The Rebel's Revenge

by Scott Mariani

  Tyler noticed him looking at it, and seemed about to say something when the front door opened and Keisha came in, carrying shopping bags and accompanied by young Noah, beaming as he showed off his shiny new sandals, and a little girl who was just a toddler.

  Keisha smiled. ‘This is Trinity. Trinity, say hello to our visitor. This is the gentleman who saved your brother.’

  Trinity gave Ben a shy wave.

  ‘Kids, you go on and play now. Momma will be with you in a minute.’ Keisha ushered them from the room, then turned back to Ben. ‘Well, it’s good to see you back on your feet.’

  Ben shook her hand and thanked her for her kindness. She brushed it off as though it were nothing.

  ‘Please believe me, I didn’t hurt anyone,’ Ben said. ‘I wouldn’t have harmed Lottie Landreneau in a thousand years.’

  ‘I know that,’ Keisha said.

  ‘You can’t know that. I need to make you understand.’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I do know. You’re welcome in our home, Mister Hope.’

  ‘I’ll be moving on as soon as I can.’

  ‘If you must. But you’re safe here for the moment.’

  The kitchen was too small to seat six people for lunch, so they gathered at the living room table. Ben gladly accepted a second bowl of chicken stew, but before they could begin the family all linked hands around the table, inviting their guest to join in. Keisha turned to her daughter with a warm smile and said, ‘Trinity, it’s your turn to say Grace.’

  The little girl screwed her eyes tight shut, and prayed out loud,

  Thank you for the food we eat

  Thank you for the world so sweet

  Thank you for the birds that sing

  Thank you God for everything

  ‘Amen to that,’ Tyler said.

  Her mother touched her arm. ‘That was beautiful, Trinity.’

  Ben couldn’t believe the kindness of the Heberts in accepting him into their home under such circumstances. Nor could he remember the last time he’d felt so moved by a prayer.

  ‘You must be Church of England, right, Ben?’ Keisha asked him as they began to eat.

  ‘Was,’ Ben said. ‘Long time ago, in another life. One that I left behind for a lot of wrong reasons.’

  ‘He ain’t forgotten you,’ Keisha said softly.

  Startled by her words, Ben paused with his heaped fork in mid-air and looked at her. ‘That’s amazing. Lottie Landreneau said the exact same thing to me.’

  Keisha just smiled in reply. Ben went back to eating, feeling quite shaken up. How could Keisha have known?

  ‘I noticed you starin’ at the flag earlier,’ Tyler said, pointing up at the wall on which it hung. ‘You got a problem with the Stainless Banner?’

  ‘No problem,’ Ben said, caught off-balance by his question. ‘I was just thinking—’

  ‘That it’s strange how a white guy married to a woman of colour has a Dixie flag pinned to his wall? I’m proud of my Southern roots, Ben. That don’t make me no racist redneck.’

  ‘We shouldn’t talk about such things at mealtime,’ Keisha said.

  ‘Why can’t we talk about it?’ Tyler replied.

  ‘I didn’t think you were a racist redneck,’ Ben protested, glancing around the table at the three obvious examples to support his point of view.

  ‘Hell, son, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. The way liberals go on these days, fixin’ to ban it as a hate symbol, you’d think it was a goddamn Nazi swastika and we Southerners was all runnin’ around in freakin’ Ku Klux Klan robes, burnin’ crosses and lynchin’ folks.’

  ‘No cussin’,’ Keisha sharply scolded her husband. Noah and Trinity both cupped their hands over their mouths and giggled. Caleb just went on eating as though he’d heard it all a thousand times before.

  ‘You really think there’ll be another civil war in America?’ Ben asked him, genuinely curious.

  Tyler nodded gravely. ‘I do, that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Same reasons as the breakaway states seceded from the Union first time round. A tyrannical government that’s hell-bent on takin’ away our liberty and steppin’ on our rights.’

  ‘I thought the North and South went to war over slavery,’ Ben said. ‘The South wanted to hold on to it while the North wanted to stop it. That’s what the history books say, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure they do,’ Tyler agreed. ‘Just like all the other packs of lies that’re printed in half the history books.’ He set down his fork and pointed again at the flag. ‘Look. Let’s get this one thing straight. The Confederacy never stood for any kind of racist ideology, and that there flag never symbolised white supremacy or any such thing, except maybe in the dumbass minds of a few morons.’

  ‘I said, no cussin’!’ Keisha repeated irritably. The younger kids were loving this conversation.

  ‘Sorry, darlin’. It don’t matter how these liberal historians nowadays might like to twist it. To claim that the war was fought over slavery is about the same as sayin’ that we sent the troops into Iraq over weapons of mass destruction. In other words, a big damn lie. You were a soldier. You understand how it works, right?’

  ‘I’ve been involved in enough conflicts around the world to know that we often fight wars for reasons that are never openly revealed to the public,’ Ben conceded.

  ‘Were you really a soldier?’ Caleb asked, lighting up with excitement. ‘Did you kill folks?’

  ‘Shush, now,’ Keisha told him, in her firm but warm manner.

  Tyler stuffed a heap of stew into his mouth and chewed loudly as he went on, ‘My point exactly. In fact, a lot of folks in the South don’t even call it “the Civil War”. They call it what it really was, “the War of Northern Aggression”. A conflict of old agrarian ways that were the tradition of the South, and the ruthless machine of industrialisation that was risin’ up in the North. The creation of an empire that was all about subjugatin’ its neighbours purely for control and gain. Just like it is today.’

  Ben could see that his host was deeply passionate about his subject. ‘Hold on, though, Tyler. You can’t deny that the agrarian economy of the South was heavily based on slavery. Lincoln ended that with the Emancipation Proclamation.’

  The moment he’d said it, he realised he’d touched a raw nerve by daring to mention Abraham Lincoln’s name to a proud rebel patriot.

  Tyler threw back his head and roared a scornful laugh. ‘Now you’re talkin’ about the biggest PR scam in American history. Lincoln the liberator. Lincoln the friend of the oppressed blacks.’ He snorted. ‘Give me a break, okay? Abe Lincoln was no more of an abolitionist than his opposite number Jefferson Davis. Did he ever object to the slave states of Kentucky, Missouri, Delaware and Maryland fightin’ on the side of the Union? No, sir, he did not. This is the cynical opportunist who said, “If I could save the Union without freein’ any slave I would do it, and if I could save it by freein’ all the slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freein’ some and leavin’ others alone I would also do that.”’

  ‘I didn’t know Lincoln said that,’ Caleb said with his mouth full.

  ‘Sure did. He also said black folks shouldn’t have the same rights as us. Just like he was dead against blacks marryin’ whites, and didn’t want to let ’em vote either, unless they served in the Union army in which case, oh sure, step right aboard, welcome to the human race. That hypocritical sumbitch didn’t even want the negroes in his own country. Believed white and black could not and must not live together on the same soil. Even as he was draftin’ the so-called Emancipation Proclamation in 1862 he was pushin’ for his own version of apartheid. Wanted to ship ’em all back to Africa, and when he realised that wasn’t possible, talked about transportin’ the whole bunch down to South America, just to get shot of ’em.’

  Tyler shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘Then to cap it all, what does the Emancipation Proclamation actually say? It doesn’t free the slaves of the North, of which there were nearly hal
f a million accordin’ to the 1860 census. No sir, it specifically frees only the ones in what was rebel territory at that time. Effectively another nation, with its own government and president. Lincoln had no jurisdiction there. It was empty words, and he knew it. He only said it hopin’ it’d encourage slaves in the South to run off to join up with the Union army. The whole thing was nothin’ more than a sham.’

  It was the first time Ben had ever heard any of this. He looked to Keisha, who just nodded and silently mouthed, ‘It’s true.’

  Warming to his theme, Tyler went on, ‘Anyhow, for an Englishman to look down his nose at the slavery tradition of the South is kinda rich, don’t you think? What do you suppose the British Empire was built on? Who do you suppose was shippin’ the poor suckers in by the million from Africa, and then shippin’ ’em out from English ports to work in their colonies? Over two hundred ships in 1792 alone. That’s way worse than even the damn French, who were tradin’ human flesh into Louisiana for most of the eighteenth century. While native white Americans of the South, the ones who come in for all the crap, never brought in a single slave. Not one. They were already here when this land became ours. What were we supposed to do? It was like havin’ a tiger by the tail, but we’d have gotten shot of slavery soon enough, left to our own devices. It was already in decline a decade before the war started. So put that in your mother truckin’ history book.’

  Keisha snapped, ‘Enough of that, now. The past is the past. We ain’t gonna change it with lectures. And Tyler Hebert, you speak one more cuss word in front of these innocent children and I’ll beat you round the head with that saucepan, you hear me? Not to mention how rude you’re bein’ to our guest.’

  The innocent children were having a hard time stifling fits of giggles. Noah choked so hard that some chicken stew came out through his nose. As for the guest, Ben had listened quietly to Tyler’s diatribe and now sat back in his chair, frowning to himself in thoughtful silence.

  Tyler flushed scarlet, suitably remorseful. ‘I’m sorry. I tend to get a mite carried away with myself at times. Kids, I don’t want you repeatin’ any of the bad words I said. And Ben, if I offended you I apologise.’

  Ben said nothing for a few moments longer. Then he replied, ‘No, you didn’t offend me. You made me think about history. Especially the kind of history that stays hidden, gets forgotten. Like secrets that go back into the past, and nobody ever talks about.’

  ‘Brother, you’re losin’ me there.’

  ‘Lottie Landreneau had a secret,’ Ben explained. ‘She told me so the night she died. It had to do with things that happened a long time ago, right here in Clovis Parish.’

  ‘What secret?’ Keisha asked, shaking her head.

  ‘She faded away before she could share it with me, but I think she wanted to. It was as if she needed to tell someone, while she still could. As if it was a weight she’d been carrying around ever since she was a girl, when she was made to promise never to tell a living soul about it. Her mother told her that folks would hate them if they knew the truth. That people down here in the South don’t forget history.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ Tyler said.

  ‘Whatever it is, it goes way back. Perhaps to long before she was born. I don’t know. But I think it’s connected with … with what happened to her.’ He chose his words carefully, not wanting to dwell over any of the gruesome details in front of the kids.

  With perfect timing Caleb piped up: ‘This is the lady that got all hacked up with the sabre, right? Pretty gross.’

  Keisha silenced the teenager with a look that would have frightened away the cottonmouth. To Ben she said, ‘If it’s important, we should try to find out.’

  Ben smiled. ‘You mean, I should. This is my problem. You’ve done enough for me already without getting involved deeper.’

  ‘You just try and stop us,’ Keisha said. ‘You involved us when you saved Caleb. That’s how it’s gonna be.’ She turned to the kids. ‘Caleb, Trinity, Noah, it’s time for you to go and rest now. Off with you.’

  The three of them left the table and ran from the room, laughing and shoving one another.

  Now Tyler was the one with the thoughtful frown. ‘The thing with the sabre, I mean, that’s kind of a weird choice of murder weapon.’

  ‘Especially when the killers have guns,’ Ben said. ‘And aren’t afraid to use them.’

  ‘What kind of sabre was it?’

  ‘I’m not an expert. It was long and curved, and old. The blade was slim, the hilt was bound with fish skin and gold wire, and the handguard was brass, with two curved bars one side, flat on the other.’

  Tyler jumped up from his seat, went over to a bookcase and drew out a tatty large-format hardback that he carried back to the table, flipping pages as he went. It was an illustrated history book on the Civil War. Finding the picture he was looking for he laid it open in front of Ben. ‘Did it look like this?’

  They were looking at an old picture of a Confederate trooper, posing in a fancy photographer’s studio of the early 1860s. The period black-and-white image had been somewhat garishly recoloured as had been the fashionable practice in those times. He was a young man with a droopy moustache, doing all he could to look mean and tough in his grey uniform. He had a percussion revolver thrust through his waist sash and was holding a sabre as if he couldn’t wait to get out there and take a swing at some Yankees with it.

  ‘That’s exactly the kind it was,’ Ben said, recognising it instantly.

  ‘1860 light cavalry sabre,’ Tyler said. ‘It was a replacement for the heavy 1840 model they called “Ol’ Wristbreaker”. Armourers hammered ’em out by the tens of thousands and they were carried by both sides in the war. Got to be a pricey collector’s item now, the ones that didn’t end up gettin’ used to scythe wheat.’

  Keisha leaned over to look at the picture, then drew away with a shudder. ‘I can’t imagine how horrible it’d be to have a sword stuck through you.’

  ‘It’s gotta mean somethin’, though,’ Tyler said. ‘Why would they use one of these and not, say, a machete or a knife?’

  ‘Lottie didn’t say much,’ Ben said. ‘But she did come out with one thing. Her secret somehow involves a woman named Peggy Iron Bar. And I get the impression that she died the same way, a long time ago.’

  ‘Killed with a sabre like this one?’

  ‘She didn’t exactly have time to describe it to me. But that was the impression I got.’

  Keisha hugged herself as though she was cold. ‘Sounds like bad, bad medicine to me.’

  ‘Peggy Iron Bar. That’s a mighty strange name,’ Tyler said. ‘You sure you heard right?’

  ‘That’s what she called her. Any idea who she could have been?’

  Keisha shook her head. ‘None, but I know someone who might have.’ Turning to her husband she said, ‘You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?’

  Tyler frowned. ‘Sallie Mambo?’

  ‘There ain’t much old Sallie don’t know about the history of Clovis Parish. I mean, she’s been there for most of it. I reckon she might know who this Peggy was.’

  ‘Is that old woman even still alive?’ Tyler wondered.

  ‘I hear she is,’ Keisha said. ‘Got to be close to a hundred years old, though. She seemed ancient when I met her, and that was more’n twenty-five years ago. Question is whether we’d get in to see her. Her people protect her like she’s a queen.’

  Ben said, ‘Who are you talking about?’

  Tyler replied, ‘How’d you like to be taken to meet a real-life Louisiana witch?’

  Chapter 22

  The Heberts’ nearest neighbours, half a mile away, were a kindly retired couple called Vernon and Ivy Tanner who adored Caleb, Noah and Trinity and were ever-willing to look after them for an afternoon or as long as needed. Once the kids were taken care of, Tyler and Keisha set off with Ben in Tyler’s ancient Jeep Cherokee, which was falling apart but better suited to the trip than Keisha’s runaround Mazda.

  Th
ey were heading east, through near-empty tracts of sprawling country, in the direction of the Red River. Ben sat in the back while Keisha spent most of the long, hot, dusty drive turned around to face him and talking about Sallie Mambo.

  As a girl, Keisha had been brought up with the old traditions of Louisiana folk magic and spiritualism, which she assured Ben were still very much alive today. When Keisha was eleven, her mother had taken her to a secretive late-night gathering deep in the heart of the forest. There, some forty or fifty devotees of the ancient practice had gathered to dance and perform sacred rituals and learn from the great wisdom of the old woman they revered as a Spirit Mother.

  For the young Keisha it had been an enthralling and magical experience that she still remembered clearly. Its high point had been when Sallie Mambo, ‘Mama’ to her followers, had laid her hands on her and confirmed that the eleven-year-old did indeed possess ‘the gift’. Keisha talked about Mama Mambo with heartfelt respect, almost awe.

  ‘I thought Tyler said we were going to see a witch,’ Ben said.

  ‘Tyler was just kiddin’. Weren’t you, Ty?’ she added, with a menacing flash in her eye.

  ‘Oh sure,’ Tyler said, eyes front. ‘Just kiddin’.’

  ‘Sallie ain’t no witch,’ Keisha told Ben. ‘In Vodou tradition “Mambo” means a Priestess. They’re members of an ordained clergy, just the same as other religions.’

  ‘Vodou,’ Ben repeated. ‘You mean Voodoo, as in goat blood sacrifice and conjuring up dark spirits.’

  Keisha smiled. ‘Forget what you think you know. Folks are afraid of the idea of Voodoo for the same reason they’re afraid of most things they don’t understand. Because it grew up as a slave religion in Africa and the Caribbean, it got all twisted into superstition by foolish white folks who were scared of a slave uprisin’. The priests got denounced as witch doctors and the gods and spirits were condemned as evil. That’s just dumb and wrong. It has all kinds of parallels with Christianity. Like Aida Wedo, the equivalent of the Virgin Mary. And Legba, the guardian gatekeeper, who’s a spittin’ image of St Peter. Then you got Oshun, the goddess of love and creation. Loco, god of the plants an’ forests. It ain’t a cult, or black magic, or devil worship. Voodooists don’t sit around stickin’ pins in little dolls and puttin’ curses on folks. Just like Christians, they believe there’s a hidden world where we go after we die, and meet up again with our loved ones who passed before us. Like Buddhists and Hindus they believe in reincarnation and karma. If you lived your life doin’ good and bein’ kind to others, you’ll be reborn in human form and get to start a new life cycle. But if you’re bad and wicked, you might come back as a Diab, a demon whose only pleasure is to cause pain and sufferin’ on the innocent.’