Diggs flicked his left arm and a shiny silver derringer flipped into his hand. Toby closed his eyes and silently prayed. Diggs fired a shot right at Toby’s heart. The shrill pop woke Isaac into a screaming fit. Sarah likewise wailed as Toby slumped back into the sofa. Ripped flesh poked through a small hole in his overalls.
“Lyle, one for good measure,” Diggs said.
Without blinking, Lyle fired his LeMat at the hole Diggs had made. A divot of meat flew from the ripped, burnt clothing that once covered Toby’s heart. Ragged, sizzling flesh lurked underneath the tatters. Toby’s head lulled to his right. His eyes remained closed, his mouth slightly agape.
Sarah, clutching her frantic child to her chest, rushed for her husband. Her peripheral vision caught something and it made all the more sense when she heard, “Sarah, duck!”
She dropped to the floor. Noah, standing outside of the back window, fired his Colt. Three shots sizzled through Deputy Arnold, who stumbled backward and fell through the open front window. Clement dove to the floor for cover.
Noah leaned through the frame and aimed at Lyle, who retreated up the steps unscathed as two bullets skimmed by him. Diggs scampered behind a confused Franklin to use him as a human shield.
One shot left. Think.
“Sarah, come to me!”
She picked herself up and charged the window, which was wide enough to allow her to sit on the sill, toss her legs over, and escape. Without Noah having to tell her, she sprinted toward the cornfields. Noah fired a shot through the house and into the front field to get the men to cower. He then chased Sarah, who didn’t let the baby’s added weight slow her step. Noah opened the gun’s cylinder to load ammunition as he ran. Some of the bullets slipped from his sweaty fingers but he successfully loaded it just as the two deputies and seven railroad workers rumbled around the side of the house. Noah clicked shut the cylinder, turned and fired six bullets into the stampede of goons. One of the railroad men tumbled to the ground as Noah vanished into the corn.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lyle, appearing in the frame of the bedroom window overlooking the backfield, fired his LeMat in the air. The explosion halted the posse just as it breached the stalks.
“Get out of there,” Lyle screamed. “Either he’ll pick you off or you’ll end up shooting each other! Come around front!”
Lyle did and met with his boss before holding court on the porch.
“Who the hell cleared the back?” Diggs pressed Lyle.
“The dead one.” Lyle pointed toward the barn-side of the house where two railroad workers dragged the corpse of their fallen brother. Not knowing where to put him, they left him on a dry dirt patch smack in the middle of where the barn and house stood. “For all we know Chandler caught wind of us coming up and hid in the cornfield. Can’t clear that whole area, Mister Diggs. But we did plan for potential interference, and we will make this right.”
“I’m paying you twats a lot of money. Start earning it.” Diggs stepped back to listen.
“I know where the son of a bitch lives,” Lyle started. “He’ll either go there or straight to the Sheriff’s Office—and we will beat him to either place since they’re on foot. Ride the hell out of your horses, gentlemen.”
“What about his parents?” Diggs interjected. “He could go there too.”
“He might could.” Lyle spoke the latter two words as one. “But I’m figuring he’s more apt to protect his own little boy after seeing what we done to the nigger.”
Lyle instructed one of the deputies, Richard Ellison, to ride to the Chandler plantation.
“Make up whatever excuse you have to just to get inside. If he shows, shoot ’em all. Sheriff Clement will come up with some reasonable cover story should it get to the point of killing the Chandlers, and it’ll be worth your time and effort—won’t it, Mister Diggs?”
“Indeed.”
Ellison, after receiving a nod from Clement, mounted his horse and galloped away.
“Deputy Drew Preston is in on this and he’s manning the Sheriff’s Office at this moment,” Clement said. “I think it might be wise to send another of our men there to help watch over the town should Chandler try sneaking in. He knows some of us are dirty, just not who.”
The remaining deputy, Bruce Hughes, rode toward town to update Preston and monitor Henderson for unwelcome arrivals.
“Kill Chandler and whoever else is there. We’ll stage it to look like Chandler did it, like he went berserk,” Lyle told Hughes before he left.
He then ordered Delbert Johnson, leader of the railroad workers, to take one of his pals to Noah’s home.
“Be real quiet,” Lyle said. “Wait until he shows, kill him and whoever else’s there and then burn the place to the ground with them in it.”
“What the hell you gonna do?” Johnson shot back. “Sit back and drink sweet tea?”
Lyle took stock of the railroad men, Sheriff Clement, Brendan in the carriage, and Franklin.
“He might come back,” Lyle said. “But Toby’s assassins will come back. The woman knows this area good. Maybe they’ll plan some kind of attack. But we also got work to do around here—like burying the nigger.” He turned to Franklin. “Get on that. Take him out back next to Stanhope’s grave.”
The big man acquiesced as Lyle continued his conversation with Johnson.
“I need your best shots here with me. Brendan can handle a gun, so can Franklin. Toby Jenkins’s men are still out there waiting for a Klan attack that ain’t gonna happen. They’re gonna wise up and they will come back, and we need to be ready for ’em. Or would you prefer to stay here—considering what happened to those other Klansmen and the Army boys?”
“I ain’t scared. If that Chandler guy goes home we’ll kill him quick and get back here just in case you’re right,” Johnson said.
Even though Johnson towered over Lyle by a good five inches, it didn’t stop Lyle from bumping chests with him.
“I am right, dammit!” Lyle said. “Whoever that nigger’s got working for him—they don’t fuck around. They’ll kill us all. In fact, if you find the bitch and the kid, bring them back alive—we might need them as leverage against whoever’s out there. Ride in the rig out back, but park it far enough away from Chandler’s place so you don’t give yourself away.”
“You want me to bring them all back?”
“Nah, I’d prefer killing Chandler myself, but do what you have to. Him, his wife, his boy: burn them all. I’m assuming you can handle Toby’s woman and the kid.”
Lyle told Johnson where to find Noah’s house.
“Yeah, I know where he’s at,” Johnson said, and with the other guy, Sam something—Lyle never caught it—hopped into the wagon and barreled up to the road.
Franklin dragged Toby by his armpits out of the house, the back of his boots leaving a trail to the grave, where Diggs and the remaining railroad workers waited.
Etched on the crude wooden cross overlooking the empty plot were the words “Jenkins” creeping down the thick vertical stick, and “Toby” scratched along the horizontal one.
“Put him in,” Diggs said.
“This ain’t right,” Franklin said. “Who the hell digs their own grave?”
Diggs raised his finger, as if about to reply with a theory but he hesitated. And for the first time that Franklin had been around the Englishman, he saw Diggs take on the appearance of concern—worry, even.
“I have no earthly idea,” Diggs said quietly.
Franklin slid Toby into the grave with reverence for the dead that neither Diggs nor Lyle would afford.
“Where’s the shovel?” one of the railroad men said.
“Indeed, where?” Diggs looked around the vicinity, before saying, “Likely in the barn, go take a look.”
Franklin and two of the men obliged and returned with a single shovel.
“There was a broken handle next to this one,” Franklin said, holding up the shovel. “Same exact make. Must’ve hit a rock while digging.”
“Well then, it will take twice as long now, won’t it?” Diggs said. “Franklin, since you’re holding the shovel, you do the honors.”
He then spoke to the stragglers. “The rest of you may consult Brendan, he’ll arm you each with a shotgun—and you may keep them. You’ll be on watch. I want one of you up high, enough to see three-hundred-and-sixty degrees—I don’t care how you manage it. The others will patrol the grounds. Franklin here will join you when he’s done disposing of that.” Diggs nodded to the grave.
“Yessir,” the railroad workers said and about-faced to join Brendan.
“Franklin, my boy, I will be inside examining the deed. You will come get me immediately should anyone—I don’t care who—happen upon us.”
“Shouldn’t we just shoot ’em? I mean, you don’t seem concerned about us shooting everyone else.” He didn’t care whether Diggs caught his mounting disdain.
“Just come and get me, Franklin. I’ll do the necessary thinking for both of us.” Diggs flicked a dismissive wave to which Franklin had grown accustomed. “Oh, and when you’re done burying Jenkins, drag that dead railroad chap into the back of the barn—I’m assuming that grave is too small for the both of them.”
“Looks that way. I’d prefer not to keep digging, if that’s all right.”
“Very well.”
Diggs abandoned Franklin, who didn’t let the other men see him weep as he tossed dirt into the grave.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Sarah, stop!”
Noah shouted as loud as he could without—he hoped—revealing their positions in the corn. He’d lost sight of her, seeing only the swaying stalks where she whooshed through. He listened and was pleased when the sounds of rapid footfalls ceased. She emerged before him, clutching Isaac, whose screaming had abated.
“He don’t know what to make of all this.” She looked and sounded stunned, and held the baby toward Noah, who noted the child’s wide-eyed glances.
Even though the immense stalks sprouted a foot over Noah’s head, effectively concealing him, he motioned for her to crouch, figuring the less speaking, the better, and crept next to her. He waited for them to catch their breaths and closed his eyes to listen. Sarah, equally spent, saw him and did likewise.
“I don’t hear anyone,” she whispered through her panting.
“Agreed.”
“Now what?”
“We gotta get to my house—my family’s there.”
“I think they’re more concerned ’bout me and him.” She looked at Isaac.
They tried keeping their responses quick. Sarah, for fear that Isaac might get twitchy, opened her blouse and fed him one of her breasts.
“I don’t care if this makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s smart—do it.”
Noah deliberately looked everywhere but at Sarah.
“We can’t go back to the road,” he said. “They’ll be on it. But I figure we can cut through the fields and into the forest. My house ain’t too far from here if we do it that way. Maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes, if we hurry.”
“They ain’t dumb, Noah. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“Some of them are plenty dumb, but you’re right.” Noah spoke to a woman who’d just lost her husband, but she strangely didn’t act like it. She hadn’t once made reference to him. Noah thought her cheeks would be streaked with tearstains but they appeared unblemished.
“I’m so sorry for what they did to Toby.”
She said nothing and kept nursing.
“If I could’ve stopped them I would’ve,” Noah said. “One of those guys kept lingering around the back, and I couldn’t move until he went up front. By the time he did I was on my way to the window and heard the first shot.”
“You got nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You saved my life and my baby’s. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing, and you and him aren’t completely safe—not yet. I’m trying to figure a good place to stash you.”
Their breathing settled to normal and both felt confident nobody was anywhere near them.
“I got an idea,” Noah said. “We get to my house, get Nat and my boy—shit, we’re having company tonight, I forgot.”
Noah gritted his teeth and stood.
“All right, we aren’t expecting but two other people. One of them’s a sheriff’s deputy.”
“How do we know he ain’t in on this too?” Sarah rose, switching Isaac to her other breast.
“I can’t believe Harrison would be someone’s lackey like that.”
“Could you believe that about Clement? And the others?”
“Clement? Based on a recent conversation I had with him, yeah, I can believe it now,” he said. “But, honestly, I always felt there was something off about him. And I hardly had time around those others. Harrison’s the one I know the most about. He ain’t dirty. He ain’t.”
“I suppose we’ll find out, and soon. I’m not trusting any of those men until they can prove otherwise.”
“Fair enough. Now, after we get to my place, I’m hoping we have enough horses to get us all to town. Whatever the case, I think I can take you to the undertaker’s. He’s got an ice house.”
She eyed him with a Really? expression.
“You want our babies to freeze?”
“Dammit, you’re right. I’ll worry about all that after we get to my home. I’m open to your ideas too. Let’s get.”
This time Noah took the lead in the cornfield. He removed his hat and leapt to see where the fir treetops stood in the distance. And that’s the direction they fled with a growing urgency neither had ever experienced in their lives.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Natalie Chandler, brimming with smiles, opened the front door and consumed Doreen Culliver in a bear hug. She moved so quickly she did not notice the concern in her guest’s eyes.
“I cannot thank you enough for sticking your neck out for my husband.” Natalie stepped back and wiped away an unexpected tear. “You saved him; I don’t doubt that they would’ve killed him.”
Doreen straightened out the newly formed wrinkles in her church-going dress.
“Good Lord, if you’re that strong, don’t be surprised if your baby eats a coal and shits a diamond. And you’re welcome.”
Natalie invited in her guest, asking her to sit, but Doreen refused.
“First, I got pies for each month of the year in my wagon,” she said. “Second, I want you to sit down while I help prepare things. You’ve been through quite an ordeal yourself and must still be sore down there.”
Natalie chuckled nervously at the frankness. “I can at least help you bring in whatever you brought.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll bust stitches lifting apple pies, so come on out.”
Nat thought Doreen exaggerated but was proved wrong when she lowered her bed’s gate.
“Two pies for each Chandler and that deputy feller. I told you I had a lot.”
“And potatoes.”
“Yeah, I told your husband I had them out the damn wazoo. Hope you don’t mind. Mashed taters go good with turkey. Speaking of which, where’s the bird?”
“Roasting on a spit out back. I check on it every so often. It’s looking good, juicy.”
Doreen lugged the sack of potatoes while Natalie toted pies. Only once everything was unloaded on the family’s kitchen table did Doreen address what bugged her.
“Noah back yet?”
“Not just. I thought he’d be. I mean, it’s approaching four.”
“Thought not. Is there any reason why he would park his father’s wagon off the road about one hundred yards from your property?”
“Wh
at are you talking about?” Natalie didn’t express concern as much as genuine confusion.
“When I was riding my rig over here I saw what I’m pretty sure is his father’s wagon. I met his pa the other night at the Doc’s. The horses look familiar. They was munching on grass next to the tree they was tied to—probably about fifty feet away from the road itself, and parked a good distance from here. Was your husband getting corn?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Then I’m even more certain it’s his on account of there being crates of corn in the bed.”
Natalie grasped for a cogent thought.
“Maybe he had an accident?”
“Rig looked fine to me, so did the horses and wheels.”
“Look, nature probably called, that’s all. He had to pee.”
“Then he must be pissin’ out Lake Erie, otherwise, what’s taking him so long?”
“Maybe he’s doing … ” Natalie let it linger and raised her eyebrows, giving Doreen a look of you get what I’m saying?
“Have you ever taken a shit in the woods before?” Doreen said.
Natalie, startled, stiffened a bit. “Well, no.”
“Neither have I. Know why? Cause it’s uncomfortable. Was your husband ill this morning?”
“He wasn’t.”
“You mean to tell me he had to go that bad that he couldn’t clench his cheeks another few minutes longer until getting here? It’s not that far.”
“I see what you mean.” Natalie walked outside, waiting for her husband to hopefully turn into the property to quell her growing discomfort. Seeing nothing but Doreen’s carriage and horse, tied to a post by the porch and chomping hay in the feed bag she’d slipped over his head, Natalie went inside and closed the door.
“I think I might just go wake up Jake—he’s sleeping upstairs and I want you to meet him,” Natalie said. “And if you don’t mind, could you take us to where you saw the wagon?”
“I don’t mind that at all, but I hate for you to wake a sleeping baby.”
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