by J. L. Salter
“I do remember a reference to a terrible fight between Belva’s father and the corporal, after something about the brother and the barn. Hmm, I guess it could work… maybe.”
Kelly shook her head. “Still not anywhere near conclusive. But intriguing nonetheless.”
“Maybe we should just be analyzing motives to shoot.” Mitch pointed his forefinger like a pistol. “Rather than to kill per se.”
“You think it could’ve been an accidental killing? The shooter just wanted to scare him off, but aimed badly and hit him instead?” Kelly frowned. “But whether it was deliberate murder or accidental manslaughter, and assuming the garrison Yankee had means and motive, we still have to place him at the scene. And there’s simply not enough info. This case is way too circumstantial and too many gaps.”
“Yeah, we still don’t have a viable suspect. At best, the Yank is only a person of interest.”
Kelly nodded agreement. “You think all this is sufficient for your editor? Can you write it convincingly?”
“We’ve finally got a partial but highly probable name for the murdered stranger at the church — Corporal Hank H., or H. Hanks. Plus we know his unit was Company D of the 16th Tennessee Cavalry Battalion. You could get Don Norman to check through all the available rosters — maybe he’ll get a hit.”
“Yeah, but it comes by hearsay relayed through four generations, and the current teller doesn’t even remember the family’s name.”
“True, but it dovetails nicely with the known names of the people in your research, and you’ve got contemporaneous corroborating documentation for those.” Mitch sat back with a satisfied expression.
“Okay, but we still don’t know if it was deliberate murder or accidental manslaughter.”
Mitch again made the gun shape with his hand. “If he pulled the trigger, he’s the killer.” After he relaxed his fingers, he got very quiet.
“What?”
“If his reason for returning was to marry Belva, wouldn’t H.H. have written, or contacted her, or something?”
“Probably so.” Kelly sighed. “And if he did, maybe those letters could be a different secret that family members supposed Aunt Belva hid all those years.”
“Of course, another possibility is the corporal wrote letters, but Belva never got them. Maybe her meddling little brother intercepted the letters and destroyed them.” Mitch shifted in his seat. “If there were any letters, you think they’ll ever be found, by us or anybody?”
“I know if they ever got to her, Belva would’ve saved them, somewhere.” Kelly’s hand touched her heart. “Question is, what might happen to them after Belva died, if nobody else had known about them and whoever found them didn’t understand their significance?”
“Probably would’ve been thrown in a dumpster.”
“With old yearbooks, article clippings, and generations of faded baby clothes.” Kellly closed her eyes. “So sad.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Sunday, June 3
The glass panes in Kelly’s front cabin door were replaced; Diane had purchased a new earthenware bowl for Kelly’s keys on the little table. Perra was on the mend, though the vet said she was walking stiffly during her twice daily exercise. It had been six days since the little dog was shot, and she’d probably be released the next morning.
Kelly drove over to Mitch’s cabin above Fishing Creek.
He was clearly expecting her, since he had an evening beer waiting on the railing. Mitch reached for her as she joined him on the porch, and his large hands softly enveloped her slender ones. It was obvious how he loved the touch of her skin. She stretched up on her toes and kissed his lips softly.
They sat and sipped beer quietly. Kelly and Mitch rocked slowly like the evening, one rocker syncopated with the other.
“Mitch, our theory about Corporal H.H. being the murdered stranger and Belva Butler’s little brother fingering him. You think it’s enough for Search Magazine?”
“Oh, they’ll probably require a sidebar explaining the holes in our case.”
“Want a stringer to write the sidebar?” Kelly gave him a cheesy smile.
“Works for me.”
Sitting together closely on Mitch’s porch, Kelly related what she’d be reporting to her landlord as a wrap-up to her assignment. She would present Pop a copy of her article, when finished, about the cemetery’s beginning and expansion. Pop already knew some of Belva’s secrets, because he was present for the discovery of the marriage license and photo. She’d told Pop, generally, about the content of the diary pages and the un-mailed letter, but he had not read them because of his eye problem. He preferred to wait and read Kelly’s typed analysis. But since Kelly also figured to brief her landlord fully on the Butler brother’s highly probable link to the church murder, she wanted to practice on Mitch first.
Mitch listened attentively and made a few notes on a small tablet from his shirt pocket.
It only took her a few minutes to lay out the whole story.
“Do you think Pop will want to let all this out, for public consumption, I mean?” Mitch flicked a gnat off the rim of his bottle. “Think he’ll be willing for others to know his great-aunt Belva was intimate with a Rebel soldier in a cave and would’ve married him after the war, except he was shot dead at her church when he finally came back for her?”
“Not really sure. Pop said he wanted the secrets known. He’s never liked being in the dark himself. If Pop hadn’t arranged to have the mystery solved before he died, the questions might’ve died with him.”
“Some questions maybe ought to die.”
Kelly observed Mitch for several moments. “You know, I’ve always been into mysteries. Since I met you, we’ve both really sunk our teeth into them, sometimes at great personal risk. I hadn’t stopped to wonder whether maybe some questions shouldn’t be answered.”
Mitch placed his empty bottle on the porch beside his chair and stretched his long legs. “Why do you figure Belva kept her secret all those, uh, sixty-six years?” He had calculated in midair with his forefinger.
“Well, my first take was shame. You know, her family would’ve been mortified on moral grounds. Socially, it would’ve been horrible.” Kelly suppressed a yawn. It had been an emotionally exhausting nine weeks and she needed some rest. “But from my research about the times during the war, maybe it could’ve been a survival matter at first. You know, young woman caught cohabiting with the enemy — which is how the Yankees would’ve seen it. In some places she might’ve been tarred and feathered.”
“Hard times to live in — war.” Mitch closed his eyes briefly. “So why’d Belva keep her secret after the war was over?”
“Well, if we’ve figured things right, she spent those first two years waiting for H.H. to come marry her and take her back to Tennessee. Then, after two additional years, her secretly-betrothed finally shows up at the church and gets murdered moments later — possibly within her view, or at least in her hearing range.”
“So shock and grief maybe accounts for the next few years Belva harbored her secrets. But it leaves over five more decades to account for.”
“I just don’t know.” Kelly shook her head slowly. “I thought I had a sense of Aunt Belva. I know she was lonely, broken-hearted, likely depressed, and whatever else. Then, for years afterwards, she was caring for her mother.”
“Wait a minute! Her mother — Mary knew Belva got pregnant, remember?”
“True, after the miscarriage. But they must have reached some kind of solemn pledge never to tell anyone. Her mother lived ‘til, uh, 1904.” Kelly thought back quickly. “So they both apparently kept that part of the secret for over forty more years.”
“Do you figure Mary likely didn’t know the murdered traveler was the Confederate corporal returned for her daughter?”
“Not sure. On one hand, I’d think a mother would have an intuition about it… you know, she’d see the horror in Belva’s face. But on the other hand, Belva had a strong constitution. She
might’ve been able to mask most of her grief, and it’s possible Mary never realized the connection between her daughter and the murdered stranger.”
Mitch pointed toward her notes. “But after her mother died, Belva lived another fifteen years. Wonder why she never revealed it to anyone, maybe somebody in the family she felt really close to.”
“Just guessing. I’m thinking after all those years you’ve kept a secret locked up so tight, so deep… maybe the very notion of digging it out would seem like major surgery. The pain might be so intense that you’re afraid you’ll never recover. It hurts keeping it inside, but you’re scared it’ll cause even more damage to carve it out.” Kelly brushed a mosquito from her forearm. “So you can’t quite bring yourself to tell anybody, but you feel all this guilt about keeping the secret. Maybe that explains why Belva’s diary pages — plus the marriage license and photo — were saved, hidden, protected, whatever. Maybe it’s also why Mary’s letter survived.”
“Like they eventually wanted somebody to know, but couldn’t bring themselves to reveal it directly.”
Kelly nodded. “I think you’re close. There must be other components. I’m no psychologist. But I think both Mary and Belva were torn, I mean really ripped in two, with the weight of those secrets. It’s a lot of conflict to cope with. They didn’t have psychiatrists or therapists, or even competent counselors in those days. If something was eating at your conscience, you either hunkered down… or you spilled your guts and faced the consequences.”
“Little Brother William finally spilled his, but only when he realized he was dying, not yet thirty years old.”
“And Belva hunkered down.” Kelly turned away briefly. “I wonder if it’s part of the reason she never married. You know, so much internal conflict to deal with. Might not have been room for a lover or husband.”
A pesky insect also found Mitch. “Don’t forget, there’s at least one other person who also kept this secret — the killer. My money’s on the garrison Yankee, unless he went home after mustering out. But whoever it was, it’s not the kind of thing you tell your buddies over a beer. He probably took that secret to his grave.”
“Maybe so.” Kelly noticed her watch. “You know, it’s late. I really should go home and feed Gato.”
“Kelly, your huge cat can handle himself and your dog’s still with the vet. Ginny’s out of your cabin finally.” Mitch didn’t have to finish. It was clear he craved some of Kelly’s time and attention.
She studied him for a long moment, then smiled. Yeah, guys are a lot more complicated than pets, and way more needy. But sometimes you need a man, sometimes you want a man. There are phases in a relationship when the man will always want to be with you. Might as well make the most of those times, while they last. “Okay, let’s stay out on your porch for a while.”
After Mitch smiled, he jumped up suddenly. “Oh, I found what I was searching for. Let me get it.” He went inside, returned with a sheet of paper, and sat again. From his porch, gazing out through the treetops, they could see over the steep cliff down to Fishing Creek’s dramatically lowered water level.
“It’s peaceful out here. My cabin’s usually quiet too, but this — near the water — is a different peace.”
“You can see for miles on the other side of the creek.” Mitch motioned westward, where the low sun glowed a burnt orange. “You remember me mentioning I’d tracked down a poem about secrets?”
Kelly nodded.
“I found it again right before you got here. It was underneath my checkbook. Let me read it to you. The author is William Alexander Percy, who wrote mostly during the 1920s and 1930s.
.
Safe Secrets
I will carry terrible things to the grave with me:
So much must never be told.
My eyes will be ready for sleep and my heart for dust
With all the secrets they hold.
The piteous things alive in my memory,
Will be safe in that soundless dwelling:
In the clean loam, in the dark where the dumb roots rust,
I can sleep without fear of telling.
.
“Beautiful. I think he captures it. Some secrets probably should go to the grave with us.”
Mitch glanced out to the sunset again. “I guess I’ve also been assuming all mysteries ought to be brought out into the light, but I’m slowly coming to understand it might be better to just leave some alone. Safe secrets. In some cases, it’s probably best.”
Kelly studied Mitch’s face, partly to see if he was finished, but also because he’d touched again on a worry which nagged her. Is an investigator obligated, ethically and/or contractually, to lay out every single thing she’s discovered? Or should some filter be applied to protect both the subject of the investigation and the seeker? In the current time of blogs, blurbs, tweets, bulletins, sound bites, and so-called social media — every stumble, each mistake, all the marginal choices were aired 24/7 worldwide. One didn’t have the luxury of 144 years to pass while the secret mellowed. There was never sufficient time for a secret to age gracefully, or for those who would be hurt to die quietly.
Realizing she had zoned out for a second, Kelly picked up where Mitch had left off. “Well, Belva’s secret was safe, for a long time, anyway.”
“It doesn’t have to be unsafe even now.”
“What do you mean, Mitch?”
“Well, even though we’re in on it now — at least Belva’s secrets we’ve discovered so far — even though we know, doesn’t mean we have to tell anybody else.”
“Besides Pop, you mean?”
“Well, Pop, yeah. And, of course, those who’ve already been in on some of our discoveries — Wade, Diane, Joe, Ellie, Ginny, and Roger. Plus Greg Fulton and Don Norman. They all know bits and pieces.”
“And Don’s Uncle Len. That’s not a safe secret. Nothing’s confidential if a dozen people already know it.” Kelly sighed. “But it was a nice thought, that we might still have some ability to control this information and help Belva keep it safe. Although in Belva’s case, she evidently was torn by a desire to contain her secret and a sense of obligation to let it be discovered at some future time.” Kelly again searched Mitch’s face. “Do you think Belva envisioned who would discover her secrets?”
Mitch looked straight into her eyes. “Assuming — consciously or subconsciously — she wanted someone, someday, to discover her secrets, I think Aunt Belva would’ve been honored for Kelly Randall to be the one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you understand, you identify with her. In some ways, you’re probably a lot like her. I think Belva would be pleased it was you.”
Warmth of a sort she’d never experienced washed over Kelly, all the way from her toes to her scalp, and everything in between. It radiated her soul and heart, and inside her womb. How could anything anyone said warm her so? It could not be merely the words themselves, although they truly did gratify her. Surely it was the speaker — this confused, romantic, displaced Texan. Though somewhat addled, her persistent partner was also her rescuer and comforter.
What additionally warmed her was realizing Mitch was the man Kelly didn’t even know she’d been looking for.
Kelly stood, moved to the porch rail, and gazed again toward the far bank of Fishing Creek. Mitch joined her at the railing and reached his long arm around her back with his hand resting on her upper hip. They watched the slowly disappearing sun as though they believed the cyclical process could not properly complete itself without being carefully monitored.
Suddenly Kelly sighed heavily and turned into his arms. She hugged Mitch tightly, her face sideways against his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. “Sometimes it sounds like it’s about to bust out of there.”
“I can’t help it, Kelly. I have a hunger for you and my heart knows all about it.” Mitch apparently had more words inside of him, but he swallowed hard and restrained them.
Kelly understood he wanted more of
her. A lot more. All.
Although she dared not say it, Kelly wanted more also. Sometimes when they kissed, her own internal engines revved so extensively she could barely breathe, feeling flushed and dizzy. At times when they hugged tightly or danced together closely, parts of her body seemed animated with electrical current. There’d been moments she wanted to squeeze Mitch’s large, warm hand and lead him to his own rented bed. Occasionally, the person Kelly had to restrain was her own red-blooded self.
Still breathing heavily, Mitch lowered his head enough to search her face again. He could certainly tell by her dreamy expression she was thinking about something intimate. He gently lifted her arm from its embrace of his midsection and held it up as though he were examining her flesh. Then Mitch placed the tip of his tongue inside her elbow and slowly licked a narrow path all the way to her palm. The evening breeze chilled that moist trail and Kelly shivered slightly. Mitch twisted his neck enough to kiss her forehead, and his eyes asked a familiar question.
Kelly took one final glance toward the last flickering glow of the setting sun and sighed deeply.
“Yeah, I know,” said Mitch, with familiar resignation. “It’ll be worth the wait.”
“That’s not what I was going to say, this time,” whispered Kelly, before hugging his midsection so tightly that neither one could hardly breathe. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Mitch.” Then she smiled slyly. “But, yeah, it’ll be worth it, for both of us.” Then she reached for his hand, led him into his own cabin, locked the door behind them, and gently guided him toward his rented bed.
Mitch did not resist.
THE END
Author’s Notes
The two central cold cases of my novel, Hid Wounded Reb, are factual historical events.
