by Miller, Tony
“Where’s your shadow?”
“Tillie didn’t come to work with me today. I think she’s coming down with something. Since yesterday afternoon she’s been awful quiet.”
“That don’t sound like Tillie. No sass or nothing?”
“Not even sass!” Bessie grinned. Sam chuckled.
“She’s definitely got the bug! Do you need a ride home? I can hook up a carriage in a flash.”
“Well, I need the exercise, but I could use your company on the ride home.”
“I’ll hitch up a carriage.”
As the carriage bumped along on the way to Bessie’s house, Sam noticed she was worried. “What are you worried about, Bessie?” Bessie turned to Sam and her eyes were filled with tears. She sighed and looked back to the horizon.
“Nothing for sure, but my mama intuition tells me something bad happened while I was away yesterday.”
“How’s that, Bessie? What do you think happened?”
“Oh, lordy, I hate to even think such things.” She fell into deep thought.
“Master Paul sent me to mail a letter at the post office yesterday. It was an hour walk there and an hour back. Master Paul asked me to leave Tillie there to dust and such as he was expecting a visit from Anne. I told Tillie to mind Mr. Paul as she’d been extra sassy and silly all morning.” Bessie pulled the hem of her dress up to her eyes and dabbed them. Sam looked straight ahead, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
Bessie continued. “When I got back, I went to inspect her dusting and expected her usual protests, but she just clung to me and wanted to go home. I noticed she kept sneaking glances at Mr. Paul. She seemed afraid. I thought maybe Mr. Paul scolded her or something.
“When we done got outside on our walk home, I turned her to me and said, what’s wrong, you child, did Mr. Paul scold you? You tell me now, what did you do, child? She burst into tears, Sam, and she swore nothing was wrong. She said she was coming down with something! I don’t believe her Sam. She be hiding something. I think maybe Mr. Paul hit her or something. Lord knows I have smacked her butt a time or two, then I gets to thinking, lord help me, a scolding or a smacking wouldn’t make her afraid like that, Sam.” Bessie pulled the hem of her dress up to her mouth to stifle the wail of desperation.
Sam stopped the carriage, leaned over, and held Bessie in his arms. She wailed and sobbed for several minutes. Sam patted her and said nothing, just letting her get it all out. Finally, Bessie straightened up, sucked in a huge lungful of air, and let it out in a whoosh. She shuddered and looked at Sam.
“I may be just an old fool, Sam, but the more I think about it, I believe he …” Bessie shuddered and continued. “I believe … he was nasty with her, Sam.” She started to wail, but cut it off and turned to Sam with a hardened look of determination.
“I’ll help you find the truth, Bessie.”
“Yo, get up!” ”Sam popped the reigns, and they were off to Bessie’s house, and the truth.
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After much gentle prodding and probing, young Tillie succumbed to her love and trust of her mama. She finally burst into tears and poured out all the things Paul Hawthorne had subjected her to. She frequently jumped from grief to terror as she pleaded to her mama not to let them take her away. Bessie and Sam reassured her that no one was going to separate her from her mama.
After almost three hours of pouring out her heart and being reassured by two people she trusted completely, she fell into a deep sleep. Bessie stroked Tillie’s hair as her head lay in her lap. She looked over at Sam and whispered, “how could anyone do such a thing to an innocent child?”
Sam gazed at Bessie for several moments as he contemplated her question. Then in a slow, cold and determined voice he answered, “There are those who lack a heart. They might even enjoy the hurt and pain of others. Fortunately they’re fairly rare, like a rattlesnake, and like a rattlesnake, they have only their own concerns in mind, but even the rattlesnake doesn’t enjoy the hurt and pain. The human version is far more evil.”
“Lordy, lordy, I just thought of poor Anne. That child is about to enter the den of a viper that be dripping poison.”
“That won’t happen. Colton and I will see to that!”
“Oh lordy, Sam, that scares me something powerful. You a black man, Sam. They lynch you up for even suggesting a judge’s boy be bad. Colton not much better being a poor white boy and not even from around these parts. You both with that funny way of talking, like those fancy pants we fought this country for. Good lord, Sam, we best just let it go. No sense good men dying for a war ain’t possible to win.”
“A good man must sometimes pay the price to earn his right to be called a good man!”
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Bessie looked to the ceiling in a plea to avoid the coming trouble.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Paul lay in his bed contemplating all the possible scenarios that might result from Tillie’s potential confession. He could just deny it, of course, his word against hers. Most would believe him over her. As he thought about it, he realized that perhaps most might actually suspect he did do it. Even so, they would pretend to believe him to maintain social order. After all, so many of the founding fathers and most of the ancestral farmers had their way with servants. It was somehow not as bad to have a servant service their every need.
Yes, he reasoned, he was actually doing a favor to the Negro race. Others like him were responsible for all the lighter skinned Negros who would fare much better in society. Some, he knew, would make a big deal over her age while most would think of all the Negro girls her age they had seen with babies on their hips. His knowledge of psychiatry was so useful for knowing which story people would believe, especially people on a jury.
He heard some steps on the stairs, and Ludwig came strolling into the room. “How was your trip, Ludwig?”
“San Francisco was quite beautiful. How was your weekend in the thriving metropolis that is Fresno?”
“Actually, pretty boring except for fucking Tillie,” Paul said without remorse.
“Funny, Paul. What is she, all of twelve-years-old?”
“You got something against tight pussy?”
Ludwig turned to face Paul and looked him in the eyes.
“You’re serious, you fucked Tillie?”
“Yes, I did!”
“Congratulations, old man. She does have a nice little ass!” He went back to unpacking his suitcase.
“She does that. I was just contemplating how best to handle the various scenarios, should she fail to abide by my strict admonishments not to tell anyone.”
“No one would believe her over you, Paul.”
“I know that, but just in case she made the accusation, say her mother and she should tell others, I just want to cover any eventuality.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson. We use the very subject we are creating with ‘The Thought Foundation’-propaganda. Well, maybe not creating, but perfecting, to an art form.” They both smiled, and Ludwig continued. “If little Eddie Bernays can intimidate his entire class at only ten-years-old, using his Uncle Siggy’s psychiatric hot buttons, surely we can handle a couple of servants. As a matter of fact, we should use this as a test of what we learned in Vienna.”
“Ludwig, you inspire me. Of course, of course, a rousing challenge.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sam woke up in a bad mood. He put some coffee on and paced the room he lived in behind the livery stables. He relived the night before and Tillie’s confession of what that animal Paul had done. He had met such bullies before, observed their modus operandi of bullying those weaker than they. Women and children attracted bullies for that exact reason. They were always cowards in the first degree, and Sam knew cowards were the most dangerous of all. Cowards used stealth, trickery, and manipulation to achieve their ends.
Rattlesnakes were far less dangerous than scorpions. With rattlesnakes, you knew where they were and got a fair warning before they struck. Other things hid in dark plac
es that were not so fair.
Sam knew Paul would be anticipating any possible outcome and would be planning all manners of covering his guilt. Sam knew the odds were extremely against him and yet he had to do something. There was a knock at his door, and Colton’s voice.
“Hey, old man, you going to sleep all day?”
“Come in, Colton.”
Colton opened the door and stepped into Sam’s small living space. “Whoa, Sam. That’s quite a scowl. Did one of the Arabians pee on your good boots again?” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I wish that’s all it was,” Sam answered apathetically.
“Okay Sam, out with it. I’ll help you with whatever it is.”
“I don’t know that you can help, but I do know that I must tell you as it’ll effect you.”
“Man, you have my attention. This sounds serious.”
“It is serious!” Sam turned to look Colton in the eyes. “Paul raped Tillie.”
“What?” said Colton with an expression of shock.
“Paul raped Tillie.”
“Oh, my god…not little Tillie,” Colton said, bewildered.
“The only Tillie we know.”
“Paul Hawthorne, the judge’s son?” Colton said in disbelief.
“The only Paul we know.”
Colton paused a long moment, still looking at Sam. Then with a steely glare, said, “I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
“Easy, Colton.”
“No, I want to look into his eyes and squeeze his throat until that last little spark of life flickers out.” Colton’s rage somehow made Sam feel better.
“I know the feeling, Colton, but we must keep a cool head. I suspect he’s anticipated that possible reaction. He’ll have planned for it. It would do no one any good to be arrested and jailed with no one to protect Tillie and Bessie.”
“Big protection we are, a poor black man and his poor white, limey sidekick.”
“I’m a limey, too, Colton.”
“Great, that makes me feel better. A poor black, limey friend, foreigners at the bottom of the American caste system against a prominent judge’s son, who is bolstered by the most powerful people. That’s why choking him to death seems the better option. At least there would be justice before they hung me.”
“Understandable, but we must keep our heads and think and plan, as I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.”
Colton poured himself a cup of coffee and sat in one of the two chairs at Sam’s small kitchen table.
“I must tell Anne. God, do I dread that,” Colton said.
“Yes, you must, but warn her to plan her actions as he is well connected to virtually all the authorities in this area. None of us have any proof that would stick. His word against hers. We must be patient and do all we can to warn others until we can bring him to justice.”
“Okay, Sam, I’ll do all I can to be patient and, since you have the coolest head, you can call the shots. I only wish one of those shots were at Paul’s head. However, I trust you and your planning abilities, so I’m heading back to Anne’s house to tell her before she gets raped.”
“Vaya con dios, my friend.”
Colton arrived back at Anne’s and went immediately to the side entrance. He opened the door and saw Mrs. Robins peek her head out of the butler pantry.
“Please excuse my interruption, Mrs. Robins, but I must speak to Anne right away.” Colton knew Mrs. Robins appreciated his English accent and manners. She had told him as much many times. He knew she would grant him this small favor.
“Surely, Mr. Johanson. She is in the parlor just now with Mr. Paul. I’ll go fetch her right away.”
“Wait, did you say Paul was here?”
“Yes, he arrived just after you left this morning. You young people are always so busy nowadays.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Robins. If you could get Anne for me, I would appreciate it.”
Colton’s heart beat fast as he contemplated the monster in the other room. It was all he could do to stand and wait instead of fulfilling his almost overwhelming desire to feel his thumbs on Paul’s throat. Anne came to the door with panic on her face.
“Colton, I just heard. I’m so sorry.”
“He told you?”
“Yes, he and the sheriff are here. They graciously stopped by to inform me so I wouldn’t be shocked hearing it from someone else. I admit I am totally shocked that Sam would do such a thing.”
“Sam, what do you mean, Sam? I came here to tell you that Paul raped Tillie, to warn you so he wouldn’t do the same to you.”
“He said you would say that. He knows how good friends you and Sam are,” she said with sincere sympathy.
“Anne, this is Colton standing before you. I promise Sam did not rape Tillie, and I also promise Paul most certainly did. Ask Tillie. She should know!”
Anne looked confused. A sheriff’s deputy walked up behind Colton. He had his gun drawn. “Please put your hands behind you, Mr. Johanson, for your own protection, until we get this matter cleared up.”
“Cleared up? My god, man, shackle that monster Paul!”
The sheriff walked past Anne from inside the house and assisted the deputy in putting the handcuffs on Colton. Then Paul emerged, stepped up behind Anne, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry you had to witness this. It is a classic case of transference.” Paul smirked at Colton.
Colton mustered all his strength and powered forward toward Paul, dragging the two officers with him. Paul backed up and looked furtively around, seeking a place to run to. The deputy drew his gun and cracked Colton on the back of the head. As Colton was losing consciousness, he heard Anne’s scream.
All went dark.
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Paul led Anne to the parlor and sat her down on the settee. Paul took her hands in his and gazed lovingly into her eyes. “Anne, I’m so sorry for what you just witnessed. Even with my extensive training in psychiatry, I also find it difficult. I suppose we can learn from it together.” Anne seemed in a daze of disbelief. She couldn’t speak.
“Anne, science tells us that when someone close to us is blamed for such a serious offense we often accuse the messenger or at least someone else than the loved one who did it. Poor Tillie, to be raped by such a close friend of her’s and her mother’s, is more than such a young mind can bear. It’s much easier to convince herself and others of another source for such a despicable crime. Transfer of blame.
“I am a professional, Anne. I will not take it personally. I will even help them by using all my resources to get them the help they need.” Paul lovingly patted Anne’s hand and continued.
“The sheriff is on his way to arrest Sam, but I realize he is sick. I’m currently working to have him transferred to a mental hospital where I’ll personally see to it that he gets the help he needs.” Anne seemed to refocus onto Paul’s face.
“Did you rape Tillie?” she asked with determination.
“Anne, Anne, please, of course not, but it is perfectly natural to grasp for a perpetrator. Studies have shown that hysteria is prevalent among women facing crisis situations. To strike out at a loved one is a common symptom.”
“Did you rape Tillie?” Anne repeated.
“Anne, listen to me, I have some cocaine at my house. Please come to my house, and I’ll share my personal stash. I promise this delusion will pass.”
“Paul, I would like you to leave. I feel a headache coming on.”
“Anne, my darling, that’s a symptom of a delusional crisis coming on. Let me help you.”
“Please show yourself out. I must get some sleep.” She strode out of the parlor and up the stairs to her room.
Paul got in his carriage and headed home to share the good news with Ludwig. Their skillful plan was working well. What fools people were, he thought. He suddenly laughed at the irony of those who prided themselves on silly things like “honor” and other do-gooder ideas losers lied to themselves about. Paul hated the “good” just like he hated the religious
. He went to church every Sunday, of course, for propriety, and to study such fools. It was the ability to mimic such foolishness that gave him power.
Tomorrow would be part B of plan A. He would have Tillie removed from Bessie to a mental institution, for her own good of course. He relished the idea of looking in her eyes at the institution where he was king, and saying slowly, I told you so, my little Tillie. He broke into uproarious laughter. Life was good.
Ludwig slapped his knee in laughter at Paul’s telling of the days events. “You should have seen the look on Colton’s face when I smiled at him behind Anne’s back. He was a scared puppy. He tried to run, and a deputy had to hit him on the head with his gun or he may have got away.”
They mutually sighed in satisfaction.
“So tomorrow we do the old set up a foundation thing. We wring our hands in sympathy for the poor sick Sam, Colton, and Tillie predicament. The best hand wringer wins!”
They both died laughing. Paul continued. “With the foundation in place, we can get a lot of press in our philanthropic effects to help with Sam’s, Colton’s, and Tillie’s mental illnesses. We need an acronym just for their cause.”
Paul stood and paced as he touched his curled first finger to the bridge of his nose.
Ludwig spread his hands and said, “I got it, SCAT for Sam, Colton, and Tillie. It’s perfect. It is a kid’s word, scat, and will play well with the public. Help us say SCAT to mental illness, etc. There’s a lot that can be done with it, to make the public love us and most important, to open their pocketbooks.”
“I love it. So, I appoint you the director of this new philanthropic organization. We’ll get kickbacks from the pharmaceutical companies, which is the most lucrative source of all. Hell, Bayer alone will owe us a tremendous debt of gratitude for making heroin a household word.
“Absolutely,” said Ludwig.
“If we do this right, this non-profit foundation will make us rich on kickbacks alone. This is the future. The free press alone will most certainly establish us as hard-and-fast philanthropists, and the press will have to cover for us, or admit they’ve been scammed. Trust me on this, Ludwig, the press can’t admit it has ever been wrong without losing credibility.”
