Sentinels

by Matt Manochio

  Noah waved for Harrison to get out of the morning sun and join him.

  “Natalie’s dad actually does like me—I think,” Noah joked. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, Noah—oh, is it a boy or a girl? I saw the doc driving into town at dawn.”

  “Jake Ernest Chandler was born just after four this morning,” the proud papa said. “We just brought mother and child from my in-laws’ place to here—more room.”

  “I’m happy for you, really. It must feel great.” Harrison seemed genuinely pleased and didn’t bother asking—as men rarely do—about the baby’s weight or length.

  “It sure is,” Noah said. “Natalie’s doing fine. Pretty smooth birth after being in labor for twelve hours. The baby popped right out once she channeled her screams the right way. You see, you gotta take a deep breath and avoid screaming, actually, and use that energy to push—”

  “I’m not gonna beat around the bush here,” Harrison stopped him. “We need you in town with all the other deputies. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

  Noah let a few seconds pass, and for the first time noticed Harrison’s subdued manner.

  “What are you doing here? Wasn’t I supposed to be working the late shift with you—if I was coming in today—which I’m not?”

  “Yes, you were, and yes, you are coming in today, Noah.” Whatever good cheer Harrison offered evaporated. He lowered his head and slowly shook it, still trying to comprehend it all.

  “You have to,” Harrison said meekly. “Sheriff Cole’s dead. They tried and failed to kill Culliver. They did to Cole what they did out by that farmer’s house a few nights back. It’s just—” The visual flashes of the carnage overtook his thinking. Harrison looked Noah in the eyes—the short deputy’s now tearing. “We need you, Noah. There’s something really wrong going on around here. Go kiss your baby, and then meet us at the office. The mayor named Roger Clement acting sheriff. He told me to fetch you.”

  Harrison offered best wishes to Natalie and walked to the mansion’s side to unhitch his horse. Noah closed the door and returned to his wife who rested in one of the many guest bedrooms.

  “I need to speak to Natalie.” Both sets of parents understood the urgency and left. Natalie occupied the single bed centered in the middle of the small room. The tall windows opened wide to allow for some semblance of a breeze. She’d pulled a thin white bed sheet up to her chest, where she cradled her sleeping little boy in a swaddling blanket. Strands of her frazzled blond hair stayed matted to her forehead, while her cheeks remained flushed long after the delivery.

  “How you feeling?” Noah’s wife and child remained his primary concerns.

  “Like someone just yanked a pumpkin out of me,” she chuckled. “How do you think I feel?” She, too, picked up on his demeanor, and her loving smile vanished. “What happened?”

  Noah explained what he could and why it necessitated his departure.

  “You haven’t even slept,” she said. “What good will you be in town?”

  “I’m up, hon. What with you and the baby, and now the sheriff? I couldn’t sleep right now even if I wanted to.”

  “What about tomorrow and the next day? You said they’d let you have time with me and the baby.” She kept her voice low—her tone conveying both understanding and annoyance—so as not to wake the child.

  “Honey, based on what I been told, what’s happened in town ain’t just about a sheriff getting murdered. Someone’s systematically slaughtering both good and bad men for reasons I get and for reasons I don’t. Everybody—the locals and the Army—needs to get a handle on this, and soon. It’s already lawless enough around these parts. Widespread panic’s the last thing Henderson needs. And if I can help prevent it, I will.”

  “Your obligations to the law aside, you just became a father.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “And whoever’s killing people doesn’t seem to mind offing the local law either.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Killing an innocent man rarely does. That means you’re in as much danger as Sheriff Cole was.”

  “I’ll be on my guard.”

  “Noah, do you know how many widows are out there because of the War? How many kids don’t have their daddies any more? I know you’ve got this grandiose notion that the South needs you right now. Well, I’ve got news for you: there’re other men out there who’ll be happy to do the job you’re attempting—just send a telegram up North. You may believe society requires your presence—and yours alone—but right now you’ve got a son and a wife who need you more.”

  Noah stared at his hours-old boy while Natalie spoke what he knew to be truth.

  “I don’t disagree.” He thought a few seconds about what to say next, knowing a lot hinged on it. “My boss, the chief lawman of this town, was just eviscerated. I get that you feel I’m ignoring you in favor of my job. I swear it’s not like that. Let me go and talk with the mayor and Clement, and I’ll come back soon as I can. Promise.”

  “I don’t want to be here any longer, Noah.”

  “You’ll change your mind once you’re back in the classroom.”

  “No!” she said in a hush. “I want out of this state. I want out of this region. You want the South to start over? Fine. I want our lives to start over—away from this place, away from where I grew up. I’d have been more forceful about this had I not gotten pregnant—don’t misunderstand, I’m glad we have a child. It didn’t make sense to up and move away from our folks with the little one on the way. I say we let them be with their grandson for a little bit and then we escape this place. I can teach in a city somewhere. Hell, I don’t mind being a school marm in the middle of nowhere, just so long as nowhere isn’t crawling with ignorant men in white hoods.”

  “You think wherever we move to isn’t gonna have these same problems?”

  “Not in the North, no. Will there be crime? Yes. But not”—she cradled her Jake in one arm and waved the other around the room to encompass what she couldn’t describe but which Noah accepted—“not this.”

  He nodded. “Seems like every time I leave for work you end up angry at me.”

  “I love you. I hate the situation.”

  “All right. I can consider it.”

  “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “Don’t be like that. I’m serious. I want you happy. But it’s gonna have to wait a little while. I can’t skip out on this, Nat. And you’re in no condition to walk to the outhouse right now, much less escape South Carolina. Let me go do this, and I’ll return as quick as I can.”

  “You’re right about one thing. I don’t think I can even stand up without stars flashing before my eyes. Please think hard about what I say, though, Noah. I love my parents, I love the few friends I made down here, but this state is perpetually a hairsbreadth from anarchy. I won’t apologize for wanting to raise our son safe. We can’t do that here.”

  Noah walked to Natalie’s bedside to look at little Jake’s sleeping face. His eyelids rested comfortably together, and his chubby cheeks puffed every now and then as breath escaped him. Noah gently drew his fingers across the boy’s forehead and experienced stomach flutters as warm, butter-soft skin slid under his fingertips.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Noah said.

  “You’re about to walk back into a world of monsters, Noah. And now that you have a child, you’ll fear them all the more. I know I do.”

  Wilbur galloped toward town with his rider in a mental fog. Noah ignored the heat, thinking only of his son.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “And whoever tried hanging that Klansman managed to best three supposedly alert United States soldiers before letting the man drop and twitch?” Thomas Diggs, standing in his office, was dressed for business, wearing a top hat made famous by the assassinated president.<
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  “It’s gotta be those same boys who killed the rest of them.” Lyle Kimbrell looked antsy and like he hadn’t slept a wink. “They ain’t gonna take too kindly to the notion that they screwed up twice.”

  “What else did you see?”

  “Army fellers and deputies swarming the place. The doctor standing on his porch just shaking his head. Oh, and that undertaker waiting to work on the body. I came right from there; I doubt much has changed.”

  “What about those soldiers?”

  “I think the doc waved something under their noses to wake them. I doubt they know what hit them because they sure as hell didn’t look like they had any idea where they were. Their heads are all busted up pretty bad. I saw the doc wrapping bandages around one of them.”

  “Splendid reconnaissance work, Lyle. And you’re certain the sheriff is dead?”

  “Dead as Honest Abe.” Lyle’s mood shifted from excitable gossipmonger to a war veteran being one of the last men standing on the battlefield. “To see him in the sunlight like that. His eyes and his mouth were open. His head nowhere near his body. His—”

  Diggs held up his hand. “Enough. You paint a vivid picture.”

  Lyle sat on Diggs’s parlor sofa, causing the Englishman to wince and almost say something, but thought better of it. Lyle, who gripped his black hat on both of its slightly curled sides, had seen enough to avoid being chastised.

  He looked up at Diggs.

  “It must’ve happened so fast. They must’ve taken out those soldiers without making a sound. And to break into the place, steal a body only to hang it—in that short amount of time? I mean, what is out there?”

  “I wish I knew.” It was the first time Diggs spoke with any hint of concern.

  “You still gonna move on Toby Jenkins with all this going on?”

  “The hanging and the soldiers and the related matters might provide reasonable cover for us to do what we have to do, or the Army and the constables will spread themselves far and wide looking for anything unusual—such as our presence at that negro’s home, where things very likely will become complicated. I believe prudence dictates we wait a little longer. As it is, I have some matters that need attending to that I believe will help our cause. But even that might prove difficult given all the commotion surrounding the murder. However, one big piece has fallen away, and another dropped into place. That’s most important.”

  Diggs looked at the pitiful specimen sitting on his sofa before continuing.

  “Money talks, my boy. It’s rarely mute. You’re here for no other reason than I’m paying you and your cohorts to tend to my matters. But please don’t think you’re the only ones under my employ.”

  “I tend not to think about you much at all, Mister Diggs, ’cept for your money, like you say. So I guess we’re square. Or will be.”

  Lyle held out his hand and rose. Diggs walked to his desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a stuffed envelope.

  “All for you.” Diggs handed over the fat wad. “Aren’t you pleased you don’t have to give any of it to Brendan and that idiot?”

  “I suppose.” Lyle accepted it and nodded in thanks. He looked at the envelope, which wasn’t sealed, revealing its contents of bills. He pocketed it without bothering to count the money. “What about that Culliver guy?”

  “What about him? He’s none of my concern. It’s best he’s alive, actually. It will give this new sheriff something to focus on other than us. Now, here’s what I want you to do next, Lyle. Some more clandestine work. Go to Toby Jenkins’s property. You mentioned there were some trees on the outskirts.”

  “Yeah, a forest.”

  “Climb a tree and scout out the place,” Diggs said. “See if there are any odd comings and goings. I’m convinced the men who thwarted you the other night are involved with what happened at the doctor’s place.”

  “Brendan did that kind of spy work on the North way back when. Nobody ever caught him.”

  “Fine, task Brendan with it. The pay will be good. Start immediately. Have him report directly to me—beginning tonight. Tell him to bring plenty of water, and don’t do a thing to Toby or anyone else. Just watch and listen. Understand?”

  “I’ll tell Brendan just that.”

  Diggs clapped Lyle on the shoulder and immediately regretted doing so as a puff of dirt scattered on impact. He retreated to his desk to retrieve a handkerchief while Lyle left. Soon Diggs would follow him outside where his horse-drawn carriage awaited. Lionel—a former slave Diggs reluctantly hired to be his butler—waited in the driver’s perch to greet his boss.

  “To the gunsmith,” Diggs said.

  “Not even a ‘hello’?” Lionel had become comfortable enough over the years to needle his so-called master.

  Diggs smirked. “Hello. To the gunsmith.”

  “That’s more like it.” Lionel clicked the reins and Diggs’s day began just as he’d intended.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All the sheriff’s deputies tied their horses to Doctor Richardson’s hitching posts.

  The three soldiers—their heads bandaged in some fashion—sat in an Army medical wagon’s canopied bed.

  “Not sure the bumps along the road will be good for their heads,” Noah said as an aside to Harrison, who met him in the front of the Richardson’s office.

  “Just taking them back to base up the road. Doc said he’d check on them all later. He’s trying figure out whether any morphine’s been stolen.”

  “Doubtful,” Noah said. “This look like it’s about drugs to you?”

  “You mean theft? Nossir, it does not.”

  Harrison and Noah walked into the backyard and met with Sheriff Clement and the seven remaining Henderson deputies—Noah knew them by their last names: Arnold, Preston, Broderick, Hughes, Boudreaux, Ellison, and Creighton.

  All that remained of Sheriff Cole was the blood-stained grass swath near where Clement stood to address his men.

  “Where’d they take him?” Noah whispered to Harrison.

  “Undertaker’s. Don’t know who’s gonna claim him.”

  The deputies stood before their new boss and waited for instructions.

  “We got one eyewitness, if you can call him that, for certain: Vincent Beasley,” Clement said.

  “The usually drunk Vincent Beasley?” Noah said.

  “The same. I put him in a cell so he could sober up and hopefully tell us more than he already has.”

  “What was that?” Noah said.

  “He was stumbling away from the Tavern and saw at least three men running from the Doc’s place out of town, all carrying long poles—that’s what Beasley called them, long poles. Not sure if he meant rifles or what.”

  “That’s it?” It was Harrison.

  “Said they were average looking, sorta on the skinny side. Keep in mind, it was dark, and he was drunk.”

  “They leave any blood trails?” Boudreaux asked.

  “Nothing that we could find. There’d be a lot of it based on what they did to Cole. That’s what’s odd. Most of it’s by our feet and barely a trickle leads out of here. Whoever killed Cole left behind the machetes. It made sense—they were soaked.”

  “So they’re good at covering their tracks. We’re talking about professional assassins then?” said Arnold, at least Noah thought it was Arnold.

  “It seems. But why target Cole and that Klansman and leave the soldiers alive after killing two of them the night before?”

  “Lunatics,” Noah said. “Ain’t no other explanation.”

  “Townsfolk will want a more reassuring one, Deputy Chandler,” Clement said in a way that Noah took to be condescending. “Speaking of that Klansman, I’m not taking any chances with him. He’s laid up in our cleanest jail cell with Nurse Yarnell tending to him.”

  “You locked him in?” It was Noah.

 
“He’s our only other potential witness. He’s alive and I want him to stay that way. Only spoke about a ‘masked man’ as we were carting him to the office. And the Army lent us two soldiers to watch him while I talk to y’all. That means I want to finish up here to make sure the Army doesn’t get any ideas and finish the job. So here’s what’s what.” Clement, a tall man with black hair that crept down to his shoulders, paced before his men while stroking his perpetual five o’clock shadow.

  “Deputies Chandler and Harrison will go to the jail and give Beasley plenty of water, coffee or whatever the hell will make him awake enough to talk. Take him out of his cell and talk to him away from Culliver. I don’t want one influencing the other with his story. If Culliver’s awake enough, interview him in his cell and keep the drunk away.”

  And so the directives came. Sheriff Clement, Arnold, Boudreaux and Hughes scoured the roadway leading out of town for clues, while Preston kept watch at the crime scene and assisted the doc however he could, leaving Creighton, Ellison and Broderick to canvass the town for any other witnesses.

  “At least we’re indoors,” Harrison said to Noah as they arrived back to the Sheriff’s Office.

  “Some consolation. The jail’s hot, sticky and always smells like piss,” Noah said.

  “So does Beasley.”

  “Touché. But it’s still not the best place to keep a man who theoretically could be fighting for his life.”

  Noah saw a large wooden crate that had been placed outside of Sheriff Cole’s office. It’d been loaded with things Noah had recognized from Cole’s desk: a hand-carved cigar box and a shiny bayonet mounted on a wooden stand. Those two items covered a few sets of clean clothes the sheriff might’ve needed in a pinch. Noah looked at the opened door. A hastily painted wooden placard had been nailed chest-high and centered and read “Sheriff Clement.”

  “Good God, he couldn’t even wait until the man was in the ground.” Harrison looked warily at the sign and the box of the dead man’s things.

  “I’d rather talk with Beasley right now, if you can believe that,” Noah said.