Louisiana History Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  They sat on the veranda hoping, for the most part in vain, for a breath of air. The ladies plied their fans and encouraged the gentlemen not only to remove their coats and cravats but also to open the necks of their shirts and roll up their sleeves. Even so, they wiped perspiration from their brows and waved whatever they could find, from handkerchiefs to hats to sheets of newspaper, before their faces.

  “Is it this hot very often?” Colonel Ward asked with a sigh.

  Johnny snorted. “You think this is hot, just wait until summer’s really here.”

  “It gets worse?”

  “I should say. Why, compared to August, this is a cool spell.”

  Martin sent Johnny a look of weary disgust. “It’s hotter than hell’s hinges, as my old granddad used to say. Don’t let him fool you.”

  It was, indeed, a scorching day. The floor of the veranda, even with its canvas cover, was so hot where the sun struck it on one end that it was impossible to stand on it with bare feet. They all knew this for a fact because Lionel and Peter had tried, hopping and yelping, until told to desist. They had wanted to see if it was really possible to fry an egg there, after Johnny had been unwise enough to utter the old saw, but Sally Anne had vetoed that suggestion with such heat-induced annoyance that the two boys had retreated to the dense shade under the magnolia where they showed every sign of preparing to take a nap. Lettie wished that she could join them since it appeared cooler there. Like Thomas, she felt the heat more than those who had been bred to it.

  Thomas wiped a bead of sweat trickling down his nose. “How do you all stand this for three months?”

  Aunt Em looked at him with sympathy in her faded blue eyes despite the mockery of her lifted brows. “You all?”

  He grinned at her, unrepentant. “Isn’t that correct usage?”

  “No, indeed. If you’re going to try to talk like a Southerner, at least say ‘y’all.’“

  “Yes, ma’am. How do y’all stand it?”

  “What? Oh, the weather. Well, tell me this, how do y’all stand snow and ice for three or four months of the year?”

  “We’re used to it.”

  “There you are, then.” She gave a decided nod. “You’ll get used to the heat, too, in a few years.”

  “Years?” There was mock despair in the word.

  “When you blood thins down so it runs faster.”

  From far away came a mutter of thunder. Conversation, such as it was, came to a halt as they stopped to listen. The distant sound had come once or twice before. This time it seemed louder, as if it might be moving nearer.

  O’Connor finally broke the silence. “What with the weather, I reckon they’ll be burying the travelers this afternoon.”

  “What travelers is that?” Aunt Em asked, her voice sharp.

  “You haven’t heard? There was an old man and woman found late yesterday afternoon by a couple of boys looking for blackberries. They had been robbed and killed and dragged into the woods a short piece. There was sign of a struggle in the road and a set of buggy tracks leading away. It appears they weren’t moving to Texas but were just passing through, maybe on the way to visit relatives in Natchitoches.”

  Sally Anne shuddered. “How awful.”

  “That it is. Whoever did it was a fiend. He cut the woman’s throat, but he stood on the man’s back and twisted his head to break his neck.”

  “Mr. O’Connor, please!” Aunt Em exclaimed.

  At the same time, Martin said with distaste, “Not in front of the ladies, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  Johnny made a sound of distress, his face under his fair skin turning pale and then fiery red. Ranny, the mild interest he had shown in the story fading from his features, put out his hand and clasped his friend’s arm.

  It was Sally Anne who filled the awkward pause that followed. “Whoever is doing these terrible things is getting bolder, or so it seems.”

  “Or more careless,” Thomas said. “Men who get away with their crimes a few times finally come to think they can get away with anything.”

  “Monsters” was Aunt Em’s pronouncement. “Isn’t there something that can be done about it?”

  “The situation is a bit murky,” the colonel said, wiping his brow once more. “My job here is to prevent political disturbance, not to interfere in local affairs. My intelligence officer has done a certain amount of investigation of the activities of a criminal nature, especially as they touch the military, but I’ve had no mandate from my superiors to search out and destroy whoever is behind them. The sheriff here, on the other hand, seems to think that it’s a military problem, part and parcel of this business of the Knights of the White Camellia — or perhaps I should say that’s his fear.”

  “Do you think so?” Lettie asked.

  “It may be, then again it may not. But the result is that while we wait to see who has authority, these attacks continue.”

  “Dear me,” Aunt Em said, her tone pensive. “What’s going to come of it?”

  Thunder made a distant hollow bumping. A puff of air stirred the leaves of the trees to a dry rattle and brushed along the veranda. The katydids, making a constant buzzing chorus among the trees, sang louder. They were silent for a few seconds, then began again. A tree frog croaked in raucous counterpoint. A pair of doves in the fields behind the house called, a mournful, hopeless sound. The rumbling came once more.

  Conversation lagged, becoming no more than a low and desultory series of remarks. Ranny left his seat and stretched full length on the floor between Lettie’s chair and that of his aunt. Within seconds, it seemed, his face was composed and peaceful with sleep.

  Lettie watched him with concern as well as with a nebulous, only half-admitted sense of pleasure. He was wearing another of his faded blue chambray shirts, one of what seemed to be an endless supply. Its softness seemed to emphasize the bronze of his skin and the rugged strength of his body, but also to deepen the shadows under his eyes. He often dropped off like this in the middle of the day, seemingly able to snatch a few winks almost anywhere. What troubled her was that it did not seem quite normal considering the early hour he usually went to bed. She was afraid his abnormal need for rest came from the same source as his headaches.

  The summer storm advanced, rising up in slow majesty out of the southwest. The dark blue-black clouds loomed higher and higher. The sun dimmed and was lost to view. Out at the fence, O’Connor’s buggy horse shook his stubble-trimmed mane now and then, sensing the weather change. Aunt Em suggested that he be taken to the stable with the other mounts, but the tax collector waved away the offer as too much trouble.

  The wind rose, and they lifted heated faces to it. It sent dust devils spinning along the drive and rocked the branches of the trees back and forth. The first scattered raindrops began to fall, making wet splatters in the dusty dirt between the flower beds. The smell of it, musty but refreshing, rose around them.

  Lightning flashed and crackled. Peter and Lionel, disturbed from their nap, had ventured from under the magnolia to caper about in the warm drops. Now they gave a leap and a yelp and scampered for the veranda. Ranny woke and, smothering a yawn, sat up and clasped his arms around his knees.

  They saw the main body of the rain coming, a solid, marching gray curtain dragging over the treetops. It reached them in a whispering rush. The drops fell in fat warm blobs, steadily increasing in number. They rattled down in earnest, becoming a drumming roar. Harder and harder they fell, pounding on the roof, spilling, spouting from the eaves.

  Lettie was fascinated by the storm, by its sheer elemental power and the unbelievable torrents of water. The crashing thunder and brilliant, stabbing lightning were more violent than any she had ever seen before. She could not bear to leave it and go inside. The others also lingered on the open veranda.

  Then came a slashing flare of lightning that seemed to rend the heavens like a fiery sword, followed immediately by an enormous, explosive roar of thunder. Sally Anne gave a small cry and covered her ears with her hand
. Aunt Em jumped up.

  “That’s it! I’m going in! The rest of you can stay out here and be burned to a cinder if you want.”

  There was a rush for the door. Laughing, wiping blown rain from their arms and faces, they trooped into the house.

  The strong draft created by the hallway channeled the wind through the old building so that already the heat that had hung in the rooms was gone. Aunt Em, alerted by curtains billowing and flapping in every bedchamber, sent out squads to put down the windows. They did not close off the hall, however. The wind swirled through it, setting the lusters on the lamps to tinkling and slapping the overhanging edges of the crocheted cloths on the tables.

  It was a nice place to be, there in the long hall. As the rain showed no sign of slackening, a pair of lamps were lighted against the storm’s gray dimness and everyone settled down on the chairs and settee near the front doors to enjoy the unexpected coolness.

  The afternoon stretched long before them. A checkerboard, cards, and dominoes were brought out and they set about amusing themselves with varying degrees of anticipation and reluctance. When the games palled, Sally Anne suggested charades, and that held them for perhaps an hour until the titles and clues became so silly that even Peter rolled on the floor in disgust with his fingers over his eyes and his thumbs in his ears.

  “I know,” Lettie said, “we could get up a play. Didn’t you tell me, Aunt Em, that there are trunks of costumes in the attic? And I saw a book of plays just last week in the cabinet.”

  “A grand idea,” Johnny said. “I bet that’s the same book we used to use.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Aunt Em agreed. “Ranny, Johnny, why don’t you go up and—”

  “No,” Ranny said, without looking up from the game of checkers he was playing with Lionel.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “The costumes are gone. You gave them to Mama Tass.”

  “Why, I never — at least I don’t think I did.”

  “Told her to make quilts.”

  “Did I? How vexing, but I suppose they were needed at the time.”

  Costumes and disguises. Lettie looked at Ranny for a long, considering moment. No. He had passed his test, and his indifference to the subject as he concentrated on his game was complete. She glanced at Colonel Ward, who was also watching the master of Splendora. It was a pity she could not tell him that his suspicions were unfounded, but she supposed that he would learn.

  Another game of dominoes began, pitting Aunt Em and Sally Anne against Thomas and O’Connor. Martin Eden stood behind Sally Anne’s chair, directing her play and leaning over her shoulder often to point out unnoticed points, much to the annoyance of the colonel. Johnny, rubbing a hand over his carrot curls, wandered in the direction of the back doors. He stood leaning against the frame, staring out at the falling rain. Lettie watched the game for a few minutes, but then, when Ranny’s friend did not rejoin the group, got up and moved down the hall to join him.

  Johnny turned his head to give her a troubled smile but did not speak. His face appeared drawn, as if he had aged ten years in the past hour. She could not say that she knew him well, and yet she had seen so much of him in the past weeks that she felt that way. In any case, there were some people you simply liked on sight, people you could feel closer to in a moment than you could others in years. Johnny was one of them.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked quietly.

  He seemed to collect himself with an effort. “Wrong? Where did you get that idea?”

  “I just thought you were upset. I still think so.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “I’ve never been good at hiding things.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but there’s nothing anyone can do. Don’t worry about it. I got myself into this mess and I can get myself out.”

  The look in his eyes did not go with the nonchalance of his words. “This mess, would it have anything to do with the deaths of that man and his wife they found?”

  The blood drained from his face, leaving it waxen. “God. Ranny said you were smart.”

  Lettie refused to be diverted. “You knew them.”

  He squared his shoulders. “Please let it go. It … isn’t something I can talk about.”

  “In that case,” she said, her eyes darkening with slow comprehension, “you must have some idea who did it.”

  He took a long step away from her, out onto the veranda, beyond sight of the others. She hesitated, then moved after him and caught his arm. He jerked it from her grasp, then shuddered with a strangling sound in his throat. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

  Lettie looked over her shoulder, then drew him farther away from the doorway where the sound of the falling rain would cover their voices. “What is it? Are you mixed up with the Thorn?”

  “The Thorn? God, no! If it were just him.”

  “Then who?”

  For a taut instant she thought he was not going to answer, then it came pouring out of him, the words stuttering, tumbling over themselves.

  “It’s the jayhawkers, only that’s a nice name for common, murdering outlaws. I used to know some of them, used to hunt with them before the war. I rode with them one night for a lark, just to take some horses into Arkansas to be sold. Turned out the horses were stolen. They divided the money with me. I took it because I needed it — my mother’s heart — but never mind that. Then I was in and I couldn’t get out. They threatened to tell Mama. It would kill her, I know it would. I took messages about the movement of money and people, but I thought the jayhawkers were just thieves. I didn’t know they were torturing, killing.”

  His voice fell away to a whisper leaden with grief and guilt. Lettie thought rapidly, but there seemed to be only one answer. “You should go to the sheriff or to the colonel.”

  “I’d be arrested, the story would have to be told. They might even hang me as an accomplice. Mama would be so ashamed. And even if I didn’t hang, the outlaws would kill me.”

  “You can’t go on as you are.”

  “I have to.”

  “Maybe — maybe you could go away for a time, maybe to Texas like so many others.”

  “The outlaws would catch me before I got to the state line. They’re everywhere, always watching.”

  “But surely there’s something that can be done.”

  “Nothing. I’ve thought until my brain feels on fire, but there’s not a thing that can be done.”

  “I won’t believe there isn’t something.”

  He moved his shoulders as if they held a great weight. “I could always shoot myself and get it over with.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Lettie said sharply, disturbed by the acceptance in his stark words. “We’ll put both our brains together.”

  But the words were mere bravado. No answer came. She thought back over what he had said, weighing every word.

  Abruptly, she said, “Messages from whom?”

  He gave a raw laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “To say would sign my death warrant sure enough, and maybe yours as well.”

  She stared at him. Finally she said, “Whoever he is, he sounds ruthless.”

  “It’s as good a word as any. He likes his position and won’t let anything jeopardize it. He used to take the messages himself but quit when it looked as if he would be found out.”

  “The information in these messages, how does he come by it?”

  “Gathers it here and there. It isn’t hard. Only I never knew what he was doing with it. I never knew what a fiend he could be — I still can’t quite believe it. It just doesn’t seem possible. I feel so stupid that I didn’t—”

  Johnny broke off at the flicker of movement in the hall doorway. Sally Anne appeared in the opening.

  “Whatever are you two up to with your heads together out here?” she called.

  “Just watching the rain.”

&n
bsp; It was Lettie who answered, her tone consciously light as the woman tripped out to join them, with Martin and Thomas sauntering close behind her. The others followed, straggling out one by one to stand leaning on the railing, breathing the rain-washed air.

  The storm had rumbled away. The rain was tapering off and a watery sun was peeping through. In a few minutes the rain stopped altogether. In the east a fragment of rainbow appeared. The afternoon had advanced toward evening, and the light had a greenish pink cast caused by the sunset. The call of a mockingbird perched on the kitchen chimney had a clear, melancholy sound.

  With the way to the kitchen clear once more, coffee was made and passed around with pound cake, and glasses of spirits, good whiskey brought by O’Connor, were given to those who wanted them. It was, in a sense, a stirrup cup, for the party began to break up afterward and Lionel was dispatched to the stables to bring the horses around to the front.

  O’Connor said his rather brusque good-byes and marched to the gate ahead of the others, who were making more lengthy adieus. The tax collector had his hand on the latch when he turned back.

  “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Tyler. You’re related to Samuel Tyler down the road at Elm Grove, I think?”

  “Yes?” There was tension in Aunt Em’s voice. The tax collector, given his access to records as well as his frequent visits, had to know the exact family connection and that of Sally Anne also.

  “His house is going up for sheriff’s sale. Nonpayment of taxes.”

  “I never!” Aunt Em gasped. Sally Anne put her hands to her mouth, though she made no sound.

  O’Connor gave the younger woman a glance, though if he felt the slightest sympathy there was no sign of it on his face. With a sharp nod that could, if they pleased, be taken for a farewell, he settled his hat on his head and pushed the gate open, letting it thud shut behind him on its weighted chain. Climbing into his buggy, he drove away at a smart trot.