by Rita Kano
Nash shook his head. “No, that’s just too crazy.”
“Nash, listen. Just listen. In some societies, when someone wrongfully dies at the hands of another, the closest next of kin to that person is expected to retaliate against the killer. It’s their duty … the duty of the father, brother, uncle … whoever it might be. And … and as strange as it sounds, there are rules they have to follow to carry out their revenge. They set up guidelines to govern the type of compensation allowable and even the location where atonement can be made.”
“This is the back woods, not the dark ages, Shirley. Those times are long gone.”
“Those times aren’t long gone, Nash. Not for some people. Some wounds go a whole lot deeper than others. It wasn’t a horse thief that was hanged. A lawman murdered an innocent young man. And a whole town turned their backs to it.”
“Even if I give you that point … who would … how could anybody be hard hearted enough to keep on killing for so many years? Why? Why would they?”
“It’s not about being heartless, Nash. It’s about survival beliefs and spiritual power. In the minds of the family and tribe of that young brave, his murder diminished the power of his lineage. They’re not only shamed forever … they’re cursed … until justice … equal justice satisfies the family. Only then will the spirit of the Indian and his power be released back to them.”
“No,” Nash resisted. “It can’t be that.”
“Nash, you said yourself, there’s a spirit trapped in those letters wrapped in buckskin. You said it because that’s what you feel in your gut. Your head’s resisting. But, it’s not your head that’s going to find Martha Ann. It’s that fear squirming in the pit of your stomach. Because of what happened to him, that Indian’s spirit is earthbound. He’s trapped … bound to the place he died … bound to the letters and the bloodline of the girl he loved and died for.”
Nash didn’t respond. His silence gave Shirley hope that the impossible was starting to make sense.
“It isn’t going to stop, Nash. It isn’t going to stop until the family of the Indian gets what they want … justice. Unfortunately, equal justice won’t be accomplished with the bang of a judge’s gavel. This feud won’t end until the Indian’s family gets what they want … and we don’t know what that is. Until that time, they’re going to take more blood. That’s how I know there’s something you haven’t told me. And how I know Lizzie will be the next victim unless we find a way to right a horrible wrong.”
“I ain’t…” Nash uncovered his face, “you know I ain’t wanting to hear what you’re saying about Martha Ann … or…” tears dripped onto Nash’s coveralls, “or … or my little Lizzie.” Nash looked up. “But I asked you before to speak plainly, so, I got nobody to blame but myself. Keep talking and I’ll keep … I’ll try to keep listening. But I ain’t making you no promises what I’ll say afterwards.”
“Nash, I…” Shirley sat down on the couch cushion closest to the recliner. “I can’t imagine how painful this is for you. But … but I have to speak what I’m seeing. I suspect no woman or girl is taken from your family unless there’s a child growing up to be next in line to … to satisfy the needs of the blood feud. And … and the letters wouldn’t still be here if Lizzie wasn’t in danger. So, I’m thinking that one of those times Martha Ann disappeared…” Shirley closed her eyes and braced for an unbridled attack from Nash against the words she had to say next, “I suspect that one time Martha Ann disappeared she was pregnant … off in another town giving birth to a little red haired baby girl. Am I… am I right, Nash?”
Nash plowed fingers through his shock of hair. “Oh, Lord. Oh, my Lord.” His body rocked back and forth. “Martha Ann… she… oh, my sweet Martha Ann. She didn’t want anybody to know about the baby. Martha Ann’s a real smart girl and she … she knows how people whisper when she walks past.” Nash slapped his hands down on the chair. “And do you know what she does? She smiles at those people … those people who gossip behind her back. She’s a real good girl … a good, loving, trusting, forgiving child. As for the gossip… her nature is what it is. Some things just are. She didn’t do what she did for herself. She just didn’t want her baby growing up condemned from the start.” Nash wrenched his hands together and then moved to the couch. “I should have told you. But I made a promise to Martha Ann.”
Shirley walked over and placed one arm around his shoulders. Nash reached out and they embraced. When Nash’s touch began to distract Shirley, she pulled away.
“Listen, to me, Nash. I don’t know where Martha Ann is or if she’s okay. But we’ve still got Lizzie. It’s not too late for Lizzie. We have more than two weeks to find the Indian.”
Nash clenched his fists. “Find the Indian? The Indian’s dead. Hadn’t we ought to be looking for the murderers instead?”
“Can you tell me how to do that? How do we do that for crimes that haven’t been committed, as far as anyone knows? No. I don’t think that’s the way to go even if it could be done. Besides … that would only stop one murderer. There would be another and another for as long as the family doesn’t forgive the crime committed against them.”
“Okay. It might be like you say. But, there’s something I don’t get about all that,” said Nash. “From the letters and what I read in the diary, I just can’t see why the Indian would put a curse on Glory. He loved her. He loved Glory enough to risk his life for her.”
The light in Shirley’s eyes suddenly sparkled like fireworks. “Nash. Nash. Oh, my God. That’s it.” She gave him a strong, quick hug. “You’re right. He loved her. It’s been right there in front of me all the time and I didn’t see it. He loved her. That means the Indian’s last words weren’t a curse at all … and neither are the letters. I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. I’ve been blind … completely and totally, shamefully blind. The Indian did love Glory. He wouldn’t have hurt her or her family … not in any way. It’s him. He’s the one whose been trying to stop the feud all this time. And no one hears him. Just like the people of Purity didn’t see or hear him back in 1898.”
“Pleases me to know I’m right about something. But, the letters don’t tell us what to do to stop the feud … at least … at least, I don’t see it.”
Nash’s observation forced Shirley to restrain her excitement. “I know. Yes. Yes, you’re right … especially since a whole town took part in the murder of their loved one.”
Nash and Shirley sat quietly beside each other. Not touching. Not speaking. Despair thickened the air as the walls closed in and two minds tried desperately to breathe through their fears.
“Nash?” Shirley said staring at the opposite wall. “What was that you told Lizzie about seeing an angel? Is it true?”
“That don’t matter, now. Nothing matters, now.” With hope steadily dimming, Nash only shook his head.
“You’ve got to be wrong, Nash.” Shirley kept her eyes away from him. She sat trancelike as door after door slammed shut. “You are wrong,” she whispered. One of them had to escape the grip of hopelessness. “Everything matters, now … everything in and, especially, out of the ordinary in your life matters more now than ever.” Shirley forced her body up from the couch and stood over Nash. “Tell me about the angel.”
“Tell you about the angel?” Nash looked up. A tiny spark ignited his eyes, loosening the spell that had fallen over him. “Don’t see why.” At the point he hesitated, a strong wind howled through the trees outside. “But … but if you want me to, I will.”
“I want you to,” said Shirley sitting back down next to him.
“Well, one thing’s for sure. It can’t hurt.” Nash sighed. “Yes, Miss Shirley, it’s true. I’ve been seeing angels for years. That’s why I go to the cemetery almost every day. I see angels in the evening, always in the evening, when the sun’s setting low and glowing warm. They sit atop a pillar or a gravestone most times. Sometimes it’s Sable’s stone, sometimes Sandy’s. They… the angels, just smile and wait. At least, that’s how it se
ems to me. That’s what I see. I told Lizzie because … because I think they wanted me to. I know what most people would say if I told them. They’d say it was nothing … just sunlight shining through dust stirred up by the wind. Well, I’m telling you … it is something. I’m the one that’s seen them.”
“You were at the cemetery the day I met you. Nash, have you … have you seen Martha Ann’s angel there?”
Nash patted Shirley’s hand. “I understand why you’re asking. And the truth is … if I’m honest to myself … I can’t be sure. I don’t like letting that kind of thought into my head. But the truth is, one of the angels … yeah, I suppose one of the angels has a resemblance to her, but… but you gotta understand … what I see ain’t real clear. Besides, she… Martha Ann and Sandy look so much alike. And like I said before and can’t seem to stop saying … what does it matter?”
“I don’t know.” Shirley squeezed the back of her neck. “Angels. Letters that can’t be destroyed by fire. A spirit that might be trying to help you. And then there’s the rhyme … a rhyme that’s become a curse. Nash, I’m telling you … something somewhere in that tangle of words matters a lot.”
“As crazy as what I’m about to say sounds… if you’re right… if you’re right, Miss Shirley, that means we need more time than what’s been given us. It means we’ve got to find a way to hide Lizzie.”
“Yes, as crazy as it sounds, you’re right. But only as a last resort. We’ve got some time … a little time. And besides where would you take Lizzie that she couldn’t be found. And do you think for a minute that Arlene and Joe would allow it? Or believe any of this?”
“Then tell me something, Shirley. Tell me what I can do.”
“I can’t yet, but I’m thinking on it. Let me see. Okay. Okay.” Shirley started pacing, again. “Let’s just calm down and think. What have we got? From moon to moon, find me or find death,” Shirley said. “The letters must be the way to find the Indian. They’ve got to be.”
“How? Nothing’s there.” Exasperation tied Nash’s voice into knots.
“How, I don’t know. But, I will. Nash, I need the letters back. I need to take them home with me, again. Is that okay with you?”
“Little lady, I don’t see why not … even though I don’t see why.”
Nash handed Shirley the buckskin bundle, holding onto one end as she held the other. “Something’s telling me to say… be careful,” he said. “It’s obvious you see something I don’t. You want to give me a hint what it is?”
“Nash, have you ever strung popcorn on a string to decorate a Christmas tree?”
“Sure. Sure have. I’m the one who does it with the kids.”
“Well, that’s kind of like what’s going on in my head right now. I’m leaving here with loose popcorn in a bowl, but with a little work, it’s going to become something else.
I’ll be back no later than Sunday evening to answer your question. Sooner, I think. And, in the meantime, don’t worry. Trust me. We’re going to find a way out of this awful mess.”
Chapter 12
Find Me or Find Death
Shirley spent the rest of the night rereading the letters and the diary with Grandma purring at her side. No matter how many different ways she looked at the words, nothing new appeared. She turned them upside down and sideways, without a clue to help find the Indian. She scoured the pages for anything odd or out of place. She searched for letters written in a stronger hand, spelling out a secret name or place. Her effort revealed nothing that aroused her curiosity … nothing other than the fact that imperishability enchanted the letters.
So then, what did the Indian’s last words and Sadie Redding’s last plea mean? Find the Indian… she had written as the diary’s final entry. Find me, were the Indian’s last words.
What did they expect her to hear?
Could it be the words simply meant the town of Purity needed to see the Indian for who he was? Was it a plea to see the man behind their judgment and prejudice? Grandma Sadie said he was a brave man … as brave as any she had ever seen … exceptional, virtuous and honorable. Sadly, words seldom applied to Indians in the county, even in the present day. The local Indian tribes struggled endlessly to be seen as more than dressed up savages.
One thing remained certain. The Indian had a family that loved him and had never forgotten the injustice done to him. He had a family that could not rest until the soul of their murdered son found his everlasting repose.
Find me or find death. The words repeated in Shirley’s head. Find me or find death. How could she find and help a man dead for generations?
The thought spun about in Shirley’s head unspoken, but Grandma seemed to hear it. The cat sprang to her feet, arched her back and hissed as if she had just cornered a ghost.
“What’s gotten into you,” she said. “I have no idea what… Oh! Yes, Grandma! Yes, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re absolutely right. That’s exactly where he’d be found. The place he died.” Shirley lifted Grandma and kissed her on the nose. “You, my precious and wise black cat, get extra treats tonight.”
Grandma ran off to the kitchen and sat by her bowl.
“I didn’t mean right this minute,” Shirley called out. “However,” she got up from the chair, “I can’t deny you deserve it.” Shirley clunked a few extra fish shaped tuna snacks into the bowl. “Okay. That’s enough on our plate for today … for both of us. Let’s…” Shirley yawned, “let’s get a good night’s sleep now.”
Saturday morning:
“Nash. Nash.” Shirley called out from his porch as she pounded on the door at barely 8 a.m.
Nash opened the door dressed in pajamas and a cup of coffee.
Shirley blushed and turned away. “Oh… Nash. I’m sorry. I can come back later. I thought…”
“You thought I’d be up with the roosters? I was … me and my pajamas. Cotton’s cotton, Miss Shirley. It ain’t see through. Come on in. I’m sure hoping you being back so soon means you’ve brought good news.
“I think so. At the very least, I’ve got some positive direction.”
“That’s really good news. Have a seat, pretty lady. Make yourself at home. No need to wait for an invitation. Want some coffee? Fresh brewed. You’ve figured something out have you?”
“Yes. I mean… no. No to the coffee. Yes to having figured something out. The first thing we’ve got to do, Nash, is find the spot where the Indian was hung. Once we’ve found the hanging tree, that’s where we’ll find him. The way I see it is… the Indian’s ghost … or his spirit isn’t at rest because of what happened to Glory. He was a good man. He never wanted or intended any lives to be taken. But he knew tradition and what his family would do to avenge him … like it or not.”
Nash thumped the cup he held with one finger. “This has gone cold. If you don’t mind, I’ll just hang onto to that thought while I pour myself another cup … black, strong and full to the brim. Excuse me for just a minute.”
“Of course,” said Shirley.
“So…” Nash returned with a steaming mug and sat down on the edge of his recliner across the room, “so, you think all we have to do is find the hanging tree?”
“Well, no… not just that, but it’s a start. Have you ever heard of a hanging tree in this part of the county? I think the one we’re looking for might be close by.”
Nash stared into the steaming. “Yeah.” He took a sip. “Yeah. There is a place I heard of a long time ago.”
“Where?”
“Less than a mile from here. It’s somebody else’s land, but there… there is a part that adjoins ours.” Nash put the cup on the end table beside him and then … like Shirley had seen his son-in-law Joe do… in plain sight, Nash simply disappeared.
“Nash?”
He didn’t respond.
“Nash?” Shirley repeated louder.
He turned some small part of him in Shirley’s direction, but his eyes stared off and away.
“Nash, you look… Nash… why d
o you look so strange?”
“Cause if you’re right…”
Nash appeared to be teetering on the brink of an unwelcome, if not devastating realization.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“The Indians last words, Shirley. The Indian’s last words ‘find me or find death’. That’s what he said.”
“Yes, those were his last words, but… but I… I guess it’s my turn to say I don’t understand. What are you seeing in them?”
“I’m seeing that…” Nash’s eyes could not conceal his waking nightmare. “I’m seeing that … that if my beautiful Martha Ann is dead, that’s where her body is. At that … that place … the hanging tree … that could be where they were all taken … the place where they all drew their last breath. Alone, out there in the swamp woods … all alone.”
“Oh. Oh, Nash, I’m so sorry. I was so excited about… I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”
“No, Miss Shirley, I’m afraid you still don’t understand. I’m seeing something even more… more…” Nash closed his eyes and pushed the fingers of both hands through his hair. “That old tree is only a short walk from here … in country miles, that is. That means it’s too close.”
“Too close for what?” asked Shirley. “I still don’t see…”
“Too close for somebody not to have seen something. Somebody would’ve… could know… could have known all along what’s been happening to my precious family all these years. Either that or… or the hanging tree I heard of ain’t the right one. It don’t seem possible. I don’t think the tree I know of could be the place.” Nash shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. It couldn’t be the right tree.”
“Well… yes, I agree, it does seem unlikely no one would know, as you… for all the reasons you listed, but don’t you think we have to go there anyway … to be sure?”
