Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  She slipped into her coat, tied on her scarf, and struck out. No need carrying a hoe or a snake stick into the woods today. Too cold. Which meant snakes had more sense than people.

  At the edge of the yard, she ducked under the fence and slipped into the coolness of the surrounding forest. Despite being bone-tired, despite the way her man was acting, Sarah found herself enjoying her walk in the woods. On the trail worn there by Henry’s feet, she saw a few gathering birds and chasing squirrels, but the rabbits and deer were in hiding. She loved the wildlife in Jefferson–except the coons. They were funny to look at, yet true to their markings, they were bandits, every one. The rascals spent all their time stealing food from her garden, the feeding troughs, or Dickens’s dish.

  The sun had dared to peek through the clouds a couple of times during the past two weeks, its warmth a welcome relief. It seemed inclined to shine a bit today, but the overcast sky put up a stiff fight. A pity, since now the wind had picked up.

  Sarah walked until she came to a small clearing. The last storm had littered the area with fallen limbs. There were ample good-sized pieces for her to collect and fold into her apron, with plenty left for the next time. She’d have to try to remember the spot.

  She stood up to get her bearings. Unless she was mistaken, the Marshall Road lay to her right with Polk Street Bridge just a little ways up, which meant she was south of the Big Cypress Ferry. That put town straight ahead.

  She pulled up her collar and fastened the top button of her coat. The sun finally quit on her altogether, and the cloudy sky pitched the thickly wooded grove into near darkness. A chill crept up her spine that had little to do with the weather. The chattering squirrels had disappeared. The birds, too, if the silence meant anything. She found herself glancing up, willing the light to come back, because when the sun left, the joy went out of the walk. Sarah reckoned she’d best stop fooling around and finish gathering so she could get on back home.

  She spotted a perfect-sized limb near the ridge of a slight hill and bent to retrieve it. Then another she could reach without straightening. And one more just ahead.

  Still stooping close to the ground, Sarah’s hand closed around the crumbling stick as her eyes scanned the grassy mound ahead. Her body stopped so fast she jerked; then she fell back on her hands and crab-scrambled away.

  Dear God in heaven, don’t let it be!

  She felt helpless, defenseless down on her behind, so she fought to her feet, ripping the hem of her coat as she stood.

  Jesus, close my eyes! I don’t want to see this!

  If not for the wood bugs crawling on its eyes and from its nose, Sarah might’ve sworn the body was sleeping. Dressed like a lady, it rested on its back with one arm folded across its stomach. That was all Sarah took time to see.

  She longed to break and run but knew she mustn’t. Whoever did it might be watching. She forced herself to turn and walk away as if she hadn’t seen. Certain at any second the killer would lunge from behind, she pulled her chest forward until her shoulder blades popped. It seemed as if she could see, hear, smell a thousand times better as her darting gaze searched the woods.

  Just a little farther and she’d reach the Marshall Road. Just a few more steps to safety. She went a little faster. Three steps. Faster. Two more steps. Run!

  She burst onto the road with legs so weak she tripped and fell. A horse and rider came at her from the corner of her eye as she went down, and dread slammed into her chest. All the strength left her body just when she needed it. Limp, she tried to crawl, desperate hands clutching at woody stobs and tall tufts of grass to pull herself along. With the last ounce of might she could muster, she thrust her body from the ground and staggered away from the road in a panic.

  “Sarah!”

  She didn’t know the voice.

  “Sarah King!”

  He knew her name.

  She froze, swiping tears from her eyes with dirty palms to see. If she didn’t know his face, if he came for her, she’d outrun him if it meant sailing off into the bayou.

  “Sarah, come here, girl. Are you all right?”

  William Sims. The colonel’s son. Lived in a big house on Friou Street in town.

  She didn’t realize she held her breath until white spots swirled past her eyes and blackness loomed. She lifted her chest and gulped. Air flooded her lungs. Giddy, she went down hard on her bottom. “No, sir,” she gasped. “I ain’t all right a’tall. I need help.”

  He got off his horse and hurried to her side. “Are you hurt?”

  She motioned toward the woods with a trembling hand. “Mr. Sims, there’s a lady laid up in those woods. She’s dead.”

  His head jerked toward the grove. “Dead?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  He stood up and started for his horse. “Just sit right there. I’ll go for help.”

  She reached a grasping hand toward him. “No, sir. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

  He pointed his finger. “You do like I say. Stay here so we can find you. You’ll have to show them where it is.”

  Sarah ran up on the road and stared after the galloping horse. “Oh, please don’t leave me here,” she whispered. She whirled in a circle, searching the ditches, the bushes, the trees. When her eyes lit on the woods at the place where she’d burst through, she retreated to the opposite side of the Marshall Road, her eyes still fixed on the spot. Pulling her gaze away, she turned and ran a few feet, pressed her body against a tree, and slid to the ground. How would she ever go back in there?

  Well, I can’t! I won’t.

  She could leave. Run on home to Henry. Cook his food. Do his chores. Put this nightmare right out of her mind.

  But Mr. Sims knew who she was. And Mr. Sims told her to stay put.

  It seemed three lifetimes before clamoring hooves hit the Polk Street Bridge. Three men appeared on the road in front of her, Mr. Sims and two others.

  “Well, where is she?” one of them growled.

  Mr. Sims pushed back his hat. “I told her to stay here.”

  Sarah knew she’d better show her face. She stood. “I’m over here.”

  The big man scowled at her from across the way then motioned with his hand. “Well, come over here, then.”

  She pushed the brush aside and hustled over the road on shaky legs. The official-looking man looked straight at her but spoke to Mr. Sims. “What’d you say her name was?”

  “Sarah,” he said. “Sarah King.”

  The man tipped his hat. “Sarah, I’m Justice of the Peace C. C. Bickford, also the ex-officio coroner for Marion County. You can call me Judge Bickford.”

  She didn’t know what all the words meant, but the way he said them made her feel more and less afraid at the same time. Unable to speak, she stared up at him.

  He pointed at the man riding the other horse. “This here’s my constable, Mr. A. J. Stambaugh.”

  Sarah nodded at the constable.

  Judge Bickford cleared his throat. “I understand you ran across something amongst those trees.”

  She nodded again.

  “Speak up, now. If you think you found something, say so.”

  “I did find something. A dead woman.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re certain of that? It couldn’t have been an animal? A deer or wild hog? A bundle of trash, maybe?”

  “I’m right sure of what I saw.”

  Looking none too happy, he pointed at the tree line. “Sure enough to have us traipsing all over those woods?”

  Anger easing her fear, Sarah shook her head. “I can walk you straight to her.”

  The man chewed the inside of his lip, studying her hard, and then sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Leading a parade of white men on horseback into the woods had to be the most peculiar thing Sarah had ever done. Though less afraid in the company of the officers, she still checked over her shoulder every few steps to make sure they were still with
her.

  Glad she’d taken the time to get her bearings before she found the body, Sarah retraced her steps. She stopped within a few yards of the place where the woman lay and pointed ahead of them and to the left. “She’s over on that mound yonder. Do I have to go any farther?”

  They didn’t answer, just got down off their mounts and walked in the direction she’d pointed. When they stopped and leaned over the woman’s body, Sarah moved closer to the horses. She found comfort in the animals’ warmth and size, knowing they’d be the first to sense trouble.

  After the men looked around a bit, they hurried back. Mr. Sims looked sick to his stomach. The judge took off his hat, spat on the ground, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “How close did you come to the body?”

  “Not close.” Her voice faltered. “From here to that tree.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  She shuddered. “No, sir.”

  “What’s the first thing you did after you found her?”

  “I didn’t stay there at all. I left in a walk.”

  The constable laughed. “Likely the fastest walk ever performed in Jefferson.”

  The judge gave him a stern look, and he turned away, still smiling.

  Sarah couldn’t stop shaking. She clasped her hands together to keep them still then pressed them to her chin. “Can I go now?”

  The judge shook his head. “Not yet. I have to summon a jury and hold an inquest.”

  More words she didn’t know. “What’s an inquest?”

  “An inquiry of sorts. We’ll have to carry out an official investigation.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “When?”

  “Right now.”

  “Where?”

  He lifted his head to motion behind him. “Right over there.”

  Panic clawed at her throat. “And I have to stay?”

  “I need to ask you more questions. With the jury present.”

  “But, Judge, my husband needs me at home. He’s ailing. I didn’t even tell him I left.” She hadn’t remembered any of these details until she spoke them aloud. “Please, sir, can’t I go? This trouble ain’t got nothing to do with me.”

  “It does now. You’re an official witness. When we find out who did this, there’s going to be a trial. You’ll be called on to testify.”

  The overhead trees swirled. Sarah’s stomach took a sickening dive. White spots danced before her eyes again, and bitterness rose in her throat. The judge noticed, because he offered his arm and helped her sit on the ground. “I’m real sorry, Miss. . .now what was your name again?”

  She swallowed bile. “Sarah.”

  “Sarah. That’s right. Just settle yourself there and try to get comfortable, Sarah. This will all be over soon, and you can go see to your husband.”

  It wasn’t over soon. Judge Bickford found men to serve as his jury, but it took them forever to arrive. The judge, constable, and some other men searched the clearing, collecting things from the ground and writing them all in a book. Dr. Eason came, and she wanted him to tell the judge about Henry, but he barely took time to nod in her direction before he hurried over to kneel by the body.

  By the time the judge got around to questioning Sarah in front of the jury, she was faint from so many hours without food and water. He asked the same questions he had before, going round and round until her head whirled.

  Night approached, making it so murky in the grove that they stumbled over each other in the dark. Judge Bickford made the decision to bring in a hack to move the body to his office, where he would take up with his inquest the next day.

  At long last, Sarah was free to go–and she couldn’t get away fast enough. She took the road instead of the woods, but after going just a little ways, she realized she was alone in the dark.

  And the killer began to play games. He crept alongside her for a few steps, hiding in the trees to her right, his feet rustling grass and snapping twigs. He bobbed through the brush on the other side with a rattle of bare limbs and crunch of dry leaves. When he darted across the road in front of her, hunched over close to the ground, Sarah froze.

  Common sense whispered that the sounds were the critters she loved, startled from their wallows by her shuffling feet, and the darting figure was nothing more than a wild boar. But her shattered nerves and wounded spirit wouldn’t accept it.

  She turned to run back to the comforting voices and circles of lantern light bobbing through the forest but realized they were coming out of the woods behind her, heading in the opposite direction. The tears came then, flooding her eyes and causing her nose to pour. She didn’t dare cry aloud for fear the killer would hear and come after her. Pulling up her skirt, she started to run, the wind rushing past her ears, her long legs pumping in time with her heart. Sarah ran as fast as she could, sobbing the whole way, until she staggered onto the back porch.

  Henry opened the screen door with a crash and folded her into his arms. He squeezed her so tightly against his chest she feared he’d hurt his ribs. Or hers. “Where were you? Girl, I been out of my mind.”

  “Henry!” she wailed. “I tried to come back. They wouldn’t let me.” She reached for his face and found it wet.

  “Who? Who wouldn’t let you?”

  “Judge Bickford and his men.”

  Henry held her in the light streaming from the kitchen and studied her face. “Tell me where you went, Sarah.”

  “To fetch firewood.” She buried her face against his chest to block out the memory of crawling wood bugs. “There was a body. In the woods. I found it.”

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the house, though it must have caused him terrible pain. She let the tears come as loudly as they wished now. She was safe.

  Tuesday, February 6

  Bertha marked another X on Mama’s big wall calendar then stepped back to count the number of days since she’d last seen Thad. Sixteen. The age she’d been when she first set eyes on Thaddeus Bloom–a brash, giggly sixteen-year-old to his quiet and confident eighteen. Tomorrow she’d scratch off the seventeenth day. The age she was when he left town. The day after that, when she stepped up to the wall with her thick pencil, it would be eighteen days since Thad rode away without saying good-bye. Eighteen. The age she turned today.

  “Happy birthday, sprite!”

  Bertha leaped right out of her musings and almost out of her bloomers when Papa roared behind her.

  Laughing, he danced up and kissed the back of her head then hooked his finger around the tasseled shade and pulled it out for a peek. “ ’Tis a fine day for it, too. Will ye look at that? The sun’s out.”

  Mama bustled into the kitchen and grabbed her apron from a hook. “Well, it wasn’t shining eighteen years ago. We were shoveling snow that year, if memory serves.”

  “And they’ve been shoveling since, Emeline. It’s forever snowing in Maine.”

  Mama gathered Bertha for a tight hug and answered Papa across the top of her head. “I’ll ignore your derision for now and just say I’m glad we came south.” She took Bertha by the shoulders and gazed at her face. “Happy birthday, dear daughter. And many happy returns of the day.”

  “Thank you.” Bertha smiled and sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. She loved her mama before, but liked her much better now. It amazed Bertha the difference love could make in a woman’s heart if she allowed it to come in.

  Mama glanced at the newly crossed square on the calendar page, and a tiny frown perched on her brow. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe I did.”

  Her face softened and she nodded. “Francis, go gather eggs. I need three of the freshest you can find.”

  He winked at Bertha. “And they say slavery’s been abolished.”

  She laughed as he slipped on his coat and went out. Mama gathered measuring cups and spoons, flour, sugar, butter, and milk and arranged them around a big bowl on the counter. Then she stood with her finger pressed to her lips. “Where is my saleratus of baking soda?�
� She turned to Bertha. “Though I regret asking you to do extra on your special day, would you mind rolling out biscuits for breakfast? I’ve gotten a little ahead of myself, I think. But I wanted to get this done.”

  Bertha pretended not to know what she meant. “Get what done?”

  “Your cake, silly. For today’s celebration.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “We’re going to have a high time. “I’ve invited Magda’s family, of course. And the minister, along with our friends from church, our nearest neighbors, and your young friends from school. Oh yes, Moses and Rhodie Pharr. Can you think of who might be missing?”

  “Only one.”

  Mama paused from sifting sugar into her bowl. “Oh, Bertha. I considered the possibility Thad might turn up but thought it best not to mention it. I want only your happiness today.”

  “I know you do.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to leave school this soon anyway. Only wouldn’t it be nice if he could be here?”

  “It would at that.” Mama tilted her head and gave her a pleading look. “Try to put Thad out of your mind, just for today, and have a good time.”

  Bertha bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try.”

  Mama reached for her mixing spoon. “While you’re at it, make an effort to act pleased with Papa’s gift. He tries so hard every year, and he means well.”

  At the look on Mama’s face, Bertha’s hands stilled on the rolling pin. “It’s even worse than usual, isn’t it?”

  Mama hunched her shoulders and tittered. “Infinitely.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Words fail me, dear.” She leaned to check on Papa’s where-abouts then motioned for Bertha to wait while she crept down the hall. She returned with the latest copy of Harper’s Weekly and spread it open on the kitchen table. After another glance out the window, she started flipping pages.

  “Harper’s Weekly?” Bertha laid aside the biscuit cutter and wiped her hands. “There are lovely gifts in there.” She hurried around to peer over Mama’s shoulder. “Books of poems. Leather cases for gloves and handkerchiefs. And look! Fur-lined collars from New York!”