Sentinels

by Matt Manochio

  Richardson ruminated before answering.

  “You know, Noah, I’ll be honest with you: I guess I didn’t notice. By the time I saw the remains, it was all smoldering bones. Very little flesh left to judge the rate of decomposition. Yes, it stunk like a dead, burnt body. Truth be told I didn’t want to be around it any more than you would. I just felt it my duty to look it over, see if there was anything even more abnormal than one would expect when examining the remains of a dead, cut-up and burned human being. My opinion is this man suffered more in death than he did in life. Culliver being electrocuted seems merciful compared to what those savages did to him postmortem.”

  Noah poured himself the remaining water in the pitcher and drank it all in several deep gulps before breaking his silence.

  “Do you think I can take my wife home tonight?”

  “I’ll give you an answer in about twenty minutes. If I think she’s good to go, I’d say take her home tomorrow. Let her rest one more day here. If she needs more bed rest here, I won’t hesitate to say. I’m sure your parents won’t object to having that beautiful baby boy around here awhile longer.”

  “Then go have at her, Doc. I’m itching to get everyone back to our house so we can start a normal life—if there is such a thing.”

  The doctor politely nodded and entered the home. Noah patted the armrests with his hands wondering what logical excuse he could give his wife in order to make his way over to Toby Jenkins’s farmstead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Not far from where Noah plotted how he could investigate the murders without his boss or wife catching on, Thomas Diggs grew intemperate.

  “I did you a favor by allowing you to infest my premises for one night—don’t press your luck by asking for another.” Diggs rapped his knuckles on the door of one of his mansion’s guestrooms. “Open up, right now.”

  “I ain’t coming out,” replied Brendan’s muffled voice. “A lot of good those sheriff’s boys and soldiers did. They let those bastards swoop right down on your property and leave behind a smoldering corpse. Some lookout.”

  Franklin and Lyle climbed the stairs to the second floor as Diggs and Brendan argued.

  “Yes, that was unpleasant and duly noted,” Diggs conversed with the door. “But I can’t say I’m delighted by the prospect of you lingering in my home any longer than necessary.”

  “Please let me stay another night. I’ll feel safer here than at my place. I even booby-trapped the window.”

  “What?! How?”

  “I put my gun on the dresser by the window and weighed down the handle with a bunch of big books you had lying on the dresser.”

  “Those big books are priceless bound compilations of William Shakespeare’s works, signed by the Bard himself!”

  “Yeah, well, they’re heavy, too. That sum-bitch sure could write. Too bad none of it makes any goddamn sense. But that’s okay ’cause I used some of them to prop up the barrel, too. Now the gun’s all anchored and pointed at the window. I tied a length of twine around the trigger and knotted it to one of the shutters. Anyone who opens that shutter’s in for a surprise.”

  Diggs raised his hand to halt Franklin from speaking.

  “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “It’s all right, Mister Diggs. I’m protecting your property as much as myself.”

  “What’s going on in there, Brendan? Come on out. We come to check on you.” Lyle barked from behind Franklin.

  “Sorry, guys, I can’t open this door.”

  “Is the knob broken?” It was Franklin.

  “No, you idiot, he’s too scared to come out.” Diggs ignored Franklin’s frown. The big man pushed the barb aside and spoke to his friend.

  “Hey, Brendan, it’s me, Franklin. You’ll be all right. It’s daytime. Those guys only kill people at night.”

  “That’s fucking reassuring,” Brendan said.

  “For once Franklin is right,” Diggs said. “All of this chicanery has occurred after dark.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. Those creeps snatched the body when it was still light out and almost killed that deputy. And they’re the same guys who came after me! That happened when the sun was out. They don’t care if it’s day or night.”

  “All right, Brendan, fine. Open the door and I will consider allowing you to stay another evening. It’s not lost on me that you could be a target. And Lord knows I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you in my own abode.”

  The three men heard alternating sounds of footsteps and crutch thumps approach the door. Brendan opened and peered from behind it. Diggs refused to wait and pushed his way in, causing Brendan to hop backward and steady himself. The injured man wore dirty white skivvies and sported dark scruff and black bags under his eyes.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” Lyle said.

  “Maybe an hour or two.” Brendan swiveled on his crutch to Diggs, who delicately untied the booby-trapped trigger’s string. “They come back. They always come back, Mister Diggs.”

  The Englishman sighed with relief as the twine fell. He finessed the gun from the base of aged books and lowered the hammer. He then pored over the four heirlooms for any nicks or scratches.

  “I have a feeling the entrance by the road is as far as they’ll come,” Diggs said, his back to Brendan. “They saw the number of men we had here last night. And they know we’ll double their forces. I’m pulling the men from the railroad to take shifts tonight, too. You’ll be safe.”

  Diggs examined the final book and exhaled.

  “Had you damaged any of them in the tiniest way, I’d have paid Franklin one-thousand dollars to literally throw you out of here. But you’re lucky. They’re unharmed. So you may stay tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Whatever. Of more importance to me is we end this business with Jenkins. And in the next few days. It was very kind of him to return my ladder that you so thoughtfully left outside of his property. And it being burned was a not-so-subtle indication that he means business. Now I know how those negroes must feel when the Klan burns crosses in their yards. We need to cut his legs out from under him. And that means drawing out his forces.”

  “How we gonna do that?” Lyle asked. “I’m all for it, but how?”

  “I’ve been in town these last few days and have monitored Toby Jenkins and his patterns. He typically stops at the Tavern for a drink—I’ve never seen him not step foot into that festering rathole.”

  “It ain’t that bad a place.”

  “Quiet, Franklin,” Diggs said. “That place will be crucial to our attack. And you’ll play an important part in putting everything in motion.”

  “Me?” Franklin literally pointed to his chest. “Mister Diggs, even I know I probably shouldn’t be entrusted with whatever it is you want me to do.”

  Diggs smiled and patted his meaty arms.

  “Franklin, I have complete faith that you’ll do what needs to be done.” Diggs motioned to the small table and two chairs in the corner of the room. “Now, if you and Lyle will be so kind as to take your seats—Brendan, you may rest yourself on the bed—I’ll explain everything. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Noah kissed his wife’s forehead as she rested in bed. The late-afternoon sun spread throughout the room and highlighted Natalie’s content expression. Not only had the doctor given her and her baby a clean bill of health, they were going home tomorrow.

  “Excited?” Noah, standing next to her, caressed her hair. “We can finally put that cradle to good use. It’s the one my momma rocked me in when I was his size.”

  “I cannot wait.” They both whispered as Jake snoozed in his mother’s arms. Still, she practically bobbed out of the bed. “This is really happening. We’re going home with our baby. I’m just so thankful he’s healthy.”

 
; “Never doubted he wouldn’t be. Not for a moment.” Noah felt teensy trickles of guilt bead on his forehead. “Say, honey, would it make sense if I went home tonight to straighten up our place? Make sure everything’s just so for tomorrow? Maybe bring back some of the baby clothes and food my parents are giving us?”

  Natalie’s expression shifted from bliss to puzzlement.

  “Our house is fine, Noah. It’s not like we left food lying around the place and have to worry about bears busting down the door.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He scratched the back of his head, trying not to sound too much like he wanted to flee the plantation. “But I figure I could drop off all that crap my folks set out for us. That’ll save me some work tomorrow. We can just go inside and relax with the little guy.”

  “Don’t you want to stay here and relax with me?”

  “Of course I do! I just want everything to go smoothly tomorrow, and the last thing I want to do is carry a bunch of bulky boxes of whatever it is my folks left for us, drop one of them, and wake up Jake.”

  He hated fibbing to his wife. The Chandlers set aside three boxes of Noah’s and Benjamin’s baby clothes that couldn’t possibly fit Jake for another few months. The clothes were light and easily transferable.

  “All right, fine.” Natalie said. “But you’re not sleeping there, are you?”

  “Absolutely not, honey. I’ll be back tonight. Heck, before it gets dark. Promise.”

  “Then get along. I’ll nap with Jake—although that’s really all newborns do, isn’t it?”

  “Seems so. I prefer that to caterwauling, and I know we’ll be in for nights of that real soon.”

  “Comes with the territory.” She kissed her baby’s forehead.

  Noah plopped all three boxes in the bed of his father’s wagon in front of the mansion.

  “You coming back for supper?” his mother called to him from the steps.

  “I shouldn’t be too long. Don’t wait for me, though—but please set aside a plate.”

  “Baked chicken and potatoes. Your favorite.”

  “I’ll be hungry for them, I promise.”

  Relieved, Noah pulled onto the road that would soon lead past the Diggs plantation and through town, and eventually Toby Jenkins’s place, and then to Noah’s house where he’d dump the boxes and make sure everything was in order.

  He saw the tall-case clock’s arms pointing to six when he left the plantation. Twenty minutes later, and with the sky shaded burnt orange, he turned the rig into Toby Jenkins’s farm.

  The house was dark and shuttered. Typically whoever was inside would hear the wagon rumbling down the road and go outside to greet the driver. But nobody met Noah as he parked the rig in front of the home.

  Noah’s head felt better to the point where he forgot about the bandage. It must look unsightly, he thought, with dried blood stained across the cloth. He couldn’t wait for the doc to remove the stitches. He stepped off the wagon and tied the two-horse team to the post in front of the farmhouse and went to knock on the front door when the rusty squeal of an opening barn door slithered into his ear.

  Noah turned to see the barn door to his right swaying in synch with a pleasant evening breeze. A deep, tortured groan, spawned deep from the gut, seemed to propel the door forward. Noah’s hair prickled.

  The door didn’t make that noise.

  The horses yanked their heads back, trying to snap the leather cords tethering them to the post. Noah stroked their noses, whispering “easy” to calm them, never looking away from the barn doors and the blackness they shielded.

  Confident the horses wouldn’t rip the post from the ground, Noah moseyed toward the barn. He scanned his surroundings and spotted Charlie Stanhope’s grave and the one dug next to it with a shovel wedged in the dirt pile by its side. Instinct made him reach for his gun—which was holstered and locked in a cabinet in his parent’s house.

  Dammit.

  His stomach fluttered. The Colt might prove necessary.

  But wait, I’m on good terms with Toby and Sarah Jenkins. What’s to fear?

  A second groan interrupted his thought. This time it sounded more fearful, made by someone groggily awaking and recognizing danger.

  A cry for help?

  He had to know. Noah ambled, waiting for the despairing sounds to grow louder. Surely they would.

  He stood twenty feet from the barn door, now open a quarter of the way. Only his breath interrupted the quiet. He felt the barn door deliberately hid—as if to taunt him—the lurker within.

  “Toby?” His mouth had gone dry.

  He heard only feet shuffling across a hay-strewn wooden floor.

  “Toby, it’s Noah,” he called into the void. “I need to talk to you.”

  Noah’s eyes adjusted enough so that he could discern some things in the barn—the outline of a stable, but without a horse. He’d seen them roaming the pasture upon arriving. The reddening sun poked through cracks in the barn’s walls. Noah hoped the grooved light would give form to anything nearby. His insides twisted when a dark shape flitted through the sunbeams.

  “Toby, please come out.” Noah’s voice quivered. “What’s wrong? You hurt?”

  The dweller inside groaned—louder, annoyed, and ceased.

  “Toby, if you don’t answer—”

  “Right here.”

  Noah whirled around and met Toby’s glowering eyes, the tips of their noses almost touching. He backed away from Toby, still in his work clothes.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Toby said.

  Noah visibly panted and held his hand over a rapid heartbeat. He’d later recall what he hadn’t heard before Toby startled him: any movement from behind him.

  “You scared me.”

  “Noah, you have to leave.”

  Noah saw Sarah standing on the house’s porch, just watching. She cradled a bundle similar to Natalie’s.

  “How’s your boy? Isaac, right?” Noah tried lightening the mood.

  “He’s fine. Leave, Noah. Now.”

  “Who’s in the barn?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Toby, there’s someone in there. I heard him.”

  “Maybe a coyote snuck in. It’s happened before.”

  “All due respect, you and I know that’s not what’s in there.”

  “Go take a look.”

  “What if it’s hostile?”

  “Ain’t nothing in there that’s hostile.”

  Without waiting for Noah, Toby stomped toward both doors and flung them open.

  Sunlight spread throughout the lifeless structure.

  “Go on in, Noah.”

  Noah’s eyes darted back and forth from the interior to Toby.

  I don’t want to, I’m scared shitless, it’s the last place on this planet I want to be right now, Noah thought. But he couldn’t show Toby how frightened he was, so he crept into the barn. Now he heard Toby trailing him.

  Noah wasn’t about to scour every nook and cranny of the structure. He scanned it to see whether anything struck him as odd. Not a shred of movement. He checked behind the stable doors to see if anyone was hiding. Nobody. Nor did anyone cower in the bed of Toby’s wagon parked in the barn’s center. A ladder tilted against a support beam leading to the loft. Toby saw Noah looking at it.

  “Climb it and check, if you like.”

  Noah scooted up the rungs. Nothing but crushed, dirty straw scattered over the floor.

  “I’m fixing to put more hay up there tomorrow after I buy it,” Toby said. “My horses like to eat. You want to help me?”

  Satisfied nothing hid up there, Noah descended and walked toward Toby, who made his way outside.

  “There was something in here. I heard it. I’m not crazy or delusional.”

  “I don’t think that. But I see you’ve sustained quite an inj
ury to your head.”

  Noah had forgotten about it and reached under the brim of his Stetson to touch it.

  “No, what I heard was real. It had to be. Dammit, I saw something moving around.”

  “Rats, probably. I need to get a cat one of these days and keep it in there.”

  “Wasn’t a rat. Don’t do this me!” Noah tempered his anger and mounting confusion.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I did?” Noah’s mind raced, unable to recall his purpose in visiting Toby in the first place. “Yeah, I did. But I can’t remember why right now.”

  “I’d invite you inside but the missus and I were preparing to have supper. Sorry there’s not enough, otherwise I’d ask you to join us.”

  “That’s kind of you.” He said it without emotion. His mind clouded and he felt like he might hyperventilate. Sarah took a seat on the porch’s rocking chair. Noah couldn’t tell whether she spoke to Isaac or to herself as she eyed the deputy.

  Noah continued watching Sarah. “How’d you do that with the storm? The rain and lightning at the Sheriff’s Office?”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” Toby stepped into Noah’s line of sight. “You must leave.”

  Noah recalled something he saw earlier.

  “Whose grave is that?” He pointed to the hole next to Charlie Stanhope’s resting place. “Over there. Who died? You expecting to bury someone?”

  “It’s always like that.”

  “Why? Who you planning to put in there?”

  “Me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s my grave, Noah. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I’m a black man who owns more property than most white folks can tolerate. People want me dead.”

  “Are you expecting to bury yourself?”