In the Dreaming Hour

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Laveau looked over at Terhune. “He said that, did he?” he asked rhetorically, watching Terhune nod. “Well, it seems as if that reporter is trying to make a name for himself by dragging me through the mud. I don’t appreciate that he mentioned me by name. No sir, I don’t.”

  That was probably a calm way of putting it. Terhune was watching him, as were the rest of his men, as Laveau finally stood up and paced his way across the front parlor, pushing the curtains aside to look at the night beyond. He was gazing into a blackness as dark as his very soul.

  “What’s the reporter’s name?” he asked.

  “Griffey,” Haltom replied. “Terrence Griffey.”

  Laveau continued to ponder the situation. “Well,” he said, turning away from the window. “You did right to come and tell me. I appreciate loyalty.”

  Haltom turned to go but he hesitated. “Do you want me to contact the reporter and tell him something for you?” he asked. “I… I’d be happy to. I’m not pleased at ’tall with the man mentioning my name as a slave and was planning on telling him so.”

  Laveau shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll have my own men contact him. You go on home, now. I need to talk this over with the boys.”

  Haltom didn’t hesitate this time. He headed out of the house, bursting free of it and inhaling deeply of the clean night air. Something about that house was stifling and every time he visited, he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Laveau hung over that house like some great, wretched ghost, suffocating everything inside of it. At least, that’s how Haltom felt.

  The man was everywhere.

  He was anxious to leave. His car was parked around the side of the house and as he made his way to it, he heard movement in the darkness over near the house. As he looked up, he saw a young woman emerge from the bushes. Startled, he just stared at her as she approached.

  “Mr. Haltom?” she said hesitantly.

  He nodded haltingly. “Yes.”

  She came closer. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked. When he shook his head, she continued. “You came to the Pea Ridge Female Academy last year and talked to us about the government and the laws of our country. Mr. Franklin said you were a big lawyer in Charleston.”

  He peered at her in the darkness. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “Victory Hembree.”

  His eyes widened and he yanked his car door open. “It’s nice to see you, Ms. Victory,” he said quickly, throwing his hat into the car and following it inside. “Have a nice evening.”

  He couldn’t get away from her fast enough and she ran towards him, holding out a hand. “Wait, please,” she begged. “Please don’t go. I need your help.”

  He slammed the door and tried to start the car. “Any help you need, go see your daddy,” he told her. “I can’t help you.”

  She was in tears now. “Please don’t go,” she pleaded. “My daddy is planning a murder and I need your help!”

  He looked at her, pale, even in the moonlight. “Miss, I can’t help you,” he said flatly. “I won’t help you. Now, get back in the house before your daddy sees us both.”

  He kept trying to start the car, which wouldn’t turn over. “Please,” she said, running to the car and putting her hands on the door. “I need you to contact the police in Jackson and send them here. My daddy has committed murder and he’s going to commit more unless he’s stopped. Sheriff Meade won’t do anything. Will you please contact the Jackson police and tell them I need help? Please?”

  Haltom was trying frantically to start the car, which finally turned over. He rolled up his window so the young woman couldn’t talk to him anymore, but not before he saw her swollen midsection. She’s pregnant! He thought in a panic. The girl couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen years of age.

  Lord, he didn’t want to see any of this. He couldn’t. Whatever help she wanted, it wasn’t going to come from him. He’d already lost his wife and a son to Laveau Hembree and he wasn’t about to risk the rest of his family. Throwing the car in reverse, he jerked away from Victory, driving off the Hembree property as if the Devil himself was after him.

  It was three days later that Haltom heard that reporter from Vicksburg had died in a house fire.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Present

  Dell Alexander lived in an old white house with clapboard sides on the northern outskirts of Pea Ridge. It was the same house she had lived in all of her life. Her mother, Laveau’s only sister, had married a man named Alexander and they’d settled in the old farmhouse and raised their family. Two boys and one girl were born to them and both boys died young, leaving Dell as the only surviving child. She had never married.

  The first thing Lucy noticed about the house was that it leaned. The floors leaned, the walls leaned – everything seemed to lean. Aunt Dell, incredibly old but still mobile, was thrilled to see her when she knocked on the woman’s door. Both Lucy and Beau were invited into a house that was as neat as a pin.

  They were directed to sit and asked if they’d like some Sanka, which Lucy didn’t even know was made anymore. But, evidently, it was Aunt Dell’s general term for coffee, which she produced quickly as she chatted up a storm.

  Seated on the dated, plastic-covered furniture, Lucy took her coffee in a pretty tea cup as did Beau. She thought the delicate cup looked very out of place in his big hand and struggled to keep from grinning about it. He made a face at her when Aunt Dell wasn’t looking.

  “I didn’t get a chance to see you after the funeral, Lucy,” Aunt Dell said as she sat down opposite them in a gold-flower patterned easy chair. “I spent a good deal of time with Victory before she died, you know. I wanted to tell you that she asked for you quite often.”

  Lucy took a sip of the very strong coffee. “Did she?” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  Dell nodded as she collected her own pretty cup filled with coffee. “She loved you so much,” she said, somewhat wistfully. “She was very proud of you.”

  Lucy smiled weakly. “I wish I could have seen her before she died,” she said. “I talked to her about every week or at least I tried to. She’d keep me on the phone for an hour telling me about things that happened last year, the year before, or five years ago. She had a lot of stories.”

  Dell smiled. “Yes, she did,” she said. “Did she talk about Cousin Ruth and her Heimers?”

  Lucy bit off a laugh. “You mean her Alzheimer’s?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “She talked about her quite a bit. She told me that Cousin Ruth used to hide vodka in shampoo bottles.”

  Dell shook her head reproachfully. “I grew up with Ruth,” she said. “She started drinking a long time ago, sneaking her mother’s brandy. If you ask me, it was the vodka that gave her the Heimers.”

  Lucy chewed on her lip to keep from laughing out loud, mostly because Dell was serious. The woman was a massive gossip so Lucy knew talk about Cousin Ruth was just the warm up. The good stuff was yet to come. But before Dell could go on, she turned to Beau, sitting silently next to Lucy.

  “And I haven’t seen you for a long time, either, Sheriff Meade,” she said. “How proud your parents must be of you. Did pretty well for yourself, didn’t you?”

  Beau set the dainty coffee cup down, feeling somehow emasculated by the blue flowers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And your brother? Where is he these days?”

  “Washington D.C., ma’am. He works for the FBI.”

  Dell crowed. “Of course he does,” she said. “I’d forgotten all about that. Jefferson Meade left for school before you did, I believe.”

  Beau nodded. “Jeff is a year older than I am.”

  Dell sipped at her coffee. “So here you are,” she said. “We are mighty lucky to have you around, Beau. And how do you know our Lucy?”

  Beau turned to look at Lucy, who was verging on laughter. He could see it in her eyes. “I’m her bodyguard, ma’am,” he said seriously. “I’m sorry, I
can’t elaborate on it, but suffice it to say that Ms. Lucy needs protection right now.”

  Dell grew gravely serious. “Is that so?” she said. Then, she slapped her thigh. “I knew that lawyer job would get you into trouble, Lucy! Victory told me that you defended criminals and now it’s coming back to haunt you, isn’t it?”

  Lucy put a hand over her mouth so Dell wouldn’t see how comical she found the entire conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she said. “He was just kidding. Actually, he came with me because we wanted to ask you a few things. It seems that the Hembree and Meade families are tied together in this town and since you know everything about everyone, I have some questions that I think only you can answer.”

  Dell puffed up proudly. “I’ll try,” she said. “You know, I’ll be ninety-eight years old in two weeks but I still remember everything. My mind hasn’t left me at ’tall.”

  “No, ma’am, it hasn’t,” Lucy said. “I can see how sharp you are.”

  The flattery worked. Dell sipped at her coffee again. “So what do you want to know?”

  Lucy had been very careful with Lovie Meade but she saw no reason to hold back from Aunt Dell. The woman knew the family secrets and then some. Still, she felt some apprehension as the reason for their visit came to the forefront. It was still a delicate subject.

  “It’s about Mamaw,” she said. “I will admit that I’ve been hearing some very disturbing stories about Laveau and my dad said I should ask you about him. What you know about him and all.”

  The twinkle in Dell’s eyes seemed to dim. “What do you want to know?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Everything,” she said. “I’ve never really been interested in the family history until now. I think I deserve to know what our family history is like, the good and the bad of it. Dad said you told him that Laveau was a gangster back in the day and that he had a loan shark business. Is that true?”

  Dell set her coffee cup down. “It is,” she said, her demeanor obviously subdued. “He did a lot of things he shouldn’t have done.”

  “Did he ever kill a man?”

  Dell stared at her, the old eyes scrutinizing her closely. Her bird-like hands gripped the arms of the chair. “Did someone tell you that?”

  Lucy nodded. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Mamaw.”

  Dell’s eyes widened. “She… she told you?”

  Again, Lucy nodded. “Is it true?”

  Dell’s mouth popped open. “She really told you that?”

  Lucy could see the woman’s shock. “Aunt Dell, I’m just trying to figure out a few things,” she said. “I’m not trying to upset you, but I really need to know – did Laveau Hembree kill a black man on the grounds of Glory?”

  Dell stiffened; they could both see it. Suddenly, she was on her feet, heading for the door. “Ya’ll need to leave now,” she said crisply. “I’m not going to talk about this.”

  Beau stood up but Lucy didn’t. She remained seated on the couch, watching Aunt Dell flip out over the question. She had a suspicion as to why. Given the reputation of Laveau Hembree, still, she was fairly certain what had Aunt Dell so rattled.

  “What are you afraid of?” Lucy asked gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore, you know. He’s long dead. And if you know something, tell me. Help me find some justice for the people he committed crimes against, Mamaw included.”

  Dell stood by the door, now half-open. Her thin hands were trembling as she took a deep breath or two. “Lucy, I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Lucy wouldn’t let go. “Why?” she asked. “If you don’t tell me, when you die, all hope for justice for the people Laveau sinned against will be gone. No one will remember their names or what happened. They’ll just fade away into history and we’ll never know. Won’t you please help me find some peace for them? I know he did terrible things to Mamaw. Are you really going to let him get away with it by keeping it all a secret, even after all of these years?”

  Dell was shaken. She couldn’t bring herself to voice what she’d spent all of her life keeping buried. After a moment, she moved away from the door but she didn’t sit down again. She remained on her feet, over by the door to the kitchen. She kept her gaze averted, as if pondering Lucy’s request and what, exactly, it entailed.

  “You just don’t know,” she finally said. “You just don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Then tell me.” Lucy stood up, her voice soft but urgent. “Please, Aunt Dell; tell me what you know. I swear I won’t tell anyone that you told me, but for my own peace of mind, I need to know.”

  Dell didn’t move. She simply stood there, weaving a bit, her legs unsteady with age. When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper.

  “Uncle Laveau was a very bad man, Lucy,” she said. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking for?”

  “I won’t know until you tell me.”

  Dell fell silent again. But the words came out, eventually. “Everybody was afraid of him,” she said. “You didn’t speak poorly of him or he’d send his men to burn your house down. He had poor Aunt Caroline beat down so much that when the woman died, my mama said Caroline thanked God for death. My mama thinks that Caroline took her own life, in fact, but if she did, we’ll never know. Laveau had her buried quickly so no one could find out. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Lucy felt a good deal of pity for her great-grandmother, but still, there was more she wanted to know. She braced herself.

  “Yes,” she said. “What else? What happened with the murdered man?”

  Dell’s shoulders seemed to slump. “I didn’t see anything, but my daddy did,” she said. “It was all rumor why Laveau done it. Some said that Victory wanted to run away with the man. Maybe that’s true, but Laveau didn’t really need a reason. He did as he pleased and Sheriff Meade let him. He just covered it up.”

  Lucy latched on to the mention of Aldridge Ragsdale. “Did you know the man who was murdered?”

  Dell shook her head. “I didn’t know him but I heard my daddy talking about him,” she said. “He worked for Uncle Laveau and had been lusting after Victory. She must have been lusting after him, too, if they were planning on running away.”

  “Who was the family?”

  “Ragsdale, I believe. The dead man’s brother worked at my school as a janitor.” She sighed heavily, lost in the terrible recollection. “After the killing, I remember Sheriff Meade coming out to the school to speak with the brother but by that time, he’d been discharged. I never saw him again. I don’t know if Sheriff Meade ever caught up to him but I wouldn’t have been surprised. He probably killed that boy, too.”

  Lucy was greatly distressed by the thought. What irony would it have been had Beau’s great-grandfather killed Lewis Aldridge? She looked at Beau, who had been listening to the conversation intently. It was clear by his expression that he had the same thought as she did.

  “I know what my great-granddad did,” he said to Dell. “My dad has told me quite a bit but you… you were actually living here when all of that happened.”

  Dell nodded. “I was young,” she said. “I was a few years younger than Victory. Your great-granddaddy was a man without power, Beau. They called him ‘The Puppet’ around here. He did what Uncle Laveau told him to do. But it wasn’t his fault; he did it to keep his family safe. I can’t say I blame him.”

  Lucy’s attention lingered on Beau for a moment, seeing the resignation in his face, before returning her focus to Dell.

  “So the two of them were in cahoots with each other,” she said.

  “They were.”

  Lucy felt like she was gaining a better picture of Laveau and his scope of evil. “Since you were close to Mamaw, I need to ask you about something else,” she said. “There was a time when Laveau kept her locked up and away from the world for quite some time. It was some time around nineteen thirty-three. Do you remember that?”

  Dell’s head swiveled in her direction. “How would you know about that?”
<
br />   “The same way I know about the murder.”

  “Victory told you?”

  Lucy nodded. “Do you know why she was kept locked away?”

  Dell was looking at her warily. “If Victory told you she’d been locked away, then maybe she told you why. It’s not my place to….”

  “She was pregnant, wasn’t she?”

  She cut off the old woman with those five words, words that sent Dell grasping for the nearest chair. Lucy and Beau ran forward to steady the woman, lowering her onto a plastic dining room chair. Dell waved them off as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “She… she told you that?” she gasped.

  Lucy nodded. “Did you know?”

  Dell looked at her fearfully for a moment before nodding. “I… I did.”

  It was the confirmation that Lucy had been seeking. She didn’t know why she divulged the pregnancy to the old gossip, only that she was hoping beyond hope that Dell already knew about it. If she was close to Mamaw, maybe she did. Maybe she knew more about it than Mamaw’s letter let on. She was willing to take the chance.

  Swallowing hard, she took one of Dell’s fragile hands into her own.

  “I know about the baby,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Aunt Dell. I know the secret. But I’m the only one; you kept that secret well, so well that no one else has a clue about it. But Mamaw herself told me. What she didn’t tell me is what happened to the baby. Do you know?”

  Dell shook her head, tears welling in the old eyes. “I don’t,” she murmured. “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t even know how she became pregnant or who the father was. I found out by accident and Victory told me that if I told anyone, Uncle Laveau would come for me. Fear has kept me quiet for eight-three years. I’ve never told a soul.”

  Lucy squeezed the woman’s hand, feeling her pain, her fear. It was such a terrible ache. “It’s okay,” she assured her. “Like I said, no one knows but me. My parents don’t even know. But I’m trying to find out what happened to the baby. Mamaw asked me to. But you don’t know anything about it?”