A Dream of Daring (9 page)

“And did the senator go
into town that morning?”

“Why, I assume so,” said
Nash. “I was feeling a touch of
mal de mer
from the coach ride, so I
went into the house for a glass of claret before my tour commenced.”

The sheriff turned to
Markham for an answer.

“Yeah, the senator, he
gone to town that mornin’,” Markham offered.

“Why?”

“To sell a slave girl,”
said the overseer.

“You mean the senator
went to town to sell a slave on the day of the funeral?” asked the sheriff.

“’Twas Miss Polly’s
servant. She was a whole lot o’ trouble anyways, and she warn’t needed no more.
The senator said he was goin’ to Stoner’s. To find her a suitable place, was
what he said.”

Since Greenbriar was a
distance from the slave markets in the large cities, the local planters were
known to meet informally to trade slaves at Stoner’s Saloon in Bayou Redbird.

“So the senator went to
the docks?”

“He was gone for a bit,
then he came back without the slave. Said he found her a nice family.”

“Did this matter have
anything at all to do with the invention?”

“None far as I know,”
said Markham.

The sheriff turned to
Nash. “Mr. Nottingham, could there have been any other reason the senator
declined to talk to you? I mean, what was your relationship with him like?”

“Oh, excellent. I had a
fine relationship with the senator—even though he pushed me off to waste my
time with someone who had no bearing on my affairs,” he said, offended, “and
who couldn’t possibly be of any value to me.” As a king might scorn a pesky
subject, Nash glared at the overseer.

Markham bristled. The
resentment he constantly held in his eyes now made its way out of his mouth.
“If the senator liked you so much, why’d he throw you outta the kitchen?” The
overseer leaned over the table to Nash, sneering like a dog baring its teeth.
“Why don’t you tell the sheriff ’bout that?”

Duran turned sharply to
Nash. “You had a
dispute
with Barnwell?”

“Oh, that?” Nash laughed.
“That was nothing, just a trifle!” He turned to Markham. “How
dare
you
insinuate—”

“You had some words with
Wiley Barnwell? In the kitchen?” The sheriff pressed.

“It was later that day,
after the funeral service and the little engineering lecture from our
Yankee-schooled friend. It seemed the senator was bent on courting Cooper as a
buyer that evening, so I figured I’d best be on my way home. I was ready to
leave and looking for my coachman. He was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in the
stable, and since I know he has a fondness for food, I surmised where he might
be. I wanted to catch him at his dalliance myself, you know, put some fear into
the lazy scoundrel, so I went into the kitchen to look for him. The senator
observed me, and I’m afraid he got the wrong idea.” Nash laughed. “It seems he
had the preposterous notion that I was chasing after a slave girl! He told me
to leave.”

“Throwed you out, I’d
say,” Markham volunteered.

“How very rude of you!
Why, Sheriff, it appears this crude man wants to misinterpret my activities out
of sheer malice.”

“I seen what I seen,”
Markham insisted. He turned to the sheriff to explain. “The Barnwells offered
me food after Miss Polly’s service. But they didn’t say to join the reception
and mingle with their kind, no sir! They pointed to the kitchen, so I told one
o’ them slaves there to run a platter to my cottage. Then I left the place to
go back ’cross the hill, when I seen fancy boy here headin’ into the kitchen.
Caught my attention ’cause his kind don’t never go near slaves. Couldn’t hear
nothin’, but I seen Barnwell watchin’ him, and the senator, he don’t like what
he sees one bit. I remember the senator frownin’ when he seen fancy boy that
mornin’ too. He was none too happy with the likes o’ him from the first. Next
thing I know, the senator follows him in the kitchen. Then he shoves him out
the door so hard he skids to the ground and gets a good dustin’ on his purty
suit.”

“Perhaps the senator got
a bit ruffled,” said Nash unperturbed. “But then I explained the matter. I told
him why I was there. I apologized for the misunderstanding, and the incident
was over. I found my coachman and left on amiable terms with the senator,
quite
amiable.”

“Didn’t look none too
friendly to me,” Markham grumbled.

“Did you see the
incident, Mr. Edmunton?”

“No, Sheriff, I didn’t.”

“Mr. Nottingham,” said
the sheriff, “did your chasin’ a slave girl around the kitchen have anything at
all to do with the invention?”

“The incident had nothing
to do with Tom’s machine. And I most certainly was
not
chasing a slave
girl!”

“Were you angry with the
senator for treating you like he did?”

“No, Sheriff. The senator
might have sometimes failed to accord me the esteem I deserve, but I was always
confident that he would recognize my value to him in the end.” He looked
pointedly at Tom.

“Was there anything else
you did to anger Wiley Barnwell?”

“Good heavens, no.” Nash
looked at Markham crossly. “Sheriff, you might want to direct your suspicions
elsewhere, because I saw Mr. Markham come out of the old carriage house that
morning when I arrived.” He turned to the overseer. “Did you tell the sheriff
you were in there with the machine?”

Nash seemed pleased that
he had gotten the stone-faced Duran to arch his eyebrows.

“What about it, Mr.
Markham?” The sheriff’s voice hardened. “I thought you knew nothing about the
invention.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what were you doing
in the old carriage house?”

“I seen the thing. Looked
like a heap o’ iron junk with wheels. Was nothin’ to me. I paid it no mind.”

“Then what were you doing
in there?”

“The senator said a slave
needed a little educatin’, so I done it.”

“You mean you whipped a
slave?”

“A few stripes, Sheriff.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I did it in the ol’ carriage house, but it had
nothin’ to do with the machine there. The wench was disobeyin’ orders, not
doin’ her chores, nothin’ out o’ the ordinary for that place. I tell you, some
o’ them slaves need educatin’ bad. ’Course, Miss Polly never allowed it! That
didn’t stop her none from gripin’ to me how the hands didn’t work hard ’nuff.
Why, I was glad to see the senator had more sense and some discipline was bein’
enforced.” Markham’s eyes suddenly came alive. “I was happy to help on that
score!”

“And where were you all
evening?”

“Like I told you before.”

“Tell me again.”

“In my cottage, like
always, where the gentleman here found me later and told me ’bout the killin’.”
He gestured to Tom.

“I understand you were
dressed and about to go out when Mr. Edmunton came for you. Where were you
going at that hour?”

“Checkin’ on the field
hands. Seein’ they was in their cabins and not makin’ mischief, like I check on
’em every night. Just like I told the gentleman.” Markham forced an anemic
smile at the man who apparently was to be his new boss, at least until the
Crossroads was sold.

Tom listened quietly,
having nothing to add. He was convinced that Cooper was the murderer and hadn’t
heard anything at the meeting to the contrary.

When the sheriff had
exhausted his list of questions, he rose to end the meeting. “Thank you for
your time, gentlemen.”

Tom lingered after the
other men had left. He wondered if he could get a clue to the tractor’s
whereabouts from Cooper. He went to the jail, but predictably, the prisoner
refused to speak to him. It would be tantamount to admitting guilt if Cooper
let slip any information leading to the recovery of the device. He would have
to find it himself, Tom figured, sighing at the daunting task.

Walking toward his horse,
he observed the people of Greenbriar. A man in a wagon carrying sacks of
cornmeal passed him on the road; another man entered the general store; a woman
with a small parcel left the post office; a few neighbors chatted pleasantly by
an open carriage. As Tom stood high on the bluff, away from the rowdy saloons,
gambling dens, and noisy steamships of Bayou Redbird, he thought that
Greenbriar, with its sleepy streets and sprawling plantations, seemed to be a
place of calmer waters. Or was it? he wondered. Though he saw a tranquil
surface, his thoughts were pulled by the undertow of violence at the
Crossroads.

After his sleepless night
at the murder scene, Tom had spent the past night at Ruby Manor. With Mrs.
Barnwell overwhelmed by the prospect of handling the plantation’s business
affairs and Rachel showing no interest in doing so, he had stayed the evening
to discuss the most urgent matters weighing on Charlotte. Then, too exhausted
to ride home, he accepted the women’s offer to stay the night. He had come
directly from there to the sheriff’s meeting. Now, as he was about to return
home for the first time since departing for Polly’s funeral, he felt a sudden
uneasiness, wondering what new mischief he would find from those who were tied
to him against their will.

As he reached his horse,
a quiet figure down the street caught his attention. It was a young woman
sitting in the open wagon of the town’s slave patrol. He recognized the runaway
whom he’d helped in the woods. Gone was her proud stance and fiery spirit. She
stared numbly, with her mouth gagged, her hands tied in front of her, and her
feet bound. Her horse was tied to the side of the vehicle, its muzzle
stretching into the cart to nudge her face. The animal seemed to sense its
mistress’s distress and to want a comforting pat from her to dispel its
uneasiness. Tom saw one of the slave catchers go into a tavern. His partner
stood near the wagon with their bloodhound, while the captive grimly awaited
her fate.

Soon the first slave
catcher walked back to the wagon, accompanied by an unkempt man, about forty
years old, carrying a saddle. The man paid the slave catchers, who then
deposited the girl on the road, untied the animal from the cart, and rode off
with their hound.

The large, dirty man
saddled the horse. Then he towered over the girl’s slim frame. He walked around
her slowly, ominously. A sneer on his unshaven face made the girl tremble. With
a pocket knife, he cut the rope around her ankles. He yelled at her, smacked
her across the face, then pulled her toward him lecherously. Tom grimaced,
guessing the reason why she had run away. Her tormentor untied the cloth
gagging her mouth and cocked her head for a kiss. The girl snapped her face
away in revulsion. The gruesome man forced it back. She bit his hand. That
enraged him. He scowled, swore, and smacked her again. Blood dripped from the
side of her mouth.

The man reached for a
rope hanging on his saddle. He made a noose and swung it around her neck. As he
tightened the noose to fit snugly, her eyes flashed in horror. Then he mounted
his horse, grabbed the reins, and glanced at her slender form standing
helplessly alongside him. She stood still, with her hands tied and a distant
stare of the doomed in her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and breathed
deeply in what seemed like an effort to control her terror and brace herself
for the coming ordeal. Wretched with dirt and mud, she looked like an animal
captured after a fierce fight and now left with no escape possible. Tom was
held by the intensity of her face, for she seemed to be making an extraordinary
attempt to focus coolly on the road ahead and to survive—if she could.

The man held two ropes:
one attached to the horse and the other to the woman. Two passersby said
nothing, unmoved by the sight of a woman on a leash. The owner tugged on the
rope, jolting the girl.

“So, ya wanna run off, do
ya? Now you’re gonna do some real runnin’!” he roared maliciously.

As he was about to ride
away, with her on foot and tethered to him, he seemed to have another thought.

“Wait,” he said,
dismounting. “There’s somethin’ we need to do first.”

Her giant eyes followed
his every move.

“What if you git more
crazy ideas ’bout runnin’ off while I’m sleepin’ agin? There’s somethin’ we
need to do first, before we git goin’.”

He reached into his
saddlebag and took out a small pair of pliers. “I’ll make it so’s you ain’t
never gonna pull that stunt again!” He snapped the tool’s python-like jaws at
her. “I’ll pull that purty front tooth o’ yours, so you won’t git far if you
try that agin! You be a marked woman from now on.”

The girl screamed in
terror. He grabbed her head in a vise grip with one hand, forcing her mouth
open. She kicked him, hit him with her bound hands, and tried to pull her head
away, but she was no match for a man of his size. With great effort, he fixed
her front tooth in the pliers. Then, his elbow high, he readied himself to pull
with all his might.

Tom was already running
down the street toward them, an explosion rising within him.

“Stop! Stop! Stop this
unspeakable act! Stop this instant!”

He was protesting not
only the violence before his eyes but also the violence that had swallowed
Barnwell and his tractor, the current of violence that he felt flowing through
the town. He felt an urgent need to act against the insidious undertow before
it pulled down yet another victim.

He lunged at the fiend
who was his same height but twice his girth, and he wrestled the pliers from
him, throwing them on the ground.

“Just what d’you think
yer doin’?” The stench of alcohol wafted across Tom’s face.

The man tried to grab him
by the throat, but with quicker reflexes and a sober mind, Tom knocked him to
the ground. As the man’s face twisted in fury and his hand moved toward his
gun, Tom pulled out a roll of bills and flashed it in the man’s face.

“I’ll relieve you of this
woman right now.”