Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (14 page)

Candice stopped and looked at her companion.

"I mean one in four native-born white men in this state are members," she said. "So are more than half of our legislators. There are more Klansmen in Indiana than Methodists."

"Are you serious?" Cameron asked.

"Yes. They are everywhere. You've probably met some already."

"If I have, I didn't recognize them."

"That's because most don't announce their ties. They hide behind their silly hoods and refuse to identify themselves publicly."

"What about the rest? Aren't they ashamed to stand with the Klan?"

"No," Candice said as the two resumed their stroll. "They aren't ashamed at all. They serve proudly and openly and wear their hatred like a badge."

"I take it you know some of these men."

"I know several. I know some of the women too."

"There are
women
in the Klan?" Cameron asked.

Candice looked at him again.

"You really aren't from around here, are you?"

Cameron laughed sadly.

"No. I guess I'm not."

"The women have their own auxiliary. They meet on Tuesday nights."

Cameron shook his head. He couldn't believe what he had heard. Then he reminded himself that he was in 1925. What seemed strange to him was perfectly normal to others. He wasn't just in a different time. He was in a different world.

A moment later, Cameron guided Candice across Second Street to the next block, the
Evansville Record
, and a pint-sized peddler he hadn't seen in days. He gave Horatio Alger a dime for a paper, advised the boy to put out his cigarette, and then returned to his companion.

"You don't mind me supporting the competition, do you?" Cameron asked.

"No," Candice said. She giggled. "I read the
Record
myself."

"Isn't that treasonous?"

"Some think so. I consider it prudent."

"Why?" Cameron asked.

"It's simple, really. Even the best journalists don't know everything. I read the competition because sometimes the competition knows something I don't."

"I find that hard to believe. You're the eyes and ears of this community."

Candice laughed.

"You're kind. I see and hear only a fraction of what goes on in Evansville."

"You know about the Klan though," Cameron said.

"I do."

"Then tell me what you know. Tell me what it's been up to."

"OK."

Candice took a breath, gazed at her inquisitive acquaintance, and proceeded to describe a social order she knew well. She discussed the organization's civic activities, its alleged ties to organized crime, and its tenuous hold on southwest Indiana. She discussed the subject in fits and starts until she and Cameron approached Heller's Drug.

"Why are we stopping here?" Cameron asked.

"I need to get Mother some cod liver oil," Candice said. "I won't be long."

"No worries. I'll come with you."

"No what?"

"Never mind," Cameron said. "I'm just talking to myself."

"Oh."

Cameron opened the door to Heller's Drug and followed Candice into the store. He needed only a few seconds to see that the place lived up to the hype. With eight tall aisles that extended at least fifty feet to the back wall and thousands of products on the shelves, the store looked more like a spacious modern pharmacy than a neighborhood drugstore.

"I guess this place
does
have everything," Cameron said.

"Don't they have stores like this in Providence?" Candice asked.

"No."

"Then stay close," Candice said. She smiled. "You don't want to get lost."

Cameron chuckled.

"I guess I don't."

As he followed Candice through the store, Cameron saw products he had seen only in old advertisements. He found "liquid bluing," "radioactive water," and "soap chips" in one aisle and tooth powder, dental cream, and "non-poisonous" antiseptics in another. Even the cod liver oil section contained surprises. One brand claimed it was "almost as palatable as milk."

Cameron examined the merchandise as Candice selected a product that was presumably palatable and non-poisonous, dug a few coins from her purse, and then walked to the front of the store. A minute later, he joined her at the closest of three cash registers. He was pleased but not surprised to see the owner of the store on the other side of the counter.

"Hello, Mr. Heller," Cameron said.

"Well, hello to you, Mr. Coelho," Heller said. "What a pleasant surprise."

"This is a nice store. I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm glad you approve."

Cameron gazed at the shelves behind the counter as Heller rang up Candice's order, put the cod liver oil in a paper bag, and handed the bag and some change to the customer. He saw bags, boxes, and bottles of various shapes and sizes. The products looked like ones he had seen on the main shelves with the exception of numbers scribbled on the labels. He considered asking about the surplus inventory when Heller uttered a few words and brought him out of a daze.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" Cameron asked.

"I did," Heller said. "I asked you how long you planned to stay in Evansville."

Cameron glanced at Candice and saw from her wistful expression that she was as interested in his answer as the retailer. He smiled at the redhead and then turned to Heller.

"I'm not sure," Cameron said. "I still have a lot of research to do."

"Well, I wish you the best," Heller said. "Please come back."

"I'll do that. Thank you, sir."

"Are you ready?" Candice asked.

"I'm ready," Cameron said.

"Let's go then."

Candice led Cameron through the front of the store, out the front door, and onto a crowded sidewalk. She put the bag of oil in her purse, looked at her companion, and smiled.

"I see it pays to pay attention," Candice said.

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked.

"I mean I learned two things at the cash register. I learned that you plan to stick around for a while, and I learned that you know Mr. Heller."

"He was the other man I met at the
Post
."

"I see," Candice said. "Do you like him?"

Cameron nodded.

"I do. He seems like a nice guy."

"Do you like him well enough to see him again?" Candice asked.

"What are you getting at?"

Candice took Cameron's hand and pulled him away from the sidewalk traffic.

"I'm getting at an opportunity, Mr. Coelho."

"What?" Cameron asked.

"Do you want to see the Klan?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Then I'll show you the Klan," Candice said. She looked Cameron in the eyes. "There will be a cross burning north of here on Saturday night. Leonard Heller is conducting."

CHAPTER 20: CANDICE

Thursday, April 2, 1925

Candice looked at the garment, a printed silk crepe dress, and debated whether she needed it. She definitely wanted it. She wanted most outfits that showed off her slender form, but she wasn't sure she needed yet another new dress when she had so many bills to pay.

She lifted the dress off the rack at Pendleton's, a discount clothier, and examined it up close. A moment later, she held it up and looked at her sister-in-law.

"Well?" Candice asked. "What do you think?"

Lula smiled.

"I think you want to impress a professor from Rhode Island."

"He's not a professor," Candice said. "He's a doctoral student."

"I don't care if he's a peanut farmer. He has your attention."

Candice giggled.

"I suppose he does."

"Do you like him?" Lula asked.

"I do. He's thoughtful, intelligent,
and
kind."

"That's nice. But you didn't really answer my question," Lula said. She returned a garment to the same rack, turned to face Candice, and raised a brow. "I asked if you
like
him."

Candice smiled and blushed.

"I guess I do."

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

Candice looked around the store, which took up three thousand square feet near the corner of Seventh and Main, and checked for eavesdroppers. She didn't see any.

"I'm taking him to a cross burning Saturday night," Candice said in a low voice.

"You're what?" Lula asked.

"Lower your voice."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," Candice said. "Cameron wants to learn about the Klan. He says it would be helpful to his research."

"Can't you just tell him about it?"

"I already have."

"He's not satisfied with that?" Lula asked.

"
I'm
not satisfied with that. I want to show him something he can't see in New England."

"You sure know how to arrange a first date."

"It's not a date, Lula. It's a field trip," Candice said. "It's just the sort of thing my father would have done in the interests of research."

"Have you told Lawrence or Mother?"

"No. I don't want you to tell them either. I want them both to think I am going out to meet friends," Candice said. "I'll need your car, by the way, or at least the T."

Lula shook her head.

"You're something, Candice Bell."

"You have that right."

"Who is the Klan going to spook this time?" Lula asked.

"I suspect a man named Jack O'Brien."

"Who is he?"

"He's a Catholic professor from Boston who moved here with his family last summer. They purchased a small farm north of town."

"How do you know he's being targeted?"

"I overheard two men discuss the matter in Heller's last week," Candice said. "One of the men owns an adjacent property. He wanted to buy the farm when the original owners put it up for sale in July, but he couldn't match Jack O'Brien's offer."

"Do you know this family?" Lula asked.

"I know the professor. I wrote a feature story on him in September. He teaches math and science at the university. He's the first Catholic who has ever taught there."

Lula stepped forward and placed her hands on Candice's shoulders.

"You really want to do this?"

Candice nodded.

"I really want to do it."

Lula frowned.

"I hope this Mr. Coelho is worth it."

"He is," Candice said.

"OK," Lula replied. She sighed. "Be safe."

CHAPTER 21: CAMERON

Vanderburgh County, Indiana – Saturday, April 4, 1925

The first thing Cameron noticed was the seemingly endless stream of vehicles. As Candice drove Lawrence Bell's Model T through the dusk on Pigeon Road, he noticed car after car parked along the gently sloping shoulders. By the time Candice turned off the road and headed toward a large farmhouse, he estimated that he had seen fifty automobiles.

"Are you sure they are home?" Cameron asked.

"I'm sure," Candice said.

"How do you know?"

"I called them on Thursday and told them what to expect."

Cameron put a hand over his eyes, peered into the distance, and looked for signs of life. He found two a few seconds later in the form of a man and a woman. Both stood on the porch. One carried what looked like a shotgun.

"Is that them?" Cameron asked.

"That's them," Candice said.

The man and the woman stepped off the porch as the visitors approached the house. They reached the Model T just as the driver turned off the ignition and rolled down her window.

"Good evening," Jack O'Brien said as he lowered his gun.

"Hello, Professor," Candice said.

Cameron waited for Candice to step out of the car before doing the same. A moment later, he joined the journalist, the professor, and his wife in front of the vehicle.

"I see you brought a friend," O'Brien said in a thick Irish brogue.

"I did," Candice said. "Professor O'Brien, this Cameron Coelho. He's a doctoral student from Rhode Island. He came to Evansville last month to research the area, the people, and our customs. I brought him here tonight to see one of the uglier ones."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," O'Brien said.

"The pleasure is mine, sir," Cameron replied.

O'Brien introduced his wife, Margaret, to each of the visitors. He seemed surprisingly calm for a man defending his property against a potentially violent mob.

"Have you had any trouble tonight?" Candice asked.

"No," O'Brien said. "The agitators have so far kept to themselves."

Cameron listened to shouts and cheers in the distance. Though he could not make out what the yahoos were saying, he was pretty sure they weren't singing campfire songs or holding a pep rally for a local high school baseball team.

"How long have they been here?" Cameron asked.

"Long enough," O'Brien said. "The first ones arrived an hour ago."

"I believe it. We saw the cars coming in."

The professor nodded and looked away. He paused a moment, as if pondering some hidden meaning in Cameron's simple observation, and then returned to the visitor.

"So you're from Rhode Island, are you?" O'Brien asked.

"I am," Cameron said. "I grew up in Bristol and currently live in Providence."

"Is that so? I taught a year in Providence. I might have stayed there, too, had I not met my Boston Brahmin wife and moved to Massachusetts."

"So why did you move here?"

"We wanted to raise our boys in the country. We wanted to raise them on a farm with fresh air, clean water, and friendly neighbors," O'Brien said. "We found the air and the water, but we are still searching for the neighbors."

"Are your sons in the house?" Cameron asked.

O'Brien nodded.

"We put them to bed an hour ago. We did not want them to see this."

"Is this the first time the Klan has come out here?"

"It is, to my knowledge."

"It is," Candice said.

"Thank you again for warning us," O'Brien said to the reporter. "If nothing else this evening, I am thankful for that."

"It was the least I could do."

"Have they done more than shout?" Cameron asked. "I didn't see a burning cross."