Reconstructing Jackson
Page 21
“I will keep you safe and free from worry as long as I’m able. I love you, Belle.”
Chapter Seventeen
May 1, 1868
“Mr. Jackson!” the sheriff called as he crossed the street. “Mr. Jackson!”
Reed turned his chair. “Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“How’s Mrs. Jackson?” the sheriff asked and propped one foot on the step to the court house.
“Very well, Sheriff, I’ll make sure I tell her you asked about her,” Reed said. “I’m headed home now to make sure she’s taking her afternoon nap. We’re expecting this child to make its appearance any day now.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s well and recovered from all of her injuries last fall.”
Reed nodded and eyed the sheriff. Little had been said about Jed’s disappearance, although Reed knew that Belle’s father had visited the sheriff’s office more than once to inquire after any on-going investigation.
“Speaking of which,” the sheriff said. “Thomas Davis was hunting rabbit yesterday out past your house. He found the strangest thing.”
“I don’t know Mr. Davis. Is he a neighbor of mine?”
“His parcel’s just south of the Richard’s place.”
Reed grabbed the wheels of his chair. “I’ve got to get moving. Mrs. Jackson is expecting me.”
“I’ll walk along with you then,” the sheriff said. “I heard you’ve been walking some with your wooden leg. Quite an accomplishment.”
“Mrs. Jackson and Dr. Lowell have been in cahoots for a few months working to get my right leg strong enough and to learn balance with the wooden leg in order to get me upright on occasion like the day I spoke about the need for the new wing of the hospital. I’m not the only veteran who has lost a limb and needs specialized recuperation.”
“I never realized how tall you were until that day,” the sheriff said and tipped his hat to a woman passing them on the sidewalk. “You’re probably six foot or more.”
“Six foot one,” Reed said.
“Must have been quite an imposing figure on the battlefield.”
“My men didn’t follow me into battle out of fear, Sheriff,” Reed said.
“No. I don’t imagine they did.”
Reed opened his fence gate. “Nice chatting with you, Sheriff. Now I must get in to Mrs. Jackson.”
“That buggy looks like it belongs to Dr. Lowell. Walk with me a bit further while the doc is with your missus.”
Reed stared up at the sheriff’s unyielding face and was fairly certain what Mr. Davis had found in the woods while he was out hunting for rabbits. “For any particular reason?”
“Let’s just say that there’s a story I want to tell you and hear what you think of it. Lawman to lawyer.”
Not far down the road the sheriff stopped and pointed to the path leading into the woods. “Ever been back there?” he asked.
Reed nodded. “Yes, I have been many times. But not recently.”
The sheriff nodded. “I thought I saw wheel ruts near a tree that’s fallen across the path.”
“The fallen tree has broken limbs I have used to pull myself in and out of my wheel chair as my leg has become stronger.”
The sheriff looked around and pushed his hat back on his head. “Be a hell of a thing if you fell or something. Take some time to get out to the main road if you couldn’t get to your chair.”
Reed wheeled down the path following the sheriff. “I admit I’m vain. I didn’t want my new bride seeing me struggling and falling any more than she has to every day. I take my dog with me though, for that very reason. He’d get Nathan and come back for me if I fell.”
They arrived at the tree, and the sheriff touched Reed’s hand holds. “Huh.”
“What exactly did Mr. Davis find that was so very interesting,” Reed asked.
The sheriff turned to the east side of the path. “See down in there twenty-five feet or so? There’s a body lying down there. One of the deputies is going to bring the undertaker here this afternoon and retrieve it.”
“A body? How long do you think it’s been there?”
The sheriff turned and stared. “I imagine it’s been there since last October.”
“Fairly decomposed then, over winter weather,” Reed said and met the sheriff’s eyes.
“It is. We may have never known who it was but that I recognized the boots still on the skeleton as Jed Richards’s. I made him take them off when he stood trial ‘cause he was stomping around in his cell, kicking the bars and the bed,” the sheriff said. “He handed them to me that day, and I was surprised at the leather work. He must have paid a pretty penny for them boots.”
“Well, this news will be some closure for Mr. Richards,” Reed said. “I imagine he always wondered.”
Reed turned his chair and started back down the path.
“Funny thing is, there’s a hole in the back of the skull. Like he got shot.”
“Really?” Reed said and turned back to the sheriff now standing twenty or so feet away, still leaning on the fallen tree. “We shouldn’t be surprised, though, should we? Jed’s association with that man stealing and ferrying children to willing buyers must have proven as dangerous for him as it was for the children sold into a life of slavery.”
The sheriff nodded. “I ‘spect if I look around these woods, I’d find Sam Washburn too.”
“Perhaps. Criminals tend to migrate to other criminals, Sheriff,” Reed said.
The sheriff caught up to Reed and stood quietly, looking around the woods and up and down the path and back again to the fallen tree. He looked down at Reed. “You’re right, Mr. Jackson. Jed Richards came to a violent death stemming from a lifetime of cruelty and nefarious deeds.”
“Judgment for Jed will come at the hands of his maker,” Reed said. “And so will mine.”
February 3, 1872
Dear Mother,
I was sorry to receive your letter telling us that Father has passed away. Although we had our disagreements to the end, his passing has saddened me, and I’m sure you are missing him desperately. We are glad to hear that Winston and Belinda have been able to make a success of Bristolwood. It would pain me considerably to think of our family home in the hands of another.
My law practice has continued to succeed as the town and surrounding area has grown. There is talk that my name will be on the county ballot as a candidate for judge. I believe I would much enjoy that position if elected and am told that since the other attorney in town has been arrested on charges of fraud, my chances are good. You may have to address your next letter to Judge Jackson and will have something to brag about when you write your brother in Boston.
Henry and Mary Ellen are doing well, and we visit with them often. They have remained childless and dote on ours constantly. We also are friendly with the doctor in town and his wife and have been asked to help with the finances of the new wing for the Fenton County Hospital. While nothing compared to our families’ social obligations before the war, we are, nonetheless, busy and active in our community.
Belle remains the joy of my life and manages our home, even during two sizable additions, with grace and charm and happiness. Against all odds, we two wounded souls have comforted each other through bleak times to a new day and have found a deep abiding love.
Nathan is fifteen now, and I have been corresponding with the chancellor of a small school in Ohio, Oberlin College, that accepts Negroes for studies. He is a very bright young man and is a constant help to his mother and me. Franklin is nearly six years old, with a temper and an ornery streak reminiscent of us boys when we were young. He is also a bright young man, constantly taking things apart and putting them back together.
Although I love both boys, Baby Lily has stolen my heart. She follows me everywhere and holds my face still to give me kisses when I come home from the courthouse. She is a picture of beauty just like her mother and grandmother. Mary Ellen never fails to come to our house without a new dress or coat for Lily, and Belle and she dress her
up and brush her hair and make her look more like a princess than you would think possible.
Belle and I would both love for you to travel here and consider staying for some months. Now that there are additional bedrooms, you could come and get to know the children. Belle’s father and brother visit occasionally, but I find I really would like my children to know and understand where I came from, and I’m sure they would be interested to hear about your time in the South as a young wife and mother.
I must sign off now, as I can hear Belle calling me for dinner. I do not take for granted that I stand up out of my chair and walk to the kitchen with only my cane as an aid. God has surely taken me from the darkest depths of my life to find peace and joy with my family. I have been redeemed.
With all my love and sympathies, your son,
Reed
A Note to Readers
Did you enjoy Reed and Belle’s story? If so, I’d be grateful if you would recommend Reconstructing Jackson to your friends on social-networking sites and blogs and in ‘reader reviews’ on Amazon or wherever you purchased this book. I love to hear from my readers – feel free to stop by www.hollybushbooks.com and send a message or leave a comment on my guest book. Follow me on Twitter @hollybushbooks or find me on my Face Book page at Holly Bush. Thank you!
About the Author
Holly Bush was born in western Pennsylvania to two avid readers. There was not a room in her home that did not hold a full bookcase. She worked in the hospitality industry, owning a restaurant for twenty years, and recently worked as the sales and marketing director in the hospitality/tourism industry and is credited with building traffic to capacity for a local farm tour, bringing guests from twenty-two states, booked two years out. Holly has been a marketing consultant to start-up businesses and has done public speaking on the subject.
Holly has been writing all of her life and is a voracious reader of a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, particularly political and historical works. She has written four romance novels, all set in the U.S. West in the mid 1800’s. She frequently attends writing conferences, and has always been a member of a writer’s group.
Holly is a gardener, a news junkie, and vice-president of her local library board and loves to spend time near the ocean. She is the proud mother of two daughters and the wife of a man more than a few years her junior.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
A Note to Readers
About the Author