All Men Fear Me

by Donis Casey

  A dark figure walked around the side of the house, into the yard, and stopped, back to the man under the tree. Sure he couldn’t be seen, Nick observed his subject for a few moments, looking for any sign of nervousness or fear. But there was none. The dark figure stood still and straight, waiting. Nick sensed the heat of determination.

  He made his move. He straightened his bowler hat and slid up behind his summoner. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, smooth as silk. “You know who I am.”

  His contact straightened, but didn’t seem surprised. “Yes.”

  Nick leaned in close. “Give me a name.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “To the work! To the work! There is labor for all.”

  —1869 hymn lyrics by Fanny Crosby

  Before breakfast, Shaw pulled on his hat and made his way across the yard to milk and feed animals. From the kitchen window, Alafair watched him trudge, head-down, away from the house until he disappeared into the barn.

  Sophronia ran into the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts, and it suddenly occurred to Alafair that Charlie had not come in for breakfast. He was always the first one into the kitchen after the bacon began to fry. Alafair went into the darkened parlor to check on him. She could just see his long shape on his bed in the back corner of the room, one stockinged foot sticking out from under the covers. She shook his shoulder, and he lifted his head enough to squint at her out of one half-closed eye.

  “Is it morning already?”

  “It sure is, sleepyhead. You feeling all right? It’s not like you to lie abed.”

  He turned over onto his back and groaned. “I reckon I stayed up too late arguing politics.”

  “Well, you better get up and around or them cows will go to lowing to beat all. Daddy is on his way to the barn, and I expect Gee Dub and Robin are already there.”

  Alafair went back into the kitchen, and Charlie swung his legs off the bed and sat himself up. He stretched, yawned, and scrubbed his hands through his mess of blond hair, leaving it sticking up every which way. Blanche sniffed at his appearance as she passed by, a ghostly figure in the half-light. “You look like a pretty untidy haystack.”

  Charlie curled his lip at her witticism, but made a half-hearted attempt to comb his hair with his fingers. He rubbed his cheek hopefully, but it felt no more whiskery than it had yesterday. He sighed, envious of Gee Dub’s newfound ability to sprout stubble. Oh, well, he expected he should be used to trailing along in his older brother’s wake by now. He reached for the trousers he had thrown over the foot of the bedstead the night before, stood up and pulled them on before tossing off his cotton nightshirt. Grace and Bacon streaked through the parlor, eager for breakfast, and nearly knocked Charlie backwards onto the bed. He mumbled something under his breath that he hoped his mother had not heard, before he trod into the kitchen in his stocking feet, buttoning his work shirt.

  Grace was pouring syrup on her bowl of oatmeal, and Sophronia and Blanche were already well along with breakfast. Charlie felt a pang of irritation that he was the only male left in this nest of females. Alafair looked over at him from the stove. “Grab a biscuit and put on your hat before you go out, son.”

  The smell of bacon made his stomach growl, but Charlie made do by finishing off the biscuit in two bites. “I reckon I’d better get out to the barn with Daddy and them.”

  Alafair didn’t look at him, but she could feel his aura of discontent from across the room. She frowned over the frying eggs. “Why don’t you take your uncle Robin fishing after church? It’ll be a nice break for you before you have to start your new job of work on Monday.”

  “I want to go, too!” Sophronia cried. “Why can’t I go?”

  “Nobody said you can’t.” Charlie sounded exasperated, but the idea of fishing intrigued him, and his mood lifted.

  Sophronia continued her plaint. “Y’all never let me come. Can I come?”

  “Ain’t decided to go, yet.”

  “Looks like it might rain a bit this afternoon,” Alafair said. “There’s good fishing when it’s cloudy and cooler.”

  Sophronia nodded her agreement. “After a rain, there’s like to be lots of crawlers for bait.”

  “Well, I’ll see what Daddy says.” Charlie absently picked up a second biscuit and bit it. “I could try out that new pole I got stretching in the barn.”

  “Right now you’ve got chores to do,” Alafair said, “so y’all better get to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Congress has provided that the nation shall be organized for war by selection; that each man shall be classified for service in the place to which it shall best serve the general good to call him.”

  —President Wilson on the Selective Service Act, 1917

  Once the war started, most of the young men in Boynton were full of fire and ready to join up and kill the Bosch. And if some weren’t, they generally kept their mouths shut about it. Trenton Calder, beloved of Ruth Tucker and deputy to Scott Tucker, was as hot-blooded about the war as the next young man. But with every able-bodied male in town rushing off to sign up, Scott had asked Trent if he would wait a few months to enlist, just until he could get someone to take the deputy’s place who was too old or too married to serve in the armed forces. Trent wasn’t optimistic that his boss would find someone who’d do it for what the town was willing to pay, not somebody with any brains, anyway. But Scott had been so good to him over the years that he said he’d wait until after the draft lottery. In the end, both men knew that if Trent’s number did not come up, he would be off to Muskogee to join up before the next week was out.

  The imminent change in his circumstance had gotten Trenton Calder to thinking. He was sure his number would be picked. He never for a minute expected that God would allow him to miss his chance to be a hero.

  If he went away to war, he’d be gone for two years. He needed to consider the state of his relationship with Ruth.

  Ever since she got back from her music course in Muskogee, Ruth had been living with her mentor Beckie MacKenzie, and had taken over Mrs. MacKenzie’s business of teaching music to the local youth. Since she now lived so close, Ruth frequently walked into Boynton to visit Trent at the jailhouse, or to have a meal with him at the Newport Cafe. Sometimes he was even invited to take supper at Mrs. MacKenzie’s grand house just north of town, or to accompany Ruth out to her parents’ farm for Sunday dinner.

  He loved her dearly. But until he made something of himself and could support her properly, he had been hesitant to declare himself. He was sitting with his feet on his desk in the sheriff’s office, pondering his dilemma, when the object of his consideration walked in. Ruth smiled at him as his boots hit the floor with a clunk.

  Something about the way she looked at him with that quirky smile and “you can’t fool me” expression made his cheeks hot. He stood up.

  “Hello, darlin’, you look mighty pretty,” he said. “What blows you into town?” He restrained himself from smacking his palm against his forehead at the lame remark.

  Ruth stifled a smile and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. “I thought I’d come by and see if you want to escort me to church.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but Scott asked me to hang around the office today and keep an eye on the draft-dodger we got locked up. He rode out to Win Avey’s a while ago to arrest him for brawling last night.”

  “Who’s your draft-dodger? Anybody I know?”

  “Naw, some fellow from Oktaha name of Pip James.”

  “Are you going to be at the Liberty Sing on Friday?”

  Trent grinned. “I better be there. Wouldn’t want anybody to think I was an unpatriotic public servant. Maybe we can go to the shindig together.”

  Ruth liked the idea. “That would be fine.”

  “What time shall I come by for you on Friday?”

  “I’ll be ready about four.�
� Ruth stood, but looked back over her shoulder at him before she left. Her expression was grave. “It could be they won’t call your number.” She sounded wistful, but that’s not the way Trent heard it.

  He didn’t intend for her to think him a coward. “I’ll enlist, then. You won’t find me sitting around, trying to think of ways to get out of it. ”

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  The light finally dawned, and he stood up from his chair and took her hand. “I wish there wasn’t a war at all.” He said it because he knew that’s what would please her to hear, but he was thinking about how exciting it was going to be to see Paris. “But there is, and I can’t leave other folks to do my fighting for me.”

  She looked down at her hands again, unsure how to reply to that. So she changed the subject. “My mother’s brother showed up on our doorstep a couple of days ago, and I expect he’ll be lingering for a week or so. ”

  He blinked at the conversational shift. “Your mother must be pleased. I don’t believe I’ve ever met any of your ma’s folks. How long has it been since you’ve seen your uncle?”

  “This is the first time in ten years that any of us have seen Uncle Robin. He travels a lot.”

  “Robin? Your uncle is called Robin?” His tone indicated that he thought that a strange name for a grown man.

  “Well, his name is Robert Gunn, but so is my grandfather’s and his father’s, and his father before him, so the family calls my uncle ‘Robin.’ I think most everybody else calls him Rob. Just like Robert Burns. Miz Beckie told me Robert Burns was called Robin when he was a boy. Rantin’, rovin’ Robin.” Ruth’s laugh was ironic. “Rantin’ and rovin’ indeed. That’s my uncle Robin to a fare-thee-well. He’s like a swallow, Mama says, just spends his life on the wing and never alights anywhere.”

  Trent listened to Ruth’s description of her uncle with interest, even though he had no idea who this Robert Burns was. “What does your uncle do for a living that takes him on the road so much?”

  “He’s a…” Ruth hesitated. Many people had no use for Robin’s line of work, and tender-hearted as he was, Trent was quite conservative. But there was no point in dodging the truth.“He served in the Army for a long time, mostly in the Philippines. But for the past several years, he’s been a union organizer for the Industrial Workers of the World. The Army took him all over the world, and now the union takes him all over the United States.”

  Trent’s eyes widened. “A Wobblie.”

  Ruth looked him up and down, gauging his disapproval. “Yes, Trent, and you can wipe that look off your face. It is my opinion that I should allow my fellow humans their peccadilloes and hope they would allow me mine.”

  Trent did not immediately realize he was being chastised. “I hope he isn’t spouting anti-war nonsense to folks who aren’t smart enough to see that we have to go to war now, after what the Germans have done to us.”

  “Now, Trent, Uncle Robin is a good man and he’s only here for a short visit to see family. He’s helping Daddy with the farm, and he assures Mama that he has no intention of doing union work while he’s here.”

  “I hope not, honey! I’d hate to have to arrest my sweetheart’s uncle for rabble-rousing.”

  Ruth withdrew her hand from his grasp. “I don’t agree with my uncle, but it’s not illegal to belong to a union, Trent. At least not yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Yet will I be avenged of you.”

  —Judges 15:7

  Scott’s first order of business that morning was to arrest Win Avey for putting a dent in the head of Rose Lovelock’s bouncer, Dave. He would be glad to have Avey behind bars before the Liberty Sing, anyway. Especially now that he knew there were socialists and draft-dodgers in town. Win had no tolerance for liberal thinkers. In fact Win was altogether too free with his fists—and whatever else he could pick up—to mix peacefully with anyone who held an opinion that differed from his own.

  Scott backed his automobile out of the shed behind his house that he used for a garage. The auto was a 1913 model Paige touring car that he had bought used from Hattie’s cousin’s husband, who owned a dealership in Muskogee. He had been petitioning the town council for years to buy an auto for the use of anyone on official business. But the council had turned deaf ears for so long that he finally broke down and bought one for himself. He was proud of his shiny vehicle with its convertible top, and glad that it would remain in his possession after he was no longer in the employ of the town of Boynton. He didn’t drive it much. A horse was usually more practical in his line of work. But in this case Scott was pretty sure that it would be easier to transport Win if he was trussed up hand and foot and tossed into the backseat. If he was lucky, Win’s accomplice Victor Hayes had gone home with him, and Scott could pick them both up at once.

  Avey rented one of the little cabins owned by Frank Ober, the manager of the brick plant just north of town. Ober had created a small company camp outside the plant for workers who had no families and no homes of their own. The cabins were one-room affairs, but decent, and Ober didn’t charge much in the way of rent. As he drove the quarter-mile out of town, Scott wondered if Win would even remember much of the events of the night before. He might have to be reminded. He had been pretty drunk. However, he had managed to give a good account of himself in the fight. If he had his wits about him enough to realize that Scott wasn’t going to let it go, Win may very well have legged it out of the county last night.

  Most of the renters had left for church or to spend Sunday with kin, so the camp was fairly deserted. Scott thought nothing of it when he saw that the front door of Win’s cabin was standing wide open. People often left their doors and windows open on hot nights, and considering how much Win had imbibed the night before, Scott would have been surprised if he was up and about at this early hour.

  He parked the Paige and sat there for a moment, watching the open door for activity inside. He stepped out of the car and walked up onto the low stoop where he stopped outside the door.

  “Win Avey,” he called. “You in there?”

  Scott took a moment to listen for movement before he tried again. “Win, I aim to take you in for brawling, and Victor too, if he’s in there. Come on out peaceable, now, and don’t make me come in there after you.”

  No answer. He could see part of the interior of the cabin. A table with no chairs, and the foot of a camp bed. No human legs at the end of the bed. Win had likely gotten smart and taken off. Scott frowned and drew his sidearm before he stepped inside. He had been ambushed before and he didn’t fancy a repeat of the experience.

  Win was there, all right, hanging by his feet at the end of a rope slung over a ceiling beam. His throat had been cut, and he had bled all over the floor like a slaughtered animal. Scott recognized the bulky body and dark hair, and the clothes that Pip James had slashed up with a razor the night before. He wouldn’t have been able to identify the face. It had been beaten to an unrecognizable pulp.

  Scott breathed an oath and made a cursory search of the room before sliding his pistol back into the holster. Victor was not there. Scott put his hands on his hips and gazed at the floor, thinking. Pip James hadn’t done it. He had been behind bars when Win met his maker. Victor Hayes? But why? They were compatriots. Which didn’t mean Scott wasn’t going to haul Victor in for questioning.

  Even so, Scott knew the reason Win Avey had died, as plain as if God himself had whispered the answer into his ear. Win’s brutal form of patriotism had outraged the wrong person.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Woe be to the man or group of men

  that seeks to stand in our way.”

  —Woodrow Wilson, June 1917

  Scott cut down Win Avey’s body, laid it on the bed, and covered it with a blanket before driving to the brick plant and informing Eric Bent, the Sunday shift supervisor, of what had happened. Bent sent his nephew Henry B
lackwood to the cottage to stand watch outside while Scott drove back into town. He rousted Mr. Lee, the undertaker, to retrieve Win’s earthly remains. then sent Trenton Calder to relieve Henry and secure the scene of the crime.

  His next order of business was to call on the newly elected mayor, Mr. Jehu H. Ogle. Since it was Sunday, he went by the mayor’s home, but Mrs. Ogle told him that her husband had had an early visitor and the two had gone to the office rather than discuss business at home.

  Mr. Ogle’s office was located on Main Street above the Elliot and Ober Theater, where he practiced law with his partner Abner Meriwether when he wasn’t engaged in the affairs of the town. Scott climbed the stairs and walked into Mr. Ogle’s private chambers without announcement.

  Scott sighed when he saw Ogle’s visitor. Emmanuel Clover stood up from his chair in front of Ogle’s desk. A look of relief passed over the mayor’s face when he recognized Scott. Scott wasn’t sure how long the relief would last when he gave the mayor his news.

  Ogle gestured toward the chair that Clover had just vacated. “Have a seat, Scott. Mr. Clover was just on his way out.”

  Clover turned to leave, but Scott held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary, J.H. I reckon he’d better hear what I have to say. I found Win Avey hanging from a rafter at his house this morning. He’s been murdered. Throat cut.” There was no use to beat around the bush.

  Both men made surprised noises, and Clover sank back into his chair. Scott continued before the questions started. “I don’t know what happened yet. I just found him not an hour ago. But he was involved in a scuffle with a W.C.U. member last night. I arrested the Red last night, so he didn’t do it, but I fear he’s come to town with some of his cronies to make trouble over the draft lottery. I don’t know who all the rest of them are, but I’ll try to root them out before the lottery. I can’t guarantee to get them all, though. So I’m here to…strongly suggest…that the town cancel the Liberty Sing. Win has pals of his own, you know. And after what happened, I expect if those two packs of troublemakers get together there will be a right old hullabaloo. And I’d just as soon…”