Weak Flesh

by Jo Robertson

  Her father looked alarmed. "What news?"

  "Emily showed me," Meg said excitedly, "when her mother left the room to – "

  The door knocker interrupted her and she glanced startlingly at the clock on the fireplace mantle. "Who could that be at this hour?" Ill news always came at night, she thought.

  Her father looked shaky as he rose and made his way to the door. "Stay here," he commanded.

  She saw him take a large, sturdy umbrella from the coat rack in the foyer and aim the heavy handle pointing outward like a club. Not for her life would she remain inactive if her father were in danger. She sprang up from the wing chair and grabbed the stoker from the array of fireplace implements.

  Edging carefully to the double-doored archway that led into the foyer, she stood at the ready should her father need help.

  "Who is it?" Papa said through the door, the umbrella held firm in his raised hand.

  A muffled sound came from the other side, but Meghan could not make out the voice. "Don't open the door," she hissed to her father.

  But he disobeyed her warning and slowly turned the key in the lock. Tucker Gage stepped through the entryway and stopped abruptly, his face a comical display of surprise as he looked from her to her father. She felt foolish with the iron stoker raised over her head, and her father looked no less so as he clutched the umbrella.

  "Truly was I such abhorrent company at dinner?" Gage joked.

  "Tucker, thank God!" her father exclaimed, drawing the younger man into the house. "It is very late, you know," he said reprovingly.

  "I'm sorry if I alarmed you, sir. Bailey," he said, turning to Meghan with a barely curled lip, "you may release your formidable grip on that weapon now, I believe."

  Chapter 20

  "Come in, Tucker." Dr. Bailey replaced the umbrella and ushered Gage into the parlor. "Meghan was just about to explain some momentous news to me. I fear I was caught up in the intrigue of it all," he added by way of apology.

  Gage glanced from one of the Baileys to the other. He'd always had a strong affection for the doctor who'd tended most of his boyhood injuries. Having an affinity for sports, Gage had always gotten into one kind of scrap or another. Not so unlike Bailey in all her adventures.

  "Perhaps I came in the nick of time," Gage said. "You look about to set upon some unsuspecting ... burglar, is it?"

  "Don't be silly, Gage. Father and I merely had a momentary fright." Bailey slanted a hard look at him. "It is past eleven, after all, when most good folk are warm in their beds, not gadding about to frighten their innocent neighbors."

  She said the last on a huff and threw herself into a cream-colored and light green striped chair. After Dr. Bailey took the matching one, Gage settled comfortably on the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him, while Abigail brought tea.

  "What is so important that you've disturbed us this late?" Bailey asked rudely.

  Ah, he'd made her angry because of his earlier edict. Well, never mind. His job was to protect the citizens of Tuscarora, which included her. Bailey had no business running around sticking her nose into police business. Especially the nasty kind of business called murder.

  "I've come to pick your brains about Mr. Nolan," Gage answered.

  "Nolan?" Dr. Bailey said in surprise. "What d'you want to know about Oliver?" He looked from one to the other of them in puzzlement. "Have you two gone mad? Why do you think to cast Oliver Nolan in the role of villain? Surely you cannot think he had anything to do with Nell Carver?"

  Gage lifted his brows and stared at Bailey. "Well, what is your theory on that?"

  Bailey shrugged and inspected her nails. "I have no theory," she said airily.

  "Then why did you castigate Nolan?" Gage asked. "Why did you approach him in his own home about his daughter?"

  "I merely visited the parents of one of my students," she explained. "To discuss Emily's progress."

  "And nothing more?" Gage probed.

  Bailey shot her father a warning look that Gage didn't miss. What were they keeping from him?

  "What else would there be?" Bailey said with an air of studied nonchalance.

  Gage sighed, knowing capitulation was close at hand. He seemed forever forbidding Bailey and then giving in, but there was only one sure way to keep her safe from her own reckless inclinations.

  "I suppose," he said slowly, weighing his words so as not to encourage her too much, "I suppose I could be persuaded to let you ... ah, assist somewhat in the investigation."

  Bailey's eyes lit up immediately.

  "Somewhat," he emphasized. "I cannot allow much civilian interference. You understand that, right?"

  "Of course she does," interrupted Dr. Bailey. "And just in case she does not, I'll be sure to monitor her for you." The fond look on his face belied the harsh words.

  "Thank you, sir," Gage answered and turned to Bailey. "Now what momentous news were you about to discuss with your father?"

  Bailey glanced down at her small hands lying in her lap. Such delicately long fingers and smooth white skin, but Gage knew there was strength in them. Her lashes lay darkly against her pale face, flushed now with excitement, her smattering of freckles stark against the creamy pallor of her cheeks.

  "When I visited Mrs. Nolan to discuss Emily's school progress," she began, wetting her lips and drawing Gage's attention to their fullness. "I – she made a strange comment while her mother left to prepare refreshments."

  "Emily?" her father asked.

  Bailey's eyes slid away from the doctor and latched onto Gage. He had no doubt she'd used the mother's absence to prod the child for information. "Really? And what strange comment was that?"

  "She – Emily said that her father liked to play dress up," she said.

  "What?" Gage choked on his tea and began coughing while Dr. Bailey thumped him on the back.

  "Meggie!" Dr. Bailey exclaimed. "What are you suggesting?"

  Bailey looked horrified. "Not – oh, for heaven's sake – not that!" She rose and dabbed at Gage's shirt front with her handkerchief.

  Gage pushed her away, stood, and narrowed his eyes. "What do you know of that, anyway?"

  "That's exactly what I'd like to know, young lady," Dr. Bailey chimed in.

  She planted her fists on her hips and glared at them. "I'm not a child. A fact which you two – " She spat the word out as if the taste were bitter on her tongue. "Which you two seem to forget."

  She slapped her hands together and sat back down. "At any rate, Mr. Nolan does not dress up in ladies' clothing. He prefers dressing up in white robes and a pointy hat!"

  Silence hung in the air while the men digested the unexpected information.

  Dr. Bailey frowned furiously. "The Klan? Nolan? Ah, Meggie, you must've been mistaken! The Klan's been dead for years."

  "No, Papa, I'm not mistaken. I know you think well of Mr. Nolan, but the robes I found in his house were unmistakable."

  A grim stubborn line thinned Bailey's mouth. Gage had seen that look often enough to understand she would not back down from her assertion. He believed her.

  "All right," Gage said slowly, "let us propose for the moment – for the moment, Bailey," he emphasized, holding his palm upward to thwart her quick retort. "Let us assume Mr. Nolan harbors a secret affiliation with the Klan."

  He shrugged. "What has that to do with Nell's disappearance and murder?"

  Bailey's cheeks turned a pretty pink and he felt momentarily sorry that he'd challenged her.

  "A man who hides secrets in one area certainly hides other secrets," she offered.

  "Perhaps." Gage rose and stood by the window, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "We have no evidence that Nolan was involved in any way with Nell, but it's certainly something I can pursue."

  "Nell played frequently at the Nolan household," Bailey said quickly. "With Emily. Maybe she saw something there she wasn't supposed to see. Maybe Emily showed her the robes too."

  "It's not against the law to own the robes, or indeed, to be
a member of the Klan," Dr. Bailey murmured.

  "There's something else," Bailey said.

  Gage turned back to her, noting the stiff way she held herself, the disappointed look on her face. "What else?"

  "I visited Mrs. Jolly this afternoon."

  "Hmm, you're quite the social butterfly." The words escaped before Gage could think better of them and he was sorry the moment he spoke. Even if Bailey had no business doing so, she'd discovered a lead he might follow.

  She continued as if she hadn't heard him and addressed her father. "You remember, Papa, that I baked the peach cobbler since Mrs. Jolly has been so ill."

  The twinkle in Dr. Bailey's eye was unmistakable. "Of course, darling. Your famous cobbler."

  Bailey frowned. "At any rate, the Reverend hovered so obnoxiously, I couldn't ask Mrs. Jolly anything about the frequent visits Nell had made to their house right before she disappeared."

  "Visits, what visits?" Gage demanded. "Damn it, Bailey! Why didn't you tell me about Nell's visits?"

  She stood, took a step toward him, and thrust her chin into his chest, tilting her head upward with an effort. "Well, excuse me for having a bad memory, Tucker Gage."

  She punched one slender finger hard into his chest. "I just recently remembered those visits to the Reverend and his wife."

  And pigs fly, Gage thought. Bailey rarely forgot anything. She'd deliberately kept the information from him. He opened his mouth to lambaste her.

  Dr. Bailey rose quickly and stood between them. "Now, children, this quarreling isn't helpful." He turned to Meghan, pushed her gently back into her chair, and put a calming hand on Gage's arm. "Meggie, what happened when you visited the Jollys?"

  "Mrs. Jolly refused to admit to Nell having visited them at that time."

  "Well, then – " Gage began.

  "But," she interrupted, "Reverend Jolly came running after me, nervous and anxious, saying that his wife wanted to tell me something important. And when I returned to her room, this time he left the two of us alone."

  "What happened?" Dr. Bailey asked.

  "Mrs. Jolly confided that she saw a man and a woman struggling at the outer edge of the Great Swamp." Bailey's eyes rounded and then darkened to the hue of the midnight forest. "She believes she saw the man hit the woman, and he carried some kind of implement, perhaps a shovel."

  "When did this happen?" Gage asked.

  "She didn't say exactly when, but some while ago, I think, before Nell disappeared."

  Dr. Bailey sat on the edge of Meghan's chair and took one of her hands. "You've done some fine investigation, darling." When he caught Gage's skeptical look, he repeated gently, "Very fine investigation, but we can't be sure either of these incidents relates to the disappearance of your friend."

  Her jaw tightened as she stared at Gage. "That's for the Marshal to determine, isn't it?"

  Gage felt the words with all the force of a gauntlet thrown down.

  Retrieving his hat from the low table by the sofa, Gage said magnanimously, "Come to the Station House tomorrow morning and we'll discuss Nolan and whatever else you wish."

  Clearly, he had to allow Bailey to work with him, else she'd work against him. He seemed doomed to keep her around, for her own protection if nothing else.

  "Fine," she retorted ungraciously.

  At least he'd keep her in line for a few days, Gage thought with satisfaction as he mounted his horse and rode slowly back to the boarding house.

  Inside his Spartan room, he undressed and bathed roughly in the tepid water of the wash bowl, using a harsh soap that smelled not at all like the clean citrus scent Bailey used. In her formal frock, she looked splendid tonight, and he smiled at the memory.

  After his evening ablutions, he lay down on top of the bed covering. His eyes swept around the room, witnessing the meager furnishings and clear starkness of his life. Since he'd mustered out from the Army, he found his requirements were simple.

  He took all of his meals downstairs or at Bea's Kitchen and, in truth, had little need for anything more than his clothing and a few personal articles. At the right wall beneath the window, a small desk was shoved against the wall. On its neat surface lay an oil lamp and the law book he'd been reading. To the left of the bed rested a battered nightstand with a glass of water.

  In front of him, the door opened into the boarding room hall, although his room was at the end of the corridor and he seldom heard noises from the other boarders. To the left of the door his wardrobe loomed large and dark, its gleaming mahogany reflecting in the moon's light through the open window.

  His arms folded beneath his head, Tucker tried to relax on the large, pillared bed. He rarely felt the cold as others did, and the winter's breeze wafting through the curtains felt good on his fevered skin.

  He closed his eyes and drifted off, Meghan Bailey's lovely emerald eyes and trim figure fixed in his thoughts.

  #

  Tucker crouched over the broken, bloody body, but he could not make himself stop the pounding of his fists into a face that was already a pulpy mess. Burly Sergeant Swift pulled him off, pinning his arms to his sides and holding him from behind in a giant bear's hug.

  "Easy lad, 'tis finished. He's dead."

  Swift dragged Tucker off into the thicket and pushed him down on the dirt and brush. He unstopped his canteen and held it to Tucker's mouth, the liquid trickling from his lips.

  "Ah, Lieutenant," the sergeant sighed heavily. "'Tis a sad and sorry day, this is."

  He drank from his own canteen and rested baleful eyes on Tucker who stared at his bloody fists as if he no longer recognized them as part of his body.

  Tucker never wept, not then, not a year later, not when he was honorably discharged in 1900, given his pension, and bade farewell to the Army.

  #

  Gage jerked upright in a gasp of sweat. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes swept around the room.

  Still in the grip of the dream's horror, he reached for the glass of water, draining it empty. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands.

  Christ Jesus!

  He waited long minutes until his heart slowed from a gallop to a brisk walk, then dragged one thin blanket off the bed and threw it on the floor. He removed his undergarments and lay down naked on the blanket, welcoming the hard floor beneath his back and buttocks.

  He curled on his side and fifteen minutes later fell asleep.

  Chapter 21

  Meghan lay in her bed hours after she'd heard Papa lock up downstairs. She fingered the quilt her mother had sewn from discarded scraps of infant clothing. Worn by so many washings, the batting showed through the fabric squares in thin strips.

  Sometimes when Meghan stroked the fine, soft material, she believed she could remember her mother, could see her lovely face with the high defined cheekbones as she bent over her quilting. She could nearly hear her mother whisper silly words in her ear, childish secrets they'd shared.

  Reflecting on the dinner party tonight, she wondered what secrets Mr. Nolan and his wife were hiding. Was he guilty of treating his daughter harshly? Certainly he indulged in clandestine Klan activities. The hidden robes were proof of that.

  The organization had been resoundingly rejected by most southern politicians, but Meghan was not naïve enough to think deep-felt prejudices fled overnight. She'd heard the underlying bias in the voices of many of Tuscarora's school children. Parents frequently did not understand how freely their offspring absorbed the morals and attitudes in the family.

  Mr. Nolan was a secret member of the Ku Klux Klan. Or, at any rate, had been one. Why would he retain the robes if he'd given up his activities in the organization? And did Mrs. Nolan know of her husband's leanings?

  Lying wide awake, she worried the problem for another hour.

  She thought of Mr. Thomas, the school janitor, a wizened old Negro who knew every family in town. He'd been in his position when Meghan attended school as a child, and he'd been a freed slave long befor
e Mr. Lincoln issued his proclamation. If secrets about the Klan were to be uncovered, Thomas might be able to tell them.

  Frustrated, Meghan sighed heavily in the dark room. Gage was correct. What had all of Mr. Nolan's habits to do with Nell Carver? They might prove he was sinister, a degenerate, or a bigot, but they did not prove he was a murderer.

  But someone was, she thought drowsily. Someone was a murderer.

  Still feeling restless the next morning, Meghan tumbled out of bed, wrapped a robe around her, and made her way to the kitchen for a cup of hot milk. The grandfather clock she passed in the hall chimed six o'clock.

  Although she'd promised Gage to be at the Station House by eight, she suddenly decided he could wait a bit. She'd speak with the elderly janitor at the schoolhouse first. Then when Gage tried to dismiss her vague uneasiness about Oliver Nolan, she'd be armed with further details.

  As she slipped from the house an hour later before her father rose, the air hung heavy with cold mist from the Pasquotank. Meghan hugged her coat close to her body and hurried the several miles to the schoolhouse.

  A half mile away she saw lights glimmer from the two-room building and the white curl of smoke from the chimney. Good, Mr. Thomas had already arrived and begun his chores. Her head down, her handbag clutched tightly, she bustled along, aware of the desolate, empty streets and her boots thudding on the wooden planks.

  A sound like the swoosh of an object slicing through the thick drizzle caught her attention. She turned quickly. The glare of the rising sun dazzled her eyes and she saw only an indistinguishable shape looming tall and black mere feet from her.

  As Meghan gasped, the Reverend Jolly reached out to grab her, his fingers digging hard into her forearm. "What are you doing out so early, Miss Bailey?"

  Her heart leapt into her throat as she jerked her arm away. "I might ask the same thing of you! What's a man of God doing roaming the streets at this hour?"

  Jolly hesitated as though the anomaly hadn't struck him. He took a step closer and bent down to peer into her face. The sharp acrid odor of liquor assailed her nostrils.