Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (44 page)

“It’s not history! I don’t believe you, Travis.”

“Alaina, I never meant to hurt you. You just saw things that weren’t there. Now, please, go home. You’ve caused me enough trouble. Who do you think was behind my being beaten up? Your fiancé!”

“Stewart?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stewart would never commit violence,” she said primly.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think. I’ll settle with him when the time comes, but I don’t need you here provoking the situation in the meantime.”

“What makes you think Stewart had anything to do with it? I don’t like you spreading lies about him. It’s true that I don’t love him, but he loves me, and that makes me loyal to him.”

“Loyal?” he echoed with a burst of harsh laughter. “You call it being loyal when you made love with me? Oh, Alaina! You really are amazing. Now please, go home.”

“I am not leaving until you tell me why you blame Stewart. If he really was behind it, then I will tell my father.”

“You won’t tell your father a goddamn thing!” His humor faded in a flash. “You’ll get out of here right now, or so help me, I’ll throw you in jail.”

“I must know why you blame Stewart.”

“You—” He froze at the sound of the office door opening. “Don’t move!” he hissed. “Don’t make a sound.”

He crept across the room with the stealth of a lion stalking prey, right hand inches from his gun. Just then he saw an old man glancing nervously around the office. “Who are you and what do you want?” Travis called, stepping into the office.

The stranger’s eyes bulged fearfully. He reached for his hat with trembling fingers, dropped it, and stooped quickly to retrieve it. He spoke in a high, quivering voice. “Marshal, there’s trouble.”

“Who are you?” Travis said again.

“Lloyd Perkins. I live out near Blueberry Ridge. I’m a Godfearin’ man, Marshal. I’m too old for trouble. Don’t like trouble. A man’s a human bein’, no matter what color his skin.”

“Get to the point,” Travis said evenly. He judged the old man to be close to seventy. His face was deeply lined, the knotted veins visible through translucent skin. His shoulders were stooped, his hair gray. The eyes were yellowed with weariness and age.

Lloyd Perkins swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bouncing. “It’s the Klan, Marshal. They’re after a young buck nigger named Munroe. He’s been hidin’ up on Blueberry Ridge for weeks now. His daddy, Israel, been slippin’ up there to take him food. The Klan musta spotted Israel. I seen some of ’em, heard ’em talkin’. They’re gonna get him tonight.”

Travis’ eyes narrowed. “Why would a white man like you betray the Klan?”

“I told you,” the old man whined. “A man’s a human bein’ no matter what color his skin, and I don’t hold with hurtin’ anybody, black or not. The Klan’s gonna kill that boy tonight. I just know they are. They been wantin’ him for a long time.”

That much was so, Travis was certain. Still, he was not completely comfortable with the notion of this man coming to him, not a white man, not here.

“You do what you want!” Lloyd Perkins said suddenly, angrily, yellowed eyes blazing. “I done my part. I’m old, and I can’t take up a gun and fight. You’re the law. It’s your job. Now I done what I came here to do. I told you the Klan knows where that nigger, Munroe, is hidin’ out. If’n you don’t want to do somethin’ about it, then that’s your business. I ain’t gettin’ involved no more than what I already have. And if you tell anybody I was here, I’ll call you a bald-faced liar.”

Travis responded coolly. “I mean no offense, Perkins. It just seems a bit odd that a white man would come here. I haven’t had much help from white people in this county.”

“What reason I got for lyin’?” he bellowed indignantly. “Hell, I never shoulda come here. What’s one more dead nigger? I just feel sorry for old Israel. Known him a long time. He loves that boy. Shit, you do what you want to do. I’m gettin’ outta here before somebody sees me.”

He backed toward the door, placed his hat on his head, and with one final, blazing glare at Travis, walked out.

Travis stared after him thoughtfully. It was strange, but he would have to check the story out. Blueberry Ridge was a half-hour’s ride. He returned to the back room and said to Alaina, “Forget you heard any of that. And get out of here and go home. How did you get here, anyway?”

“As if you care,” she sniffed. “It’s none of your business, but I brought myself. I know how to ride a horse.”

“Well, it’s dark. Head home at once and make sure you stick to the main road and don’t get lost. I’ve business to take care of.”

He went to his desk drawer, took out a box of ammunition, and began to load cartridge slots on his gun belt.

“Are you going to tell me why you said what you did about Stewart?” Alaina asked frostily.

“No. Just get out of here.”

“I might just tell him what you said.”

“Suit yourself.”

He walked to the gun rack, selected a rifle, grabbed up another box of bullets, and walked out without another glance at her.

Alaina stood there a moment, hands on her hips, watching the door. Damn him. He could push her away, accuse Stewart of terrible things, then go running off because someone told him a nigra was in trouble. She laughed out loud. She could have told him that Lloyd Perkins was the biggest nigra-hater in all of Kentucky, but let him find out for himself. It was probably just a prank to lead him on a wild-goose chase. Good enough for Travis Coltrane!

She flounced out of the office and made her way down the alley. A cup of tea at the hotel would be nice. As she walked, she heard her name being called and she saw Sam Bucher leaning out the window of the doctor’s house.

“Alaina, come here, please. I need to talk to you.”

She sighed and walked over. “Yes, what is it?” she responded. “I’m in a hurry.”

“I just saw Travis ride out of town,” he called anxiously. “Come up here and tell me where he was going.”

She started not to, then decided it might be fun to gloat over Travis being such a fool. Smiling, she hurried inside the house, not bothering to knock. Doc’s house was like a hospital, and people came and went all the time to see the patients he bedded there.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to the room at the front, shoving the door open to find Sam next to the bed, hopping on one leg. “You’re going to fall, you ninny!” she cried. “I heard your leg is broken.”

“It is, but it ain’t gonna keep me down,” he snapped. “Now, where did Travis go? I saw you coming from down that way and figured you’d been pestering him again. Woman, you are sure a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe,” she grinned, tilting her head to one side, “but I’m not
stupid.
I don’t go chasing out of town because some old fool tells me a silly story.”

He looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Travis is a fool. Lloyd Perkins came and told him that the Klan knows where the nigra Munroe is hiding, and he took off with his guns. I could have told him Lloyd is a nigra-hater. Some say he’s in the Klan. He’s just playing a trick on Travis, and I say he deserves it after the nasty things he said about my Stewart.”

Sam bellowed, “Hand me my boots over there, and my pants.”

She blinked in disbelief. “Why? You can’t go anywhere.”

“The hell I can’t. Do as I say.”

She handed him his clothes and watched in amusement as he dressed right in front of her.

“Now hand me my holster—over there, and my gun. You’re gonna help me down to the livery stable to get a wagon.”

“So you’re going to go riding off, too,” she giggled, enjoying it all. “My, my, no wonder the Klan still does as it pleases. With two ninny marshals like you and Travis—”

“You little fool!” he snapped. “Ain’t you got sense enough to see it’s a setup? An ambush? If what you say is true, and this Perkins is a Negro-hater, then Travis is walking straight into a trap!”

Her hands flew to her mouth as she squealed, “Oh, my God, no!”

“Oh, yes!” He nodded, hobbling toward the door. “And you could’ve stopped it if you hadn’t been so dadblamed ignorant and stubborn. Now I’ve got to go to him. Where did he go?”

“Blueberry Ridge. Lloyd Perkins said that nigra, Munroe, is hiding up on Blueberry Ridge. It’s about half-hour’s ride, I suppose.”

“He’s got a good ten-minute head start already,” Sam said, his brown eyes dark. “Hurry up. Help me downstairs and to the stable.”

Struggling beneath his weight, Alaina held on tightly as he threw one arm around her shoulder, and they moved from the room. The stairs were hard and difficult, but Sam bounced along as quickly as one leg would carry him.

Out on the street, he told her, “You go get the wagon. Grab the first one you see. I’ll wait here. It’ll only take longer if I go with you. Now run, girl, run, and don’t tell nobody nothing. No telling who all’s in on this.”

She took off, lifting her skirts so she could run. Soon she was back with a wagon and a strong brown gelding.

He ordered her to help him up, and, once he was in position, told her to get down and go home.

“I want to go, too,” she said with a stubborn set to her chin. “I want to help.”

“You’ve helped enough. I can’t take no woman along. It’s too dangerous. Get down quick and keep your mouth shut. Go home and pretend nothing’s happened. Move!”

When she made no effort to obey, he gave her a rough shove, almost knocking her to the ground. “Damn it, girl, I said move!”

She scrambled to the ground, leaping back out of the way as he whipped the horse into an instant gallop.

She stood there only a moment before going off to find her own horse. If Travis was heading for an ambush, then it was her fault for not telling him her suspicions about Lloyd Perkins.

She had to go, to make sure he was all right.

And dear God,
she prayed as she hurried along,
let him be all right.

Through the wall, her father’s infuriated voice reached Marilee’s ears: “Rosa, where the hell is Marilee? Where is Alaina? What’s going on around this damn house?”

“I don’t know,” Rosa sounded frightened. “Honest, Mastah, I ain’t seen Miz Marilee since she first come down this mornin’, and the last time I saw Miz Alaina was when she said she was goin’ for a ride this afternoon.”

“Well, damn it to hell, it’s dark outside, and both my daughters are not in this house. I want them found.”

Rosa shook her head worriedly and walked into the sewing room. Her mistresses were going to feel the brunt of their father’s wrath, she knew, when they showed up. But where were they? Alaina was probably off chasing after that marshal, but it was not like Marilee to disappear without telling Rosa.

Something was going on, too. She could just feel it. Something with the Klan. Whenever Stewart Mason got that glow in his eyes, he was up to something.

She stared at the crate. It would be a while before Master Barbeau got around to doing something about that, she knew. But it was not in the way, and, at the moment, it was the least of her worries.

She turned to leave, then hesitated. What was that sound? It came from nearby, but was muffled. Eyes wide with fright, she stared at the wall. Ghosts? She shook herself, ashamed. Won’t no such thing as
ghosts.

She started out once more, but heard a sound again. It was not her imagination. The crate! Was it coming from the crate? She tiptoed closer, cautiously.

Suddenly she knew it was coming from behind the wall. A little cry escaped her lips, and she backed away.

Marilee threw caution to the wind, “Rosa? Rosa? Is that you?”

Rosa froze. “Who dat?” she whispered fearfully.

Marilee beat on the door. “It’s me, Rosa! Me! Let me out!”

Rosa sprang forward, using every bit of strength she could muster to shove the heavy crate to one side.

Then she watched, astonished, as the mirror swung outward. A door! The mirror hid a secret door! And Rosa had never known, never even suspected.

Marilee fell into her waiting arms, hair disheveled and hanging limply about her dirty, tear-streaked face. “Something terrible is about to happen. I couldn’t use the door to the study because Father’s men are still in there. And this was blocking my door.”

Marilee straightened, met Rosa’s fearful gaze, and whispered, “Please, God, just don’t let me be too late.”

But as her eyes lifted to the window, seeing the black night, she knew she might be far, far too late to save Travis’ life.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sound of thundering hooves echoed against the hills surrounding him. Soon, Travis knew, he would have to slow his horse, dismount soon after, and go the rest of the way on foot. Blueberry Ridge was dense with undergrowth of berry bushes and vines, and the trees grew close together. It was a good hiding place for anyone on foot, but no good for riding.

He wished Sam could have come along and knew he was going to be rip-snorting mad when he found out about this later. He also wished there had been time to alert Negro deputies, but if the deputies were doing their job of spying, they would already know what was going on. The idea of facing the whole damn Klan was not appealing but, by God, if he had to do it, he would. He was thoroughly sick of it all, the cowards in their robes and hoods terrorizing Negroes, Alaina chasing after him, and the mixed feelings smoldering within him for Marilee. Sam was right. It was time to move on. Go back to North Carolina and spend some time with John, then head for Nevada.