“We now face our greatest threat: the attempted commandeering of our state legislatures by Yankee politicians, who scheme for the votes of our former slaves. We must not let this happen. We must keep these corruptors away from our ballot boxes. And we must destroy those who support our enemies. These collaborators in our midst—our servants and our wives—violate the holy order of Christ and must be punished.”
Her blood chilled as the words echoed in her head: our wives violate the holy order of Christ and must be punished.
“Therefore,” Thorne continued, his voice booming through the tiny chapel, “we affix our sacred word of honor and loyalty as officers and gentlemen to this den of the Invisible Empire, pledging our prayers, gifts, and services to the same. We swear to conceal its existence. Our oath of secrecy has superior jurisdiction over the tyranny of Reconstruction courts and committees, so we as gentlemen are not liars if we publicly deny its existence. Now, raise your right hand and repeat after me: I hereby swear and subscribe …”
“I hereby swear and subscribe,” the men repeated, raising their hands.
“… my seal of honor and loyalty to the foregoing statement and pledge my life.”
“My seal of honor and loyalty to the foregoing statement and pledge my life,” they echoed.
“Gentlemen,” Thorne said and raised both hands like a priest giving a blessing, “with this oath taken, and on the authority of the power invested in me as your Exalted Cyclops, in the names of your Grand Wizard and Grand Dragon—” he gestured to Forrest and Gordon, “and Jesus Christ, I declare thee night riders, enforcers of the natural law, warriors of Christ, and ghouls of this den of the Invisible Empire of the Ku Klux Klan!”
Thorne clapped his hands twice overhead, and the room erupted in a tremendous cheer of whooping and hollering. Men picked up their slouch hats and threw them against the ceiling in celebration.
Then, to Alice’s amazement, they completed their new uniforms. Still cheering and loosing rebel yells, they pulled pillow cases over their heads with eye holes cut out. Spirits and ghouls, indeed.
“Let’s ride!” General Forrest shouted.
She didn’t have quite enough time to run up the hill and into the pantry, but the men were too excited to notice a skirt hem disappearing through the doorway.
She shut the door and leaned against it in the dark building, gasping for air. Outside, the hooting and cheering faded away in a storm of hoofbeats.
✽ ✽ ✽
She sat up all night by her bedroom window, rocking in a chair not made to rock. At one point, she thought she smelled smoke in the distance and heard a gunshot, but she hardly noticed it.
The purpose of this our temple to the Most High is now at hand.
At least she thought she had stayed awake. Time moved in jumps and starts.
Our wives violate the holy order of Christ and must be punished.
Thorne’s true identity, which had become apparent as she peeped through the chapel windows, consumed her thoughts. Thorne was Reverend Forney’s successor as the new Christ Agent and the leader of a vast conspiracy against her.
In the names of the Grand Wizard, the Grand Dragon, and Jesus Christ.
Wizard? Dragon? Just look at the titles that Generals Forrest and Gordon held in Christ’s hierarchy. It almost made her laugh now to remember Reverend Forney’s hypocritical condemnations of wizards and witches. And to think that most Southerners looked up to these two former leaders.
I declare thee … enforcers of the natural law, warriors of Christ.
But she puzzled over Thorne’s seemingly irrelevant speechifying about Yankees, negro votes, and Republicans. This “Ku Klux Klan” of his, of course, existed to persecute her. Perhaps he had been talking about its secondary functions. That, or the men were not direct Christian agents like Thorne, and he was deluding them into believing they were acting for some other cause than his wife’s destruction.
Either way, the conspiracy made perfect sense to her.
When Thorne finally came home at dawn, he was alone. From her window, Alice watched him return from the stable. He removed his white robe and hood as he walked, making it hard to see him in the early morning light. She listened as the Christ pig climbed the stairs and dropped into bed.
She rolled into a ball on her own bed and tried to sleep.
A few hours later, she gave up and rose for the day. Trembling with exhaustion, she left the house and walked to the cook’s cabin, vainly trying to collect her thoughts. She knocked on the Teferas’ door and waited patiently. Knocked again, waited, knocked again—
The door flew open. Sleep clouded Jonah Tefera’s bloodshot eyes, and stubble littered his face.
“Sorry to wake you,” Alice said.
“Did you see ’em last night?” He smelled of sweat.
“The spirits? Yes … no. I mean, I came to tell you that everything’s all right. Nothing to concern yourselves with.”
Eliza appeared behind her husband, hands resting upon her pregnant belly. “You’s upset ’bout somethin’, Miz Alice. I sees it in yo’ eyes.”
“No, I’m fine. Those men, they were just playing a prank.”
Before they could say more, Alice walked off, a wrist pressed against her mouth to contain a sob. It was best to conceal the truth from them, she figured. Her problems were too complicated to explain and were not their responsibility.
“No breakfast dis mornin’?” Jonah called after her.
“Later.”
The cabin sat near the rear of the overseer’s residence, so she headed there, intending to disappear quickly from the Teferas’ line of sight. She did so by walking around to Obie Redger’s front door.
She was surprised to come nose-to-nose with a negro she’d never seen before. Yelping, she jumped back a step.
“Pardon missus, pardon,” the man said, pulling his wrinkled hat off his head. He wore fingerless rag-wool gloves. Mud stains rose from his shoes. A farmer. One pant knee was ripped open, exposing a bloody abrasion.
Behind him, a bald, white man with a handlebar moustache knocked on Obie Redger’s door. He already held his hat at his side, and when he saw Alice, he acknowledged her by gripping an imaginary brim in front of his face. Seamstress that she was, Alice automatically scrutinized his clothing: brown cotton pants with side pockets, white cotton shirt with a five-button placket and wooden buttons. Unrefined. Probably one of the carpetbag storekeepers who’d just moved to town.
The negro addressed her. “Does de missus know iffen de marster be home?”
“I—” she began.
Obie Redger opened his door. “What the sam hell is going on out here?”
Like Thorne, Obie must have just gone to bed. He still wore his suit pants from the wedding, and a suspender had fallen off one shoulder. His shirttail hung out. Looking as if he could use a gallon of coffee, he squinted and said, “Miz Alice?”
“Constable,” the storekeeper said. “Are you aware of what transpired in town last night?”
Obie cleared his throat, seemed about to say something, but remained quiet. In the hallway behind him, a beautiful rose in a vase perched on small table.
“A band of men dressed in sheets raided the city hall. They burned the ballot boxes for the state election on the front steps.”
“Are you sure?” Obie rubbed his hands on his pants, swallowing. His eyes darted between Alice and the two men.
The negro had moved to stand by the storekeeper. “De men, dey’s dragged me from where I’se walkin’ ’long. Tied me to der stirrup, an’ dragged me.” He gestured to his bloodied knee. “It done torn on de ground. I’se freed my hand an’ run.”
Crimson rose into the storekeeper’s cheeks. “This has petrified the town. Some of us observed visitors traveling to this plantation yesterday and believe they’re responsible.”
Closing his eyes and swallowing, Obie swayed and steadied himself on his doorframe. Was he drunk? His face had gone pale. “I’ll investigate your complaint later
. But it couldn’t have been Mister Norwick’s guests. They departed immediately after my wedding last night.”
“But suh—” the negro began.
“It must be marauders who traveled here from Depot. But I’m on my honeymoon right now. Have a good day.”
Obie nodded to the men and to Alice, and then turned to go back inside.
Suddenly his hand shot out as if swatting a fly, accidentally smacking the doorframe. But he said nothing as he rubbed his hand and closed the door with an elbow.
Alice shook her head in disdain. No, he wasn’t drunk. Obie was getting sick again. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him snatch at imaginary phantoms.
The men stood on the step a moment, facing the closed door. Finally, the storekeeper sighed and said, “Let’s go. We’ll just have to talk to him later.” He put his hat back on and tipped it to Alice. “Good day, missus.”
“Jesus wid you,” the negro said, also tipping his hat. They walked off toward North Road.
In the silence that followed, Alice stood there and kneaded her hands. Christ’s minions are loose upon the town, she thought. They circle me like wild animals, devouring the world and gaining strength.
And it was entirely possible that the farmer and storekeeper were also parts of the conspiracy. Jesus wid you. That entire conversation, in fact, could have been a play-act for her benefit, concealing or misdirecting her from some sinister machination.
Nodding to herself, she moved away from the Redger house.
She hadn’t made it two steps before she heard Obie’s front door open again. The quick, sure footsteps alerted her that it was not him.
“Missus Norwick?” a woman asked.
Alice turned to face the storied Mariann, Obie’s new bride. And my, wasn’t she much more beautiful than Obie deserved? Perfect, fair skin, brown hair of silk. She felt a stab of envy. As she couldn’t recall anything about the wedding, this was, for all intents and purposes, their first meeting.
“Missus Redger, I presume. A good morning to you.”
Even in a plain sleeping gown, Mariann Redger appeared more breathtaking than any woman Alice had ever seen. She could only imagine what that beauty did to men. Had she seen this woman before? Something about her seemed familiar.
“Why, I don’t believe we’ve said two words to each another since I arrived.” Mariann pressed a hand over her bosom. Although her cleavage wasn’t presently exposed, she was obviously used to concealing it. “Are you feeling better?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You had a spell during my wedding.”
“I did?”
“Yes. I’m surprised to see you out of bed this morning.” Mariann stayed at least two arm’s lengths away, as if afraid of catching something.
“I assure you, I am quite fine. I don’t recall much of last evening, but …” Don’t say more to this Jesus bitch than necessary. “I mean, thank you for your concern.”
“Perhaps you should summon a doctor. You were very incoherent.”
“Dear girl, don’t concern yourself with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I … I ate some wild mushrooms with supper yesterday, and they adversely affected my cognition. But I’m quite recovered now. I must, however, offer my humblest apologies …”
“No, no.”
“… for disrupting your special day. I do pray your forgiveness.”
“It’s given. You must join us later for tea, and we’ll get acquainted. My father gave me a wonderful sampling of tea from England, and I’m—”
“Yes, yes, please tell me about it then,” Alice said, ready to leave. But she hesitated, aware that she was again being rude. “I trust that your wedding was otherwise pleasant?”
“Yes. Obie is a … wonderful man.”
Mariann’s face betrayed her inexpertise at lying. Alice felt like saying, You know as well as I do that Obie and the boys rode into town last night and that your marriage is a lie.
“Well, until our tea.”
“’Til then.”
As she walked away, Alice clenched her fists at her sides, revulsion oozing from her. Thorne, the Christ Agent, had no doubt told the woman to make friends with her.
Pull the wool thickly over her eyes, Thorne must have said, until the Lord’s ultimate punishment is ready.
“Missus Norwick!”
“Oh, what now?” Alice sighed, and waited as Mariann caught up.
“Your pardon. I just wanted to remind you not to let me forget about your bridal veil.”
“What about it?”
The pretty brows furrowed. “You had Thorne loan it to me. At least that’s what he said.”
Ice crept up Alice’s back. She had done no such thing but wasn’t going to permit the little tart to embarrass her. “Of course. You may return it this afternoon.”
Struggling to control her emotions, Alice walked off.
Thorne loaned out her bridal veil? She realized it was only Christ, through Thorne, taking a potshot at her and knew she shouldn’t be so upset. Yet Christ had found a soft spot, hadn’t He? Alice had no illusions about her marriage, but the status of it was one of the few things going for her. At least I have a husband was a frequent mantra.
“I was wondering,” Mariann said, compelling Alice to again stop and wait for her to catch up.
She faced the woman in exasperation, thinking Christ proposed to annoy her to death.
“Have all the visitors left? I had hoped General Forrest would carry a letter back to Tennessee for me.”
“Everyone was gone when I arose.”
“I see.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
Alice rolled her eyes. The tart was indeed beautiful but not very smart. Even imprisoned within their mental cage, the angel’s wings perceived skulduggery and duplicity riding each of Mariann’s thoughts like drunken, screaming cowboys. The bitch wasn’t accustomed to intrigue and tried to cover her nervousness with excessive, idle talk. She was unworthy of the rose Alice had spied in the hallway behind Obie, as Alice associated all roses with her own mother.
An idea. The angel’s wings launched from the mental cage before Alice could finish articulating it in her mind. Into the house they went and pushed the vase holding the rose off of the table.
She snapped back to full awareness to see Mariann nervously rubbing her hands together and unable to meet her gaze.
“So, ah, how long have you and Thorne been married?”
Strange question, she thought, but instead of answering said, “Your clumsy husband just broke something, and he wants you to clean it up.”
A wave of confusion passed over the pretty face. “What?”
At that moment, Obie Redger poked his head out of an open window. “Mariann, can you please come in and sweep up this broken vase?”
Mouth dropping open, Mariann looked from Obie to Alice.
“Mariann!”
And the beautiful but stupid woman ran for her house—perhaps a trifle faster than necessary.
Chapter 15
Asense of anticipation marked the rest of that March day, a charged quality to the air that Alice couldn’t entirely explain away as the coming of spring.
Thorne arose that afternoon, hawking phlegm and scratching his armpits. Sitting on the upstairs balcony, Alice began a new embroidery pattern as she listened to him trudge around the house in his bare feet. A half hour later, he approached the open glass doors behind her and cleared his throat.
She kept working as if he weren’t there.
“I have to go into town right now,” Thorne said, “but at dinner tonight, you’ll answer for embarrassing me at the wedding.”
She said nothing. A minute later, Thorne was walking down the trail to the stable. He turned to look up at her once. Alice kept her gaze studiously on her needlework.
She assumed he was referring to the screaming fit Mariann had mentioned. But why should I even feel embarrassed by it? For some unknowable reason, Christ h
ad removed the entire evening from her memory. Thorne could not blame her for the actions of his master. The only thing that disturbed her was that she had no idea what she’d lost, and as such couldn’t gauge the seriousness of her defeat.
Shaking her head in disgust, she refocused on her work.
✽ ✽ ✽
Being absent from dinner, Thorne never collected on his “answer”—not that Alice cared. And it wasn’t until she was done with her plate of chicken and cornbread that she realized she’d forgotten about Mariann’s tea invitation.
She shrugged and finished her wine. “Wine’s better than tea anyway.”
From where she was eating in the pantry, Eliza answered, “You say somethin’, missus?”
“I said I’m done here. I think I’ll take a walk.”
Leaving Eliza to clean up, she exited out the back door. She intended to stroll to the old slave settlement. The cabins there were now abandoned except during planting and harvesting seasons, when gang laborers took residence, and she was curious to see what kind of shape they were in. The calls of brown thrasher birds followed her as she detoured around the kitchen building.
But before she’d reached the path on the way to the west field and the cabins beyond, a blur of red caught her eye. Her rose bush, the one Jonah had planted for her five years ago, was blooming in the unnaturally warm weather. Of course—that’s where the rose must have come from that she’d spied in the Redger household.
She thought of Momma.
And started crying, just like that. So much time had passed since the days of Momma and her indoor rose box.
The angel’s wings grow restless, Momma had said on that long ago day, holding a rose in front of Alice’s eyes. They need flight. … Send them into the rose.
The sky darkened into dusk-gray while she stood there, remembering and missing her. Momma had great wisdom, Alice reflected, greater abilities to cope with the curse, and greater courage to do what was necessary, such as “commune” with Reverend Forney. Even the rose garden showed inspired thinking—the ability to fight Christ with His own creation—because a rose was certainly a better meditative device than an old mirror. Better to use a living, God-made object. The dead, man-made one had nothing more to offer than the observer’s own reflection.
Cursed by Christ Page 17
