Forty Dead Men

by Donis Casey

  Holly straightened and impatiently wiped her eyes. “I’d just as soon get on with it.”

  “Now, go on, dear lady,” Bowman urged. “I want to talk to Mr. Tucker for a minute. We’ll get you on the road directly. Besides, you’ll feel better with a sit-down.”

  Holly sagged but acquiesced without an argument. Once MacIntosh had closed the door behind them, Bowman said, “All right, Scott. What’s the story here?”

  Scott related the information about Dan Johnson’s desertion. Bowman was not surprised.

  “Scott, I never was on intimate terms with that family, but Dan Johnson was no stranger to us here in the police department. Once he got to about fourteen, fifteen, he was always involved in something shady, mostly having to do with trying to part folks from their hard-earned money. He was a charmer, all right. Slicker than a slop jar and crooked as a dog’s hind leg, that’s for sure. His daddy is a fine upstanding citizen, too. Dan caused his poor folks no end of grief. Last I heard he got drafted and went off to wherever Uncle Sam decided his talents were most needed. I imagine it was a great relief for his parents to see the back of him. I never heard what happened to him after that. I don’t even know if the folks are still alive. But if he went AWOL and his ID ended up on a corpse, I don’t imagine that’s a coincidence. Listen, if you find out anything after you drive over there, let me know.”

  ***

  Scott insisted that they stop for luncheon at a little cafe on Sixth Street before going to the address Chief Bowman had given them. Holly protested, but Scott was adamant, and she reluctantly admitted that a nice bowl of chicken and dumplings did make her feel better. Perhaps she would even be able to cope with whatever they were going to find after Scott pulled up to the tree-shaded frame house a few blocks from downtown.

  Holly was standing behind Scott when he knocked on the door, but she didn’t need to be told that the natty man with blue eyes who answered was Dan’s father. He was the spitting image of his son. Holly felt her knees go weak and she grabbed the back of Scott’s coat to keep from falling. Scott was in the middle of explaining their presence to Mr. Johnson but put a steadying arm around her shoulders without looking at her, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to do.

  Fern Johnson opened the screen and stepped out onto the porch. “You’re the one who wired us from Boynton last December.”

  Scott nodded. “I am.” He held out Holly’s photograph. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “That’s Dan. That’s my son. But your wire said Dan was dead.”

  “Mr. Johnson, it’s a complicated story and we need to talk to you about it.”

  Johnson looked at the pale woman Scott was holding up and his forehead wrinkled. “And this gal says she’s Dan’s wife?”

  Something about his tone made Holly bristle. “I am Dan’s wife.”

  Johnson gave them both an intense once-over. “Well, I guess y’all better come in, then.”

  He ushered them into a neat, doily-filled parlor, where a bent, desiccated woman was standing beside the door, wringing her hands. Holly blinked at her. Dan had never mentioned a grandmother. Whoever she was, she had obviously heard everything, for Scott and Holly had barely lowered themselves onto the green horsehair settee when she burst out, “Y’all are lying! What are you doing here?”

  Johnson grabbed the woman’s shoulders. “Hang on, now, Lucy. Sit down. Let the sheriff talk.”

  She shook him off. “This ain’t right. My son is dead.”

  Not Dan’s grandmother after all, but his mother. She may not have been as old as she first appeared but she was obviously very ill. She sank into an armchair, too weak to stand any longer. She pointed at the woman on her settee with such vehemence that if her finger had had been a gun, that would have been the end of Holly. “You! What are you playing at? Are you trying to get money? You aren’t Dan’s widow. Dan’s widow lives across the street.”

  Holly shot Sheriff Tucker an amazed glance. He looked as taken aback as she felt. “What are you saying?” she managed. “Dan was married before?”

  Mr. Johnson had a death grip on his wife’s arm. “Him and Pearl were married before he went off to the Army and were married to the day he died,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, young lady, but you aren’t my son’s widow.”

  How she didn’t faint, Holly never knew. A flood of panic flushed every rational thought out of her head. She leaped up, banged out the front door and took off down the street as fast as her legs would carry her.

  Scott hurried after her, calling her name, but Holly was half-way down the block before Scott even got out the front door. He hesitated on the porch steps, watching in awe as her figure retreated into the distance. For such a small person, he thought, she can really move fast.

  Well, where else would she go but back toward Boynton, and how far could she get? Scott still had plenty to discuss with Dan Johnson’s gobsmacked parents. Once he’d finished questioning the Johnsons, he’d pick up Holly on the way out of town.

  ***

  “Sheriff, I think you’d better explain. If the man you buried last December wasn’t Dan, then who was he?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Johnson.”

  Johnson lifted a hand to his forehead. “Well, then what you are saying is that Dan is alive.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. All we know for sure is that the dead soldier we found by the side of the road had Dan Johnson’s military identification papers on him, but the photograph had been changed. So either Dan Johnson took the soldier’s ID, or the soldier took Dan’s ID, or the two of them traded IDs before the soldier died. No matter which, this means that your son’s whereabouts are unknown.”

  “Well, we sure don’t know where he is.” Johnson was firm about that. “Dan had a habit of consorting with unsavory types. I would not be surprised if he hooked up with a fellow deserter somewhere along the line who likely killed my son and stole his identity papers. Dan knew his mother is sick. If Dan was still living he would certainly have found some way to contact his mother, and that has not happened. That’s the main reason I’m inclined to believe that Dan really is dead. He has not tried to get in touch with his mother.”

  Scott could not interpret the look that Johnson gave his wife when he said that. Sympathy, perhaps, for having given birth to such an unworthy child? The turn of events had definitely upset Mrs. Johnson no end. She was perched nervously on the edge of her chair, twisting her handkerchief in her lap when she wasn’t using it to dab at the tears dribbling down her sunken cheeks.

  “But this woman who claims to be Dan’s widow,” she said, her voice husky with emotion, “what can she be playing at? What does she think she’s going to gain from pretending to be married to my boy?”

  “She’s not playing, ma’am,” Scott assured her. “She is in possession of a marriage license issued by the state of Maine which states that she and one Daniel Bell Johnson were married official-like last year.”

  “She must have married the impostor who was pretending to be Dan.”

  “I’m afraid not. The photograph of Dan that I showed you belongs to her. He married her before he was posted overseas, then he never contacted her after he was shipped back to the States. She travelled on her own all the way out here from Maine to try and figure out what happened to him. She didn’t know he was married, or that he was AWOL, or that he was wanted for manslaughter.”

  “Well, he was married, and to a wonderful, upstanding girl. That woman from Maine must be an awful temptress to persuade my boy to commit bigamy.”

  Mr. Johnson gave his wife’s shoulder a shake, half sympathy, half exasperation. “Hush, now, Mother. Hush. You’ll have to forgive my wife, Sheriff. She is not well. Besides, she never could believe anything bad about Dan, no matter what evidence presented itself.”

  Scott could tell by her expression that Mrs. Johnson was geari
ng up to defend her baby. He was not in the mood to hear it and spoke before she could get started. “Since Dan was already married, the young lady who just lammed it out of here is no longer of concern, I reckon. She wanted to find out if she was still married and she found out, all right. The question now is what has happened to Dan Johnson and who is the fellow we buried? I have a couple of ideas that I’ll pursue when I get back to Boynton. I’m sorry to be raking this all up after you figured it was over and done. If by some chance you hear from Dan, or hear of him, you’d be well advised to notify the police. I spoke to Chief Bowman over to the police department before we came here, so he is already apprised of the situation.”

  Mrs. Johnson bit her lip, but Mr. Johnson gave a resigned nod. “Sheriff, Dan’s real widow, Pearl, is engaged to be married this summer. It took a while, but she was able to move on with her life. What is this going to mean for her?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Johnson, but if I was her, I’d consult a lawyer.”

  Chapter Nine

  After Gee Dub learned that Holly had finally gone to Okmulgee with Scott, he set out to ride up his hill after dinner, as usual. Instead, he found himself riding up and down the road to Okmulgee for hours. He rode Penny a mile this way and two miles that way, until he had ridden nearly all the way to Morris, a mere five or six miles from Okmulgee. He was about to turn back toward home when he caught sight of a figure in the distance coming toward him. A woman. He reined in and simply sat there on Penny’s back, watching the woman come closer and closer.

  Could it be?

  He would not believe his own eyes. He was never going to see Holly Johnson again and he was not seeing her now. Too often over the past few months he had found himself immersed in a world that turned out to be an illusion. He sat there for a long while, wistfully enjoying the sight of the phantasm coming toward him, unwilling to return to reality.

  The illusion of the lion-eyed woman faded and he found himself back in the command bunker, sitting on his cot. It was dark, the only light coming from the single kerosene lantern on the makeshift desk that Lieutenant Anderson had created out of a big rock, some bricks, and a piece of scrap wood. Where was Anderson, anyway? It was pounding rain. Water was dripping through the waterlogged log-and-daub roof, creating a puddle in the middle of the floor. The air smelled of mud and mold, gunpowder and unwashed bodies. And tea. Sharma was squatting over the camp stove, brewing tea. Sharma was the strangest little man that Gee Dub had ever met, and Gee Dub had met plenty of odd people from odd countries since he had been overseas. Frenchmen, of course. Canadians, Brits, and Australians, who always sounded like they were leaning against something when they spoke. He liked working with the British enlisted men, though he could hardly understand what they were saying most of the time. They were tough and funny. He didn’t care for the officers much, since it seemed that most of them didn’t care for Americans. Anderson was all right. Distant, but that suited Gee Dub.

  Sharma was Anderson’s servant, as far as Gee Dub could tell. He took care of Anderson’s kit with as much care as a wife would have done, and since Gee Dub had moved into the command bunker, Sharma took care of him as well. It was an odd sensation. Sharma said he was an Indian, and Gee Dub had laughed and told him that he was an Indian, too, though he didn’t expect they belonged to the same tribe.

  Funny little guy. Gee Dub was curious about him, but Anderson was rather proprietary about his servant, so Gee Dub didn’t presume. By that time he had learned it was a mistake to cultivate relationships.

  Sharma was the first non-Christian that Gee Dub had ever met. He liked the man, but he just naturally figured he was on his way to hell with all the other pagans. That was before he knew any better.

  After the shell hit the trench and buried the six Geordies whom it didn’t blow to kingdom come, Gee Dub, Anderson, and Sharma had spent most of the afternoon digging out bodies. They managed to disinter four men before they smothered. The other two weren’t so lucky. That was one of the low points for Gee Dub, and Anderson didn’t take it well, either. Late that night, Sharma told them about the “return.” That’s what Gee Dub called it. Sharma called it a wheel that we go round and round on, coming back and living life over and over until we get it right. Gee Dub had never heard such an outlandish notion. But he did like the idea. There was certainly no mercy or justice or any second chances on this side of death. It would be nice if there were some in another life.

  Gee Dub woke with a jolt. He was still in the saddle. The woman had stopped walking and was gazing at him uncertainly. Holly had covered nearly a quarter-mile since the last time he was aware.

  He blinked to clear his eyes and leaned over the saddle horn, his forehead wrinkling. She was not an illusion.

  “Holly?”

  “What are you doing here, Gee Dub?”

  He slid down off the horse without realizing what he was doing. Holly’s eyes were red and practically swollen shut.

  The sight made Gee Dub forget himself. “Good Lord! What the hell happened to you?”

  Her lips thinned and she looked away.

  He seized her by the upper arms and she winced. He backed off, suddenly aware that he was looming over her. He raised his hands in a soothing gesture. “Where’s your kit?”

  She looked around, surprised that she wasn’t carrying her carpetbag. “I guess I left it at Mrs. Johnson’s house. I just wanted to get out of there. They can keep it. I’m never going back.”

  “Where’s Scott? What happened to you, Holly?”

  She drew herself up and looked him in the face, small and vulnerable and brave. “It seems I was never married, after all.”

  Gee Dub had pretty much gotten the picture as soon as he saw the state she was in.

  “Daniel…” She laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “He already had a wife when he married me. What an idiot I am. So stupid, so stupid.”

  Gee Dub could hardly see her through the sudden haze of red before his eyes. He made a move to remount, but Holly seized his arm. “Don’t you dare. It’s none of your business.”

  He acquiesced, but it was hard for him to speak through the knot of fury in his throat. “Come on, then. You’re going back home with me.”

  “I can’t. I can’t impose on your folks any more than I have.”

  “Well, I guess you are stupid, then. What else are you going to do, woman?”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that. I’ve had about all the disrespect I can take today. I’m going to walk back to Boynton and wire my aunt in Bangor. She always liked me. Maybe she’ll find a way to send me some money. And if she doesn’t, I’ll find a job somewhere.”

  “Who’s going to hire you looking like you’ve been dragged through a mud hole and stomped on? Let me give you a ride.”

  “Leave me alone.” Her face was flushed and she was blinking rapidly to contain her tears.

  Gee Dub backed up a step. “All right, then,” he said, exasperation heavy in his voice.

  Holly squared her shoulders and resumed her march down the road without a backward glance. Gee Dub mounted up and swung Penny’s head around to follow the furious woman at a desultory walk.

  They carried on like that for nearly a mile before Holly finally threw a glance over her shoulder.

  “Leave me alone,” she said.

  “This is a public road. I can ride on it if I want.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I can tell you have everything under control.”

  She picked up her pace. “Gracious! You are infuriating!”

  They marched on in silence for another half-mile before Holly sat down in the middle of road without warning and burst into tears. Gee Dub let her cry for a moment before he got down out of the saddle and offered her a linen square from his back pocket.

  She looked at it as though she had no idea what it was.

  “I
t’s clean,” he said.

  She snatched it out of his hand and buried her face in it. “Blasted tears,” she mumbled. “The saltwater stings my sore eyes.”

  “Are you going to come with me now?”

  She glowered at him from under her hat brim. “Only if you clearly understand that I am going to pay your family back as soon as I get money.”

  “You don’t owe us anything.”

  “Do you understand what I just said?”

  Gee Dub fought a sudden inexplicable desire to laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Now get up out of the dirt.” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet.

  ***

  Alafair didn’t bother offering her opinion to either Holly or Gee Dub as she bent over the basin of hot water on the kitchen floor and laved Holly’s bloody feet. A five-mile run on a rough road had taken its toll. Holly’s sturdy brogans, which had served her well for two thousand miles, were coming apart at the seams and had been left on the back porch.

  Gee Dub leaned on the kitchen doorpost with his arms crossed, keeping his distance, while staying close enough to see what was happening. Alafair had learned five grown children ago that when it came to matters of the heart, young people were not going to listen to advice, reason, or plain sense. She just kept her head down and fussed over Holly’s physical wounds. There was nothing she could do about the young woman’s wounded heart.

  “Now I know why I wasn’t getting his money from the Army,” Holly said, more or less to Alafair but loud enough for Gee Dub to hear. “He was having his pay sent to her. He told me that since I was working and didn’t need it, he was having it deposited in a savings account so we could buy a house when he got out. She must have got the widow’s benefit, too.”