The Girl at the Hanging Tree

by Mary Gray

  Running his hands through his hair, he stares at the worn carpet while bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tansy was very convincing. She reminded me that you were raised by Edgar, and he was never kind. She promised that she would only come out once or twice a year—when you needed protection—and, knowing what I know about Edgar, I gradually put together that she was a survival tactic you created in order to survive.”

  WT rises to his feet, pacing with even greater agitation as he builds on his story. “I figured I could handle her. You know, since she’s a self-proclaimed homebody. I thought she was keeping her word in not coming out until I saw her dancing in the garden with Dwayne. At first I thought it was you.” He knocks his leg with a fist. “I was livid. But then I saw the way she moved, heard her higher, more Southern voice, and I knew it was her.”

  “But Dwayne doesn’t know about Tansy.”

  A muscle flickers along WT’s jaw. “He believes he makes you ‘more alive.’”

  My stomach churns. It’s a lot of information all at once, but I have to know one thing. “WT ... before Tansy strung you up on the cupola, what did I see?”

  He turns his back. Places his fists shoulder-width apart on the dresser. Doesn’t say anything.

  “Tansy says she finally took over when I saw something terrible. It’s why I let her be in charge. It has something to do with the Klan. Please tell me.”

  His shirt stretches across his back as he leans further into the dresser. “We will get to that. I promise, Gemma.” Slowly, he turns to lock his troubled eyes on me. “First, you need to know how the True Knights came to be a part of my life.”

  “Stop calling them that.”

  He nods, seeming to understand my aversion to the name. Nerves pinch my stomach as I try to find a comfortable position to think. I still don’t know if I can trust him, and, against my better instincts, I still only see kindness in his eyes.

  Sinking onto the foot of my bed, WT says, “You have to understand, I was raised in this filth. Inducted into the Klan right after Ma died.”

  “I thought you said she died when you were five.”

  WT bites the inside of his cheek. “Deep Creek is one of the few Klans that builds from the ground up. They feed their bull to kids, indoctrinating entire families.”

  “No ..."

  “There’s an old photograph in my desk—back home—if you want to see my induction ceremony.” He scrubs his hand over his face, highlighting the crow’s feet around his eyes. “For some reason, Anne’s always looked out for me. Both you and I know she’s never loved Edgar, but she married him on a whim and only stayed with him to protect you. She believed she would eventually find a way to take down the Klan. That, and she thought she could talk my father into changing his ways. God rest her soul, next to marrying Edgar, that was the most foolish thing she ever tried.

  “Three years ago”—he pounds his fist into his lap—“Pa died. A year or so before Edgar. Even though Anne tried to get me out of this mess, this town has always seen me as a sort of future king.” He holds up his hands before I can say a word. “Not for anything I did. If it wasn’t for my money, they never would have looked at me twice. But my ancestors—along with the Beauchamps, Coldirons, and Calhouns—founded Deep Creek. Ever since my parents died, the whole town’s been waiting for me to take my ‘rightful place.’ Then, when I married you, everyone got swept up with the idea that you were a ‘princess’ of sorts—the last of the Coldirons.”

  My stomach twists into knots. “So they liked Edgar because of the sick things he did?”

  WT nods, then shakes his head. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s a sense of pride, family pride. It’s not what Edgar did per se, but that he kept the “family traditions” in the name of White Supremacy. That’s why they never touched you. You’ve always had immunity, being the last Coldiron. Doubly after marrying me.”

  A rat feels like it’s gnawing on every inch of my insides. To think that I thought WT’s and my marriage was created out of love—but, instead, it was a safety net for evil I never wanted to be a part of in the first place.

  “Needless to say, striking oil was the worst thing that could have happened. Once news got out, Beauchamp and Calhoun believed it was my ‘duty’ to fund more of the Klan’s activities.”

  I push past the shock of my “status.” “You refused?”

  WT shakes his head, which is another sock to the gut. “Not openly. I knew, to make them stop, I needed to continue to infiltrate their ranks until the time was right. It’s why I felt like I couldn’t go to Palo Duro with you. They were watching my every move. But I sort of blew a gasket when things got tense and needed a break. Then, the night you showed up at headquarters, I was actually planning to burn down the place.”

  Headquarters ... I’m not sure what that means.

  “But you saw us with a pair of prisoners, and—”

  “You killed them.” I’m not sure how I know this, but I know it, clear as day.

  “I was trying to help them escape. But Calhoun—he ... let’s just say that it got messy.”

  I still don’t know what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?” The pit in my stomach widens, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  “After Tansy did what she did to me”—he evades my question—“I decided to leave town and lie low until I could get the feds involved. Figure out how you and I could be together, for good this time.”

  He still hasn’t answered my question, but I have to trust that we’ll get to what I saw eventually.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” I scan the cowboy paintings on the walls, wishing I could sort through all of this with Grammy. “You’ve been gone for months.”

  WT knocks his hand against his leg twice. “Anne encouraged me to stay away. She wanted me to keep reporting, supplying the feds with information and names. I believe you met one of my contacts—Agent Spence.”

  “Crew cut, squirrel face?”

  WT bites back a smile. “He’s been looking into ... all the Klan’s activities.”

  “I thought he wanted to verify that I killed you.”

  He cracks a small smile at that. “Good thing I’m still alive. I hate that I was gone for so long, but Anne insisted that what you had seen that day had set you back, and that Tansy was now in charge most of the time.”

  I lean back against my headboard, letting all his explanations sink in. “I went to Calhoun’s office.”

  WT’s face washes blank. “He’s been waiting for you to come to him for months. All he cares about is gaining access to the Hardin money. That and keeping a lid on everything that happens in Deep Creek.”

  So Calhoun never cared about helping me find WT. I hate that I fell for his ploy.

  Sitting up further on the mattress, I say, “They have to answer for what they did to Francesca and Grammy.”

  “Wait ... is Francesca—”

  “Delilah’s mother. Tim’s wife. You helped them get a place.”

  Realization, sharp and hot, suddenly transforms WT’s face. “And ... the two of you were friends?”

  An image of Francesca gathering up her twenty hair products to save me from my hair travesty flashes through my mind. “The best.”

  WT clamps down on his lip. Covers his face. “I ... didn’t realize that. I didn’t even realize she was in the picture. I’m sorry.”

  That would be because Francesca had lost custody of Delilah. I guess it makes sense he wouldn’t have known about her, though it still sucks that she isn’t alive.

  “The town believes her death was an accident,” I say between gritted teeth.

  “That’s what they do.” WT chews on the inside of his cheek. “That’s what they’ll say about Anne, too. That she had a stroke or something. But we can right this. I’ve been working on this for some time.”

  “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  A flash of resignation flares across WT’s eyes. “We finish what I started that night.”r />
  “Burn down headquarters?”

  He bows his head in agreement, but it can’t be that easy.

  “I don’t even know who Tansy killed.” I fiddle with the silk flowers on the front of Tansy’s dress.

  “Hopefully somebody who had it coming.”

  We grow silent for a while, and before I know it’s happened, he’s scooted closer to me on the edge of the bed. He isn’t proud or defensive or even all-knowing. He’s simply here, and from his calm demeanor, I can’t help believing that everything he’s said is true. Is this why Tansy claimed that corpse in our basement is him? She didn’t want me falling for him again, after all this time?

  Stretching out his hand, WT slips a piece of hair behind my ear, his touch feather light. His cedar smell washes over my skin, and his voice comes out husky. “Do you know why I fell in love with you, Gemma Louise?”

  Every word I know has now been encoded in Japanese.

  “You weren’t willing to keep quiet about Goatman’s Bridge. No one talks about that place. I don’t know if you ever learned this, but the Klan used to do an annual ritual there to celebrate what happened to the Goatman in the ‘30s.”

  “No."

  “It’s why I suggested you look in the county records. Until the ‘80s, the disappearances of tourists—people from all around the world—always used to happen on the same date. My pa’s generation always covered it up. I wanted to see if you could uncover the conspiracy.”

  “But I was too focused on all the other details.” My shoulders sag. “Like more historical sites.”

  WT’s once focused eyes soften as he looks into mine. “Which made me fall in love with you even more. Understanding the past helps us know how to beat the enemy.”

  “But they don’t do the ‘ritual’ anymore?”

  “Calhoun and Beauchamp were gearing up to resurrect the old ways that night.”

  I lean back, horrified. But is he telling the truth? It sounds like he wants to take down the Klan ... but he could be lying. I could be overlooking his weaknesses just because of our history.

  I lick my lips, trying to reconcile what I want with what’s right. Maybe I’ll gauge his reaction after I give him a peek into my current life. “Tansy keeps me very weak.”

  Leaning in, WT places his elbows on his knees. “The Gemma Louise I know has never been weak.”

  “She only lets me out every fourteen days.”

  A flash of hurt, then sadness rims his eyes.

  “The town said I killed you. I didn’t even remember who you were.”

  WT presses his fist to his lips—clearly hurt by what I’m saying—but he stops himself from responding.

  “They were going to lock me up, but Tansy says Calhoun convinced everybody that I only needed to be watched. And that I qualified for an insanity plea.”

  A tendon flickers along WT’s neck. “Calhoun tried drawing me out. He wasn’t sure if I was really dead or alive. But one of his men spotted me a few towns over, and after Agent Spence left, I knew it was time to come back and make things right.” Raising a cupped hand to his forehead as if making a vow, he says, “Once all this is over, we’re ditching this filthy place.”

  My heart swells a little prematurely at the idea. “Tansy would never let me.”

  WT leans over, gently laying a hand on my face. I should push him off, but his touch is warm. Tender. Oddly inviting. “You used to be the one in control. Put her in her place.”

  Not ready for his advice, I shove him off. “People with my condition tend to get agitated if things don’t go as planned. Tansy’s already agitated. I—we—risk gaining another alter.”

  A dimple appears above WT’s nose, showing how deeply he’s concentrating. I expect him to curse—he’s going to lose it—but instead, he leans forward with this unnerving, love-filled look in his eyes.

  “That’s not going to happen—” His voice cuts off while he runs the side of his thumb along the side of my face. Everything tremors beneath his touch. My lips, my face, and I can’t help it; I can’t help hanging onto any shred of hope he offers me.

  “Are you ready to face her?” He takes my hand. I don’t know if I should accept it, but, for the moment, I don’t pull away.

  46

  While WT and I hide behind one of the massive, untrimmed hollies, Natalie emerges from the mansion, casserole dish in hand like an oversized ticket to a play.

  Jesse Beauchamp’s police truck’s sitting in front of the house on the street, too.

  Tansy will be thrilled about the company.

  “What’s her deal?” I whisper to WT, referring to Natalie.

  “Apart from parties and social calls, she’s never been much of a leader. I know she regrets marrying Jesse. She’s never had the bandwidth to stand up to the Klan. Though she means well.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “She saw me at your grandmother’s. I think she’s trying to find her voice in her marriage. But she doesn’t like stirring up things ..."

  To be sure, as Natalie scrambles through the gate—guess I forgot to lock that when I left after seeing the bog body—her expression reminds me of a spooked rabbit.

  “So she’s my best friend?”

  “More like a friend in a small town when there aren’t a lot of options.”

  Part of me worries that Jesse’s in there, giving Tansy the third degree ... but I know that he can’t be talking to her. Tansy’s in me.

  At any rate, he’ll soon be heading out to his vehicle. WT must read my mind, because he takes my hand and leads me back to the greenhouse, my heartbeat getting jittery.

  It’s all so surreal, being around him after not even knowing he existed. I don’t know how to explain it, but no matter what I do, I can’t help feeling drawn to his every word, every movement he makes. Please let him be honest. He claims he wants to take down the Klan ... but what if, just like Tansy, he’s spinning some elaborate trap?

  I don’t think he’s as vindictive as that.

  Too bad we can’t just talk with Tansy in the greenhouse, but no way is she coming out before I go in the house. Somehow, I have to make her see reason while proving that I’m still combatting the possibility of other alters.

  The man upstairs must know we need something encouraging, because a spray of shell pink evening primroses wave to me from the doorway. Brown-eyed Susans intermingle with the pinks, and their brief visits are my favorite part of Texas in the spring.

  Softening, I turn to WT. It’s not like we can go barging in there when Jesse’s inside the mansion anyway. “How come we never met until I came back from D.C.?”

  The dimple above WT’s nose reemerges, implying how deeply he’s focusing. “Edgar was infamous for his temper. My pa avoided him when it came to social calls and business dealings. That, and he sent me away to boarding school when I was eleven.”

  “But how could we not have ever met? There aren’t even five hundred people in this town.”

  “I saw you a few times, but Edgar kept you and Anne on a tight leash.”

  I bristle—not exactly something one wants to hear. But it’s true.

  “Sorry ... that’s nothing against you or Anne. That was just Edgar’s way. Then, after boarding school, I went straight to Vanderbilt. Didn’t come back until you had already left for D.C.”

  “But how could Grammy have had any influence over you when our families were in different social circles, and you were away most of the time?”

  WT checks the chamber in his revolver, handling the weapon with a natural confidence and ease. “While I didn’t see her much, your grandmother had a way of making the most of her time.”

  Grammy catches wind of Edgar breaking one of his employees’ kneecaps for being late. I spot her at the kitchen table, secretly writing out a check for the man’s medical bills. Afterward, she brings over chicken divan with Natalie.

  “Anne sent me article after article about how the Klan uses propaganda to twist ideals, much like the Nazis. Then she
introduced me to a professor from the Congo. He changed my life.” A twig snaps beneath WT’s boot as he draws nearer. “I may have been brainwashed as a kid, but it made me sick, even then. I was only too happy to have someone there to help me root that filth out of my life.”

  I don’t know how it’s happened, but his chest is suddenly only two inches from mine. His breath is awash with mint, and I can just feel his itch to grab and hold me.

  Leaning in closer, WT stretches out his hand. His index finger traces the skin on my wrist, and sparklers flicker and ignite. How am I supposed to be rational when his touch makes it so hard to think?

  When he rests his hand on the small of my back, I know it’s something he does as we cook. When we go to church. When we’re watching the fireworks on the Fourth.

  This moment ... I foolishly don’t want it to end. Soon, we’re going to stalk inside that house and face Tansy. She’ll break the spell. Finally reveal why I can’t be with WT.

  “Gemma.” His voice and breath are smooth as ribbons. He trails his hand down the side of my cheek, and I swallow the bulge of nerves in my throat. Brushing his thumb across my upper lip, he looks at me like I’m the most precious thing in life.

  But I have to break the spell. “Aren’t you mad you were almost murdered by my other half?”

  WT laughs. “As I recall, Tansy was only doing what she thought was right.”

  “So, she didn’t know your allegiances weren’t aligned with the Klan’s.” I have to verify this, but from around the corner of the house, Jesse is suddenly marching to his police truck, phone to his ear, saying something about a body being in the basement.

  I stiffen as WT gently cups my elbow with his palm. “He’s probably only telling Calhoun. Remember, Beauchamp’s not your typical police.”