All Things Bright and Strange

by James Markert

  Bo Blythe said, “So what are we doing here? Sitting around telling campfire tales?”

  Omar leaned back in his chair, sipped more Old Sam through his straw. “Tell dem what story you got now, cracker. Killin’ and beatin’ up dem blacks.”

  Bo stood, knocking his chair to the floor.

  Omar was out of his seat in a flash, toe to toe with the Klansman, his mask inches away from Blythe’s face.

  Ellsworth pounded the table and stood. “Stand down. Both of you.”

  Blythe kept his eyes on Omar but spoke to Ellsworth. “Remind me again why we’re takin’ orders from a one-legged man with a chump badge.”

  Ellsworth said, “’Cause this one-legged man is the one now doin’ the talkin’. And he’s tellin’ you to either sit down or leave town. Nobody here’s stopping you.”

  “Maybe I will.” Blythe downed the rest of his bourbon and slammed the glass down hard on the tabletop. “Maybe I will.”

  Anna Belle said, “Only cowards hide behind hoods.”

  Blythe said, “I wear no hood at the current, woman.”

  Anna Belle pointed at Ellsworth. “Because he ordered you not to. Just as he ordered you to leave your weapon at the door.” Blythe scoffed at the notion. Anna Belle went on, raised her voice. “How many times have you been stabbed in the chest and lived? How many times did you have your leg blown off and come back to tell about it? How many train derailments have you lived through? How many times did you live through disease or knock on death’s door and still come out fighting? Huh?”

  Blythe chewed the inside of his mouth but didn’t answer.

  Gabriel said, “Ellsworth is the only one here equipped to lead us against an enemy none of us can see. The other side’s been trying to kill him since the day he first took breath.” Whispers turned into head nods and affirmation. Gabriel glared at Blythe. “You ain’t left yet because you’re scared. And you’re listening to that one-legged man because that’s just what we do around here.”

  Blythe said, “So what do we do now? I’m not one to run from a fight. And whatever’s out there is responsible for the deaths of two of my brethren.”

  Ellsworth said, “Two of our comrades. There is no more ‘me’ in this town. It’s ‘us’—” He pointed out the town-hall window. “—against them. And by the looks of things it’s them who’s winning right now.”

  Omar stood there for just a second before scooting his chair back and facing forward. Blythe stood there for another awkward moment, clearly trying to save face. Then he nodded, picked his chair back up, and sat in it.

  Omar scooted his chair back in and faced forward.

  Ellsworth took his seat. “I was born and raised Catholic, as was Father Timothy here. My friend Omar is a Muslim. Reverends Cane, Beaver, Yarney, and Hofhamm are Protestant. Rabbi Blumenthal is Jewish. I could go on but I won’t, and I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. But what we are as individuals don’t mean a hill of beans in a hog house. If the devil is what we’re facing, he’ll only succeed if we let’m.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Lou.

  “He’s turned us against one another,” said Reverend Cane.

  “Segregated a town we once swore would never be segregated,” Ellsworth added. “The town I was born into valued inclusion. What thoughts of hate or disdain we may have had for one another was bottled and buried, our temptations churned into camaraderie and laughter, dancing, and music.” Heads nodded around the table. “Our enemy might be invisible, but we allowed that invisible evil to manifest when we made the choice to turn against our brethren.”

  Ellsworth downed a gulp of Old Sam and his voice picked up steam. “But I say, no more of that.”

  “No more,” echoed Moses Yarney, staring across the table at Reverend Beaver.

  “We each have our own places of worship,” said Ellsworth. “Our own denominations and what-not, but this here town hall has always been our church—the Bellhaven church. The one place where one and all were welcome at the table.” Gabriel nodded emphatically from her place next to Uriel.

  Ellsworth poured more bourbon and stood. “My father built this town hall for a reason. I remember the wise words he said before he left this earth. Church is people. Church is art. Church is music.” He held up his glass. “Church is the gathering, ladies and gentlemen. And sometimes that’s all that’s needed.” He tipped his head back and swallowed, and everyone around the table did likewise.

  Ellsworth wiped his mouth with a shirtsleeve. “Our town gathering place was burned down three years ago because of hatred. Then we got muddled up with the war and its repercussions. It’s long past time now that we find a way to gather again. Our beliefs may be different. Some may not believe at all. But we have the same questions, the same needs, the same desire for good to prevail. And it’s time to focus again on what brings us together instead of what could tear us apart.”

  He turned toward Bo Blythe. “You asked what we’re going to do. Well, I’ll tell you. In the morning we will formulate a plan and enter the woods together. And together we’ll defeat whatever this is that’s been tearing our town and our lives apart. Are you with me?”

  A roar of approval filled the hall. Everyone stood, energized, swelling with pride, shaking hands and patting shoulders. The energy spread outward to the rest of the hall. Heads turned toward the entrance as Raphael backed into the hall. He guided four men who carefully carried Anna Belle’s piano inside. They placed it under the window, and a fifth man situated the bench just where Raphael pointed.

  Then the boy sat and played.

  Ellsworth couldn’t quite place what it was he played—Eliza would have known; she had an ear for such things—but the sound was warm bathwater, the chords a soothing ointment for all their wounds. All eyes settled on Raphael as his healing fingers danced across the keyboard. And when he finished, the town hall applauded.

  Ellsworth, with Anna Belle’s help, stood atop his chair and shouted over the throng. “There’s plenty of food left over and bellies yet to be filled.” He held up his bottle. “And there’s plenty more of these left in my shed. May the roof above us never fall in, and may we friends beneath it never fall out!”

  Now Raphael was playing Mozart—or was it Beethoven? It didn’t matter. Three couples had already joined hands and begun dancing.

  Omar walked past Ellsworth in a hurry for the door. “Dat music need more. Time to blow dem dust off dat ol’ bass o’ mine and make dis rooftop go pop.”

  “And tell Trapper to get his violin!”

  Anna Belle helped Ellsworth from the chair and whispered in his ear. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  She shrugged, then took his hand and pulled him to the middle of the hall.

  “Anna Belle, what are you doing?”

  “We’re dancing.”

  “I don’t dance anymore.”

  “Eliza always thought you were a graceful dancer.”

  “When I had two legs.”

  She gripped his left hand and placed her other on his shoulder. “How about this?”

  “How ’bout what?”

  “Shut your head, Ellsworth, and just follow my lead.”

  They soon found a steady cadence. Omar returned with his double bass and the town barber with his violin. Soon after that Beverly Adams started singing, and moments later Gabriel joined her. Soon the town hall was full to the rafters with music and noise and laughter. “Turn Your Light Off, Mister Moon Man.” “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” “Oh, Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!” “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho.” The entire hall joined in the singing.

  The music was so loud that no one could hear outside, where the sound of leaves in the trees slowly died, the chapel’s clearing grew outward from the heart of the Bellhaven woods, and the whispers grew so constant that the woods now had a musical drone of its own.

  Something akin to a swarm of bees.

  CHAPTER 30

  The town hall had some magic left in it after all. />
  All it needed was reminding.

  By three in the morning half the bourbon had been consumed. Everyone was relaxed and fighting tiredness, but they didn’t want the night to end. Lou drunkenly sang Irving Berlin’s “Oh! How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning.” Reverend Cane played cards with Father Timothy, who was laughing because he’d made Anna Belle Roper blush moments ago—telling her she was pretty and if he wasn’t a priest he’d marry her. Reverend Cane was laughing because Beverly Adams had just brought him a piece of apple pie, saying she’d run out of dead crickets. At one point Reverend Beaver left his Methodist cluster and tottered over unsteadily to shake hands with Moses Yarney. The AME pastor and his friends responded warily, but the two men spoke enough civil words to be considered a conversation. Reverend Beaver then approached Frank Jessups and invited him back into the church. He even embraced Jessups in a long hug that drew an odd look from Beaver’s wife.

  Across the room, Gabriel arm wrestled Gus Cheevers and Reverend Hofhamm at the same time. And after she slammed both their arms to the table, she danced with jingle-brained Timmy Tankersly, who didn’t seem to know what he was doing but loved every minute of it.

  Omar plucked his double bass to accompany Raphael on the piano and Dr. Philpot on his clarinet. And when that song was over, he leaned his instrument against the wall and went full throttle into the fastest hambone the town hall had ever seen, stomping his feet and patting his hands on his legs, sides, chest, the top of his head, and even his mouth slit like this night would be his last. “If dem diamond ring don’t shine, Momma’s gonna buy you dem bottle of wine. If dat bottle of wine gets broke, Momma’s gonna buy dem a billy goat . . .” His rhythmic gyrations and deep bass voice must have thawed whatever tension remained with Bo Blythe, because two minutes later Bo was in a chair beside Omar taking a hambone lesson and singing “Home Sweet Home” in a reedy tenor.

  At just past four in the morning, Ellsworth spotted Anna Belle leaning against the piano while Raphael played. The boy never seemed to tire, and neither did the town folk on the dance floor, shuffling and stepping through the lantern glow and smiling like the old days.

  Ellsworth leaned in close to Anna Belle’s ear. “I reckon I still owe you that walk.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” She offered her elbow, and together they strolled outside, where more people partied and danced in the parking lot. They toasted Ellsworth as he passed, but he shied away from the attention, guiding Anna Belle in the opposite direction.

  The air was balmy for this early in the spring, more like steamy Charleston air after summer rain. The clear sky was full of stars and circling birds, all black under the moonlight. Ellsworth led Anna Belle toward the avenue of oaks, where he and Eliza used to take their daily walk. Still choked with cars, the road was passable on foot.

  After a while, Ellsworth let go of her elbow and cupped her hand palm to palm. The night they’d spent together on the jailhouse floor had connected them, placed a bridge over their playful bickering and brought them to terms with what it had been in the first place—flirting. They both knew they carried a torch for one another, but neither of them needed to verbalize it. They’d known each other since they were kids. Now they were both grown, both widowed. And both knew just how fragile life could be.

  “This is nice, Ellsworth.”

  “Can’t argue with that, Anna Belle.”

  They swayed together as they strolled beneath the vaulted ceiling of limbs. His arm tingled from her touch, and his heart sped in a way he’d doubted it ever would again. She’d been his first kiss at age twelve, and he reckoned it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she was the last. He stopped, faced her, and then leaned in until their lips touched. Hers were as soft as he’d remembered, with a pinch of bourbon on her breath. She laughed and he did, too, and they stood for a moment with their foreheads touching.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked over Anna Belle’s shoulder. “We have company though.” Omar had followed them outdoors with his rifle and watched from a distance. He’d sworn to protect Ellsworth, and he wasn’t backing down from that promise. “I don’t think Omar likes us being out here alone.”

  Anna Belle tiptoed and kissed him again, this time with a finality that said it was all he was getting tonight. “I suppose we are breaking your own rules. No straying from the pack.”

  “I reckon so. Do you hear that?”

  She nodded. Away from the music, the noises from the woods were more noticeable. It sounded like an army of cicadas was at war with a swarm of bees.

  “This party, as much as we all needed it, is just a bandage,” said Ellsworth. “Come morning, there will be blood.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “No. Figured I’d sleep on it.”

  “Only have a couple hours left to sleep.”

  “I don’t need much.”

  “Well, whatever you decide, I’m going with you tomorrow.”

  He gripped her hand again. “Figured as much.”

  She squeezed his palm, and they started back toward the town hall. “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,” she quoted. “Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “William Congreve.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Doesn’t make it untrue, Ellsworth.”

  They walked the next two minutes in silence, until the piano and violin and laughter again began to drown out the ominous buzz from the woods. Omar tipped his hat as they passed, and Ellsworth returned the gesture. But instead of returning to the town hall, Anna Belle pulled Ellsworth to the other side of the road and toward his house.

  She said, “Omar, we’ll be in for the night.”

  Omar laughed. “All right den, Mrs. Roper.”

  Anna Belle led Ellsworth to his front door. Her pace quickened at the stairs. He did his best to keep up as she climbed each one, even as his heart threatened to jump from his chest.

  CHAPTER 31

  Ellsworth opened his eyes once more to sunlight and birdsong.

  Shadows flashed past the window. Wings fluttered. But beyond the high-pitched bird chatter, the drone from the woods still loomed, louder now than it had last night. He reached across the bed, found that side empty, and then startled when he heard another voice in the room.

  “She went home to get ready.”

  Ellsworth sat up, clunked the headboard. “Gabriel? What are you doing in here?”

  Gabriel sat on a wooden chair in overalls and dusty boots. A four-foot-long wooden box rested across her lap. Her sandy hair was long enough now for a small ponytail that she wore tied up atop her head like the curved handle of a teacup. “You know, this doesn’t surprise me none.”

  “What doesn’t surprise you?”

  “You and Anna Belle.” She said it with a half smile, but Ellsworth sensed hurt. And then the smile grew full. “When we were kids, I used to imagine being married to you.”

  “You did?”

  “All the girls in Bellhaven did. We all carried a torch, and you know it. Don’t be so coy.”

  “Not trying to. Just didn’t think I was that much to set eyes upon.”

  “It was the way you carried yourself—with a confidence that was contagious. And a kindness you wore on your sleeve.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Did we have kids?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said you imagined marrying me. Did we have any imaginary kids with this union?”

  “Oh.” She blushed, tried to hide it, then nodded. “Twelve.”

  “Twelve kids?”

  She laughed. “Twelve kids.”

  “You’re holding up fairly well then, Gabriel. Twelve kids. Wow.”

  “You always were so unassuming.” She stroked her hand across the woodgrain of the box on her lap like it was a pet. “But you were the leader we all looked up to. Still do.”

  “What’s that on your lap?�
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  She flipped a metal latch, and the wooden box opened from a central seam. “I’ve been working on it for days now.” He caught a flash of sunlight off steel. “Maybe you should get out of bed first.”

  He swung his leg from the covers not bothering to hide his cotton underdrawers and white undershirt. Gabriel didn’t look away as he strapped on his prosthesis, slid on a pair of tan britches, and cinched them with a belt. It wasn’t like she’d never seen him half clothed, with all the times they’d gone swimming in the Atlantic or scrounging the salt ponds for blue crab.

  Ellsworth crossed the room to her but stopped cold when he got close enough to see inside the narrow box.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Just don’t cut me with it.”

  Inside the box, a sword rested on a bed of red velvet. He gripped the hilt and lifted it from the box. The steel shone so brilliantly it was nearly blue.

  Blue Fire. The knight sword he’d dreamed of as a kid.

  Gabriel stood beside him. “It’s double-edged. With a blood groove down the center.”

  “To lighten the blade, yes.”

  “And there’s gold blended inside the cross guard and the pommel.”

  “For balance.” Ellsworth touched the rounded pommel, gripped the hilt with both hands, slowly navigated the blade through the air, and then ran his finger down the beveled grove that the fuller had carved into the steel.

  “I smelted down some slave shackles and whatever old iron I could find.”

  Ellsworth studied the blade, then looked at her. “Why the sword?”

  “Brother Bannerman is dead,” she said, ignoring the question. “They found him in the woods this morning, along the tree line. Half his hair had turned white. He was on his way back out instead of in. Dr. Philpot thinks he died of an attack of the heart, coupled with the copperhead bites.”

  Then she eyed the sword in his hands. “That’s for today, when we go into battle.” He started to contradict her, but a battle was exactly what loomed. “Michael the Archangel,” she said. “He’s always been depicted with a sword when he fights the dragon. He’s the protector and leader of God’s army. And he was the conqueror of Satan during the war in heaven when Satan and the fallen angels were cast down to earth.” She shrugged. “If you believe in such a thing.”