Weak Flesh

by Jo Robertson

  He clamped the cigar between his teeth, nearly breaking off the end. Still, it angered him. He'd had a good ... arrangement in Tuscarora until he'd allowed Nell to tempt him. Allowed her to sidle that overly ripe body against his and give him unlimited permission to use it.

  He'd trusted her, seeing in her a kinship. Nell was like him, wild and wanton, game for whatever pleasures the mind could conjure up.

  When it came to his wife, he'd been careful. She knew nothing of his interests, his ... proclivities. If she harbored even a speck of suspicion, he'd have to act quickly and decisively. As he'd done before.

  For now he enjoyed his status, his reputation in the community. He didn't want to reinvent himself yet again, certainly not by necessity.

  Someday, perhaps, but not now.

  Nell's silly threats had sounded her death knell, and he freely admitted that dispatching her had both thrilled him – after all, he'd never killed a woman before – and saddened him. Nell had been quite inventive in bed and her demise was a personal loss.

  Sharpe sighed heavily and looked around the room. Everything had gone so well until the day her body turned up. He'd never thought the Pasquotank would vomit up its deadly secret after so many days.

  Now the Marshal and his nosy bitch poked around, asking questions, interrogating suspects even though the coroner's jury clearly pointed the finger at that degenerate James Wade.

  He thought of Meghan Bailey's rounded curves and fit muscles, imagined the firmness of her ass and the triangle of coal between her legs. He dropped his hand to his trousers, fumbled with the fastening, and thought about the inventive ways he could kill the busybody school teacher.

  #

  Not in so many words, perhaps not completely, but Meghan knew by the comfortable way he treated her that he'd accepted her help. Almost as if they'd returned to the easygoing alliance of their youth.

  She cheered up a bit. His disappointment in her was far more wounding than his anger.

  They waited in the small parlor of the Jolly home. The Reverend was at the rectory and the maid informed them Mrs. Jolly was still abed. The girl was plain and sturdy, and in a show of respect for Gage's position, said she'd ask if ma'am would see them.

  "What are you going to say to Mrs. Jolly?" Meghan asked when the girl left the room.

  "Specifics – details – of exactly when and how she witnessed this apparent assault," Gage replied, stretching out his legs on the circular rug.

  "The two people she saw – coloring, clothing, size. If I question her closely enough she might remember some small item by which to identify them."

  Meghan nodded. "Perhaps if we reenacted what she saw, Mrs. Jolly might recall more specifics."

  Gage gave her an assessing look, but said nothing. Was he regretting asking her to accompany him? He may have forgiven her actions, but she knew he didn't approve of them.

  Some long minutes later Mrs. Jolly entered the room with a flair Meghan had never before seen in the woman. Gage frowned and shot Meghan a questioning look as he rose to greet the Reverend's wife. Out of Mrs. Jolly's eyesight, Meghan shrugged, confused by the woman's flushed cheeks and springy step.

  The blush of fever, she wondered, or the bloom of suddenly restored health?

  "Do be seated, please," Mrs. Jolly chattered like a bird, waving her bony fingers aimlessly toward the sofa. "Such a lovely winter day, crisp with sunshine."

  After ordering refreshments, she leaned forward, her eyes bright and curious. "Now, Marshal Gage, how can I help you?"

  Straight to the heart of the matter, Meghan thought. Where had the frail, sick woman she'd visited just yesterday vanished to?

  "I'm happy to see that you're feeling better, ma'am," Meghan said before Gage could respond. "Have you recuperated from your illness, then?"

  Mrs. Jolly fluttered her hands wildly and protested. "Oh, I wasn't so very ill."

  "I beg to differ, Ma'am. You were quite – "

  "Miss Bailey tells me that you witnessed a strange occurrence some months ago," Gage interrupted, squashing Meghan's comment on the spot. "Could you elaborate on what you saw at the edge of the Great Swamp?"

  "I – I don't know how I can help you," Mrs. Jolly faltered.

  "Perhaps you can remember the month? Had winter come or was it still fall?" Gage urged.

  Mrs. Jolly sighed as if greatly put upon. "It was a very long time ago."

  "Summer then? Or spring?" Meghan said, rather sarcastically. Really, the woman acted as though she had no memory at all. And why did she look so healthy today when yesterday she appeared to be at death's door?

  "I suppose so," Mrs. Jolly answered.

  "Which? Summer or spring?" Gage asked, the quintessence of patience.

  After several moments of deliberating, the woman said, "It was fall, I believe – yes, fall."

  "What time of the day was it? What were you doing at the Swamp?" Meghan shot out the questions like bullets from a rifle until she felt the pressure of Gage's fingers on her arm.

  "Can you explain what the two figures looked like? You said a man and a woman were quarrelling or fighting." Gage's voice cajoled, persuaded.

  Mrs. Jolly touched her fingers to her temple and closed her eyes. "I – I'm not feeling well. Perhaps I – "

  Gage knelt down and took her free hand. "Mrs. Jolly, I know this is distressing for you, but it's very important. Don't you wish to help find poor Nell's attacker?"

  She opened her eyes, moist now, and blinked at Gage.

  "You told Miss Bailey that you saw two persons. Do you think one of them might've been Nell Carver?"

  For several long moments Mrs. Jolly stared silently at Gage, then withdrew her hand and rose. Her spine stiffened as though she'd brought herself under control.

  "You see, Marshal, that's the trouble. Regardless of what I may have said to Miss Bailey, I'm not sure I saw anything. I was quite ill last fall, if you remember. Likely I imagined the whole thing. Yes, it was probably an hallucination brought on by the fever."

  #

  "She's lying," Meghan said flatly as they climbed into the gig.

  "She certainly seems to have recovered quickly," Gage commented dryly, amused by the outrage on Meghan's face. "Did Mrs. Jolly happen to tell you previously exactly where she witnessed these two people – who she now claims were figments of her imagination – fighting?"

  Her eyes sparkled. "What do you have in mind?"

  "I should like to visit the spot, see if there are any clues to be found. If Mrs. Jolly witnessed the altercation, perhaps someone else did too."

  "Do you think that's likely?"

  Gage shrugged. Searching the edge of the Swamp and questioning the loggers there was probably a waste of his time, but it must be done. "I'd like your company, if you have time and the inclination. You have sharp eyes."

  Meghan beamed and smiled so broadly he felt the strength of it dazzle him like the sudden burst of the sun from behind a cloud.

  "Mrs. Jolly also claimed Nell didn't visit them frequently right before her disappearance," she reminded him.

  "Another issue to confront Reverend Jolly with." He grinned. "I shall look forward to that conversation."

  The ride to the outer edges of the Great Swamp passed in conversation about the case, but all the while Gage was violently aware of the nearness of Bailey perched on the wooden seat beside him. Occasionally as the buggy lurched on the rutted road, her body swayed into him and he felt the thrill of her warmth and softness.

  Suddenly, apropos of nothing, she asked, "Do you remember when I got caught in the storm?" She angled herself sideways on the seat facing him.

  Gage flicked a look at her, but kept his eyes on the road. She didn't need to elaborate. He knew exactly what she meant, but shrugged anyway. "Which one of the dozens of hurricanes on the Carolina coast from June to November do you mean?" he joked.

  Her expression was deadly serious. "I thought I was going to die," she murmured, her eyes huge and round and the color of a winter
forest. "You saved me."

  "How could I forget?" He forced a laugh. "I never did know how you got stuck out in that storm."

  She turned forward and refused to meet his eyes. "I think I fell a little in love with you that day."

  His heart jerked in his chest, he couldn't catch his breath, and his mouth turned dry as dust. His pulse raced as if he'd run a mile. A girlhood crush, he warned himself, hero worship very natural under the circumstances. It meant nothing to either of them now.

  Nothing at all.

  Chapter 26

  They rode some time in silence while the lush foliage gave way to the marshy land that began the Great Dismal Swamp. Although the Swamp remained undrained in spite of plans to the contrary, evidence of logging activity surrounded them.

  "Papa says a thousand runaway slaves hid out here during the War," Bailey commented.

  Gage nodded. "Hard living in there. The Swamp shacks are very primitive."

  "It's difficult to believe they could've survived at all, especially with slave traders hunting them."

  Gage hawed to his horse and circled around a clearing off the road. "The buggy wheels will sink in this muck."

  "What do you hope to find here?"

  He looked around at the remote mystery of the surrounding acreage, the dark density of the Swamp. "I don't know, Bailey."

  "If you didn't expect to find any evidence, why did we make the journey?" She made the comment sound like a challenge.

  "Maybe I thought I'd get an understanding of how a struggle could've happened here – a woman's strength pitted against a man's – how easy it'd be to kill someone in such solitude."

  She shivered and edged closer to him on the wooden bench, their thighs touching through the fabric of her skirt and his trousers. He put his arm around her shoulders and kept it there for a long moment as they both stared into the murky marsh of the Dismal Swamp.

  "What do you suppose brought Mrs. Jolly out here?" Meghan shifted and his arm fell away, leaving him strangely bereft.

  "You believe her original claim is true?"

  She nodded. "It has the ring of truth, while this recent account sounds – artificial."

  "She could've been administering to the loggers. There's been a lot of sickness this year."

  A contemplative look crossed her fine features. "I wondered if perhaps she followed Reverend Jolly here."

  Startled, Gage straightened in the seat. "Good God, Bailey, why would a respectable woman like the Reverend's wife follow her upstanding husband? She doesn't seem the kind of woman made for spying."

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and before he could react, she jumped down from the buggy without assistance. "Have you ever thought maybe the Reverend isn't such an upstanding husband after all?"

  Gage followed her, landing in the muddy rut of a road and soiling his boots. "Christ, Bailey! It isn't safe to wander around here. There are cottonmouths, copperheads, rattlers."

  He grabbed her arm above the elbow, noticing her wince. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "That's the second time you've reacted when I touched your arm," he accused. "He hurt you, didn't he?"

  "Who?" she asked innocently, but she favored her arm in what she clearly thought was a discreet manner.

  "Don't be coy, Bailey. It doesn't suit you." His temper flared at the idea of another man treating her roughly, especially a supposed man of God. "Reverend Jolly manhandled you, didn't he?"

  "He was deep in his cups at the time."

  "That's no excuse," he said darkly. "What about Nolan? Did he also abuse you?"

  "Gage, what the Reverend or Mr. Nolan did or did not do in regards to me is immaterial." She strode off towards the footpath nearly overgrown with dense brush and muddy with marshland.

  He quickly caught up with her. "The paths are too overgrown for you to manage on foot and without a hatchet or axe. What do you hope to find in there anyway?"

  Meghan turned around quickly and bumped into his chest, causing his heart to lurch as he inhaled her clean scent, steadied her with his hands.

  "I just realized something," she said, her face very near to his chin. "Perhaps Mrs. Jolly saw the Lady in the Lake."

  He guffawed. "You don't believe the nonsense of that old legend."

  "Well, I certainly don't, but Mrs. Jolly might have observed the lights that sometimes emanate from the forest." Her brows puckered between those lovely eyes now dark as the surrounding foliage.

  "I believe there's a scientific reason for those flickering lights superstitious folk attribute to ghosts and the like," Gage said, his hands slipping from her arms to her small waist. She felt so slender and delicate beneath his hands.

  And not at all as affected by his nearness as he was by hers, he thought wryly, drawing back from her. "I intend to question a few of the loggers."

  "Good idea. While you're doing that, I'll – "

  "Oh, no, you don't." He grabbed her hand and dragged her along the somewhat cleared path that led to the water's edge and the crowded bustle of logging activity. "You're coming with me."

  A small Swamp shack sat at the edge of the Ditch used to transport the logs. The Dismal Swamp Canal, enlarged two years ago, provided greater accessibility of the lumber and increased production two fold.

  Although these shacks, which dotted the area, had provided refuge for runaway slaves during the War Between the North and South, Gage knew it was alarmingly easy to get lost – and stay lost – in the Swamp. With her usual earnestness, Bailey grumbled at being hauled along, but allowed him to lead her to the wooden shanty that housed the Dismal Swamp Land Company.

  While he went inside to speak with the logging foreman – making her promise not to wander off – she leaned against a post outside and watched the boats resting lazily in the Canal.

  When Gage returned some twenty minutes later, she was gone.

  Christ Jesus! The woman was a constant thorn in his side. He wasted another fifteen minutes roaming up and down the Canal banks, poking his head into the few ramshackle buildings.

  Finally, thinking she might've returned to the gig, he made his way back to where he'd left his horse and buggy at the edge of the Swamp. He eyed one of several dirt paths that led deeper into the gloaming of the Swamp.

  Surely Bailey hadn't gone off into the Swamp alone. She'd solemnly promised him, but his gut told him such an impetuous act was exactly what she'd do. Even though he'd specifically warned against it.

  He searched in the back of his gig for a rifle, water canteen, and his pack which held a hand axe. He hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. Setting out on the most worn path, he eyed the sky and noted the darkening clouds and the sudden sweep of winter chill in the air.

  Uneasiness pricked his mind as the path grew thicker and muddier. He didn't think she'd veer off the narrow dirt path, so he marched along the trail, deeper and deeper into the Swamp.

  He'd make her pay this time for worrying him, he vowed.

  #

  Minutes after Gage entered the Swamp he realized he should've known better than to go after Bailey on his own. He'd lived near the Swamp much of his life and knew how easily a person got turned around in there. Knew the dank, cold humidity and the ever-present danger of poisonous reptiles, black bear, and bobcat, among other Swamp creatures.

  After twenty minutes of trudging through the thick foliage, he began to question not only his judgment, but his sanity. He glimpsed an occasional shantytown shack through the dense cedar and cypress trees, but not another person, although he knew hundreds of people still lived there. The Swamp inhabitants, human and otherwise, knew how to stay hidden.

  Why had Bailey gone off? And where? Finding her before complete darkness fell seemed nearly impossible.

  Frustrated, Gage paused to drink from his canteen, resting his foot on a nearby log. Distraction and concern for Bailey overrode his natural caution and he failed to check the area surrounding the log. A careless mistake, he realized the moment it happened. />
  The rattler struck without warning as if shaking its rattle would give Gage an unfair advantage. Clearly, it would've, he thought as the pain struck severe and immediate at his right thigh. He allowed the snake to slither off. After all, Gage was the invader here.

  Almost immediately confusion and dizziness gripped him. A fair amount of venom, then, he thought, his mind detached from his weakening body. God, how stupid of him! How incredibly ironic that he should escape the Indian Wars, the horror of the West and the Army, only to be felled by a common rattle snake.

  The ignominy of it offended him.

  Disoriented, he staggered around in circles for other precious moments. He knew swift and immediate action was critical, yet his body refused to respond to his mind's commands. He felt faint as pain seared through the flesh of his thigh. The rapid swelling of his leg tightened his trousers.

  He reached for his knife and cut away the fabric of his pants, gazed down at the wound. Two neat puncture marks, already red and angry, pointed the site of the snake's bite. He felt the racing of his heart, knew at every pump of that organ the poison coursed through his veins with alarming speed.

  He stumbled along, catching himself several times on the trees and branches that loomed over the dirt path, scraping his hands and neck. Sweat ran in great rivulets down his face, throat and chest. He'd never make it, he thought, as his breath hitched in his throat, refusing to pump through his lungs.

  What seemed like months instead of minutes later, he finally reached the correct fork back to the logging camp.

  Good God, he couldn't breathe. He felt himself trip and tumbled in a floating ballet as the ground rose up to meet him. His last clear thought was of the strange numbness to his mouth, his lumbering tongue, and the metallic taste of death.

  #

  "You're a damn fool," Meghan scolded, keeping her voice cool and annoyed rather than giving in to the terror that struck deep in her heart. "A Goddamn fool!"

  Fortunately, two loggers had seen Gage lurch from the Swamp and collapse a quarter mile from the boat area. They'd hauled him up by the arms and legs and carried him to the edge of the Swamp where Meghan spied them as she walked from the Canal back to Gage's horse and carriage.