by J. L. Salter
Finally outside, they sat in a place which Nora Lee obviously loved. She pointed out some of her favorite flowers, bushes, and a small sign which indicated the name of a donor of something in the garden. Perhaps the individual was a friend, maybe a relative. Nora Lee didn’t explain, but she had a connection to the name.
Kelly wondered if she should explain her research assignment or simply go straight to the main questions. She figured the latter.
“Someone told me you used to know quite a bit about the old Butler cabin and Mary Butler who lived there during the Civil War. Her husband, William, and their children Belva, Edna, William Junior…”
“And Naomi, she was youngest. Poor Mary, widowed so young. And that old man she married nearly fifty years older.”
Kelly smiled. “So you know quite a lot about the family in that period.”
“Mercy, I used to know a lot. Not so much anymore. I told all those Butler stories to my young’uns, and to all their cousins who’d listen. Then I told them all to their young’uns, if they’d sit still long enough. But it’s been a long spell since I told anybody about the Butlers or those war times.”
“Would you tell me, Mrs. James?”
“Are you on the James side or the Fultons?”
“No ma’am. I’m a reporter with the paper. I’m doing a story.”
“On the James family?”
“No ma’am, on the Butler family during the Civil War.”
“Oh, yes, I know about the Butlers. Poor Mary…”
“Mrs. James, what do you remember about the Battle of Dutton’s Hill?”
“The what, dear?”
“The battle near the Butler farm. It ended at Dutton’s Hill about a mile or two away.”
“Oh yes, the battle. My great-aunt said they heard those big guns for hours that day. They were scared some of the shots might come clear over to the farm, it was so loud. One of their chickens had a heart attack or something and just keeled over dead. Their cow wouldn’t milk that evening.” The sun in Nora Lee’s eyes caused her to shift a bit. “Then it got quiet toward evening. And Yankee soldiers stopped at every farm searching for prisoners. Some say they caught a couple hundred Confederates that day.”
“What happened at the Butler farm that night?”
“Why, two of the bloodiest soldiers you ever saw came right up to the Butlers’ cabin. They knocked at the back door and like to scared old William to death, because he’d already fell asleep in his chair. He went outside to see who knocked and it was two bloody Rebels, one nearly dead as he hung there on the other feller. William wasn’t going to let them in, but Mary was a kind soul and couldn’t turn away someone who needed help. Plus, they weren’t much more than bones anyway, and the horses worse off than them.”
“So William let them come in?”
“Mary sent William out to the wagon road to check if Yankees were coming. Mary and her daughter Belva, the eldest, helped the one feller carry in the other boy. Like to never got him up to the loft. Such a bloody mess. Sent the daughter back down. Mary and the other feller took the clothes off the one who was dying. She could tell from that feller’s face he knew his friend was dying, but she did what she could. She got rid of the boy’s bloody clothes and washed his wounds as best she could, but he was busted up real bad. Leg, chest, and back, I think it was. Had blood coming out from his mouth. Wasn’t much she could do but soak up the blood.”
“Where’d the other soldier go?”
“Well, I don’t rightly recall. It was either the barn or the cellar. They had a little cellar under the new room in the back. More likely the cellar, since the barn would’ve been checked by Yankees pretty sure. Well, anyway, the one nearly dead to begin with… he died that night sometime. In terrible pain, too. Mary stayed up most of the night just soaking up his blood and singing hymns to comfort him. She gave him some laudanum, but it didn’t help much.”
“So one of the soldiers died during the night.”
“They took him up into the woods on the hill and buried him before the sun came up. Not too deep either… ground was cold and had to bury him quick. Old William wanted things to seem real normal around the farm if the Yankee patrols came back around. I think his brother helped him. Not sure. Little William took the horses up to a big pine thicket and tied them up.”
“Do you remember when the second soldier left the Butler cabin?” Kelly wondered if Mrs. James knew about the April twelfth date mentioned in Belva’s diary entry.
“Why that’s the whole thing.” Nora Lee’s face had a brief expression of extreme clarity. “He didn’t leave. Everybody thought he left, but he didn’t.”
“Do you know where the second Rebel soldier went, Mrs. James? He couldn’t stay there at the Butler cabin. Right?” Kelly was tempted to feed her the answer, but to investigate properly, one can’t lead a witness.
Nora Lee smiled like she remembered something tasty. “Oh no, not at the cabin. But he didn’t leave Possum Knoll.”
Kelly especially wondered if the old lady knew about Tater Cave, and tried to get her to elaborate. But in a split second, Nora Lee’s mind had drifted somewhere else and there was no getting her back. She mentioned a buckle she’d gotten many years ago which belonged to the dead soldier. When Kelly asked further about the buckle, all she learned was it had disappeared about the time Nora Lee moved to the nursing home.
Kelly just listened to the old lady for a few moments, to see where she was headed topically. None of it made sense in any context of her assignment. So she asked about the tune.
“Why, I do recall a tune Mama used to sing to us at night. Mama used to call it Aunt Belva’s lullaby. Belva was eldest.” In a reedy, quavering voice Nora Lee had begun humming before Kelly was ready with her cell phone to record it, so the first several notes didn’t make it to the memory.
It was a sad and lonely tune, and Kelly wondered if the words were as mournful as the melody.
“Mrs. James, could you hum it again? I think I missed the beginning.”
“What, dear?”
“Could you sing Aunt Belva’s lullaby again for me, please?”
“Aunt who?”
“The song you just sang…”
Nora Lee seemed perplexed. “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t rightly remember any songs now. Maybe it’ll come to me after supper. I think we sing after supper sometimes. Are you one of my nieces?”
Kelly had dealt with older members of her own family who were in varying stages of Alzheimer’s, so she understood what was happening. The individual might spend hours thinking about something she or he wanted to say to someone, but when the person arrived, whatever needed to be said had evaporated… maybe never to surface again. In many ways, Kelly was lucky she’d already gotten as much as she had from Nora Lee James.
Kelly escorted Nora Lee back to her room. They stopped along the way and the old lady visited briefly at most of the same open doorways she had passed previously. To all, she introduced Kelly as her great-niece.
Kelly was about to say her thanks and goodbyes when Nora Lee, seated, motioned for her to come closer. Kelly leaned over, with her ear very close.
“I also know a secret.” Her bony forefinger beckoned Kelly even closer.
Kelly was so close, Nora Lee’s lips nearly touched her ear. Mrs. James’ breath was warm and smelled of steamed vegetables. “I know a family secret. When I was a little girl I heard one of my old uncles say it. When they realized I was there, they hushed up real quick and later Mama said I mustn’t tell anyone.”
“What was the secret, Mrs. James?”
“Brother Butler at the church in sixty-seven.” Nora Lee’s enunciation of the letter s tickled Kelly’s ear, and she moved involuntarily. Kelly then asked her for clarification, but Nora Lee was already off the track. She just sat in her chair and gazed toward the window.
Kelly tried to get her back to the Rebel staying in Possum Knoll, or to the lullaby, or even to the buckle. But Nora Lee said only one other thing, possibly
in reply to one of Kelly’s questions, “I already told that young man.” What man? It didn’t make any more sense than Kelly supposedly being her niece. It was obviously a loose thread from some other time and place. She thanked Mrs. James again, gently hugged her fragile shoulders, and then left.
When Kelly paused at her doorway to wave goodbye, Nora Lee acted like she was greeting someone who had just arrived. It made Kelly distinctly sad to see the effects of Alzheimer’s on people whose minds were intermittently sharp as razors… then dull as spoons.
On her way out to the Jeep, Kelly thought more about Nora Lee’s final words, Brother Butler at the church in sixty-seven, and wrote it on her tablet. If it really was a secret, succeeding generations evidently kept it secret, passed it along at the appropriate time to the more responsible members of the next generation… but possibly didn’t even know its meaning. Mrs. James probably no longer knew what it meant, if she ever did.
Perhaps it was some reference to the pastor or a deacon maybe doing something he shouldn’t have. Possible theories could include somebody stole offering money or someone made inappropriate contact with a female choir member. Maybe somebody had a drinking problem and was caught drunk. But Kelly figured those kinds of things would have been more open secrets, without the cryptic code. It gave a name — Butler, a place — the church, and a date — sixty-seven, which surely had to be 1867.
But what did any of it have to do with the wounded Reb buried in 1863 after he died in the Butler cabin? Likely nothing. How did it connect with the second Confederate who presumably left the next day, according to some, or within the next couple of days, according to Mary’s letter. Or didn’t leave for fourteen days, according to Belva’s diary. Or maybe didn’t leave Possum Knoll at all, according to Nora Lee’s cryptic reference. Could the other soldier have possibly hung around Pulaski County for four years? Where? Why?
Nah, couldn’t be. Kelly would have to run all the information by Mitch — he was good at sifting through cold clues. But first, quick stops to see Pop Walter and Don Norman.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In order to spend some time alone with Mitch, Kelly had arranged for Ginny to spend the evening with the Suttons at their farm house. Though Joe seemed distinctly displeased, Diane clearly welcomed the challenge, if not merely the change of faces.
Having decided on supper at Mitch’s place, Kelly chose a convenient drive-thru and departed with a sack full of soft tacos.
Mitch acted slightly disappointed at the fare as he hurriedly put the food on the kitchen counter, but he hugged the delivery person with great pleasure.
It did not take them long to devour the tacos.
“Did I tell you I recorded part of the tune this morning? You know, the one they call Aunt Belva’s tune.”
Mitch shook his head.
“On the way home, I stopped at Pop’s to play it for him and he recognized it! Said it’s the same one his mom used to hum to the little children in their household. I could tell it made an impact on him, hearing it again after all these years.”
“Did Pop know the name of it?”
“No, but I also hurried over to Don’s office. Don called his buddy in the music department at U.K. I played it from my phone over Don’s line, to the phone in Lexington.”
“And…”
“Well I had missed the first few notes when the old lady hummed it, so the Lexington professor made me supply the missing notes. Very embarrassing!”
“I’ve heard you sing. I like your voice.”
“No, I mean standing in front of Don, humming over speaker phone to a guy in Lexington I’ve never met.”
Mitch just shrugged.
“Anyway, he said it sounded familiar. Then he cautioned me that lots of the songs from this period had some similarities. Melodic commonalities, I think he said.” Kelly paused, and then brightened. “But he did think having the names of the probable collaborators would make it findable. He already recognized one name, but thinks we misspelled it. He said he’d just check all the songs they published together during the war years and download those melodies. He figures he can give us a probable match in a day or two.”
“Assuming your source hummed it correctly to begin with.”
“Well, it was familiar to Pop so it must be pretty close.”
Then Kelly told Mitch about all the additional details she’d learned from the morning’s interview. Pop’s retelling of the family versions was sparse like an outline. But her recent contact really made the event seem awesome with context and sensory elements.
“So Pop gave you play-by-play and today’s source was the color commentator.” Mitch could relate many experiences to TV sports.
“Yeah, color commentator… exactly. She really made it come alive for me, told it like she’d been there.”
After Mitch retrieved two lite beers from the fridge and motioned toward his front porch, they stood next to the railing.
“Mitch, I’m sorry we haven’t had much time together lately.”
“Me too, for a lot of reasons, besides me worrying so much about your safety.”
Kelly patted his upper arm. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got Perra and Gato, plus the Suttons just a few hundred feet away. What could happen?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, anyway, let’s not argue any more about it, please. It won’t change my mind, but it will make us both more miserable.”
He didn’t reply for several moments, just stared out toward Fishing Creek. “Okay,” he finally said softly.
She kissed his cheek.
“While you’re here, could I get your help with my article? I think I’ve got everything available about the stranger shot dead at the church house — research, oral history, legend, whatever. But I need fresh eyes on it all. I need your eyes, Kelly.”
“Okay, let’s finish these beers and head back inside. My eyes are all yours.”
Back inside, they sat on Mitch’s rather uncomfortable sofa, which came with the cabin.
“I interviewed an old lady a couple of days ago who doesn’t live near the lake anymore but did for several years, back in the fifties, right after they flooded it. She didn’t give me much useful for my lake series, but she said she was very familiar with the story about the murder at the church.”
“Any new information?”
“Pretty much the same story as the guy from Bronston. You know, the stranger arrived before the service, came from the east, et cetera. She said he asked for a drink of water and made an inquiry about someone, presumably local. But she also added some color, like where the traveler sat — back row, right side, all the way over toward the wall.”
“The seat a gunfighter would’ve picked, so his back’s in the corner and he can see everybody.”
“Hmm, gunfighter. That’s a twist I hadn’t considered.” Mitch’s brow furrowed. “Anyway, this was all she had about the church murder, except she also made an odd statement about tying up two horses in a pine thicket.”
“Two horses?”
“Yeah, I know, doesn’t make any sense. The stranger came in on one horse, or so everybody says, and he left on one horse. Then he was shot dead. When Mrs. James said the bit about two horses, I thought maybe she’d slipped a rail — you know, Alzheimer’s or whatever.”
“Wait, Mrs. who?”
“Mrs. James, at the nursing home. Uh, Nora James.”
“Nora Lee James?”
“Yeah, Nora Lee James. Why?”
“She’s the same lady I met this morning! The color commentator. She’s the one who sang the tune, mentioned a buckle, told me the second Reb never left Possum Knoll, and then said something about Reverend Butler at the church.”
“What was the last part again?”
“Never left Possum Knoll…”
“No, the reverend at the church.”
Kelly checked her notes. “Mrs. James said, ‘Brother Butler at the church in sixty-seven’. It’s supposedly a big family secret she was never m
eant to hear.”
Mitch’s mouth dropped momentarily. “That’s almost the same thing she told me two days ago!”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“Let’s see, I wrote it down. Hang on, it’s out in my SUV. Be right back.”
While he was gone, Kelly mulled over this development. Why would old Mrs. James give the same quote to two different researchers on two different days, presumably to two different questions?
Mitch returned, flipping through the loose pages in his portfolio. “Here it is. She said, ‘It was brother Butler at the church in sixty-seven’.”
“Exactly those words?”
He nodded. “Letter for letter.”
“And she began with the words It was…?”
“Yep, why?”
“What did you ask her, Mitch?
“About my assignment, the stranger murdered at the church by person or persons unknown.”
Oohhh. With all the commotion and disruption to Kelly’s normal routine, caused by Ginny, and all the separation from Mitch — also caused by Ginny — Kelly had gotten unusually distracted. “Mitch, this is unbelievable. I think we have another case of intersecting research.”
“Huh?”
“Only this time, the connection’s even more precise.”
“Maybe we should back up a bit so you can explain what you’re talking about. What question did you ask Mrs. James?”
“We wandered quite a bit, but my basic questions were about the Dutton Hill battle, the wounded Reb, his burial, the other soldier, the song. Everything I’ve been working on.”
“And to one of those prompts, Mrs. James told you the answer which included brother butler church sixty-seven?”
“Not to a prompt. This was more like an afterthought.” Kelly couldn’t help smiling. “The way Nora Lee said it to me, I thought it was Brother Butler, meaning probably pastor, or deacon, or elder. The way you said you heard it sounded more like a sibling, maybe a brother in the Butler family. It’s a big difference.”
