Wild Turkey: A Historical Virginia Romance (The Whiskey Series Book 3)

by Beth Bennett

  To Olivia’s consternation, Jackson was scanning the area for the location of the shooters. He directed his gaze straight toward her. She’d managed to get off a shot but wasn’t sure she had hit anything. The jackdaw’s sharp gaze fell directly her way. He immediately and swiftly navigated the hill, coming to stand directly under her tree. He reached out like a long armed monster.

  An unrelenting hand clamped down upon her ankle and began to pull. Olivia let out a cry. He pulled the shotgun from her arms while she held onto the tree branch with all her might. She would never let go. Jackson was equally determined to have her and pulled with steady pressure.

  “Call off your men, Ollie Overton. Immediately! They are going to get themselves killed!”

  Olivia hadn’t thought about that. She knew pepper shot would sting but it hadn’t crossed her mind that they would see it as an attack and shoot real bullets back.

  “Let me go, and I will!” she screamed.

  Manning had surely been shot in the behind. He was jumping around, holding the seat of his pants. Olivia watched with glee but her attention was quickly drawn to escape when Jackson released her ankle. She rapidly clambered to a higher perch. The Yankee looked up, his eyes flashing blue fire at her.

  Thinking things had gone far enough, she secured her floppy hat and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Job! Sam! Stop! That’s enough! Stop!” Her voice could barely be heard over the commotion. Sam and Job stopped shooting just in time. Jackson’s men had all managed to draw weapons despite the torment of the pepper shot. To her chagrin, Jackson was completely unscathed. He pointed an accusatory finger at her.

  “Young man, get down from that tree this instant!” The sound of his voice was like a summer thunderstorm. A thrilling shiver of fear went all the way down to the roots of her hair. She climbed even higher. Olivia was not about to give up.

  Like a nimble wildcat, Jackson clambered up behind her. He grasped her around the middle and this time, he didn’t let go. He gave a yank and she fell back into his arms. “Oof!” She practically had the breath knocked out of her. In an instant, he dropped to the ground, put his foot on a stump, and bent her across his knee. Her face burned red as her bottom was unceremoniously turned up and over.

  She felt like a catfish, about to be filleted and desperately tried to cover herself with her hands. The flat of his palm fell directly across her bottom. She was so small he was able to get both cheeks at the same time. Smack, smack, smack. His hand felt like IT was loaded with pepper shot. Olivia wiggled, kicked, and wildly tried to rear but Jackson Daniels held her like a day old babe. Her efforts to get away gained nothing except some sharper, harder swats.

  “How dare you!” Jackson yelled.

  His palm was huge. Hot tears ran down her face as the spanking continued.

  “I’m going to use my belt. You’ll never do such a thing again, I’ll warrant.” His grip tightened around her waist and Olivia could feel him fumbling to get at his belt. His hand was bad enough. She’d never make it if he got to his belt.

  “You let me go, you damned Yankee,” she screamed. “You spanked me enough!” Olivia wiggled one hand free and yanked off her floppy old hat. A cascade of golden brown curls fell to the ground. “I’m a girl, you idiot! I ain’t no boy.” She was flailing violently and screaming at the same time.

  The second her words reached his ears, he dropped her to the ground. Olivia let out another loud “oof.” She tried to catch her breath. He bent over and rested his palms on his knees. Taking one hand, he swept her hair away from her face. He was standing so close and gazing so intently, all Olivia could see were blue eyes and beard. Suddenly, he reached down and jerked her up by the overalls. Grasping her by the shoulders, he gave her a shake.

  “A girl? Why, you’re as dirty as a little hog. Why I never…I thought you were a...” He abruptly let go and Olivia sat on the ground again, hard.

  There was no mistaking her girlish shrieks now. Embarrassed tears ran down her face despite her attempts not to cry. Jackson reached down again but this this time, he did it with both hands. Her feet left the ground as he pulled her up. He held her away from his body and scowled. His mouth flopped open but he couldn’t seem to find any words. At least she’d managed to finally shut him up. Resolve settled across his features and he dragged her to the front porch steps.

  “Mr. Overton, show yourself.”

  Olivia twisted in his grasp. “He ain’t here, you jackass.” The intake of shocked breath could be heard from all the men. Even Sam and Job couldn’t believe what she had just said.

  Jackson moved with the supple grace of a lion on the attack. He dragged her up the steps and into the house. Standing by the sink, he ran the pump handle up and down, then grabbed a sliver of soap. “Open your mouth, you filthy whippersnapper.” She pinched her lips tight in defiance. He took one hand and pressed at the juncture of her jaw, hard. The pain forced her to open. The bitter taste of soap stung her throat and made her gag. Olivia bent over and spit the soap on the floor.

  “I want an apology, young lady, or I shall wash your mouth out again.” Olivia’s only response was to turn on the arm that continued to hold her and bite down…hard. He let go with a shout, turning his attention to his wound. She seized the only item at hand, a cast iron skillet. Swinging with all her might it came down with a dull thud, right against the Yankee’s head. Jackson sank to the floor and Olivia headed for the back door.

  Chapter 4

  She ran as fast as she could for Bessie’s. Olivia could walk it nearly as fast as Penny could pull the wagon. Sam and Job would know where she was and come to get her when the coast was clear. She only hoped they had enough sense not to tell the Yankees her whereabouts. Bessie greeted her from the front porch.

  “Why, child, where in the world is your wagon?”

  “It’s complicated, Auntie. I’ll tell you later. How’s Paw?”

  “Your granddaddy is moving slow. I guess you know that already. He had a purty good day. Come on in and rest a spell. Got dinner on the stove and pie in the oven.”

  Olivia was still shaken from her encounter with the traitorous Yankees. What a relief to sit down and rest. Paw looked so tired but he said he had enjoyed his day. It was after dark and long past supper before the clip clop of Penny’s hooves could be heard. Olivia looked out the window.

  “There’s Sam with the wagon, Auntie, let’s get Paw ready to go.” Sam helped get him seated and Olivia crawled in the back. Sam didn’t even mention what had happened. He plied Paw with questions all the way home. Good old Sam, Olivia didn’t know what she’d do without him. By the time Paw was put to bed, she was beyond exhausted but she wasn’t going to sleep till she found out what had happened.

  Job was eagerly waiting to tell her. “My God, Ollie, you really done gone and done it this time. At least you didn’t kill anybody.” Job and Sam both said Jackson had been knocked out cold and had a whopper of a knot on his head. His men had gathered him up and rode out but Sam and Job were both sure they would be back, and more than likely with the sheriff.

  “Let em bring the sheriff,” Olivia boasted. “We own this place free and clear. We don’t have to sell to the railroad and they were trespassing. She sounded braver than she felt.

  One day folded into the next and to everyone’s surprise, the B&O railway men did not reappear. Olivia went on about her work but Jackson Daniels was ever on her mind. She just couldn’t believe that he would let her get away that easy.

  In a few weeks, it would be time for spring planting but when Olivia went through her sock drawer, she sadly found there weren’t nearly enough pennies to purchase seed. Without the summer vegetables, they would never make it through the winter. She would have to sell off one of their pigs.

  Sam agreed to help her and a few days later they loaded up their best hog and took it down to the slaughter yard outside of town. Olivia couldn’t stand to watch. She’d learned long ago not to name livestock off the farm. It was too difficult to eat something
you had a personal relationship with. The price for the hog should be enough to put in a nice garden. Maybe she could even grow enough vegetables to sell at the market in July and August.

  Sam agreed to handle the sale so Olivia waited outside the stockyard. A worker happened by with a wheelbarrow full of pig parts. It was so disgusting, she looked the other way and held her nose. An unbidden idea suddenly popped into her mind. She called to the man.

  “Excuse me, I need a pig’s tail. Do you have one?”

  “Do I have a pig’s tail? Course I do. If’n you want a pig’s tail, just take your pick.”

  She refused to choose and asked if he’d pick one for her and wrap it in butcher paper. “You know, some people love to roast a pig tail over a fire for a treat,” the man exclaimed.

  “I know,” replied Olivia. “But that’s not what I’m going to do with this one.”

  Sam was finished with business and it was time to leave. They purchased seed at the general store but before they went home, Olivia asked to stop by the post office.

  “I’ve got personal business to attend to,” was all she would say to Sam. She wasn’t inside very long and they rode the rest of the way home in companionable silence.

  It had taken Jackson two days to get over the headache the little Overton wretch had given him. His plans for retribution had been interrupted by the arrival of a railway official. Finally placated, the official departed and Jackson was back to looking up land deeds and surveys. Thomas Overton wouldn’t speak to him, fine. He would sift through the records himself and see where it led.

  It wasn’t long before he found just what he was looking for. “Land in arrears due to unpaid taxes.” A big red stamp covered the paper. His suspicions were confirmed. No wonder Thomas Overton had been avoiding him. The man had not paid taxes for over two years. In another few months, the sheriff would be handing the Overtons a pink slip.

  Jackson would happily circumvent that and purchase the property himself. He would pay the taxes in the name of the B&O. The Overtons were nothing more than squatters. Let that outrageous raggedy girl find out what her wanton misbehavior had wrought. Destruction, that’s what. He would happily watch her fall from her perch when he delivered the notice of eviction himself.

  He rubbed the spot on the back of his head where her skillet had met with his skull. It was still a little sore. Acquiring the Overton farm was going to be easier than he’d expected. He only wished he’d checked the land record as soon as he arrived in town. It would have literally saved him a huge headache.

  He filled out the petition to purchase the farm and signed his name as the representative of the B&O. It would take about three days to process the claim and then another three for the court to approve the transaction. In little less than a week, the Overton farm would belong to the railroad. He would personally deliver the news to one, Thomas Overton.

  Jackson had decided to take dinner in his room that evening. He’d ordered a nice steak along with whatever potatoes and vegetables the hotel was offering that day. With a grand feeling of accomplishment, he went upstairs early to relax. The Goldsboro newspaper was waiting on his bed. It was a small town paper but a nice enough diversion.

  Taking off his coat and hat, he removed his boots and stretched out on the too short bed. He’d never found a hotel bed that fit him.

  A knock sounded at the door. He folded his paper. “Yes?”

  “Delivery for one, Jackson Daniels.”

  Jackson opened the door. “Delivery? I haven’t ordered anything except dinner and it’s too early for that. What is the meaning of this?”

  The young man standing in the doorway shifted from foot to foot. “Don’t rightly know, sir. I was simply told to brang this package to Mr. Jackson Daniels. Are you him?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, here you go.”

  The package was a medium sized box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. The twine had even been tied in a bow. There was no note or indication of whom it might be from. Jackson took it and tipped the young man a dime. Closing the door, he brought the mysterious package to the small table by the window. His pocket knife easily sliced the twine as he carefully unwrapped the paper. You never knew if something in a package was breakable or not. It was always prudent to be careful. He couldn’t imagine who would be sending him anything. His thoughts turned to Lucy, the girl he’d left behind in New York. No, Lucy didn’t even know where he was at the moment.

  The paper made a crinkling sound as he pulled it back. The box was plain with no markings or directions. Slowly, Jackson eased the top up. Inside was a bit of carefully arranged tissue paper. Inside that was something wrapped in butcher paper. Jackson opened it up.

  The stump of a bloody pig’s tail tied with a pink ribbon fell out. He was so startled he dropped it to the floor. The pig’s tail curled up and little pig hair stood out on the skin. A note had fallen out. Jackson picked it up.

  “This is all you’ll ever get of the Overton farm, Yankee.” It was signed Ollie Overton.

  Jackson threw the note to the floor and ground his teeth. This young woman was playing with fire. She was insolent, uncouth, ignorant, uneducated and…and…ugly. He’d never been so angry in his life. He didn’t think he’d even had such animosity towards the rebels in the midst of battle as he did toward that spiteful, skinny, girl.

  Running his hand through his hair, he tried to calm down. He had to get his wits about him. Thomas Overton was the one at fault here. Ollie Overton was nothing but a girl. He certainly did not need to expend needless energy on such a waif as she. Thomas Overton needed to be put out and Ollie Overton would go out right along with him. He took the pig’s tail and flung it out the window. He went to sleep that night resting in the sure knowledge that taking the Overton farm out from under them was completely justified.

  Chapter 5

  Jackson tucked the papers into his waistcoat pocket, adjusted his hat and quickly mounted Charger. He had donned a black suit, gray vest and tall hat. This news required the clothes of an official railroad representative. He knew he looked stern and forbidding. It was the exact look he was going for. The papers were stamped with the official seal of the court and contained the signatures of both a judge and officials of the B&O. There would be no arguing with them. He would be generous and give the Overtons seven days to clear out. Perhaps the Overtons might even want to have a sale of the pitiful farm equipment they had left. A hoe wasn’t going to bring very much money. That mule of theirs was only fit for the glue factory and the wagon it pulled might make a small bonfire.

  He decided to relax and let Charger take his time. The early spring flung itself across the mountain but Jackson was too intent on his mission to notice. A wagon passed by with a man and woman seated on the buckboard. Jackson tipped his hat. A fat little robin sat upon a tree branch and sang its familiar call. “Purddy, purddy purddy.”

  The Overton farm slowly came into view. Several unfamiliar horses stood hobbled in the yard, munching on new spring grass. The place was quiet despite the presence of strange horses. Jackson tied Charger and dismounted. No one was about. He stepped into the barn but was met with only silence. A pitifully small amount of hay was stacked in the corner and farm implements hung from the ceiling. Those stalls need mucking out, he mused.

  Except for a few hens scratching in the dirt, there was nothing else around. Even the old hound dog that usually slept lazily in the shade was missing. Jackson cautiously stepped on the porch, remembering what had happened the last time he had done so. Perhaps he should have brought his men with him.

  He pushed on the door. It creaked open but there was no one inside. Someone had left a plethora of baked goods and stews on the stove. It looked like enough food for a party. Strange. The house seemed in order but an odd feeling hung over the place.

  What’s that? The sound of music floated from around the back of the house. It was too faint for Jackson to make out the song but it definitely sounded familiar. What in the blaze
s was going on? He followed the singing and found a small group of people gathered on a hill behind the house. Good, it wouldn’t bother him one bit to present this eviction notice in public. So much the better, in fact. It would do the community good to know what kind of man Thomas Overton really was.

  He adjusted his sharply tied cravat and made sure his hat wouldn’t blow off in the wind. He patted his coat front to make sure the papers were still tucked away in his pocket. The familiar words of a popular hymn reached his ears.

  “When the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.”

  Driven by the desire to exact retribution on Thomas Overton and his wayward daughter, Jackson did not take the time to consider why the group was gathered upon the hill. He noticed the uniformity of black clothing, the mound of freshly turned earth. The group’s attention was placed upon a man holding a Bible. Jackson stood still. Hell and damnation, he had stumbled into a funeral! Without any way to extricate himself gracefully, he stepped up beside an older woman and solemnly took his hat in his hands. Quietly he waited for the service to conclude so his own business could be attended to.

  “Thomas Overton was a good friend and neighbor to all…” Thomas Overton! “He lived in these mountains all his life and nary a man had a bad word to say about him.” He was too late. Obviously, Thomas Overton lay in the grave at his feet. “Thomas worked this farm just like his Daddy and his Daddy before him.” Jackson’s eyes glanced over the crowd to see if the skinny Ollie Overton were in attendance. She was completely absent. Not a surprise.

  The preacher droned on. “Thomas Overton was blessed with a grand-daughter what watched over him all these years.” Jackson glanced around. That must be the small young woman standing at the head of the grave. Dressed in a hopelessly out of fashion mourning dress, the gentle breeze played about her skirts revealing a lovely, delicate form. She was very young. Her face was covered with a black veil that draped from a small hat atop her head. The black ribbon tied beneath her chin could not hold the golden brown strands of hair that escaped to dance about her shoulders.