"One phone call," Luke lazily echoed with a smirk. "Yeah, that's all it will take, Buddy." He emphasized his words to irritate. "Just one phone call to the Klan to tell them all about your negro mistress and the son you had by her, and that should take care of everything."
Buddy's face changed from red to pasty white. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," he said feebly. "This isn't funny."
"The Klan won't think so, either. Tell me, do you think they'll stop at burning a cross in front of your house?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. "Nah. I think they'll do more than that. After all, we both know you're real big in the Klan, and they won't take it lightly. Uh-uh. Not at all. They might do to you what folks say they did to Cubby Riddle."
Buddy's hands dropped protectively to his crotch. "Oh, no, please don't tell anybody."
"No one has to know as long as you cooperate."
Buddy's head snapped up. "What do you want? Money?" he asked, excitement flashing. "Listen, you name it. Any amount, and..."
Luke was quick to burst that bubble of hope. "It's not about money. When we get where we're going, I'll explain what you've got to do to keep your skeletons in your closet."
"I... I don't have a choice," Buddy said, more to himself than Luke.
Luke nodded and smiled. He had been waiting a long time for this moment. "That's right. You don't. Now let's go."
* * *
Luke had driven out to Hampton Pond many times since the night his mother told him everything. He would park for long hours in the weed-choked drive, chest tight with pain as he thought of how horrible it must have been for her on that cold night back in 1939.
Buddy had eventually bought a vacation house over on Lake Martin, and the old cabin had fallen to ruin. Kudzu vines, which would not let go till the first frost, had covered everything with a thick, green shroud. The boarded-up windows were barely visible. One end of the porch roof had collapsed, and the rest looked like it might give way any time.
"Why did you bring me here?" Buddy called nervously as he got out of his car and hurried towards him.
"It's deserted... a good place for us to talk." Luke stood in front of the cabin, thinking how his mother had probably screamed over and over that night, and now the echo of her torment was burrowed deep within the rotting timbers. There had been no one to hear her then except her attackers, just as there was no one to hear Buddy's screams now should Luke decide to dig his thumbs in his throat and squeeze till his eyeballs popped.
"Please...".Buddy clamped a hand on his shoulder. "A lot of innocent people will be hurt if you..."He trailed to a groan of pain as Luke carefully, slowly, wrapped his fingers around his wrist in a paralyzing grip.
"Inside. Now." He gave him a shove, and Buddy began running toward the cabin, stumbling as he looked back over his shoulder, his face a mask of panic. Picking his way across the rotting porch, he tore at the kudzu in a frenzy as he pleaded, "You can't tell the Klan. You just can't. Please..."
He tried to open the door, but it was locked. "We can't get in," he said shrilly. "I don't have a key."
Luke walked up on the porch, shoved Buddy aside, and, with one powerful kick, broke the door down. Grabbing Buddy by the nape of his neck, he shoved him inside. Buddy went tumbling across the room to slam against the table and fall to his knees but quickly recovered to scramble back up.
Luke pushed him into a rickety chair next to the table. Towering over him, he accused, "You gave the order to have Ocie Rhoden's arm broken, didn't you?"
Buddy's head swung like a pendulum. "No. No, I swear."
"Don't lie to me."
Perspiration beaded Buddy's forehead. He licked his lips, tried to find his voice and finally squeaked, "Yes, but I had to do something to shut him up. He was pushing for the union."
"You're going to pay for what you did." Luke bit his tongue to keep from saying that he was also going to pay for something else. But Luke did not want Buddy, or anybody else, to find out he knew about his mother's rape. "You're also going to pay for your hypocrisy, for all the years you've been part of the Klan, pretending to look down on negroes when all the time you were sleeping with one... fathering a child."
Perspiration beaded Buddy's forehead. "What do you mean?"
"The mill has problems even the union will have a hard time fixing, and something has to be done about it."
Again, Buddy shook his head. "I don't understand."
"I'm talking race relations, and I think the person to fix things might be your son, Archie Swain. And what better choice? I understand he graduated from Tuskeegee after four years on the Dean's list. So you're going to hire him and give him a title like, oh, Senior Vice-President for Labor and Race Relations, something like that. And he'll have an irrevocable mandate from you to bring management of the plant into the 20th century. Not only will you give your blessings to the employees voting on the union if that's what they want, but you're also going to give your son free rein to have equal treatments for the coloreds. Equal pay for equal work. No more separate water fountains. No outdoor toilets."
Luke leaned so close Buddy could feel his breath on his face. "And all the while, you are going to stay on as President. But, of course, you'll see to it Archie eventually gets controlling stock or whatever it takes for him to have his share after you've gone to hell."
Buddy's stomach lurched. He put his hand to his mouth, feeling sick. "I... I don't think I can do that. I mean, what will people say? My wife? My family?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can come out of this smelling like a rose, Buddy. You can make yourself look real magnanimous, paving the way for equal opportunities for all races. I'm sure you can carry it off."
Buddy's eyes narrowed as it dawned, and anger swept the fear away. "It was Murline, wasn't it? She told you. It had to be her."
"No, I've been following you for months. Oh, I tried to worm stuff out of her in the beginning, but she was tight as a tick, claimed she didn't know a thing about your personal life." His brow furrowed in a mock frown. "Now it pisses me off to think she lied. Maybe she's in the Klan, too."
"No, no, believe me, she isn't," Buddy all but shouted as he suddenly felt the need to protect her. "She never knew anything, I swear it. I just thought maybe she'd been in my papers or something."
Luke squinted as he pretended to consider that Buddy might be telling the truth, finally conceding, "Well, she did sound awful convincing.
"Anyway," Luke said, walking towards the door, "You can think about how you're going to get the wheels in motion while you're walking the five miles or so back to your car."
He gave a little salute and disappeared among the kudzu vines.
PART III
Chapter 28
Late November, 1969
Luke moaned, ever so softly. Alma frowned. She was making a stitch picture of a garden scene, and the French knots in the center of the daisies were very difficult. She kept cutting the thread too close to the fabric, snipping the knot itself and having to start over. Every time Luke moaned, it made things worse. The doctors said it was normal for somebody in a coma to make noises once in a while, but it really got on her nerves.
She had been there since early morning, having relieved Violet Bradley. The ladies in the church had been real good about sitting with Luke during the night, but Alma suspected they weren't altogether motivated by Christian goodness. Instead they were probably hoping they'd be there if he woke up so they could hear whatever he might say. She wanted to do the same, which was why she'd taken a leave of absence from work to stay all day. She'd have liked to also stay nights, but that was just too much. Tammy needed her, too.
Alma was glad Burch Cleghorn, who'd been appointed Emma Jean's lawyer by the court, was going to plead her guilty. He told the Veazey family at first he thought about sending her off for testing to see if she were crazy. If so, he would have her plead not guilty by reason of insanity. But he said Emma Jean didn't want to drag things out, that she had known what she was d
oing when she killed Rudy and was ready to take her punishment. He said he thought that was best because the longer the case dragged out, the longer it would be till the family could start getting over it.
Everybody liked Burch for that, including Alma. He could have run up his bill to the county but instead was thinking of Rudy's family and the taxpayers. Now lots of them were saying maybe the awful thing that happened in the baptismal pool wasn't really his fault. Maybe somebody wanting revenge for him having beat them in court had somehow drugged him and set him up.
He had come to the hospital one day to ask Alma how she felt about things. She hadn't minced words, declaring she hoped the little whore fried for what she did, murdering her own husband, trying to murder hers.
Luke made another noise, like a sigh. Alma glanced at him, thinking how she despised him and when all this was over with, and he was back on his feet, things were going to be different. Licking the end of the thread, she ran it through the needle's eye after the third try. First off, he was going to give up being sheriff. After all that had happened he'd never get reelected, anyway. And Matt was doing a good job of taking over. There was talk of him doing it permanently. So Luke could just get a job at the mill.
He moaned again, and Alma gave up and tossed her embroidery aside. She leaned back and closed her eyes and thought about how the weeks since the shooting all seemed to run together: trips to and from Birmingham, people coming and going from the church, food eaten off paper plates, drinking awful coffee from a machine.
Mr. Hampton had been real good about giving her time off, but sooner or later she'd have to return to work. The insurance might not cover all the hospital and doctor bills.
Luke made another sound, louder this time, like he was trying to say something.
"Oh, Lordy," Alma cried, bounding to her feet to realize he was awake and looking at her. "Oh, dear Lord. I gotta get somebody."
She rang the call bell for the nurse, then ran to fling the door open to yell, "Somebody get in here quick."
Sara had been sitting outside the door and stood to fearfully cry, "Oh, no. Is he worse?"
Alma glared at her. "It's none of your business, and what are you doing back here, anyway? I told you, you aren't going to see him."
"And I told you—Luke is my friend, and sooner or later I will see him."
"I've had it with you, bitch." Alma slapped her, and, for an instant, Sara could only stare at her in astonishment. Then her own rage took over. She was about to return the blow when firm fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she twisted about to see a man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck.
"What is going on here?" the doctor asked, looking from Sara to Alma in disgust. "This is a hospital. Take your cat fights outside."
"Don't pay her no mind, doctor," Alma grabbed his arm and drew him into the room, closing the door in Sara's face. Pointing at Luke, who now lay very still with eyes closed, she whispered so Sara wouldn't hear, "He was awake a minute ago. He opened his eyes, and it sounded like he was trying to say something."
He pressed a buzzer by the bed and soon nurses and more doctors arrived.
Outside, it did not take Sara long to figure out what was going on. Luke was waking up, thank God. But Alma was determined not to let her anywhere near him. The ladies who sat with him at night stood fast, also. But still she tried, hoping he would come around so she could find a way to let him know Emma Jean desperately needed his help. Sara didn't believe for one minute she had shot him. As for her killing Rudy, that had to have been self-defense.
Several times Sara had tried to visit her at the jail, only to be told she refused to see anybody. Matt had taken her there straight from the emergency room. Burch hadn't asked for bail, claiming she wouldn't be safe if she were released on bond because of Rudy's family.
A nurse came to ask Sara to leave, saying she was upsetting the family. Sara took her purse and went to the end of the T-shaped hall and found a bench where she would be out of sight of Luke's room. She would have to play Johnny-jump up to keep an eye on things, but that didn't matter. She had to be around to take advantage of any opportunity to try and slip into his room when nobody was around. She also had an ulterior motive besides helping Emma Jean, because, without Luke around, Burch would go back to blackmailing her and making her life miserable.
The day wore on. She ate the pimento cheese sandwich she'd brought from home. She wished for a Coca-Cola to wash it down but the snack bar was in the basement, and she wasn't about to leave and go down there. It was bad enough when she had to go to the bathroom, always worried she would miss a chance to see Luke.
She felt her first stab of hope when Matt arrived. He had been real good about keeping her informed on how Luke was doing, not that there had been much to report.
After a half hour or so, he came out of Luke's room. Sara followed him, waiting till he was in the parking lot before grabbing his arm to ask in a frenzy, "Is he really awake, Matt? Is he talking? What did he say? And did you get a chance to tell him about Emma Jean?"
"Hey, calm down, Sara." He gave her shoulder a pat.
"I have to know how he is."
"He's waking up, but it's going to take a while for him to come around completely."
Sara was trembling in her desperation to make him understand. "Matt, we're running out of time. He's the only one who can save Emma Jean."
He ran agitated fingers through his crew cut. "Sara, we've been over this again and again. Emma Jean is not on trial for shooting Luke."
"And I've told you," she persisted, "Luke can testify how Rudy beat her, and then everybody will know she did it in self-defense."
"And I've told you," he said, "she admits she did it. I've also tried to make you understand it's best to leave Luke out of this for the sake of his family. There's been enough gossip."
"You know she didn't shoot Luke."
"No, and I'm hoping when he wakes up he can tell me who did. But I want you to stay out of it. The trial is set for next week. Let's hope it's over with quick so the healing can begin for everybody."
"That soon? But why?"
"Burch pushed for a quick trial date for the sake of everybody concerned."
"No. He did it for his sake, because he's hoping by sacrificing Emma Jean when everyone is screaming for blood that they'll forget about him in the baptism pool, the hypocritical son of a bitch."
Matt had never seen her so mad. "Gosh, Sara, what's got you so riled? Why do you care what folks think about Burch?"
"You wouldn't understand. Now will you help me get in to see Luke so I can tell him about Emma Jean?"
Matt shook his head. "I can't do that, Sara. Alma just asked me if she can get some kind of restraining order to keep you away from the hospital. I had to tell her I'll see what I can do. Sorry."
"Thanks a lot," she quipped sarcastically. "And I guess you're going to continue to keep me from seeing Emma Jean, too."
"How many times do I have to tell you? She told Burch she didn't want any visitors."
"Well, I don't believe she told him anything except that she's innocent. The lying son of a bitch is going to see she's convicted because he thinks it will make him some kind of hero. And I can't believe you're helping him, Matt. You're as disgusting as he is."
She turned on her heel and walked away.
* * *
Sara waited till well after midnight to leave the house. The children were sound asleep, and Tim was working night shift. She parked in the alley behind the Bulldog Cafe, so her car would not be noticed if anyone was riding around at such an hour.
She saw the lights were on in the third floor of the courthouse. Floyd Dixon, the part-time jailer and also married to her second cousin, was also working. He was there because of Emma Jean, and so was she.
Entering the courthouse through the basement, she made her way upstairs. Floyd was asleep behind the desk, snoring loudly. The door to the narrow corridor between the barred cells was open. Stepping inside, she closed
it after her.
"Emma Jean," she called softly. "It's me, Sara."
There was no answer, and she walked past the cells to the one on the end, next to the window. A street light cast eery shadows, but she could make out a narrow cot against one wall, a toilet, sink, and, sitting on the floor staring up at the barred window was Emma Jean.
Sara used the back of her wedding right to tap on the bars. "Emma Jean, are you all right?"
The voice that responded was wispy as a dandelion. "Go away."
"Not till you talk to me. You're in big trouble, Emma Jean, because Burch wants you to go to prison for killing Rudy, but I know it was self-defense. And that's what you've got to tell them, and..."
"I don't care," Emma Jean whipped her head about to say defiantly, "and I just want to die. Now leave me alone."
Emma Jean looked like someone gone mad, her eyes dark and sunken, hair matted and wild about her stricken face. "My God, what have they done to you?"
"Nothing. They haven't done nothing. They leave me alone like I want you to do." She turned her face back to the window.
"I can't understand why you've given up. What about Luke? Don't you care about him, anymore? Good grief, honey, folks say you shot him, and I know you could never do that. He started waking up today. Alma won't let me in to see him, but I'll find a way. When he hears about you, he's going to want you to fight, and..."
Sara's voice trailed as she saw Emma Jean slowly, shakily, crawling toward the bars, one hand extended like a starving beggar groveling for a bread crumb.
"Luke is going to live? But they said he never would... that the doctors couldn't get the bullet out of his head, that he was going to die..."
Final Justice Page 32
