The Lynching of Louie Sam (25 page)

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I tell her. From the way she looks at me she knows I'm not telling her the truth.

Miss Carmichael comes out from the schoolhouse and rings the bell for us to come inside. As I climb the steps, Pete Harkness leans into me. There's snake venom in his eyes.

“You son of a bitch,” he says. I can feel his breath on my face. “What I told you was secret. So you go and tell the sheriff?”

“I didn't say where I heard it,” I tell him.

“It don't matter,” says he. “From this day forward, you and me are blood enemies.”

He walks ahead into the school. So that's the way it is. Justice has cost me a friend.

A
T THE END OF THE DAY
I get a chance to talk to Abigail alone as we walk down the trail together toward her home and mine. She's quiet and on edge, like she doesn't know what to say to me.

“It seems you put the word around all right,” I say.

It comes out like I'm accusing her of something, which isn't what I meant at all. She answers back angry, “I only talked to Kitty and Walter!”

I tell her, “Pete knows something.”

“Well I sure as heck didn't tell him!”

“I didn't say you did.”

“It sounds to me like you think so.”

I stop in the middle of the track and turn to her. I'm so full of frustration, the way she's twisting everything I say.

“Abigail …”

“What?”

The next thing I know, I'm kissing her. All of a moment, I understand what the fuss is about kissing—her lips are so soft and sweet-tasting. I don't want to stop, and it seems she doesn't want to, either. But then she pulls back from me, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Then I feel ashamed.

“Sorry …”

“It's all right,” she whispers.

In her eyes, I see she's as confused as I am. We start walking again. We go the rest of the way in silence. I want to take her hand, but I'm afraid it might scare her. So I walk by her side, feeling the pull of her. At last we reach the gate to her family's house and sawmill. She opens the gate and starts to go inside.

“Do you figure Pete knows about tonight's meeting?” I ask her.

“I don't know. I don't know who's telling what to who anymore.”

“Your parents aren't going to back out, are they?”

“Of course they aren't. When my pa says he'll do something, he does it.”

“Then I'll see you here tonight.”

“I'll see you, George.”

I walk the rest of the way home alone, trying to chase that kiss from my mind.

W
E'RE QUIET AROUND THE
table at dinner. Father and John are weary and hungry from their day in the fields. Annie picks at her food, her face full of worry—understanding in her own way that we are now a valley divided, that we Gillies are on one side, and most of her school friends' families are on the other. All of us, excepting Isabel and Teddy, are on edge about the meeting tonight.

John helps Father hitch Mae and Ulysses to the wagon. I do my best to tighten the harness with my one good hand. Father helps Mam, with Teddy in her arms, up to the bench. I climb into the flatbed. John, Will, Annie, and Isabel are all in the yard to wave us good-bye as we set out for the Stevenses' place.

The shadows are growing long across the trail, though we still have an hour of daylight ahead of us. Even Mae and Ulysses have got the jitters. When we pass Mr. Bell's place, Mae shies for no good reason and irks Ulysses, who nips at her. Father tightens the reins and speaks roughly to the two of them—which makes Teddy cry.

I can't stop myself from glimpsing through the bushes, even though what remains of the cabin is a sad and lonely sight, all the more so for the creepers and weeds that have already started to grow up around the charred timbers. It's like the wilderness can't wait to claim back Mr. Bell's stake for its own, like he never lived there at all. The forest makes me feel small. What if it does have a spirit, just like the Indians say? What if it's like that poet says? Nature is like God—always judging.

W
HEN WE ARRIVE AT
the Stevenses' house, we find a single buggy hitched outside. It's Dr. Thompson's rig. The two fine bays that are harnessed to it are cropping new grass along the wagon track. Mismatched Mae and Ulysses look a sorry sight beside them. Father turns to me.

“Where are the others?”

“Maybe they're on their way,” I say, hoping that at least one or two other settlers have yet to arrive—but I have a bad feeling.

Father helps Mam and the baby down from our wagon. I follow behind as they step up to the Stevenses' fancy porch. Abigail opens the door. She's been watching for us.

“They're in the parlor,” she tells us in a rush—like she's got the jitters, too.

Their house is so fine that Father and I remove our muddy boots out on the porch before we follow Abigail inside. The parlor has heavy curtains around the window and furniture from back east, including a melodeon against one wall, its keys gleaming like the whitest teeth. Dr. Thompson and Mr. Stevens step forward to shake Father's hand as we enter. Mam is stiff when she says hello to Dr. Thompson. I can tell she isn't pleased to see him again, not after the damage he did to Teddy with his tonic. He chucks the baby under the chin with his finger without bothering to ask how it is that he is still alive. Teddy scrunches up his face and gives a little wail.

Mrs. Thompson is seated on a blue sofa that has feet carved in a curly pattern, like paws. She moves aside to make room for Mam, but I can see Mam's discomfort at sitting on such a fancy piece. Mrs. Thompson is nice. She makes Mam sit down and takes Teddy from her, admiring how much his color has improved. Never mind that it was her husband that gave Teddy up for dead. Abigail helps Mrs. Stevens bring in tea for everyone. I find a stool in the corner and sit down, mindful that Father has warned me to speak only when spoken to.

“It's a pity more citizens haven't joined us,” Father says. “But we have six legal signatures amongst us. Mrs. Gillies has an excellent hand,” he adds, making Mam blush, “if I may offer her services to copy down the letter we draft.”

A look passes between Dr. Thompson and Mr. Stevens. Father sees it and asks, “I assume we are in basic agreement about what the letter should say?”

There's a tense feeling in the room. Neither man is in a hurry to speak, nor to look Father in the eye. At last Mr. Stevens breaks the silence.

“Mr. Gillies, the doctor has been persuading me that perhaps we are being too hasty about this letter.”

Dr. Thompson speaks up.

“Here's the fact of the matter, Mr. Gillies. Consider what we stand to lose by acting against our own in such a rash manner.”

“Our own?” says Father. “I'll have nothing to do with the likes of Bill Osterman and Dave Harkness, thank you very much.”

“But the others—Bill Moultray and Robert Breckenridge and Bert Hopkins,” pipes up Mr. Stevens. “These are good men. What's to become of Nooksack if they're taken away to some Canadian jail? And for what? A no-account savage.”

I can't believe my ears. He sounds just like Annette Bell, telling Mr. Moultray that Louie Sam's life didn't count for anything, anyway, so it doesn't matter a whit whether or not the hanging was just.

“A life is a life!” I say.

Dr. Thompson glances my way, then tells Father, “I think it's best if your son waits outside.”

“George is a witness,” says Father, at the same time sending me a harsh look for my outburst. “He knows who murdered Mr. Bell, and it wasn't the Indian lad.”

“Everybody knows who murdered him!”

It's Mrs. Stevens speaking up. Mr. Stevens tells her to shush, but the doctor's wife stands by her friend.

“Bertha states the plain truth,” says Mrs. Thompson. “Dave Harkness and that woman put Bill Osterman up to shooting Mr. Bell.”

“Mavis!” barks Dr. Thompson.

“The facts are the facts, my dear,” she says calmly while rocking Teddy in her arms. “They're the only people who stood to gain from Mr. Bell's death. Mr. Harkness and the Bell woman are now free to marry without fear of a lawsuit. And Mrs. Bell gets her hands on Mr. Bell's five hundred dollars, in trust for their son. Why Mr. Osterman went along with the scheme is beyond me, but he must have had his reasons.”

“If we tar Osterman and Harkness, we tar Mr. Moultray, too—who's fighting for statehood, for growth and prosperity,” says Mr. Stevens. “We need him. We can't afford to stay a backwater like we are now.”

“Precisely,” chimes in Dr. Thompson. “Who will settle here and buy Mr. Stevens's lumber without Mr. Moultray's wisdom and leadership?”

“So it comes down to greed against what's right,” says Mam.

She's been so quiet, everyone's forgotten she's there. Now all eyes are upon her. The doctor puffs himself up with offense.

“Do not presume, Mrs. Gillies,” he says, “to judge my moral character. As founding fathers of this town, it behoves the gentlemen present to consider what is best for all of us, for our future.”

“Have you forgotten, Dr. Thompson,” says Mam, “that we women have the vote now as well as the men, and a say in our future, too?”

“We shall see for how long, madam. We shall see for how long. This is proof of the unfitness of the weaker sex for political life!”

Father is angry at the tone he's taking with Mam.

“I'll not have you speaking to my wife that way!”

“Then control her, sir!”

Mr. Stevens steps in, speaking directly to Father.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Gillies. My wife and I can't sign your letter.”

“And neither will Mrs. Thompson nor myself,” adds the doctor.

I look over to Mrs. Stevens and Mrs. Thompson, so free with their thoughts a moment ago. Mrs. Thompson keeps her head bowed over Teddy. Mrs. Stevens busies herself pouring more tea. A terrible silence has fallen over the room.

“Very well then,” says Father at last. “Anna, George—we're leaving.”

Mam collects Teddy from Mrs. Thompson.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Gillies. He's a lovely baby,” says Mrs. Thompson, as though nothing unpleasant has taken place.

I look over to Abigail, who's been standing in the doorway all this time, on the edge of the meeting. She meets my eyes with a pitiful look, from which I understand that she has no choice but to take her parents' side. She slips over to the far side of the parlor to give Father, Mam, and me a wide berth as we head to the door. Dr. Thompson is the only one to come out onto the porch after us.

“Gillies,” he says to Father. “People in this valley have worked hard for what they have, and they will punish those who act against them. I say this as a caution.”

Father gives him no reply.

T
HE LIGHT HAS FADED
to almost nothing as Mae and Ulysses lead the way home. The evening is so still, it's hard to say whether the hoot of an owl is coming from half a mile away, or five. Father's holding himself upright and stiff. After a long while riding, I say, “We can still write the letter.”

Father crooks his neck toward me slightly. The tightness of his jaw matches that of his back and shoulders. He turns away again, saying nothing. It's Mam who speaks.

“Let it be, George.”

Mae starts acting up, then Ulysses. Something has the pair of them spooked. Another moment or two, and I smell it, too—something burning. Father slaps the reins and with a shout makes Mae and Ulysses move forward. When we round a bend, we can see smoke rising above the trees in the direction of Sumas Creek—in the direction of our home.

Chapter Thirty-One

W
HEN
F
ATHER SEES THE
smoke, he stops the wagon and tells me to drive the rig the rest of the way home. I climb up front and take the reins while he jumps down and runs ahead, disappearing from our sight around the next bend. Mam clutches Teddy tight the whole rest of the way. It's not easy keeping Mae and Ulysses moving, me with only one good arm and they decided against forward motion. Finally, Ulysses stops and digs in his heels as only a mule can, refusing to go on no matter how much I holler at him. I get down and, taking hold of Mae's halter, lead her forward so that Ulysses has no choice but to follow.

When our cabin comes into sight, Mam and I are relieved to see it still standing, but we can see flames licking up over the trees in the direction of the creek. We can hear Gyp barking fiercely from down that way. Annie is out front with Isabel. They come running to meet us.

“The mill is on fire!” Annie calls to us.

“The mill is on fire!” says Isabel, Annie's echo.

Mam tells me to stop the wagon so she can get down. She puts Teddy into Annie's arms and tells her to take him and Isabel into the cabin and to keep them there.

“Where are John and Will?” she wants to know.