The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

With a huff, Leiper glanced about then yanked off his own moccasin and went down to the stream. Christian knelt near Micajah’s head. Ben withdrew his pistol and stood at the ready.

  Words failed him, suddenly, and his heart pounded. Here Harpe lay, felled at last—the monster who had ended Thomas’s life and that of dozens more—or one such monster, at least. Where the other had gone, only God knew.

  A crunching and crackling announced the arrival of the others. Stegall and Grissom emerged through the cane, while here came McBee splashing across the stream, with Sally yet in tow. The woman’s eyes were round as saucers in a face far too full of shadows.

  McBee dismounted and knelt before Micajah. “You appear to be dying at last, man, and as much as we’d like to hasten that, we’ll give you time to pray and prepare yourself for the next life.”

  The big man closed his eyes a moment. “Water,” he said again.

  Leiper was nearly at his side with the brimming moccasin, but Stegall surged forward with a curse and knocked it out of his hand. “Perdition take him already, and welcome! Have you no thought to what you’ve done, Harpe, so carelessly taking the lives of my wife and son?”

  Micajah squinted up at him. “Aye. Though the only life I truly regret taking is that of a child of my own blood.”

  With a howl, Stegall lifted his rifle and pointed it at Micajah’s head, but the fallen man jerked this way and that to avoid the shot, while the others took hold of Stegall and pulled him back. “Not like this, lad,” McBee said. “Let him go on his own now.”

  “… a child of my own blood …”

  Ben looked across to Sally, huddling white-faced in the saddle.

  Just whose baby had Harpe murdered?

  McBee crouched beside Micajah again. “You killed your own child? And how many others?”

  Micajah grimaced. “Too—many. I—I wish—to see Susanna, my wife, again, and to do better by her. I’ve means—if she were here—to tell where, over on the eastern fork of the Pond—”

  “Ah, now he’s just speaking nonsense,” Christian muttered. “There ain’t no eastern branch of the Pond River.”

  Harpe babbled on for a minute or two more, about people and places Ben had never heard of. Perhaps he was merely delirious now.

  McBee interrupted him, quietly but firmly. “Come on, man, get a hold of yourself. Call out to the Lord. You’ve no other chances.”

  Micajah coughed a laugh and squinted at McBee. “I suppose—you want me to confess—every one of those I killed as well?”

  “Just confess it to God, son. That’s enough.”

  With another broken chuckle, he started a litany of names and places that, unsurprising to Ben, didn’t even start with Thomas. Ben tried to count them as he went, but as the number climbed past two dozen, his attention floundered over the details of the ones for which he’d witnessed the aftermath.

  For a few moments, Ben wasn’t even sure his mind correctly registered the details of what Harpe was relating.

  “And then there was the two men comin’ back from the salt licks who we accused of killin’ the Stegalls. But we done it. I’d already tomahawked Love in his sleep for makin’ so much racket by snoring. And then Missus Stegall’s babe was cryin’ while she fixed us breakfast the next morning. I told her, we’re good with cryin’ babies, ain’t we, Little? But when she come over and found how we’d gotten him to quiet, her smiles all turned to screamin’ and—well, I couldn’t abide a screamin’ woman neither—”

  Stegall shoved forward with another roar, and before anyone could stop him, shot Harpe in the side, straight through the heart.

  The big man twitched once, and lay still.

  Panting, Stegall glared at the other men, shocked to silence. “There. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Y’all can’t blame me for it!”

  Swiftly then, he whipped out his knife, a wicked, long thing, and before anyone could move, he knelt and, seizing the long, tangled locks, sawed at the dead man’s neck.

  Ben couldn’t bring himself to watch. Two or three men turned away, gagging. Sally peered between her fingers then covered her face completely.

  “Lord in heaven, have mercy,” McBee muttered, but it was done.

  Sally could feel no more shock. No more sorrow.

  In this moment, she could feel naught at all.

  The mad chase through the forest had seemed well-nigh dreamlike. The man—McBee, someone had called him—had led straight through canebrakes and thickets, and having nearly nothing to lose, Sally clung to her horse and followed hard after.

  And then to witness Big being yanked from his horse and dropped to the ground like a rag doll. Even when his body failed him, he hadn’t given up, prattling on like one of Sally’s younger brothers caught making mischief, casting about for a way out of the inevitable punishment. But just like with her brothers, punishment came anyway, only for Micajah, in such a bloody, violent, sudden manner they all were left breathless.

  Except for Stegall, who lifted the dripping head, glancing about as if the others would challenge his right to the trophy, even casting Sally a fierce look that drew a shiver from her. And she’d not shivered in a long time.

  He snatched a provisions bag from his saddle and stuffed the head in. “Come on, boys,” he growled, and there was naught else to do but get back on their horses and ride back the way they’d come.

  And Big’s body, they just left there.

  Fitting, after what he’d done to little Eady.

  Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

  Sally couldn’t help but shudder again.

  At the crest of a ridge, they met up with Susan and Betsey and two other men. Stegall opened his provisions bag enough to show the bloody thing and prove Micajah’s end, and both the other women turned whiter than Sally had ever seen. Betsey slapped one hand across her mouth and turned away, but Susan slowly straightened, shifting her gaze over across into the trees, and gave something like a nod.

  Back to the cave camp they went, and at the ringing silence—except for the noise they, the horses and riders, made—Sally flung herself out of the saddle and beat even Susan and Betsey inside to check on their babies.

  Two bundled forms still lay curled on the cloak, so quiet that for a moment Sally’s heart dropped until little Joe twitched and she could see Lovey’s breathing.

  How could they both yet be asleep? Or was that yet one more small miracle wrought by the Lord on this day, like the ending at last of Micajah’s life?

  Susan and Betsey whisked past her, picking the babies up, and Sally lifted the cloak and shook it out then gathered it into a bundle in her arms and stood by while the men filed into the cave, peering everywhere and inspecting everything. Then she slipped outside to stand there, in a pool of sunlight, face tipped to the sky.

  Thank You, Lord. Thank You so much.

  They made northwest again, with the eventual aim of Red Banks, Henderson County seat, where the most recent of the Harpes’ crimes had been committed, to see the women tucked safely in jail once more. They camped for the night at Leiper’s then pressed on the next morning, with the local men, Christian, Lindsay, and Leiper himself accompanying.

  Even with Ben taking the first watch, many of the others were slow to settle and sat up discussing matters until well into the night. The possible fate of the women. Whether or not to go after Little Harpe. Whether they might collect on the reward for Big, regardless.

  Ben shook his head, hearing that. He cared little for the reward. It wasn’t for monetary gain that he’d engaged in the hunt.

  While the other men huddled around a small fire, more for comfort than warmth on a night like this, he sat apart, beneath a great oak. From here, he could observe both the men in conversation, and the women a very short distance off, bundled in blankets beneath the stars. He’d eaten but little supper, his gut still hollowed with the brutality of Big Harpe’s end—and he’d not been the only one—but for now, hat laid on the ground beside him, he nursed a tin cup of coff
ee in one hand and a lit pipe in the other.

  The matter was done, for the most part. He’d seen Micajah not brought to justice in the way he’d sought, but justice was served, nevertheless. Yet—what of Wiley, who was certainly just as guilty? Ben could not say he’d fully discharged his duty without Little Harpe also being apprehended.

  Uncle Ben would agree, he was sure.

  The hunt would have to continue. For now, however, the sheer relief of having seen this much accomplished was enough to steal whatever impetus he might have had to do anything but lounge against the trunk of this oak, for the rest of this night and possibly another week or more.

  Although it was also uppermost in his mind to see Rachel again….

  One of the women rose and walked toward him, her delicate frame wrapped in what Ben knew before he saw it was the blue cloak. Sally. How she’d obtained it back, he’d yet to learn.

  There were things he’d not inquire after, with all the others present.

  She stopped a few paces away. “May I sit?”

  “Of course.” He sat a little straighter, his back still tucked against the tree trunk. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

  “I’ve enough for tonight, thank you.”

  A length or so away and a little to the side so his view of the other women was unobstructed, she perched on the arch of a tree root and folded herself small, the cloak swathing her completely. He waited for her to speak first.

  When at last she did, he nearly could not catch the words. “Thank you for—all else, as well.”

  He nodded. “I was glad to be there today. Well,” he added slowly, “as much as a man can be, under the circumstances.” He angled her a look. “Where is your baby, Sally?”

  “With the angels,” she said, almost absently, peering up at the sky.

  Just as he’d suspected.

  He sighed. “I am most regretful for your loss.”

  “And—I for yours,” she murmured, sounding close to tears this time.

  He could only nod, and sip his coffee.

  “It was—it was terrible, all that they did,” she continued. “I can’t speak for Susan and Betsey, but I’m ready to tell everything this time. Everything.”

  “And what about Wiley? Any guesses as to where he’s gone?”

  She shook her head a little then said, “Micajah mentioned them meeting up over across from Cave-in-the-Rock. But—” She took a quick breath. “Is it wrong of me to wish that I never see him again?”

  “No.” He set the cup on the ground, between his knees. “Something I find myself wondering is, Micajah referred to having slain his own child.” He hesitated. “But if that child was yours …?”

  She shrugged, not looking at him. “It’s as likely little Eady was his as Wiley’s.”

  Ben scrubbed a hand down his face. He felt a strong urge to hie himself off into the bushes and heave up the contents of his stomach. “I am so very sorry. And—Wiley let this happen?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “He wasn’t so happy about it at first, but—Big threatened him.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “Still. I would definitely say, under the circumstances, your marriage to him is no longer binding.”

  Sally caught her breath, noisily, as much a sob as a gasp. “I would find that most welcome.”

  They sat for a while in silence, then she asked, “Are you—and Rachel—still on good terms?”

  He gave a short laugh. “I most earnestly hope so.” Feeling her gaze upon him then, he went on, “I hope to marry her. Sooner rather than later, but I’m willing to wait for her to be sure.”

  “And she isn’t?”

  The amazement in Sally’s voice warmed him, but he dared not let flattery erode his resolve to hold to honor and patience. “She cannot be blamed if having to witness your misfortune has made her shy of trusting anyone for herself.”

  “Ahh.” It was barely a breath, followed by a tsk. “That makes me … oh, so sad. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Rachel. She … has been a friend to me when I had none.” She glanced toward him again. “Yourself as well, and once more, I thank you.”

  The next day would see them the rest of the way to Red Banks, on the Ohio River. At a well-traveled crossroads a few miles short of their intended destination, however, not far from his home, Moses Stegall insisted on a stop. Choosing an oak tree of some size, he chopped a branch short, sharpened the remaining portion, and there impaled the head of Micajah Harpe.

  Once again, to the silent shock of Ben and the others, he swung his horse in a circle and glared at them. “Let that be a warning to any and all. Aye?”

  No one could say him nay, and they continued on toward Red Banks.

  Among those bringing up the rear of the party, Ben watched the reactions of the women as they rode past.

  Betsey, with quick glances, finally turning her face away.

  Susan, with a long, unbroken look until she was past.

  Sally, a sidelong peek, yet steady, ending in her shoulders rising and falling, and her head coming up.

  Would the three of them be acquitted this time? Sally, he was more sure of, but the other two? He had far less confidence regarding them.

  And at what point would he feel at liberty to return to Rachel? Regarding the matter of Wiley Harpe on the loose, he and the other men had discussed what Sally shared and debated the merits of another search. Though the man needed to answer for his part in the murders, not to mention the failure to uphold his marriage vows, Ben had to admit it was very unlikely they’d find him. And they all agreed that only time would show whether Micajah had been the driving force behind their crimes, or whether Wiley was equally dangerous on his own.

  At the moment, Ben still felt a curious lack of desire to do anything but see to a fair trial for Sally and then hasten to Rachel’s side as soon as humanly possible.

  And discover if she intended to keep that promise about greeting him this time with a kiss.

  But if justice was left undone for Thomas while Wiley Harpe still ran free, was Ben ever truly free of the matter himself?

  Once again, it seemed he’d failed Thomas—and Uncle Ben. Yet—he would leave Rachel waiting no longer than he absolutely must.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The word spread like wildfire all across the frontier. It was so much the topic of conversation among those who came into the post that Rachel became near sick of hearing the details of how Micajah Harpe met his final, gruesome end.

  Still she listened, though, because they’d yet to say whether or not Wiley had also been taken.

  August trickled away into September, and news changed to how the women had appeared before the Quarter Session of the Henderson County courts, been determined guilty of murder and robbery, and were set to be tried at the next district court session in Logan County, come October.

  She knew she couldn’t expect Ben just yet, but as the wait stretched on with each additional day, while Micajah’s death was endlessly hashed over and the fate of Wiley speculated upon, patience proved more and more elusive.

  She kept praying—for Sally, for Ben, for those in charge of seeing justice properly done. Her thoughts even strayed to Wiley. The Lord only knew where he lurked these days, but He surely did know, and that, Rachel supposed, was the important thing.

  They’d not even received the first newspaper articles on the matter yet. The worst, though, was not hearing anything from Ben—nor any word on how the pursuers had fared in the chase. In this case, Rachel clung to the hope that no news truly was good news.

  Oh, how she regretted the lost time, those weeks he might have spent at her side instead of at Hugh’s or—wherever else he was. Her reluctance now seemed silly, or at least the way she’d found herself completely unable to speak openly to Ben because of her own fears and doubts.

  And yet—did not the current news still bespeak of those who purported to be one thing, who pulled the wool over the eyes of at least a few unsuspecting and trusting folk, and then p
roved to be something far different?

  “He ain’t nothing like the Harpes,” Daddy’s voice echoed.

  Late one afternoon, Rachel could stand it no longer, and in a lull between customers and accounts, she escaped through the storage room and out the back door. Leaning against the wall of the post building, she closed her eyes against the hot sunlight and fought for several breaths to contain her weeping.

  Lord, You’ve answered where stopping that terrible murder spree was concerned—at least with stopping Micajah. Will You not answer in regard to this as well? Or does it merely serve the continued purifying of my soul and faith to be tried in this way?

  “Rachel!” Daddy’s bellow could shake the whole building and in this case carried from the storage room, through the closed door beside her.

  The door swung open. “Rachel—”

  “Right here, Daddy.” She wiped her face with a corner of the apron.

  He twitched toward her, actually startled for once, then his eyes crinkled, face squinching oddly. “You’re needed out front. Come on.”

  Naturally she was. Suppressing a sigh, she dropped the apron’s edge. Never mind how she looked. She didn’t care—and there was no one she sought to impress at the moment anyway.

  She followed in Daddy’s wake, through the storage room and out into the main area. Then Daddy stepped abruptly aside, and there by the counter was—

  Ben.

  Rumpled from traveling, wearing the same shirt and leggings she’d seen him in weeks ago, with the day’s sweat causing his hair to stick around his face where the hat had pushed it down—but it was he, nevertheless, whole and sound.

  Overcome, she ran straight to his outstretched arms—and lifted her face for his kiss, which he gave without hesitation. Daddy laughed, and others hooted and catcalled, but she cared not a whit.

  Ben buried his face in her hair and clutched her tighter. Was he also trembling? “We got him, Rachel. I expect you’ve heard the news already—”

  “A thousand times over,” she said, with a watery giggle.

  He chuckled as well, but unsteadily. “Well—but we got him.”