Turkey Creek
Whispering Pines Book 7
Charles E. Wells
Copyright Charles E. Wells 2012
Published by Wellston Publishing at Smashwords
Visit the Author’s website at:
http://www.wellstonpublishing.com
This book is a work of fiction. While references may be
made to actual places or events, the names, characters,
Incidents and locations within are from the author's
Imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or
dead persons, businesses or events. Any similarity is
coincidental.
Wellston Publishing
Dublin, Georgia 31021
www.wellstonpublishing.com
First published by Wellston Publishing, 2012
Dedicated to those who put the thunder in this written lightning.
L.T. and L.Y.
Chapter 1
(1862)
Nightfall was closing in as Blake stepped out of the thick undergrowth of the swamp and into an open area of the game trail he had been following for the last few hours. He and his two pack mules had weaved through the briars and vines and the going had been rough and at times, dangerous in a few places. Now, the sight of open space and easier travel lifted the spirit some even while scaring the soul. He needed to move quietly and out of sight which was not going to be an option any longer. According to the water marks on the trees, the area was often flooded which kept it clear of underbrush and vines. He had never come this way before because there was an easier route south around the swamp but that is how they would have expected him to go.
At least the two pack mules had not been uncooperative along the way, no doubt sensing the urgency and fear of their owner. Now he would need them to wait and be patient for darkness to fall and then follow him into the river and swim across the dangerous currents at night.
He turned around and adjusted one of the harnesses and then patted the animals on the bridge of its nose. "Jake, we need to wait here for a spell so you and Rabbit keep your ears open on that trail behind us."
Jake blew softly on Blake's hand as though to answer. He and Rabbit were better watchdogs than most cur hounds although this pair could be notoriously stubborn at times; the obstinacy came from being smart, not stupid. Jake, more so than Rabbit, had a sharp sense of smell and hearing and used it well. Blake trusted his keen instincts and tolerated the bouts of hard headedness.
He turned back toward the river and let his eyes once again scan about. He heard a distant crow chattering and the rustles of a few small animals darting about in the bushes and trees, but there was nothing else he or Jake could see or hear in the area.
Rabbit, the younger of the two animals, started rolling its eyes and tugging at the reins in Blake's left hand. He wanted to go over to the creek for water. It was Turkey Creek, the source of the river fiord over which they would use to aid in the crossing. Blake reached over and patted him on the nose as well and said, "Not right now Rabbit. Just stand here and take a blow. We'll get some water in a few minutes. You don’t need to get cramped up and sick from the water as hot as you are.
Blake knew the animals were tired and ready to stop for the night, and so was he. They hadn't slept much in the last few days. No campfires, no coffee, nothing but nerve wrecking nights followed by hot and humid days. Now it was about to pay off if they could hang on for just a little longer. The hounds were no longer nipping at their heels and they were closer to safety now than they were to death. Yesterday about this time, that situation had been the opposite.
Just reaching the river was a one in a hundred stroke of luck. Now that he had done so, he needed one more burst of good fortune to get him and the mules safely through the deadly currents in almost total darkness. It would be a sad state of affairs if he were to die so close to home, especially since the sounds of the gunfire would be heard by the animals around his farm for miles around.
The past few days of running had taken every trick he knew to try and cover his tracks, saving the grand finale for last. That morning he had suddenly turned north for a mile and then doubled back eastward for a similar distance. When he was sure those tracking him had gone past, he turned south until it intersected with his previous trail. Once assured those behind him were now in front, he again turned east and fell in behind. Such a switchback was an old trick he'd heard about from bear hunters in North Georgia. The animals had been known to double back on the hunters and then attack from behind. The hunter became the hunted and more often than not, such incidents ended more fatal to man than beast. Blake's intent wasn't to attack from behind, it was to know the location of his pursuers and avoid them.
When the men following Blake discovered the ruse, they broke trail and vanished from sight. They already knew where he was headed now anyway. Figuring it out was to know the area and they obviously did. The river crossing was the logical place for them to set up an ambush and there was only one spot to do so. Turkey Creek, where it met the waters of the Oconee River, was a place where the sands and silts from the creek flowed into the muddy brown waters and sank. They created a natural fiord of shallow water that extended outward some distance narrowing the breadth of the area in which to swim. The killers knew that Blake would most likely cross there and were probably waiting with no intent of letting him reach the other side alive.
Blake looked around the area until he was satisfied there were no immediate threats, and said, "Okay, come on guys. Let's go get some water."
He led them across the almost bare and sandy soil to the edge of the creek and then let the reins in his hand go slack. Rabbit leaned down and sniffed at the blackish looking water then raised his head back up and looked at his partner. Jake leaned into the stream and started drinking without hesitation. Satisfied it was okay; Rabbit leaned back down and did the same.
Blake had seen such things before from this pair but he didn't think it was the younger animal being nice and letting the senior mule go first. Rabbit was probably waiting to see if the wiser of the two smelled something wrong in the water that would keep him from drinking it. Jake, for all practical purposes, was the taste tester of the duo.
Scratching the itchy stubble on his chin, Blake said "Well boys, the next time I lead you to water there won't be any stopping unless you want to die where you stand."
After drinking their fills, Blake squatted down next to them and swished around to clear the surface of the water and then scooped his two hands down deep. The water was cool and black. He lifted a handful and drank it quickly, more aware of the heat and humidity around him than before. He and the mules were drenched from all the running of the last two days and nights. The August temperatures in Georgia would do that to man and beast but today had been worse than seasonal and his body was letting him know about it, aching everywhere there was a muscle. His eyes stung and were red from rubbing at the constant sweat that rolled off his forehead into them.
He let his mind drift back to the dangers of the river against the risks of facing the Jenkins brothers alone. The Oconee was known for its strong undercurrents, hidden rocks, and hidden logs beneath the surface. Just last spring, he had seen a three hundred pound wild hog trying to cross but it got sucked under and swept away after a large tree trunk hit it squarely. Blake had no illusions that such a thing could happen to him as well but the risks of facing the Jenkins brothers seemed much greater.
They were five brothers, all savvy hunters and excellent shooters with their muskets. Worst of all, they were known killers wanted by the law on both sides of the Oconee. To Blake, a log in the head while crossing was better than a lead mini ball in the back. So no, he and the animals would take their chances in the river before trying to win a fight against such stacked odds. The Jenkins brothers were vicious and skilled killers, more dangerous than anything to be had from the river.
Blake rose again and stood beside the mules, waiting, listening. He knew he shouldn't have gone after them like he had. His intention was to draw them out one at a time and kill them but they didn't operate that way. They ran in a pack much like wolves or wild dogs, and they hunted and stalked their prey the same way. Had he realized that before crossing the river and gone into their self proclaimed territory, then he might have asked others for help. His plan was twofold. He needed to trap enough beavers to pay for two acres of land that he wanted to buy next to his own property. Two, he wanted to kill the men who had murdered his Grandfather and stolen his land last year. The plan almost worked too, until that morning he was working his trot line.
The Jenkins boys had known that someone was trapping the area, just not who or when. Blake crossed the river and set out beaver traps along a four mile line that he had to check daily. Most raccoons, and even some beaver, if caught in such a trap, would gnaw their leg off before waiting around for something to come along and get them. When the Jenkins brothers discovered his traps, they waited in ambush and caught him flat footed in the open, his rifle holstered in the saddle holder on Jake's back. He was distracted by the catch, a beautiful twenty pound beaver with a stunning fur that would be worth at least a silver dollar or more. The excitement of such a catch distracted his attention from the risks around him. Jake had tried to warn him with a heavy foot stomp and deep snort, but Blake had been too engrossed with the animal in the trap to pay any attention until too late. They were already standing out in plain sight with guns pointed straight at him at a can't miss range.
After much beating and torment, they tied him to his pack mules and traveled several miles west to their daddy’s farm. That night, he managed to escape when a young girl had untied his left hand to give him water. A blow with his fist to her chin did little physical harm, but to attack a child or a female, was a death sentence, in this case a hanging, at the hands of her highly offended brothers.
Blake had gotten away and took Jake and Rabbit in the process along with their pelts from the last few weeks. Now, the only thing left that might slow the Jenkins down was the river. It was the only boundary they might honor mainly because their being caught by the law on Jake's side of the river would mean hanging by the city marshal.
The mules had finished drinking and now looked weary of doing anything more than resting for the night. He felt the same way because of the distance they had covered so fast in the last two days and nights and sympathized, to cross the river at night could mean death but staying to fight assured it. They had to cross, and soon.
Suddenly, Jake reared his head high into the air and his ears stood straight up. He snorted loudly and stamped one foot. Blake jumped to his feet pulling a pistol out of his waistband and raising it upward in the air, ready to cock and fire. Then, what sounded like an angry bee whizzed past his right ear. It was the first time in his life anyone had ever fired at gun directly at him. He saw a distant puff of blue white smoke from a gunshot rise upward inside a line of bushes and vines less than thirty yards away. The Jenkins brothers were here; they had found him and once again caught him flat footed and off guard. Now he had no choice but to run.
The echo of the gunshot rattled the woods around him and could be heard for miles. It was a deep, thundering boom from a large bore musket. The bullet that barely missed his head had whizzed past and slammed in the base of a tree nearby. The two mules jumped and almost ripped the reins out of Blake's hands. He tucked the gun back into his waistband and took the leather reins with both hands. Using his full body weight, he leaned backwards toward the creek and started pulling the animals forward.
A second bullet, fired from another gun, spat mud and water up on him as it struck near his feet. The "boom" reached his ears but he had no great urge to find the shooter's position. He focused on getting Jake and Rabbit started toward the river as quickly as they would do so. He kept pulling until the pair was moving at a good trot then turned and faced forward to lead them. Something knocked him forward several feet and the wind was gone from his lungs. He body flooded with raging pain and the surge forward and stumble almost put him face down in the water. Blood spurted out of a hole in the front of his shirt but he was still on his feet and still moving. A short distance later he was at the bank of the river and kept going, jumping into the water as far as the reins to the mules allowed
The currents caught him and snatched his feet out from underneath. He lost his grip on the reins and was carried away quickly at an escalating speed in the currents. The mules, free of the grip on their reins, lost sight of him when he rolled over in the water then vanished below the surface.
When Blake managed to get his head back to the surface, he heard the sounds of water crashing against rocks further ahead. And then he heard the most remarkable sound of all, the last thing he had ever expected to hear. It was the deep thundering “boom” of a Sharps .50 caliber rifle coming from the side of the river where he had been headed. Someone was shooting at his attackers.
With his last burst of energy, he righted his body and started swimming but when he turned to the left, he spotted a floating log heading straight for him. He kicked once and barely avoided a collision as it whipped past but a protruding limb caught the back of his shirt and slammed his head against the hard wood of the trunk. He lost energy and was dragged away deeper into the currents. The last thing he thought he would ever hear was the sweet sound of that booming rifle again and then the darkness engulfed him.
The next thing Blake knew, he was sitting on the ground, leaning back against a tall pine tree. Ten feet away was the creek that flowed through his property and farm. The sun was shining overhead and the day was mild and comfortable. He looked around and saw how his own south field had been planted in corn with its bright green stalks popping up into the breeze and about waist high. He thought, "It's springtime already?"
What had happened to him? Maybe he was dead. Maybe he had died in that river and this was heaven?
"No sir, Mister Blake. You ain't dead and this ain't heaven. This here's just a place where you are right now and nothing more."
Blake snapped his head and looked at the man. He was an elderly black man with bright white hair and a stubbly looking beard that covered most of his lower face. His eyes were olive green and seemed to twinkle with joy when they looked at you. Blake could not find any words to speak so he sat there; staring at the elderly man, wondering from which large farm this slave had escaped.
"It's a beautiful day, ain't it Mister Blake? Plumb pretty day I think. And no, I'm not an escaped slave. I'm a freed man, been one for years, and I'm here to help you because from what I know, you are going to need all the help you can get soon."
How did this old guy know what he was thinking? He managed to nod his head yes and then said, "I'm in a mess of trouble back there, that's true enough, but now I'm here beside you and I wonder if I'm dreaming or maybe even dead."
"Oh, no sir, like I just told you. You ain't dead. You're here because some of your kinfolks need some help, and if you help them then you help your own self too."
"I'm not likely to get across that river while I'm sitting here talking to you."
"Oh that's done taken care of. Fact is, you're already out of that river and being cared for by a woman you, well, I'll not say more about that, but you're safe now and in good hands. Now help this old man up, Mister Blake, and lets me and you take a walk."
Blake nodded and stood up, then helped the old man to his feet. "Now thank you son, these old bones of mine do tend to stiffen up when I sit too long. I know what your next question is too; it's the way I talk. I don't talk like any of the darkies, the slaves that you know around this part of Georgia, and that's probably true. I guess I sound educated to your ears, educated similar to how you were back in that old one room shack down the river a ways, and by your mama of an evening after all the chores were done."
Blake nodded and then started walking slowly along with the old man. "I didn't mean no insults by thinking you talked like a white man, uh, mister, uh..."
"My name is Jim, and most folks just call me Uncle Jim but that's 'cause of my age and not meaning any blood relations to them."
"Okay, Uncle Jim. Why don't you just call me Blake then? I don’t like hearing that "Mister" stuff in the same breath with my name unless you are a child or…"
"…Or a slave" Uncle Jim said, finishing the statement.
Blake felt shamed but wasn't going to lie to the old man. "Or a slave, yes, I'm sorry for thinking that way around you though."
"God looks into a man's soul and knows what he is thinking long before the man knows that thought his own self. Here in your time, in your days, your thinking is caused more from how you were raised than by how you learned on your own. You were never given a chance to know any of the darkies much and since nobody around you saw them as anything but tools that belonged to the owners, there was nothing there for you to compare them with but the color of their skin and the position of their duties."
Blake shook his head slowly. "Still don't seem to be right in my mind."
"You mean, not right that you can't see the slave as an equal man no matter how hard you try?"
"I've seen a slave do things with wood tools that most white men couldn't come close to doing. I've seen a group of slaves take scrap, mostly rotted timbers and turn them into the most beautiful church buildings you ever laid eyes on. But no matter how hard I try, I just can't see them being equal or the same as me. I'm sorry, Uncle Jim."
"Oh, that's understandable of your times, Blake. For that matter, I don't know of many white folks like you around here who would consider a darkie like me being an equal man, but it's something your future kinfolks are going to find out; it's something they are going to learn direct from their freed children. They gonna' learn it more from just watching how things was when growing up. But right now, in your time, there is no shame for how you feel about the darkies, but your children will start to feel it, and their children will start to change it, and their children will fight to keep it changed. But how you feel right now, well, that's just something you will take to your grave but there's no shame in it."
They walked on silently for a short ways until Blake finally asked, "Why am I here, Uncle Jim? You said my kinfolks needed me for something?"
"Yes they do and we're heading over this way because there's somebody I want you to meet."
Blake looked ahead and saw a small man standing there waiting. When he and Uncle Jim were closer though, he realized it wasn't a man. It was a woman, a young pretty woman but she was dressed in strange looking, men's clothing.
Blake glanced over at Uncle Jim who nodded and smiled back at him. "Now don't be paying much mind to how this young lady is dressed. From where she comes, a lady wearing men's britches and a shirt is normal, and in her world, she is a rare beauty even dressed as that. I'm sure even you can see that your own self; even if she isn't wearing a lady like dress and such."
Blake nodded but since they were now within ear shot of the lady, he said nothing more. The woman, looking at Uncle Jim, asked, "Why am I here, in this place, Uncle Jim?"
"Hello, Miss Gail. I'll explain that shortly, but I want you to meet Blake. He is from a time before you and you are from a time after him, but both of you are from the same place here on mother earth. Blake? This is Miss Gail. I'll save the two of you the mind troubles of using any last names for now."
Blake took the brim of his hat and tipped it toward Gail. "How do, Miss Gail. I apologize for staring as Uncle Jim and I came walking up. It's not often I see a lady dressed in men's clothing unless they are working in the field or around the barns."
Gail nodded and smiled, but the confusion showed on her face."Hello, Blake. You look familiar to me and that is why I was staring back just as hard when you approached."
Uncle Jim said, "Now the two of you are here because there's some conflict ahead that's needin' to be fixed or else somebody dear to this young lady's heart is going to die; somebody in her world, Blake, and that somebody is your kinfolk. She be needin' your help to save him and you will be needin' her help to save your own life. But if her friend, your kinfolk, dies, then you will too. And if you die, then your kinfolk will have never been born and that will upset the rest of things; put it out of kilter with how things should be."
"I don't understand." Blake said, glancing from Gail back to Uncle Jim. "I don’t know where this lady is from or what I can do to help her save my kinfolks, whoever that might be. As for crossing that river back yonder, I already told you I figured that since I was here, that I didn't get on across it alive."
"Crossing that river alive is over and done with, Blake. I done told you that. You being here is to help this young woman save your kinfolks, and if she saves him, then you'll be fine for what's coming soon in your world."
Blake shook his head and said, "I don't recall every seeing her around these parts before but you keep talking as though she lives here. I don’t imagine I would forget seeing such a beautiful face in these parts of Georgia, I'm sure."
Gail smiled and then her eyes lit up in recognition. She looked at Uncle Jim who said, "That's right, Miss Gail. He's kin to him only the color of his skin is lighter and his face a bit more lean than your friend back there. This is his Great, Great, Grandpa, and he carries the same name, Blake Squires."
Gail's eyes glittered with understanding while Blake's dimmed with confusion. "I do not understand any of this, Uncle Jim. My only son died last year along with his mama, so I can't be a grandpa to anyone, and I ain't old enough to be a great grandpa. What are you talking about?"
"You are here with me and Miss Gail, in a place that is familiar to you. A place you can't think of with age and time to measure by. You need to be thinking of kinship, love and relations that are timeless. My work between your two worlds is to keep things in balance as best I can. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I fail. You being here is to show Miss Gail what she needs to know so she can help save your kinfolks from her time."
"Are you saying that she is from my future?"
"She is from your destiny, Blake. There is no future and no past, there is just the love and the present time, all the time. Miss Gail lives in another place; a place you would call another time, a time on down the road from you but it's more like a place too. The place is here, and it's there, but what's most important is, this place is right here where we stand and the time is right now."
Blake looked down at this dusty boots but not fully understanding, and not totally lost anymore either. Uncle Jim said, "It will clear up in your mind when you think on it more, Blake. But for now, if Miss Gail is successful, then you will be as well."
Blake looked up at Gail and their eyes locked, something was exchanged between them. Something he could feel and sense, but not something he could describe. Uncle Jim said, "Now there we go, that's what I mean, Blake. Your dangers were never in crossing that river, not even getting shot by them varmints that were chasing you. Your dangers are ahead of you right now, on down that road you call time, and now you and Miss Gail need to be prepared to help one another as best you can."
Blake and Gail watched Uncle Jim until the world about them faded away into a white misty cloud and then he was gone; they were gone. And the world moved on down the road a ways.
Chapter 2
(Present Day)
Gail opened her eyes and she was back in her own bedroom. The vision, or dream, left her feeling strange, disconnected somehow, and the urgency of the message from Uncle Jim was clear enough. Blake Squires was going to be in serious danger and soon.
She glanced over at the bedside clock that read 5:54 AM; she reached over to touch her husband but the space next to her was empty and cool. She took a deep breath and smelled coffee in the air and knew she would never get back to sleep.
Chuck Veal grabbed a cup of coffee from the percolator on the counter, yawned heavily and stood blowing over it then sipping a taste. His eyes glanced out the window over the sink. It was still full dark outside so there was little to see beyond a few candle bugs flapping around the outside screen. Steam from the cup drifted into his nose and eyes and he flinched, blew then managed to sip just enough of the black liquid to sting his upper lip.
The soft patter of bare feet on the tiled floor brought him around. Gail, his wife, padded into the kitchen, waved at him and then sleepily mumbled something about the morning being good. He smiled and stepped aside, giving her plenty of room to pour her first cup of the day.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up honey, Sorry.”
“I'm glad you did. I needed to crawl out anyway. Darn it’s cold in here. Why did you put the thermostat on sub zero last night?”
“I didn’t move the thermostat when I came to bed, but now that you mention it, it is a tad chilly in here. I better go check it and see.”
“No need,” Gail said pouring a cup. “I did that when I came down the hall awhile ago. It was set on 68 degrees so I moved it back up to 76. You didn’t push it down last night when you came to bed?”
“Good lord no. I’ve been married to you long enough to know better than 68. Maybe one of us bumped it or something walking by?”
“I don’t know, no matter, that’ll add another ten thousand dollars to our electric bill for this month regardless of who did it.”
“Probably, yea, but that’s strange. I don’t remember touching the thing recently.”
Gail shrugged and headed toward the kitchen table. Chuck glanced down the hallway at the wall thermostat unit, then followed his wife over to the table and sat down beside her.
“What have we got on today’s agenda? It’s Saturday so we can skip the office I guess.”
Gail sipped her coffee, grimaced at the bitter taste, and then set it down on the table in front of her. “Darn, I must have put too much coffee in the machine last night when I filled it and set the timer. That’s nasty tasting.”
Chuck shrugged. “It’s good to me, and my goodness ain't we a tad grumpy this morning.”
Gail let her eyes drift up to the ceiling then she sighed. “I’m just not awake yet. I didn’t sleep too well last night and now I feel a little sick on my stomach.”
“Oh? Maybe it was that left over taco you ate at ten PM last night. That thing would give anyone bad dreams.”
“I don’t know about the taco, but you have to be asleep to have any kind of dreams. I don’t think I got a whole lot sleep. Boy, you snored away all night long, though.”
“I’m a professional sleeper. Don’t try it at home.”
“You’re a professional snorer too so don’t try it at work.”
“You should have waked me up or pushed me to roll over on my side or something.”
“Oh, it wasn’t the snoring. I just could not get my mind to slow down and relax. It’s been happening several nights a week but last night was the worse. I…”
When she didn't finish the sentence, Chuck said, “Something on your mind you care to discuss?”
“No, I just can’t shut down for some reason. I can be sitting in the chair at night trying to read or something and I can’t keep my eyes open. So, I get up and go to bed but the second my head hits the pillow I’m wide awake.”
“I’ve had that happen before and it’s not fun. For that matter, you look a bit pale right now too. Are you catching a bug or something? It’s the weekend; you can’t get sick on the weekend you know.”
Gail stared at the wall for a second, turned paler, and then waved her hand in the air. She stood quickly from the table and ran out of the kitchen. Chuck followed her down the hall and watched as she barely got to the bathroom before starting to retch.
He opened the linen closet door, removed a towel, wet it then handed it to her. “Are you okay, honey? Do I need to get you anything?”
She shook her head from side to side, heaved again, and then sat down on the cold tile floor in front of the throne. She wiped her forehead with the wet cloth but said nothing.
“Good lord, Gail. Let me get you a blanket. That floor is freezing I know.”
“No,” she said weakly. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone for a few minutes. I’ll be okay. Go back and finish your coffee.”
Chuck stepped back into the hallway and waited until Gail looked over and motioned with one hand. “Go, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, just yell if you need anything. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“No more late night tacos for her,” he thought sitting back down at the table. The wall clock read 6:05 AM but Chuck still compared it with his wristwatch. “I guess we can forget working around the pond dock today,” he thought.
Ten minutes later, just as he was starting his second cup of coffee, Gail returned to the kitchen and walked over to the pantry. “Let me get you a hot cup of coffee, are you okay honey?”
“No coffee, thank you. I want to eat a couple of saltine crackers to settle my stomach. Where the heck are they?”
“Top shelf on your left I think. Do you need me to…?”
Gail, on tiptoes, managed to drag the red and white box off the upper shelf and it fell into her other hand. She brought the whole box back to the table and sat down. “Wow, that’s not fun,” she said while opening the bag of crackers.
“You think the taco is why you are sick?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the taco.”
“Why do you say it like that? Did you get back up during the night and eat something else?”
“No, but something’s been late for a few weeks now and if this is morning sickness and nothing more, well…”
“Do what? “ Chuck almost cried.
Gail tried to smile then took a nibble from the edge of a saltine. “It wasn’t the taco. It was the wine and candles about six or seven weeks ago. I bought one of those little testing things at the drug store and used it awhile ago. It's showing positive. I checked it a few days ago too and got the same results. I’m pregnant.”
Chuck jumped out of the chair and cried, “Oh my God that is wonderfully; aren’t you happy?”
“Not at the moment, no I’m not.”
“What? You don’t’ want to have a baby?”
“That’s not the problem. The problem is I don’t know who the mother is…”
Chuck burst out laughing just as his cell phone rang.
Gail said, "I'm going to go lay down for a little while. My stomach is still sort of floppy. I'll be on the living room sofa."
She walked down the hall, hesitated outside the bathroom door a second, then went on to the living room couch, set up a few cushions, then laid down and closed her eyes. She was instantly dropped into the misty fog.
***
(1862)
Blake Squires opened his eyes and looked into the face of an angel. “Am I dead?” he asked the woman who leaned over and stared down at him.
“Not yet, mister, but you are lucky that we came up on you back there. What were you doing so terrible that caused them to be trying to kill you like that?”
With Uncle Jim's face still in the front of his mind, Blake wasn't sure what to say or do. Maybe he had gone from being with Uncle Jim to being in this world with this angelic looking woman fussing over him. “I was trapping beaver on the west side of the river. I set my lines on land those fellers shooting at me stole from my Grandfather a few years back. They claim they have all rights to the land but there are no filings that I've seen or heard about. When they caught me, they tied me up and put me in their barn. I think they planned to string me up the next day but I got away. That was two days ago. I even got my mules and pelts back too, and I've been running ever since trying to get back here. How did I get out of the water?”
The woman raised the rag and looked at the wound while rinsing the cloth in a pot of murky water. She said, “The log you were caught on got jammed between two rocks but your head took a pretty bad hit somewhere along the line. Mattie and I roped you out and carried you here. We're about a mile away from the river. Those men didn't try to cross thanks to the currents and my daddy's Henry rifle."
"They might try later."
"They might, and that's why I sent Mattie, back down the path a ways in case they did.”
“Is Mattie the one with the 54 Henry?”
The woman smiled. “No, that was me. I was only shooting so they would get their heads down. Mattie carries an old scattergun loaded with buckshot, but she can handle her own with it even if she is a darkie. So you were poaching?”
“No, I’m not a poacher. My Grandpa filed on the land the Jenkins boys are living on right now. A few months later they found Grandpa dead a ways down the river. Somebody had shot him in the back and then the Jenkins brothers said they had papers claiming they won the land from him in a poker game. My Grandpa didn't gamble. They are skunks from the beginning and dangerous when they all get together in a wad like they did today behind me."
"Well, there ain't much law around here but you should have tried to take legal actions."
"I tried but got nowhere. Now, if this Mattie is any good with that shotgun, she will have to let them get pretty close before she uses it. And I'm mighty curious about a woman such as you teaching a slave to shoot a gun."
"Mattie isn't a slave anymore. She and I grew up together on my father's plantation. We've known each other all our lives. When my father died, he gave her papers to me and I set her free, educated her, and then taught her to shoot a gun. She can do anything with that scatter gun that most fine hunters can do; maybe even more so. I’ve seen her take down a half dozen quail with one barrel and the rest of the covey with the other, and all the birds were in flight at the time.”
“Birds don’t shoot back.”
“Mattie doesn’t shoot wrong.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. My name is Blake, Blake Squires. I owe you my life for pulling me out of the river like that. I don’t recall seeing you around these parts before.”
“My name is Angie Brown, and no, you haven’t seen me around these parts before because we just got here today. We’re from South Carolina. Mattie and I been living out of the wagon since the Yankees invaded Hilton Head and then Beaufort across the bay. They took away my Plantation on the north side of the Island.”
Blake tried to lift his left arm but the pain put a stop to that quick enough. Angie said, “Don’t move, Mister Squires, that wound will start bleeding again. I'm afraid it may have chipped your collar bone and the rocks may have cracked a few of your ribs.”
Blake relaxed again and the pain eased. “I have enough lead back at the house to supply a small army. If you don't mind my asking, where’s your husband?”
“He’s with the 63rd regiment in Richmond. I have not been able to write him yet and let him know what’s happened back on Hilton Head Island. The yanks have pushed everyone off and scattered the citizens of Beaufort, South Carolina too. Everybody left ahead of the invasion because there weren't enough men folk around to fight them. Most of our good men are at the Capitol in Virginia. For that matter, why aren’t you in Virginia too? You are old enough to fight, ain't you?”
Blake nodded. “Yes, but there’s only one problem with that issue, I’ve no reason to fight that I have to see. I don’t own any slaves and thus, I have no quarrel with the U.S. Government.”
Angie said nothing and finished squeezing the bloody rag and returned it to the wound site. “So where do you live, Mister Squires? Around here someplace?”
“I’ve got a farm southeast of here about three miles. I am trying to buy more land and needed some cash money to do it. That's why I started trapping for furs. That Army you mention in Virginia is going to be needing fur for coats and such come winter because it gets cold up there in Virginia.”
“Well that’s all fine and dandy but I ask you again, why are you here and not up there fighting? That Mister Lincoln became president by telling folks he would put an end to slavery."
"He didn't say he was going to end slavery. He said he wanted to stop it spreading to the new states out west that are starting to join this Union. He has not said anything that I've read about that says he is going to outlaw slavery. He said he would leave it be in the states where it already exists."
"So he says, then he sent down troops to bolster the forts along our coasts. That is what started this war you know. Those ship loads of troops and supplies that Mister Lincoln sent to prepare for an invasion."
"That was the excuse they used to fire on Fort Sumter but if it hadn't started there, it would have started someplace. The fight was simmering regardless of where it broke out."
"No matter, but Lincoln chose to sneak his Army around us and bring them in by sea. He did it because he didn’t want us to notice them in our own back yards.”
Blake felt dizzy and sick on his stomach. “Could I have some water please?”
Angie took a canteen and held his head up enough to drink. “Easy now” she said when he choked slightly. “You drink that slow or it’ll cramp your belly."
When Blake finished, he nodded and thanked her. “So how old is this Mattie that’s with you?”
“She is old enough to deal with any threat and darkie or not, I consider her my sister. Now hold still and let me get this bandage on you. We are going to have to move away from this area and set up camp for the night.”
“My place isn’t that far from here. We can go there please.”
Angie nodded, “okay and I am sure your wife will be worried.”
Blake shook his head. “She died last year during childbirth. My son died two days later. Doc couldn’t save either one of them.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Squires, now let’s get you loaded on the back of our wagon and get out of here.”
“I can stand,” Blake said and with her help managed to do so. A second later, he fainted dead out and dreamed of Uncle Jim and giant river logs bearing down on him.
When he next awoke, Angie was once again standing over him only now he was lying in his own bed in his own house, and she was wearing a different dress. It was dark outside the bedroom window and a lone lantern illuminated the room. “What time is it?” He asked.
“It’s late, almost midnight. You’ve been out for a long time.”
Blake looked around the room and saw empty cups and a tin food dish. “I’ve been out for five or six hours?” he exclaimed.
“No, you’ve been out for two days. You’re home and nobody from across the river has followed.”
“Two days? Good lord, I got to see to my animals. Why didn’t you wake me up? For that matter, how did you find my place?”
“Your mules brought us here. I think they tried to follow across the river and when you fell down, they just kept on swimming. They stood off at a distance watching us fetch you out of the water and then they wandered on in closer. Once we had you loaded in the wagon and started moving, they started leading us along and all we had to do was follow. Now you lie still. You've lost a great deal of blood.”
“The bedroom door swung open and a young, black girl entered the room with a double barrel shotgun tucked away in the crook of her arm. She looked perfectly at ease with the heavy gun but awkward to Blake. She was the first slave he had ever seen holding a gun. Then he looked at her face and it cost him a few heartbeats and a breath or two. Her face was a soft olive brown, smooth, and the most beautiful thing Blake had ever laid eyes on since his wife.
Angie spoke. “Mattie? This is Mister Squires.”
Blake managed to nod and say, “Thanks for helping me out the other day. Miss Angie tells me you are rather good with that shotgun, but do you need to carry it here in the house like that?”
Mattie smiled, and then said to Angie, “I saw a fox digging around the edge of the chicken pen earlier, I went out there to shoot him but he spooked off back into the trees before I could get close enough for a clean shot. I might sit up and wait to see if it comes back.”
“I’ve been after that critter for most of the summer. He’s taken three of my best laying hens but if he got wind of you, he won't come back tonight.”
Mattie nodded, deftly raised the gun to waist height, opened the breach in the middle and removed two shells from the firing chamber. “Then I’ll be off to bed now. Nice meeting you, Mister Squires and don’t worry about your animals. They have all been cared for since you’ve been laid up. I'm surprised you don't own a slave or two. It's a large farm you have here with so many animals to be cared for.”
"A small farmer like me can't afford the $2000 it cost for a slave, even if I did believe in owning them. But I do want to thank you for taking care of me and my farm. I assume you found the feed and hay in the corn crib behind the barn?”
“Oh yea, found all that and more. Your cows in the south pasture were not getting enough grass so I moved them to the north down by the creek. I hope that was okay.”
“You moved twenty head of cattle?”
“Sure I did. I may be a woman but I learned to take care of my own self none the less.”
Blake smiled. “Thank you.”
Angie said, “Well, we need to thank you for letting us stay here these past few days. It got us out of that wagon and into a real bed. Soon as you are able we’ll be moving along and out of your way.”
Angie stood and followed Mattie out the door and closed it behind her. Blake closed his eyes and saw more visions of Mattie's beautiful face and glowing complexion. He was upset with himself because, well, she was a black girl, what the sophisticated folks would call a "colored" house servant girl. How could he have felt so tugged toward such a woman so different? He fell back to sleep still feeling strange about Mattie, almost shamed at the notions that were flowing through his mind.
When he next awoke, the bright sunlight was pouring into his room from the open window. He guessed it was mid morning but wasn't sure. He coughed loudly a few times trying to clear something from his lungs and the pain announced its return. He groaned loudly and flinched sideways, and then Mattie was there again at his bedside. Her hands on his bare shoulder were damp and she said softly, "Take it easy, Mister Squires. Don't try to get up yet."
Blake lay back down and the pain eased. "That hurt something awful. Did the bullet hit a lung?"
"No, I think it passed just above and under the collar bone, but you got a busted rib that might have stabbed a hole in one, so lay quiet."
"I was choking and had to cough. I wasn't trying to move or get up. What time is it?"
"Around eleven in the morning I'd say."
"Was it just last night when I woke up since getting shot?"
"Night before last, you slept all day yesterday like a rock but your fever broke last night. Your color is much better this morning too. Think you could handle a little chicken broth?"
"Could I get some coffee instead?"
"I'm sorry but Angie and I only drink tea. There may be some left on the stove. Let me get you a cup."
"No thanks, I …"
She ignored him and walked out of the room just as Angie came in. "Good morning, Mister Squires. You are looking much better today."
"Hello Angie. Wish I felt better though. I think one of my mules must have slept on top of me last night. Sure feels like it."
"They slept well last night I assure you, especially after the day we spent using them to pull dead fall trees closer to the house for winter wood. The black one with the white spot on his face, he does have an attitude, you know?"
"Yea, that's Jake. The other one is named Rabbit because he likes to take off when he gets a notion. He can skitter through the briars and vines like a jackrabbit. I figure it was him that led you back here. Neither one got hit by a bullet or anything, did they?"
"No, they're fine but when they got here the first night after we found you, they were tired, but they are fine now."
"Well, both of them are buck mules bred for the mines in those mountains north of Five Points."
"I've heard of that place I think. It's a railroad center, pretty important one for moving supplies to Virginia."
"That's it, yea. As for the mules, Jake does have an attitude but he's also got power. Let him run the haw side of the harness for pulling those trees. Rabbit is the faster running of the two and so I use him if the need comes for a riding animal. Jake does not take kindly to a saddle; I've never been able to put one on him and keep it there, so don't even think about it."
"They're good animals they would only listen to Mattie. She was able to convince them that a woman can give orders too."
For the first time in his life, the sound of woman, applied to a black woman, sounded right; it sounded human and natural to think. He nodded and said, "A good woman can give any man orders. What about Mattie, is she married too?"
Ignoring the question, she said, "Those busted ribs are going to be a problem for a few weeks to you. If you try to get going too fast it will take you longer to heal. As for the work around here, well, Mattie and I are not scared of man's work. We ran a plantation for over a year since my husband went away to Richmond."
"Have you heard from him lately?"
"Just one letter before we left; He is much too busy to write."
Mattie came back in the room with a cup of hot tea and handed it to Blake."
"Thank you."
Angie stood and said, "I need to finish a few things outside. Mattie will stay here and help with anything."
When she was gone, Mattie walked over to the window and peered out. Blake sipped the tea and was surprised how good it tasted considering he had never cared for it that much in the past. Mattie turned and came back near the bed and asked, "Why haven't you joined yet?"
"Like I told Angie, I have no reason to fight. I don't own slaves and I feel no threat from either side of this growing war. I can live as one of the States in the Union or I can abide being one of the states in the Confederacy."
"And if you are attacked by the Yankees just like you were attacked by those men across the river?"
Blake wondered if she was defending the southern side of the war. To him, it sure sounded like it, and that surprised him. He replied, "Then I would fight back. Whether I will fight for my country in a similar fashion is not the issue. Armies line up across fields, then stand there like fish in a barrel and slaughter one another. They claim to be men of great honor because they can take it but honorable men can crumble during such strain. If I ended up there I could be one of them too so I have no desire to go find out."
"Bravery is in the willingness to stand at arms with your fellow countrymen."
"Bravery is having the courage to accept that all beliefs can be respected and all differences can be allowed for without gun play. I will choose to fight or not if the time comes but my reasons for doing so will be self defense and not defense of beliefs. I could fall on either side of this war or on the opposite side of the one that attacks me first. Nothing in me at the moment spurs me to join the great fights in Virginia though."
"Angie would feel shamed if her husband had refused to volunteer."
"Will she feel shame if he dies?"
Mattie looked down at her hands then directly into his eyes. "I can't speak for her, but I think she will feel pride and comfort knowing her man gave his life for what he believed in. If God allows him to die in battle then his name will be carved in history."
"History is written by the victors, Mattie, and I don't see any way short of a miracle for the southern cause to be successful in an out and out war. Had they gone the diplomatic route then success or not would be a matter of who could out talk the other, but in a war? The south has no means to supply the guns, powder, and gold that will be needed for such a thing. All the south has is cotton and sugar cane. So if Angie's husband dies and the south loses the war, his name may not be written in history because the victors seldom allow such things."
"Enough of this talk of death" Mattie snapped and turned to leave. "We will be out of your way in a few days when you are able to care for the farm. I have to see to the animals now."
Blake watched her back as she stormed out of the room. That he had touched a nerve or something he could tell. Something had rattled that woman and she was quick to skedaddle out of there.
He sighed once again and closed his eyes. He started going back over every word spoken with Uncle Jim and Miss Gail. He still had little idea what it meant but he was going to do as Uncle Jim said and think on it, a lot. And then he was asleep.
Chapter 3
(Present Day)
Police Detective Mike Tomilson locked eyes with Janet Wisley from across the interview table and immediately regretted it. She stared back with this annoyed (and annoying) "I'm not intimidated by you" expression. Such looks and stares had chipped away at Mike's confidence for the last hour but he was far from finished. She was hiding something and he intended to find out what, but his inability to not be the first to look away in a stare down contest was costing him points. Worse of all, her smirks were giving him the urge to slap them off her face. "Knock a few teeth out" was the expression that popped into his mind.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached into her mouth, removed an upper dental plate and slid it across the table toward him. "There you go" she said sharply.
Now that rattled him, and she knew it. In Mike’s five years of interrogating suspects, what she had just done was the last thing he expected. His eyes broke away and looked down at the pinkish and white dentures that skidded to a stop inches from his right hand. He leaned back in his chair and pointed at the false teeth with the tip of his ink pen. “Is that getting stained from all the lies coming out of your mouth, Mrs. Wisley?”
“That's a trick question because no matter how I respond, it implies that I'm being dishonest. Truth be known, I took those out as a courtesy to you.”
“What courtesy is it having your teeth on the table?”
“It saves you the dilemma of slapping my face and knocking them out. That's what you've wanted to do for the last twenty minutes, isn't it? I've saved you the bruised knuckles and felony assault charges.”
“Okay, I'll be honest too. I’ve thought about slapping that sly grin off your face but it was just a thought. I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but what I find more interesting is that you can read minds.”
“I don’t read minds. I read expressions, body language, and reactions to situations such as this” she said waving a hand at her false teeth on the table. “If this doesn't help then I’ve got a lower plate I can throw out there too, or would you prefer my glass eye instead?”
“If you’ve got a glass eye, it’s the best fake I’ve ever seen.”
Wisley wasn’t done with him yet and pushed, even twisted the mental knife she had already stabbed him with. “So what’s the next approach to breaking me? How about water boarding? I think my bathing suit is in my suitcase. You’ll find that in the trunk of my car that you impounded.”