Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River]

by River of Tomorrow

  “Did you kill him?” Hammond asked.

  “He dead, Mr. Perry,” the man bragged. “I knows where to hit ’em. Thar behind the ear’s the place.”

  “Good. We can take the woman on down to his shack outa the rain. It’ll be dark soon. She’ll not be missed till it’s too late to look for her. I figure there’s no men at the house except the one that’s shot. After we take care of her we just might go back up there and finish the job.”

  “I can do it, Mr. Perry,” the whiskered man said eagerly. “But . . . it’d cost ya extra.”

  “I figured it would,” Hammond said dryly. He put his horse into a fast walk and hurried him toward Jeems’s cabin.

  Thunder and lightning came together now. Large drops of rain began to fall as they reached the shack. They tied the horses beneath a lean-to shed, and with Mercy thrown over the shoulder of one of the men, they went inside.

  “Jesus! This place stinks worser than a hog pen.”

  “Never mind, we’ll not be here long. Put her down and light a couple of torches so we can see.” Hammond’s voice shook with excitement.

  The riverman dropped Mercy on the shelf built into the wall where Jeems slept. A flame was coaxed from the embers in the fireplace, and soon a blaze flared, fed by handfuls of kindling. As light filled the room, Hammond moved inside. Across one corner of the room, stout bars had been erected, and sitting quietly behind them on a stool was the largest Negro Hammond had ever seen. The man looked at them without any expression on his face, his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together. He didn’t seem to be curious about them, merely accepted their presence.

  “Jesus! What’s that?” The men moved up to get a closer look. What they saw was a big, bushy-headed, filthy Negro in ragged pants and shirt.

  “It’s a hog pen!” Melcher said. “Niggers is strange. They don’t go fer whippin’s. His paw’s locked him up fer somethin’. He smells like he shit on hisself.”

  “It’s a fitting place for you to die, you slut! We’ll let the nigger have ya when we’re through, and then they’ll hang him.” Hammond chortled happily. He grabbed a handful of blond hair and lifted Mercy’s head. When he glimpsed the young face, he stared in disbelief. “This isn’t the one,” he screamed. “You fools, idiots, sons of bitches!” He threw Mercy’s head down and turned on the two men as if he would kill them. His eyes blazed, his hands shook, his lips quivered. “This isn’t the one I told you to get! Shitheads! Bastards!” He called the men every filthy name he could think of, while they looked at him in stunned silence.

  “But ya said light hair, thin—”

  “S-sightly, she is,” the riverman said, stammering.

  “This is not Liberty Quill!” Hammond was gradually losing control and continued to scream. “This is not Liberty Quill! This is not Liberty Quill!”

  “Who is it?” one of the men dared to ask.

  “It’s the brat that lives with them. Oh, God! Why am I always surrounded with incompetent fools?” Hammond sank down on a stool and put his hands to his face.

  The men stood uncertainly. The riverman eyed Mercy’s legs. They were hanging over the bunk, and her dress was up around her thighs. “I don’t give a shit who she is. I got a thin’ in my britches what wants a woman.”

  “Ya better wait—”

  “Shut your goddamn mouths!” Hammond snarled like a vicious animal.

  As the men looked at each other one of them made a slash across his throat with his finger. The other one nodded in agreement. The rain poured down on the roof, and water began to drip onto the earthen floor. Long minutes passed into a half an hour. They waited for Perry to speak. He sat as still as a stone, his eyes on some distant place. The men moved restlessly. They were uneasy about the way Perry was acting.

  The big Negro watched too. He stood up, his head reaching almost to the roof. He came to the bars and looked at them with flat, black eyes.

  Mercy slowly began to regain consciousness. Memory came back to her in a rush. Her jaw hurt, her head whirled, and her stomach churned. She was afraid to move. Her face was pressed against something that smelled foul.

  “Mr. Perry? What ya want us to do?”

  The words sank into Mercy’s mind like a stone. She moved her head cautiously, but she couldn’t see. Her hair was over her eyes. Then she felt her skirt being lifted and a hand probing between her legs. She reared up. Her vision was blurred, but she could see the face of the man close to hers, his front teeth missing.

  “She come to, Mr. Perry.”

  The pain in Mercy’s head was almost unbearable. Her eyes finally focused on Hammond Perry, sitting on a stool. He stared at her. She tried to get to her feet, but the man jerked her arm and she fell back down.

  “Please . . .” she whimpered.

  “Do you remember me?” Hammond asked.

  Dazed with pain, Mercy could scarcely understand what he was saying. The faces that looked down on her were grotesque and, to her, no longer human. She felt a scream building in her throat and choked it back.

  “Do you, slut? Answer me,” Hammond shouted.

  “Yes.”

  “Say my name.”

  “Ham . . . mond Perry,” she whispered fearfully.

  “That’s right. Major Hammond Perry.” A snide smile curved his lips.

  “Are ya wantin’ us ta go get the other’n, Mr. Perry?”

  “Not yet. We got time. All the time in the world.” Hammond laughed as if he had said something terribly funny. His mouth opened wide. “Haw! Haw! Haw!” He slapped his hand against his knee as he doubled over with laughter.

  Into Mercy’s mind came the thought that these men were going to do unspeakably cruel things to her. Her mind cleared enough so that she wondered where she was, and if there was anyone who would come to help her. The thought was followed by utterly black despair.

  Hammond continued to laugh, but it was now a giggle, high and girlish. His eyes began to glow and his nostrils flared. He got to his feet and reared back with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Men,” he said as if he were addressing a troop. “The nigger can have her!”

  The two men looked at him as if he had gone insane. They stared openmouthed. The riverman began to protest.

  “The nigger? Ya promised me—”

  “I promised you Liberty Quill.”

  “By God! I ain’t goin’ ta stand fer it!”

  “You obey my orders, or by God, you’ll get no money from me. Get the nigger out here.”

  “Have ya gone loony? I ain’t puttin’ my pecker where no nigger’s been, by God!”

  Hammond’s shoulders reared back even more, and his head slanted back.

  “I give the orders. Hump her, screw her, board her, I don’t give a goddamn what you do to her, but bring that nigger out and let him watch. He’ll be so horny by the time you’re through, he’ll split her in two.” A mad gleam glowed in Hammond’s eyes. “Lay back, Miss Quill, and spread yourself for the pleasure of my . . . associates. My moment of revenge has arrived.”

  “No, please!” Mercy sobbed frantically. “Please . . . please . . . no!” She twisted and turned, trying desperately to break loose from the hands holding her.

  “Beg, you slut!” he shouted. “I only wish Farr Quill was here to see it.” Hammond reached out and yanked down the front of her dress, found the nipple of her breast, and squeezed viciously. A shrill scream tore from Mercy’s throat. Hammond laughed. “Get the nigger.”

  Mercy’s frantic eyes turned to the cage. The whiskered man lifted the bar and opened the door.

  “Come on out ’n’ see the show nigger boy. Yore goin’ ta get ya some a that pussy when we is done. I jist bet ya’ve got a stick as big as a fence post in yore britches right now.”

  “Gerrit! Please . . . Gerrit!” Mercy sobbed. The big Negro looked at her, blinked his eyes several times, and moved slowly out into the room. “Gerrit, help me!”

  The riverman wrapped her hair around his hand and, twisting it up ti
ght, held her head tilted up to him.

  “He ain’t goin’ ta help ya. Ain’t nobody goin’ ta.”

  As soon as as he slammed her down on the bunk, she struggled to get up. Hammond laughed shrilly. He put his foot on her hair and held her. Almost out of her mind with terror, she screamed and screamed.

  “Shut up, ya uppity slut!” Hammond drew back his arm and slapped her across the face with such force, it knocked her head against the wall. Her screaming stopped and was replaced by a moan of pain. She felt something heavy drop on her. Her eyes flew open to see the whiskered man’s face just inches from hers. The tip of his tongue was running over loose lips that were spread in a wolfish grin.

  “Danny,” she whimpered. “Danny, Danny . . .” Something snapped in her mind, and she screamed again and again and again.

  Mercy never heard the guttural sounds that came from Gerrit’s throat, as if the low rumblings had started deep within him before errupting in a roar that she heard over her own screams. Vaguely she felt the weight lifted from her when Gerrit plucked the man off her and flung him to the floor.

  Hammond Perry looked up into the face of a madman. He had never seen such a terrifying sight and was momentarily stunned. The Negro’s eyes were wild, his mouth an open red cavern. Earsplitting shouts of high fury filled the small cabin, and the air fairly crackled with his rage. The hands that reached to encircle Hammond’s neck were as large as a washpan. Hammond knew one moment of intense terror before he was lifted from the floor by the neck like a chicken. Gerrit shook the small man until his neck snapped and his tongue came out. Then he threw him against the wall, where he lay twisted, broken, and lifeless.

  Mercy saw what was happening as if she were living a nightmare. She was mad. She had to be. Nothing like this had ever happened. Her mind whirled through a black void, spinning her dizzily into oblivion.

  The whiskered man recovered from his terror and drew the gun from his belt. He took aim and fired as Gerrit’s hamlike fist swung. The bullet struck, Gerrit stumbled back a step. Then he charged the man, roaring like a mad bull. The terrified man tried to fight him off with the butt of the pistol, but it was a puny effort. The maddened strength of the beast increased. Gerrit picked him up bodily and slammed his head against the stone chimney. It split like a melon.

  Gerrit stopped suddenly and stood swaying. A blank look came over his face, his rage leaving him as quickly as it had come. He held his hand to his side, where blood seeped through his fingers and dripped to the earthen floor. He turned his eyes to the woman who lay on the bunk as still as death. Her face was ghostly white amid the masses of gleaming blond hair that spread across her bared breast. Gerrit turned his head this way and that and mumbled, “Purty, purty.”

  Melcher cowered in the far corner, his gun in his hand. His life depended on one shot. Slowly he eased himself to his feet, his eyes on the Negro, who looked more animal than man.

  “Ya bloody beast!” He snarled. He held the gun at arm’s length and aimed it at Gerrit’s heart.

  The door flew open. A woman stood there. Wet hair hung in strings about her face, her wet skirt wrapped about her legs. The rifle in her hands was unwavering. Which of the two were the greatest threat, the woman or the beast? Melcher made an instant decision. He fired his gun. As Gerrit fell, he flung the empty gun at the woman in the doorway and drew his knife. He took one step before the blast from the rifle threw him back against the wall. He hung there. His mouth was wide-open, his hands clawing at his chest where blood was spurting.

  “Ya . . . kilt me.” He sagged slowly down the wall to the floor and sat there, his eyes open and staring.

  * * *

  Mercy fought her way to consciousness, moaning and sobbing in terror. She screamed for Daniel, for her papa and her mamma.

  “I’m here, darling. I’m here.” Arms were around her, her mother’s reassuring voice in her ear. “Don’t be afraid. It’s over, darling. You’re safe now.”

  Mercy sobbed uncontrollably and clung to Liberty, who held her and stroked her hair. It was agonizing minutes before the terrified girl grew quiet. Mercy raised her tearstained face and glanced around fearfully.

  “Are they gone?” she whispered.

  “They’re still here, but they’re dead. All of them,” Liberty added coldly. “Tennessee and I came as soon as poor Jeems dragged himself to the house.”

  “They let Gerrit out . . . he killed Hammond Perry. I was glad! Mamma! I was so afraid—”

  “Did they . . . hurt you?” Liberty asked, and pulled Mercy’s dress over her bare breast.

  “They brought Gerrit out to watch. He . . . went crazy all of a sudden—”

  “Gerrit’s dead.” Tennessee came and knelt down beside the bunk where Liberty sat holding Mercy. “He lived for a few minutes. I held his hand and soothed his forehead. He seemed to be in his right mind. He called me . . . Mamma.” Huge tears trickled down Tennessee’s cheeks. “Poor boy.”

  Liberty clucked her tongue sadly. “Jeems will be lost without him.”

  “Did they hurt Jeems?”

  “He saw your light hair hanging down just before the man struck him down. He didn’t know if it was you or I. The poor old man, as badly hurt as he was, staggered all the way to the house.”

  “Did Gerrit kill all of them?” Mercy avoided looking at the bodies on the floor.

  “We’ll talk about it when we get home. Daniel will be out of his mind with worry. He was worried because you were not in the house when it started to rain. I was just going out to look for you when Jeems came staggering up to the door.”

  “Liberty got the guns. We left Eleanor to cope with Daniel, and Minnie with Jeems.” Tennessee found an old coat and covered Gerrit’s face.

  “I thank God Farr taught me to use the rifle.” Liberty helped her daughter to her feet.

  “I was sure I’d never see any of you again. Hammond Perry wanted to make sure that I knew who he was. He said he wished Papa was there to see what he was going to do. Hammond said . . . that they would leave me here with Gerrit, and that Gerrit would be hung—”

  “Gerrit saved you. That will be a comfort to Jeems.”

  Liberty looked down at the man who had dealt her and her loved ones so much misery over the past twenty years. He lay there, like a small poisonous snake, looking even smaller in death.

  “This was a fitting end for you, Hammond Perry. The world would have been a better place if you never had been born.”

  Liberty Quill took her daughter’s hand, and they walked out into the dark, wet night.

  * * *

  Minnie was waiting on the stoop with a lantern when the three wet, tired women approached the house.

  “Dat you? Dat you?” Minnie called. “If dat not Miz Quill, I goin’ ta shoot.”

  “It’s us, Minnie. Don’t shoot.,” Liberty called, and then added to Mercy and Tennessee, “She doesn’t even have a gun.”

  “Ya bringin’ dat chile back?”

  “Yes, and she’s all right.”

  “Praise de Lord! Hal-le-lu-jah!” Minnie shouted. “Mistah Dan, she a-comin! Miz Quill done found dat chile! Hurry on up in here,” she said, scolding. “Mistah Dan ’bout fit ta be tied, he so worried.”

  Minnie’s arms crushed Mercy against her voluptuous softness.

  “I’m all right, Minnie. Just wet.”

  “Just wet? Den what yo dress a-doin’ all tore up?” she demanded.

  “We’ll tell you about it later, Minnie,” Liberty said, and held open the door.

  The first thing Mercy saw when they all crowded into the house was Daniel, sitting in a chair right in the middle of the kitchen with a rifle across his lap.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Eleanor exclaimed. “He was going outside to look for you.”

  “Danny!” Mercy ran to him, knelt down, and buried her face against his side. The rifle was lifted from his lap, and his hand cupped her head and held it to him.

  “Sweetheart, love! Oh, God, I was so worried.”


  “Danny, I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “What happened to her?” Daniel’s eyes were as cold as steel as he looked into Liberty’s.

  “Hammond Perry,” Liberty said quietly. “Hammond Perry took her to Jeem’s cabin. Nothing happened. Gerrit saved her.”

  “And . . . Perry?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “The men with him?”

  “Dead too. We’ll tell you everything, but first I’ve something to tell Jeems.”

  Some of the tenseness went out of Daniel’s shoulders. He hugged his wife to him and kissed the top of her head.

  Liberty went to kneel down beside Jeems, who had never in his life remained seated in the presence of white people. He sat now at the table because Daniel had insisted that he sit there and eat the food Minnie had prepared.

  “Jeems,” Liberty said gently, “Gerrit is dead.”

  “Lordy, Lordy!”

  “He died saving Mercy from being raped and killed by the men who hurt you. I’m so sorry.” She patted the old man’s arm. “Gerrit was very brave. We’re proud and grateful for what both of you did for us. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep the man from shooting him.”

  “Gerrit dead. Oh, Lordy. I gots ta go ta him.”

  “No. Stay here with us tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see that Gerrit has a burial. He wasn’t alone when he died. Tennessee held his hand. And, Jeems, he called her . . . Mamma. Wherever he is, he’ll not have to be locked up or afraid. He’s with someone who loves him.”

  “Lordy. Oh, Lordy, Miz Quill . . .” Tears streamed down the old man’s face. Minnie came to put her arms around him, and Liberty stood to wipe her eyes.

  Eleanor and Tennessee wiped away tears, and Mercy, her head against Daniel, suddenly looked up into his drawn face. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, and he was clenching his jaws so tightly together that the muscles jumped.