“I understand Wil is in jail. Can you tell me what he is accused of and where he might be?”
“Well, Mrs. Doyle, he is accused of stealing some valuable gold coins from your husband in Norristown. He was thrown in jail after court by Mr. Doyle himself. He is the chief magistrate now, you know.”
“So, he is in jail in Norristown? When will he be getting out?”
“Don’t know that he will be getting out. Seems he shot one of Mr. Doyle’s horses. Tried to claim the horse as his own, but then could not explain why he had shot it. He had some dandy story that Doyle’s men shot the horse and framed him. Mr. Doyle had a lot of witnesses. You know what happens to a horse thief. Sorry I cannot help you, Mrs. Doyle, but they will probably hang him in time. Good day.” Tipping his hat to Netty he returned to his office, leaving her standing frozen to the spot, her face a bloodless mask.
*
The sheriff watched Netty rush out the door and run down the street. Calling his deputy, he quickly wrote a letter and sealed it. The telephone party line needed to be avoided with a matter as sensitive as this.
“Deliver this to the boss. He better know she may be up to something, might need to step up his plans. She could start some trouble for us if we are not careful.”
*
Netty ran blindly down the street. She felt totally alone. Who could she trust in this town? She now realized she and Wil had kept to themselves far too much. She had no friends to turn to, only Baby and Wil. They were all she’d ever needed. Even her customers weren’t to be trusted. There was no way of knowing what name sat on Robert’s payroll, plotting against her to steal her land. But she must still save Wil.
Wringing her hands, she frantically scanned the sparsely crowded street, recognizing no one. She needed someone connected to the court system. She must avoid anyone with clout or success, in case they were loyal to Robert. She just needed a lead on how to proceed.
Rounding a corner, she spotted a pathway that led to the poorly frequented part of town. Rotted garbage lay along a few boarded up store fronts, a door with screechy hinges banged loudly. As she considered the wisdom of her presence there, an unseen child screamed at an imagined insult, the sound echoing down the street.
This was the black section of town. Most towns didn’t even let them own property, but this town fostered a huge respect for a man’s hard work, and many hardworking blacks had found a home here. Netty stumbled down the pathway to the only building that showed any sign of life. She heard southern hill music coming from inside the dark building. Stepping up to the open door, she entered. She peered through the dimness, smelling heavily sweating, musky male bodies and something she suspected was spirits.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she noticed every black face turned her way. She hesitated as the room stopped all motion, a sudden silence drawing further eyes her way. Silence ticked loudly.
“You aut not ta be here, M’sus.” She heard a deep voice emanate from the gloom.
“Gentlemen, ah, if you could just give me a moment of your time? I am sorely in need of advice.” Her faltering words were met with unfriendly stares. “Please, I mean no one any harm. I am looking for your legal adviser; if you could just direct me.” Her pleading voice petered out. Netty couldn’t hold back tears as she realized this was a dead end.
Turning, she made her way back to the door when she heard a voice say, “Reverend Penny, Misus. You best be leav’in now, b’for there be trouble. Pretty lady like you don’ belong here.” Nodding her thanks, Netty backed out of the little building, tripping over her feet on the way out.
Retracing her steps, she made it back to the main thoroughfare.
Finding her way to her wagon, she drove to the square where the churches clustered. She was looking for the Baptist Church, the only church that would accept the small number of black families from the area. Reverend Penny was rumored to not see black or white, only God’s children. She should have thought of him to begin with. Netty approached the church, admiring the beauty of its stunning stained glass windows; very expensive stained glass. The congregation must be larger than she realized. Entering the church, she looked down to the altar where Reverend Penny and a little black child stood together.
The tearful girl of about six years held a small dog in her arms that looked crushed, probably by the wheel of a wagon or the tire of one of the new automobiles in town. Its rear leg lay at an unnatural angle, a grisly bone exposed. It hung limply in the child’s arms as her tears fell on its face, causing the dog to whine pitifully. She overheard the child ask Reverend Penny if God could please heal her doggie.
Netty’s tail, lying comfortably hidden under her skirt, suddenly unwound, rising into the air. She tried franticly to rein the unbridled appendage in, appalled by her inconceivable lack of control.
The church quickly filled with the smell of sulfur. Her tail soared as the membrane shot out its healing pressure, directed at the puppy. As the dog wiggled out of the child’s arms, Netty quickly sat down in a pew, hoping to be overlooked.
The child ran up the aisle, calling to her dog as it emerged from the church, ready to resume battle with wagon wheels. Reverend Penny, flummoxed by the pup’s startling transformation, collapsed on the floor.
Hurrying to the altar, her tail now firmly tucked under her skirt, she rushed to the reverend, helping him to his feet. He appeared dazed, confusion obscuring his pious carriage. Introducing herself without pause, Netty requested a private word.
“My dear, did you see a young child with a dog run outside?”
“Yes, Reverend, I did.”
“The dog, he was running on all four legs?”
“Yes, Reverend, he was.”
Reverend Penny slowly turned to the golden cross on the altar and on bent knee, genuflected. Netty mulled over what had just happened. She knew the more she was in public, the more likely another incident would be. Sooner or later, it would lead to her exposure. She didn’t think she could handle any more stress, she was only just holding herself together as it was. Collecting herself, she forced her mind to focus.
“Reverend, if we could sit down somewhere private?”
Distractedly, the reverend rose and led Netty into his personal sanctuary. Pulling out a chair for Netty, he sat behind his desk.
“Forgive me, my dear, I am a bit preoccupied. Is there something I can do for you?”
Netty hesitantly spoke of her problem, omitting her rape and the loss of their baby. She just didn’t think she was strong enough to speak about it and wanted all the reverend’s attention directed to the problem with Wil.
“Well, my dear, I do not know how much I can do for you, but I do know that your young man is entitled to bail, as long as he has not been brought to trial as a horse thief. Can you afford to pay bail?” Netty quickly nodded her head yes.
“I will do my best to find out how much it is. I suggest you round up the funds and meet me back here tomorrow. We will go to the sheriff together to post his bail. Once he is out of jail, we can find a good lawyer and think about his defense.” Reverend Penny appeared to have recovered from the incident at the altar as he suddenly awarded her with a genuine, snake oil salesman smile.
As Netty left the reverend’s sanctuary she felt his eyes bore into her from behind, his change in demeanor fostering a premonition, forcefully banished as she hurried home.
Chapter 8
Wil tried to roll over on his cramped metal bunk bed. He shared his dismal nondescript cell with two other men. His first cellmate had stupidly tried to sell his homemade moonshine to a saloon owner already supplied by Robert Doyle’s men. He’d received a severe beating for his efforts and sixty days in jail. Wil wondered what they’d charged him with. The other man was new, moved suddenly into Wil’s cell the night before. The big ugly guy kept his silence, sitting on the edge of his bunk staring at Wil, unnerving him.
Wil worried constantly about Netty. He was convinced she was in danger. Why go to these lengths to frame hi
m? And if Netty was in danger, then so was Baby. It was clear to Wil that Robert Doyle wanted the farm and found it expedient to get Wil out of the way first.
He wondered about Netty’s mental state. He should never have left her side. In the almost three weeks since his assault and Maggie’s murder, time had passed as fast as a snail running a foot race. As of yet, no one had bothered to take the time to inform him of the charges against him. He figured it must have something to do with the gold coins they’d found in his back pocket when they’d searched him after Doyle’s men had dragged him to the local sheriff’s office. God only knew how the coins had got there. He’d offered nothing when questioned about them.
He didn’t doubt for an instant that Robert Doyle had concocted a tidy fairy tale for the sheriff after planting the coins in his pocket. Sadly, no one wanted to hear anything about Maggie’s murder. They just ignored him. He still cried whenever he thought about her. In his heart he knew he bore the responsibility. He tormented himself with the knowledge that his poor judgment and immaturity had led to her death and this cell, leaving Netty and Baby vulnerable. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Twenty one years old and sitting in jail with his life still waiting to be lived. His mama would be ashamed.
Underestimating Robert Doyle, the twisted and pernicious bastard, might have cost them their lives. But how could they keep him in here forever? Sooner or later, he would figure out how to get a message to Netty. Maybe he could work something out with his bunkmate when he’d finished his sixty-day sentence.
It was almost time for their dinner. Meals were the only time Wil felt close to Netty and Baby in this cheerless, oppressive lockup. He was reminded of Netty’s laughter, her lovely face, her worshiping trust as she stood in the kitchen cooking for him. And boy, everyone knew Netty sure could cook. It had become the nicest part of his day as he reminisced about how they loved to linger over their tea, dreaming big about their plans for the farm, watching Baby wobble around and laughing at his antics before they retired to the bedroom to lie in each other’s arms. They marveled about their chance meeting in the woods that had led them to such complete contentment, even as they fumbled with the problems associated with their bodies’ changes. Fate is a wonderful thing.
Wil heard noise in the corridor, presumably the trays for dinner. The bailiff appeared at the door to his cell, opening it up with his noisy ring of keys. Surprisingly, he shouted for Wil’s bootlegging cellmate, ordering him to accompany him and refusing to disclose further information. Wil casually wondered at the significance of the unusual time chosen to remove his cellmate. The guards knew better than to come between a prisoner and his chow.
Wil’s cellmate never returned, nor did they get their dinner. Wondering what was up, Wil turned over in his bunk, lying flat to alleviate the constant ache in his lower back, his tail announcing its growth. Staring up at the drab mucky ceiling, he lost himself in his memories of Netty and Baby.
*
Wil was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the bailiff quietly returning and silently slip something lethal and shiny to his remaining cellmate. He also failed to notice his cellmate creep slowly over to his bunk, raising the arm that held a glittering butcher’s knife and bringing it down solidly on Wil’s arm, severing his hand below the wrist, then quickly exiting through the cell door and clicking it shut behind him.
As Wil fell out of his bunk, incomprehension overriding shock, he discovered his severed hand lying on the dirty cement floor. Stumbling to the cell door, he watched the blood stream out of his arm. Sliding down to the cold floor, he held his arm up, hoping to slow the gushing blood.
“Help, I need help. Bailiff, guard, please help, I need a doctor. It’s urgent. I’m bleeding. Help me!” Wil screamed for attention for twenty minutes. No one came. As he slipped further down to the floor, he felt darkness intrude into the edges of his vision. His thought process slowed, blood loss causing him to forget where he was, his arm, now in his lap, cold and painless from shock.
He thought he could smell the warm organic odor of Netty’s barn. It must be time to saddle Maggie and turn out the Jerseys. Where was Baby? He couldn’t leave without his little buddy in the saddle.
He called for his mama, feeling an urgent need for her soothing hands and loving voice. Slipping into darkness, the last thing reflected in Wil’s dimming eyes was the unusual iridescent color of his blood as it finished spilling his life onto the cruddy concrete floor of his cell.
*
Netty hurried home after leaving the Baptist church. Relief and hope coursed through her body as she rejoiced over the fabulous solution Reverend Penny had suggested. Now all she had to do was find the money. Rushing home with the wagon, she found Baby in the barn with his kittens.
“Baby, I thought I told you to not open the cabin door. It is for your own safety.” Scooping Baby up under her arm, kitten and all, she ran to the front door of the cabin, finding it locked.
“Baby, how did you get out of the cabin if the door is still locked from the inside?” Walking around the back, she saw the opened bedroom window. “Well, Baby, I guess this is the way we are going to have to get back in. I am going to boost you up and you can go around front and let me in.” Auras sent pressure to her mind.
“Sister, my kitten.”
“Yes, Baby, you can take your kitten with you.” Shaking her head with amusement, Netty helped Baby through the window and passed the kitten over the windowsill. Going around to the front of the cabin she found Baby waiting for her. She realized Baby had given her the first laugh she’d mustered in weeks.
Dashing through the house looking for money, she happily explained to Baby that Wil would soon be home. Baby trailed behind her with his wobble and shuffle, dangling his kitten from his arm. Counting the money, she realized it might not be enough. Oh, no. They’d spent all their savings on the new bakery. Think, think, think. She slapped herself on the head. Wait. Did she dare?
Running into the bedroom, she dug to the bottom of the hope chest Wil had made for her on the anniversary of their first year together and, ironically, one of Baby’s favorite hiding places. She kept digging down till she found it. Withdrawing her fingers, she held up the gold coin. The very one she’d stolen from her husband before she ran from him over three years ago. It would finally do her some good.
Fixing a sketchy dinner for herself, although she found she couldn’t eat a thing, she decided to give the cabin a good cleaning. Tomorrow would be a big day. Taking the money to Norristown, Reverend Penny planned to bail Wil out of jail. Counting on their return in a day or two, Netty hoped to celebrate with Wil and Baby before they found an attorney and settled in to resolve the problems with Robert. Cuddling in bed with Baby (and his kitten, of course), she thought about their lost infant. She promised herself to take the time to visit the grave with Wil when he got home. Knowing they both enjoyed excellent health and had youth on their side, she realized that, in time, they could try for a baby again. She finally had her first nightmare-free sleep in weeks.
Rising early, Netty started for town with high expectations. She arrived at the Baptist church shortly after morning service, finding Reverend Penny in his private office.
“Reverend, I have the money for Wil’s bail.” She breathlessly poured the coins out on the desk. Looking up, surprised by the reverend’s pained expression, she felt her stomach give an uncertain lurch.
“My dear, please sit down. I have some unfortunate news for you.” Holding tightly to her hands, he broke the news of Wil’s death. Found in his cell, he’d apparently managed to cut off his own hand on the rough metal supports of his bed in an attempt to take his own life.
Netty heard nothing but white noise after the word death. She sagged, dropping heavily to the floor, only held up by the grip Reverend Penny had on her hands. Her head swam. “Oh no, no, no, no, God. Please, no.” She moaned as Reverend Penny dragged her to a chair, propping her up.
“I don’t believe you. I need to see Wil,” she suddenly s
creamed, hysteria now a frequent visitor.
“I’m afraid we might have another problem on our hands, Mrs. Doyle,” the reverend said, releasing her hands. Netty didn’t respond. She couldn’t make out anything further the reverend said. Her life had just turned to cold ash. This couldn’t possibly be true. Wil would never do such a thing. It had to be a lie. She rose slowly, gripping the side of the chair, her face devoid of color. She needed to be alone. Baby; she needed to get home to Baby. She stumbled unsteadily.
“Mrs. Doyle.” At the sound of her name, she tried to focus. Reverend Penny stood in front of her, a most pious look on his face, holding his hand outstretched to her. As she reached for his hand, she stared and let her own float in the air aimlessly before dropping it to her side, her defeated countenance a mask of despair and tragedy. For in the palm of his hand lay her gold coin.
Looking into his face, her voice trembling, she asked, “Reverend Penny, what is the meaning of this?”
“Mrs. Doyle, why don’t you come with me to the sheriff’s office where we can straighten this out? Mr. Doyle himself took time from his precious schedule to come all this way to help us.” His grip felt like iron as he tried to ease her toward the door.
“Mr. Doyle?” Netty’s saliva stuck thickly in her throat.
“Yes, he is a great benefactor to the church. I thought it best to turn this delicate matter over to him. He usually rewards the church well for the efforts I make in managing the congregation. You understand what I mean?” Netty tried to break Reverend Penny’s iron grip on her hand.
“Now, Mrs. Doyle. Why don’t you show me what a lady you are and come along?” The reverend sounded exasperated. He snaked both of his arms around her as he relentlessly duck-walked her to the door. Netty suddenly dropped to the ground, releasing herself from his grip. She slipped out from under his arms, grabbed the gold coin, and ran.
Her breath came in gasps as she jumped into her wagon and took off out of town. Robert is here. What will they do to me? Can they still arrest me? Like Wil? Oh my Lord, what have they done to him? She refused to believe he was dead until she saw for herself. She’d better plan to hide out somewhere first.
Alien Species Intervention Page 12
