The Last Blue

by Isla Morley

  When the shot rings out, Havens thinks a bullet has done the job. Everyone freezes, except Eddie, who stumbles a few paces to one side and then the other.

  Buford, Levi, and Havens peer through the bushes. Riding up on horseback and calling for Levi to show himself are Ronny Gault and his flunky, Faro, both armed with rifles. Massey is nowhere in sight. Havens swivels around for Jubilee and finds her clutching her brother to keep him from going out to confront his enemy.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Buford.” Eddie couldn’t be more smug.

  Coming to a halt in front of the barn, Ronny announces, “Levi’s got to come down to town and turn himself in.”

  Socall steps out her back door. “For what reason?”

  “What he did to Sarah Tuttle is a crime. He turns himself in tonight maybe he can spare himself the rope.” He addresses the bushes as though Levi is quail to be flushed out.

  “Done what to her?” Buford shows himself.

  Faro is eager to deliver the news. “She’s in the way on account of your boy’s forcing.”

  Havens indicates for Levi to retreat into the woods with Jubilee, but instead, Levi barges into the open and presents himself like a fixed target. “Sarah didn’t claim she was forced.”

  “Only because you threatened to cut her throat.” With a hardened face, Ronny adds, “You’re going to hang this time, Levi Buford.”

  Levi approaches Ronny with his finger pointed at him. “If anyone’s done any forcing, it’s you. The sight of you makes her sick, so you leave her the hell alone.”

  Socall returns to the fray, this time with her shotgun. “You boys push off now.” Taking aim when they refuse to move, she says, “I don’t mind shooting either one of you. In fact, it’ll give me great pleasure, and I don’t have a problem going to the gallows for it, neither.”

  Ronny turns in his saddle to face her. “You want the sheriff to come up here and take care of this?”

  She lets off a shot. “Now, I’m not going to waste the other one.”

  Ronny and Faro steer their spooked horses away from Socall’s house, Ronny shouting over his shoulder, “Nothing’s going to get you off this time, Blue!”

  JUBILEE

  Havens sets out after Mr. Massey, and Socall insists everyone go back indoors and resume their frolicking to give the Bufords time to take in the news. Pa is bent over, his hands on his knees.

  “I won’t ask you to feed another mouth, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Levi tries to assure him. “I’ll figure out a plan.”

  As if he’s been put in stocks, Pa raises his head. “Is that what you intend to tell her father, that the plan is for his daughter to take up with a—”

  “A what?” Levi is the color of a sky before a real bad storm. “A blue coon? Say it, Pa. If it’ll make you feel better.”

  Mama’s turned into an old woman. “Levi, please.”

  Pa screws up his eyes and tilts his head as though he’s listening for a sound faint and far away.

  “Sarah can clear this up,” Jubilee offers. “She’ll tell the truth that she wasn’t harmed or forced, and I’m sure—”

  “Nobody’s going to badger Sarah,” insists Levi.

  “There’s only one course of action,” Pa decides. “First thing tomorrow we will head to town for a sit-down with Reverend Tuttle, and then we’ll stop in and have a word with Sheriff Suggins.”

  Havens is hurrying toward them, calling for Pa to hang back, but Pa scowls and turns his shoulders, making it plain he’s long past attending to the needs of these men. To him, they’ve gone back to being outsiders. “Best you be on your way now,” he tells Havens, who mops the sweat from his face, which is already swelling up where Uncle Eddie hit him.

  Jubilee doesn’t want to look at him. In his arms, she’d made wishes, even though she knew there was never going to be a pretty cabin on a sunny hillside where heaven and blue could live together. All she needed were the memories of their time together, right up to that Kentucky waltz, but even this has been taken from her. Now what’s she left with?

  Taking a deep breath, Havens explains that Massey is going forward with his story and a secret film that makes color pictures. What he says sounds equal parts fable and bluff. “A magazine has offered to print the picture on its cover.” This news hits Pa worse than Sarah being with child.

  Levi is first to reach the conclusion. “Everyone’s going to learn of us and come up here.”

  Havens looks like he’d sooner chew six-inch nails than admit that Levi’s right.

  “Why would you boys do this? Why would you put us in such a predicament?” Pa’s eyes look like they’re meant to draw out pus.

  “To profit off it,” Levi answers.

  But if it was about profit, Havens would not now be laying bare their plan. He talks as much to her as to Pa. “At first it was about getting a story, and I went along with it for my own selfish reasons, and then I wanted to believe we could do some good with it, but I should’ve spoken up earlier.” Havens explains that he destroyed the color film that had Levi’s picture on it, and wasn’t aware till now that Massey had brought an extra cartridge. “If that story gets out, they’re going to come up here like bounty hunters, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says, looking first at her, then at Levi and Pa and Mama. “Any of you.”

  “Well, it’s too late for that,” says Pa.

  “There’s no excuse for breaking your trust, and I can’t tell you how deeply I regret our actions, but the most pressing thing right now is that we stop Massey from boarding the next train. If we catch him, there’s a chance we can talk him out of it, and that will buy you a week, maybe two, before a news outlet sends a team out here, which hopefully will give Jubilee and Levi time to find a hideout.”

  “I’ll take Socall’s mare and cut through the canyon,” says Pa, issuing orders for Levi to give Havens a ride down the holler and for the womenfolk to hurry home.

  “I’m so sorry, Jubilee,” Havens whispers. “So very sorry.”

  She doesn’t have a chance to ask Havens what she most wants to know—has everything been a lie?

  HAVENS

  Havens is barely seated when Levi shakes the reins for the horse to take off. He looks behind him. Buford is saddling a horse and his wife is ushering her daughters and the old woman toward the path. He wills Jubilee to looks his way, and by some miracle, she does, just briefly. That’s enough for him.

  Once they pass Socall’s property, Levi steers the buggy across a muddy ditch and along the weedy path that leads into the woods. Not slowing for the turns, the buggy veers left and right, at times on two wheels. Trees whizz by. Unless he keeps his head ducked, he’s likely to be scalped by overhanging branches. The horse gallops along a path so narrow it can hardly be described as a path at all, and still Levi snaps the reins against the horse’s neck, the smell of its sweat coming at Havens like a blast from a heating vent, the buggy bouncing to such a degree it’s a wonder the wheels don’t come loose. Even when they reach that part of the path that nudges a wall of granite rock on one side and falls away to a shadow on the other side, they do not slow. Down the gravel hill they fly, Havens doing his utmost to remain seated and Levi talking of having ought to have cottoned on sooner. “That business about him helping me find work, that was all baloney, wasn’t it?” Havens notices the drop-off just inches from the wheels and imagines his funeral—a small crowd at the graveside, very little eulogizing, his mother weeping more to attract condolences, and the mourners eating cake afterward and saying what a shame he didn’t publish any more photographs after Orphan Boy.

  The tight gorge spills out into a meadow. In the distance are three wooden cabins, each separated by a field of disheveled-looking tobacco, and a small herd of listless cattle grazing nearby. Havens asks, “Aren’t we almost there?”

  Levi doesn’t answer.

  “I think I’ll get off now.”

  Because Levi ignores him and keeps going, Havens reaches over and pulls
on the reins and brings the buggy to an abrupt stop. “You don’t want to get caught up in something down here. Better to go back and take care of your sister.”

  “And leave everything up to you?”

  “I don’t see that you have much choice.” Dismounting, Havens says, “You have every right to hate me, but I want to assure you that I’m going to do everything I can to protect your sister.”

  Levi says the word of a right-colored man means little to him. “My sister’s the one to see good in people, and she better be right about you.” Levi gestures to a dense patch of underbrush. “Railway tracks are just on the other side. Follow them about a quarter of a mile, and you’ll come to the station.”

  Havens hurries, hoping he’s not going to be too late. Maybe Buford has arrived at the station by now and has confronted Massey. After days of being almost pain-free, his foot starts acting up, but he forces himself not to slow down, and still it takes far too long to reach the station. He hobbles across the train tracks, hoists himself onto the platform, and scans the area. There is no sign of Massey or Buford, but near the end of the platform is a bearded man in black pants, a black double-breasted jacket, and a black cap that identifies him as the stationmaster. Havens rushes up to him.

  Partway through Havens’s physical description of Massey, the man interrupts him and in a drawl asks, “You one of them up at Buford’s?”

  Havens confirms he is. “My partner had a camera with him; you wouldn’t have missed him.”

  The man assesses Havens from head to foot. “You the one recuperating from a snake bite?”

  “I just need to know if he has been here and if he boarded a train. Please, it’s very important.”

  “I expect Buford has persuaded you that he and his lot are the injured party in all of this.”

  Havens does a poor job of hiding his impatience. “I’m a photographer, sir. It’s my duty not to be persuaded.”

  “Is that right?” The stationmaster takes out his fob watch and sucks his front teeth.

  Massey would have had to buy a ticket. Havens dashes to the ticket window just as a woman comes out of the office and locks the door.

  “This here’s the snake-bit one, Verily,” the station master says.

  The woman with the funnel-shaped body is much too eager to identify herself as Sherriff Suggins’s sister, before adding, “Your friend was wise to leave town, what with trouble coming.”

  Havens cusses under his breath. “When’s the next train?”

  “Four-twenty tomorrow, and it’ll be the only one on account of it being a Saturday.”

  Massey will waste no time in getting his story to an outlet, and this is going to put too much of a delay between them. Havens makes for the depot’s exit. He needs to come up with another plan. He’ll confer with Buford, maybe he’ll have an idea. Maybe someone would be willing to give him a ride or loan him a vehicle.

  Verily Suggins trots up beside him. “Some folks had a lot of sympathy for Del and Gladden when they moved back into town and tried to take up like normal folks, but I always said it would skip a generation and come out worse in their offspring, and now look what that Levi Buford’s done—taken his devil-doings out on poor Sarah Tuttle. And to think it was Sarah’s mother who showed that family the most sympathy.” Verily Suggins lifts her handkerchief to her mouth. “They’s coldblooded, them Blues.”

  “You obviously don’t know the first thing about them!” Havens pulls away from her clutches and takes off down Main Street, hoping to catch sight of Buford. Perhaps he has gone to see the sheriff. Limping, Havens makes a beeline for the local lock-up, but when he sees the post office across the street, he changes course. Had Massey promised Look the exclusive, or did he go with one of the others? If he can find out, he can send a telegram that’ll put them off the story, at least until he can lay out his case in person.

  It’s just gone five o’clock and the door is locked. Havens peers inside. Behind the counter is the postmaster. Havens bangs on the door and waves his hands, and still it takes the old man ages to cover the short distance to the door. He is tall and slight with a face that’s narrow, bearded, and uneven, and he’s wearing a gray suit that looks like it belongs on a corpse. If he is surprised to have a stranger barge into his office with demands, he doesn’t show it. In the halting drawl of someone who’s lived through a stroke, he confirms that Massey has paid the post office several visits over the last few days, the most recent of which occurred an hour ago.

  “I know he sent a telegram—I just need to know where it was sent. It’s very important.”

  The postmaster is noncommittal.

  “Look, I know I’m putting you in a bit of a bind; I’m just asking for this one exception to the rule. We are partners, Mr. Massey and I; we are working on the same assignment.” Producing the FSA calling card has no effect.

  “Don’t seem like partners to me.”

  Havens decides to level with the old man, revealing Massey’s plan to print personal pictures of a family in Chance without their consent. “All I’m trying to do is keep innocent people from getting hurt.”

  “I never did have anything against Buford and his kin,” the postmaster replies, each word labored. “Twenty-five years ago, the town assigned me the task of informing Buford that he and his family weren’t welcome here. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was going to keep innocent people from getting hurt. Turns out I was wrong. Keeping those folks away from the rest of us has been a stain on this town.”

  Havens is buoyed. “Yes, so we can both help them now.” Hoping to cue the man on the matter of expediency, he consults his watch.

  “It’s got so the young people don’t remember those families ever being here in Chance, being one of us.” The postmaster hooks his thumbs in his waistcoat. “And it’s the youngsters who get riled up. Having an enemy can give a young man a purpose, twisted though it may be.”

  “If you could just tell me where the telegram was sent.”

  The man recounts the second time he was dispatched to the Bufords. “Doc Eckles vowed he wouldn’t deliver another Buford baby, blue or otherwise, and I was supposed to make Buford see the folly in having a family.” The postmaster pauses a long time, before continuing. “A man has an intention to do well by his neighbor, and yet somehow he finds himself aiding a terrible wrong.”

  “Was it sent to New York, perhaps?”

  Despondent, the postmaster reiterates that the law prohibits him from disclosing the information Havens needs, all while sorting through a stack of papers from a wire basket. “Now, if you will excuse me a moment, I need to attend to a matter in the back.”

  Havens looks down and spots the telegram the postmaster has separated from the others. Written in Massey’s hand, it is addressed to the offices of Look Magazine, Des Moines, Iowa. Bastard!

  HOLD COVER FOR BLUE GIRL. EN ROUTE WITH FULL-COLOR PICS.

  Parasites with cameras and notepads will be headed this way, eager to depict beastly things about her, and no matter what Massey writes, she will be considered a curiosity, certainly not a woman with fears and dreams like everyone else. At her expense, readers will snatch up magazines and entertain themselves, using her as a measure against their own deficiencies, as a consolation for their incredible fortune of being ordinary.

  He checks the time. Des Moines is an hour behind—someone will still be at the editorial desk. He calls to the back office. “Excuse me, sir? I need to send a telegram right away.”

  The postmaster already has a blank form in his hand.

  Without hesitation, Havens writes: BLUE GIRL PHOTO A HOAX! DO NOT PRINT. ON MY WAY WITH EVIDENCE.

  The accusation alone of printing a falsehood can bring any reputable publication to a close, and a new one still trying to get established and competing for advertising dollars surely won’t go near it. The old man is tapping away on the telegraph and Havens is weighing everything he is giving up for this win when someone bangs on the door. Chappy’s f
ace is pressed against the glass, panic glazing his eyes.

  “It’s Jubilee! She’s been taken!”

  JUBILEE

  On their way back from Socall’s house, Jubilee is antsy about getting home and not at all keen when Mama has them go by way of the burying place first. Whenever Mama’s worries threaten to get the best of her, she pays Grandpa a visit, even though he’s been six feet under for fifteen years. Not since someone tried to dig up Opal and make off with her bones have Blues gotten buried with the rest of the departed. Instead, they are buried without a grave marker, near some or other tree and far enough from the creek that the floods won’t come and wash any remains away.

  Grandma forgets most things but not where Grandpa lies. She lumbers over to his grave and sets down her suitcase before helping Willow-May gather wildflowers, while Mama crouches and talks to Grandpa as if he’s supposed to scoot over and make room for her.

  On the matter of the future, even when it’s within smiting distance, Jubilee’s at a loss. For Blues, the future has always been a rope with all the slack let out, a line you can hardly pull yourself along on, except now it’s snapped taut and it’s not a matter of proceeding to the other end but rather about what’s on the other end coming for her. “We ought to get home, Mama.”

  Mama rises and shakes the dirt from her skirt, and with a frosty stare, says, “Don’t think you’re blameless in all of this.”

  Smarting, Jubilee responds with Sarah’s words. “You don’t get to choose who you love.”

  “You’ll choose to do as the rest of us and forget you ever met him!”

  A quiet grows up between mother and daughter thick and prickly as a patch of stinging nettles, and Mama heads off as though she’s dragging a gravestone behind her.

  Forget him, Mama said. Even after what’s been done, never.

  * * *

  It’s less than an hour till dark and neither Levi nor Pa has returned home. Mama has changed out of her nice dress and is still scrubbing clean floors, asking Jubilee again why she thinks Levi is taking so long. Run off with Sarah, is her guess, but saying so would only make Mama fret worse. Instead, she goes out to the barn. From the pallet she strips his sheet and presses it to her face. How is she to bear this? Before he came, blue skin was the heaviest burden to carry, but his being gone weighs more. She takes the birdcall from around her neck and blows, softly at first, and then hard.