face. Revulsion contorted her features while a burning rage burrowed deep inside of Rounder’s stomach.
“That’s my wife, Sticks.”
At that, Sticks laughed. “Yer wife? Well, well, well. How’d you get the prettiest darkie I’ve ever seen to do something like that?”
Slowly Sticks started to drag her back. “Sheriff, ya’ll can do what ya’ll want to Crawley, Teddy and the rest of the lot, but if ya come after me, I don’t know what’s gonna happen to this sweet one here.”
“Sticks, I’m real good shot. Don’t make me have to prove it,” Sheriff Patience warned.
“In the light, maybe. You show can’t shoot me in the dark. Ain’t a man here who can shoot me in the dark.”
Rounder pulled his gun from his vest. He was surprised how calm he felt even though Camille was held in that man’s clutches. Sticks kept moving back, trying to get to the wooded area where the light didn’t penetrate.
“I will shoot you if you do not let my wife go.”
“You ain’t gonna risk hurtin’ her, Rounder. And I’ll let her go when I’m through with her.”
His eyes bore into Camille’s, trying
to send her a message. She stared back, her golden eyes filled with fear.
“Remember what you are to me, Camille.”
Her eyes scrunched, even as she stumbled against Sticks. Roughly he her held up. “Don’t try nothing smart, Honey. I’m the one with the gun, remember. You wanted to be friendly before. Now you’s got the opportunity.”
Rounder still stared at her, willing her to understand.
Sticks eased her back, getting closer and closer to the wooded area. Once there, it would be easy for him to escape. But he was counting on it. It was the only way and he only had one shot.
“Rounder, he gets to the woods. we ain’t got a chance,” Sheriff Patience warned.
“Don’t worry.”
Just as they reached tree line, he saw Camille’s face slacken as the realization of what he wanted became clear. She gave him a minute nod.
His finger twitched on the handle of the gun. He took in a deep breath.
“Rounder, he’s going to get away,” Cyril and Perky shouted.
“Don’t shoot,” he ordered again. He trusted Camille.
Before the darkness covered them completely, he saw her mouth the words ‘I love you’. His heart lurched.
Dear God, please don’t let that be the last sight of my wife. I love her. If she’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life—
The wait was interminable although it was mere seconds later that he heard a loud shout, and the rapport of a gun and the scream of a woman curdling the night air.
The blood drained out of his body. “Camille!”
He raced toward the tree line, his heart in his throat when he saw Camille running out of the wood, her hand grasping her left arm as blood trickled over her fingers.
“Camille!” He lunged for her, but she yelled, “The third tree, Rounder,” she rasped as she collapsed to the ground. “Do it now!”
He aimed at the tree and pulled the trigger.
He couldn’t see anything, didn’t hear a sound after the shot but he didn’t care. If Sticks was still alive—
“I see his soul, eking away,” Camille said as she stared at the darkened wood. Tears trailed down her face as he gathered her in his arms. “How beautiful it was.”
***
An Agent for Camille Page 10
