The Mercy Seat

by Rilla Askew

  Yes, sir, now, he might have. That might have disturbed the body some, I just couldn’t tell you that. All I can testify to is what I saw. Mr. Lodi was laying on his back in the street, and the gun was right close beside him. That’d be about it. Folks started gathering just right away, I guess we all heard the shots. Sheriff Moore there, he could probably tell you as much as I could. Time I got down on the street good, he’d already come from somewhere, and there were plenty others saw about what I saw, some of them maybe even more.

  Oh. Well. That. That was a while later.

  Yes, sir, Your Honor. Well, it was Angus Alford fetched me.

  Sir? Maybe a half hour, maybe a little less. It hadn’t been too long, I know that, just long enough that the buzz had died down some but not petered out altogether. Folks were still coming. We were—some of us—we were waiting to see if there was anything we could do, notify the family or carry him home or anything. I mean, clearly there wasn’t anything anybody could do for Mr. Lodi. Somebody said somebody had already sent word on to McAlester here, I don’t know about that, but Sheriff Moore was in the stable talking to Mr. Dayberry and John Lodi, and the rest of us were just sort of milling around. There didn’t seem to be anything a fellow could do. I’d already took my butcher apron off and tried to put it over him, but Mr. Moore said no, I don’t know how come, so I wadded it back up. Somebody did finally go up and spread a handkerchief over the face at some point, quite a little while later. I didn’t see who it was. But I was standing in front of the store, my little mercantile there, with my apron rolled up in my hands, couldn’t think to put it in inside, and Angus—Mr. Alford here—he hurried up from somewhere and motioned me to come go with him. He was making it out kind of secretive.

  I don’t know, sir. You’d have to ask him that.

  Well, sir, a situation like that, all kinds of people around, somebody comes up and motions like it’s urgent and secret you ought to come go with him, you just quit and go. I followed him into the little alleyway there that runs between my store and the livery stable, and on around back. That’s when we seen—saw—the young lady yonder and—

  Yes, sir. That’s her. She was—I’d have to say she was dressed different to what she is today, but yes, sir, that’s the one. I didn’t know she was Mr. Lodi’s daughter. I—Your Honor, I’m just going to have to tell you the truth about it, I didn’t know it was a girl, or a female, I mean. She was—she had on what you’d just have to call man’s clothes, you couldn’t tell what it was.

  Why, broadcloth britches, Your Honor, a man’s shirt, man’s hat. Had a gun holster buckled around her, and the woman she was rassling—

  Well, I’m trying to. That’s what I’m trying. It was that girl, or that young lady yonder, and a Indian woman rassling out back of Dayberry’s barn.

  I didn’t know her, Your Honor. Just a little short fat Indian woman.

  Just regular, just how any of them dresses. I don’t remember. Just some kind of a dress, didn’t have on no blanket or shawl or nothing, had her hair braided on top of her head. Just a normal-looking little squaw woman. I couldn’t say who she was.

  Well, they was rassling fit to feed a circus. I mean, that kid, that young lady yonder, was whipping herself around like a snake with a hoe on its head, just whip wh-h-i-i-ip! That little old Choctaw had aholt of her by both wrists, clamped down and hanging on like a snapper, she wasn’t going to let go, talking Choctaw at her just as hard and fast as she could talk it, and the kid turning and whipping and snapping like crack-the-whip, the two of them whirling around inside that extry feedlot Dayberry’s got set up out back of his barn.

  Well, of course I figured it had to do with the killing. You just—you just automatically think it. You don’t see such a strange sight every day, and if you see it not a half hour after a murder, you naturally think the two events are connected. But I didn’t know what to do about it. We—the two of us, me and Angus—I guess we just stopped and gaped awhile. I didn’t want to go jump in the middle of it, I thought we’d just wait it out a bit, see what come of it. At first, you know, we thought it was a kid—a boy—maybe an Indian boy or a little half-breed—that woman was rassling with. She was talking to him, or her, in Choctaw, that much I knew. Well, and he was armed, or I mean she was, the kid was, so that was one reason not to jump in there, and then plus too, the Indian woman had a good hold so it was just about a draw as far as I could tell, I wanted to see how it turned out. But Angus—Mr. Alford—he begun to sidle in that direction, kind of easing over, getting close to the rails. Along about then the kid, the young lady yonder, whipped her head in such a way as to send that man’s hat a-flying, which then we seen it was a young lady, Your Honor, so we got to moving quick. What I mean, it was clear the child was white then, you could see her whole face, it was clear it was a female. Angus run and jumped up on the rail fence, I run around to the gate. He got there before I did, grabbed that squaw around the throat. Time I got there, that kid—the young lady, I mean—she was . . . well, Your Honor, she was cussing a blue streak. There’s no nice way to put it. Angus had aholt of the Indian, the Indian had aholt of the kid, never turned loose a minute, and I know Angus had him a good grip—

  Well, you thought you were protecting her. We meant to be. You don’t know what you’re doing, you can’t think something through, you just react by gut instinct. What we seen, a Indian had aholt of a white girl, you don’t spend a lot of time asking yourself who’s doing what or why. I guess Angus nearly choked—Your Honor, if I could, I’d just rather Mr. Alford testify for himself.

  No, sir.

  No, sir.

  That’s—I don’t know what happened exactly. The Indian woman turned loose of the young lady, and I had the young lady by the back of the belt, she turned away from the squaw and proceeded to fight me, Your Honor, just whaling away with both fists. I didn’t see much after that—I was just trying to protect my face. Next thing I knew, Angus was holding her, the young lady there, around the waist, had her about half lifted off the ground. I saw the squaw get up off the floor of the feedlot and walk off west out of town pretty fast—moving fast for an Indian, what I mean.

  No, sir. I didn’t see where; just west. I had my hands full, you might say. Angus held her, the young lady, while I took the pistol out of the holster. I tried to get hold of her fists but I couldn’t, I finally just gave it up and sort of waded in underneath. Finally got hold of it, the gun. I put it under my waistcoat—well, I’d dropped that butcher apron a long time ago, finally found it the next day trampled to pieces underneath Jim Tarplin’s mules, but—

  Yes, sir. All right. Well, that’s about all I can tell you. I got hold of the pistol and hid it under my vest, some of the fight seemed to blow out of her then. We just, the two of us—I mean, there didn’t seem to be anything to do but just take her around to where the sheriff was. We didn’t know what else to do with her.

  Yes, sir. I knew Mr. Lodi. Both Lodis. Of course, everybody knew John, he’d worked for Dayberry since long before I ever even went to Cedar. Yes, sir, I knew the victim as well. Recognized who it was as soon as I got a look at him after Jack’s boy Jack tripped and fell over him. I think most folks around in that country knew both men.

  Well, I wouldn’t want to say about that. I did trade with Mr. Lodi some. I mean, I’d gone up to Waddy to buy a Winchester off him one time, and I’d buy shells and powder along—he had a good price to his guns, a lot of variety, a lot of people would shop guns off him. But I can’t say I knew the man. I sure wouldn’t want to say if he had any enemies, I wouldn’t know anything about that.

  What I knew about John, I knew him to be a good worker. That’s about it. Quiet man, for the most part, just, you know, he’d say hello and how are you, but I just wouldn’t know a thing about his business, nor his brother’s. Oh, you hear things, but what I understand, you can’t enter hearsay in a court of law, and well, that’s about all I’d know would be hearsay.

  Yes, sir, Your Honor. I’ll sure do that. Un-huh.r />
  Thank you.

  Grady Dayberry

  Nobody seen nothing. I believe your court records will tell you that. Even Dad didn’t see but the tail of it, and he was the primary witness. Folks tell it six ways from Sunday, and don’t any of them know the truth. That’s what’s so strange. Fate come riding back into Cedar—this’d been around two, three o’clock in the afternoon, see, bright clear day out, it all happened right out here on Main Street on a Tuesday—and nobody seen a thing. Dad said it was pretty near like them two had a invisible cloak on till it was over. He didn’t know how to account for it, and I don’t. Not really. They’s some things I guess there’s no accounting for, ever, but I got my ideas. Now, I’m going to tell you just what Dad told the judge at the hearing, and this is how he told it all his life:

  Said he heard a little pop. This was well after dinner, see, long after the Twelve-oh-one and a little after the Two-oh-seven come through. Dad said he knew it because he heard both whistles, he didn’t have any doubt. He was up in the loft pitching hay down, and he heard a gun pop. Now, you know that wasn’t no shotgun, nor even a rifle, had to be a pistol, and small caliber at that, but Dad said he heard it—pop—and then it all happened this quick: he looked and seen Lodi gone from the forge and knew in half a heartbeat who it was and what it was. Said he jabbed the fork in a pile and jumped down, didn’t even wait long enough to use the ladder, just leapt down off the loft onto the stack he was pitching and run for the door. Said the second he landed hands-down in the haystack he heard rifle fire and right on top of it an explosion, like dynamite nearly, just BOOM, heard another’n as he was running, and just as he reached the door, he heard a third. Said time he got out the door in the daylight the smoke was thick and John was crouched in the dirt on the street in front of Tatum’s, lowering the muzzle of that pepperbox he’d taken off his brother not five hours before. Said Lodi stood up after a little bit and walked over and stood still, looking down at his brother.

  Now, folks’ll tell you—I’ve heard this story till I’m nearly sick—some folks say John went yonder and stood over his brother and put the seven barrels of that gun right on Fate’s forehead and pulled the trigger and blew his head off. That is just not how it happened. I don’t know why folks are so ugly as to tell a tale like that. My dad seen it, or seen the end of it, seen John in the street protecting his life like any normal man would, a dozen yards away. It was as fair a killing as any, fairer than a lot of them, and Dad told the judge that. The top of Fate’s head was off, sure, but that’s just the pitiful accuracy of them old contraptions. What Dad thought, he thought John was aiming high, trying to shoot over Fate’s head to warn him, make him come to his senses, and accidentally took the top of his head off with that old muzzle-heavy gun. Said John never tried to run nor nothing, said he just got up and went and stood over his brother, looking down, like he was watching a bobber on a still pond. Folks started piling out of buildings and houses. Fate didn’t twitch or nothing, probably died right off, or anyhow he was sure enough plenty dead by the time Dad got there, much less the rest of the town. Eyes open. Bleeding head to foot, top of his head off and his throat ragged. We all seen that. I seen it when I come in from school.

  But see, there’s all these little peculiar things about it, and I think that’s partly how come that killing won’t lay down and die. Some of it’s things Dad never mentioned at the hearing, and I only heard him tell onced or twiced. One thing, Dad said Fate had unloaded himself from about half the weaponry he had strapped on in the morning. Oh, he still had guns, no question he was armed and dangerous, but—don’t make a lot of sense, but Dad said Fate had took his gunbelt off, didn’t have a pistol anywhere about him. Said he had a rifle in the saddleboot, and it was still there. There was a gun laying beside him —not in his hands; those blasts knocked it out surely—but laying next to him in the street was a weapon, looked about like a four-barreled sawed-off shotgun with a hand grip or something, if you can imagine such a thing. Well, it was some kind of high-caliber gun, Dad said, but it wasn’t a pistol exactly—made like a shotgun nearly, I reckon, or anyhow you had to load it from the breech. Four barrels, had to be a mighty nose-heavy gun. Dad never did know what become of it. They said somebody had it a day or two at the hearing and then it just disappeared.

  Another strange thing: old Heck Woolery said Fate passed his house up at Bull Creek about a hour or so before the killing, said he wasn’t drunk in any way, shape, or form. Said he spoke to him and Lodi didn’t answer back but to nod afternoon to him, said he looked mean as Satan maybe, but he was sober as a nail. Well, and not only that, but Heck said he didn’t see a one of them children pass his place, and you know the wagon road ran right by his field. Said he was out with the turning plow all afternoon, didn’t leave the field from dinnertime till way up close to dark, yet them youngsters, nearly every one of Fate’s and all of John’s that were still living, they all got from Waddy to Cedar somehow or another. The other peculiarity—nobody ever did account for this, though I have my ideas on it, same as everything—but when they went to move Fate that evening to put him in the wagon to carry him back up to Big Waddy Crossing, Dad said he seen it himself, what folks talked about later and how come some of those stories to get started. Fate had a little ragged hole, looked like a twenty-two hole, in the back of his skull.

  But to me, the most mysterious part of it is how come there to be nobody to see it. To see what actually happened. Did Fate draw down on him with that big gun or cuss him or what? Did John try to talk to him or did he go to shooting the minute he come out the door of the stable, and how’d he know Fate was out there? Fate didn’t make none of them turkey sounds like in the morning, otherwise the whole town would’ve heard. I guess somehow or another we all want to see it. If we ever just heard somebody tell it, somebody who’d seen it, we could settle it in our minds and let it go. But it was that peculiar turn, where everybody had disappeared from the windows and streets of Cedar for those two or three minutes. And folks tell it and tell it, and don’t none of them know what they’re talking about, except my dad. I’ve been studying on it for three-quarters of a century, and I come to this little bit of a conclusion: what I think—I think it was a event wasn’t meant for the public to witness. I believe it was between them two and God, wasn’t none of the rest of us’s business, though folks sure made it their business after the killing, or tried to, you never heard so much talk. But I believe the Lord arranged it for Fate Lodi to slip into town in a little envellup of time when everybody’s back was turned because them two brothers had business between them that had to be reckoned.

  I don’t believe anybody is ever going to know what really happened, because them that could tell it are dead. But you look how it went: Dad was in the loft pitching hay when the shooting started—he wouldn’t ordinarily do that till feeding time along about five o’clock—and he jumped down and run as fast as he could run, but he still got there after it was finished. Field Tatum was in the back of his store cutting up a hog. Ordinarily he’d a been right up there at the cash box where he could see anything went on in the street. Mister Upton at the bank said he was putting the day’s receipts in the safe when he heard gunfire. The streets were as empty as they’d been at ten o’clock in the morning when Dad was trying to settle Fate down, and now this was an active town then, just as lively as a junction. There wasn’t hardly ever a moment between daybreak and sundown when there wasn’t folks about their business all up and down, and here it happened twice in one day. Lovett’s Hotel was right across the street yonder, wasn’t nobody loafing in front of it. Nobody come forward to say, “I seen what happened,” not even old Sour Waters, and you know he claimed to witness ever bank robbery and shootout from here to Kansas. It goes beyond peculiar.

  All right, now, I’ll just tell you a little thought I been having for a mighty number of years. You’re going to tell me I’m crazy, but I’m eighty-seven years old now, and I don’t much care. I been called plenty things in my life, cra
zy won’t hurt none on top of the rest of it, but, now, here’s what I think: I believe if my dad hadn’t mixed up in it in the morning, the killing would’ve happened then. Right there ten o’clock in the morning, John Lodi without a gun to his name and Fate Lodi armed to the armpits and drunk as a lord. Furthermore, I don’t believe it would’ve been John that did the killing and Fate that got killed but just exactly the other way around.