A Mist in the Pines: Jesse's Quest (The McCann Family Saga Book 2)

by Jeanie Freeman-Harper

  The day before the party, Katie was so restless and giddy that Minna shooed her out of the house to meet up with some of her friends. She was seen everywhere: in the ice cream parlor, in the park and everywhere young people congregated—squired about Morgans Bluff by different young men yet no one in particular. She shopped for a special dress and chose a heather gray to match her eyes, because she knew her father would love it.

  Out at the estate, Buck Hennessy and Mr. Clancy helped the hired hands build a band stand at the back of the property—a stone's throw from the free flowing Big Muddy. A ragtime band from New Orleans had arrived and had been put up in The Hotel Excelsior. Anticipating their arrival, townsfolk stood outside waiting for a glimpse of the musicians. Excitement ran high, for no one in Morgans Bluff had heard ragtime music.

  Both old and new friends had been invited, and Katie's Grandpa Jerod Morgan was riding in from the renegade Native American Village. Even Jesse's Uncle Adam Kessler from his West Texas hometown of Mount Mission had been invited. Katie asked that Beulah Birdwell be invited so as to “stay on her good side for Cal's sake,” she had said. Annie pointed out that Katie should include the town busy body for no other reason than she was lonely and had no friends. Secretly, Annie understood.

  Annie asked Buck to accompany that iron wall of propriety since she was a spinster without an escort. Buck groused a bit, hemmed and hawed, and finally agreed:

  “But she best mind that rattlesnake tongue of hers... or she'll find herself sittin' it out with the other old maids....if there be any other than her.”

  To add to the occasion, yellow roses had been brought in from Tyler to be placed on outdoor dining tables around the perimeter of the river, where trot lines were being set in anticipation of a catfish fry. And the weather was perfection with puffy white clouds like cotton balls floating upon an ocean of blue. Mother Nature was turning out finery fit for royalty, and Princess Katie accepted happily.

  The morning of the party, Katie's great grandma Minna pulled her coverlet back at nine o'clock and demanded she arise for her breakfast:

  “No lazy bones today! We have to fit you into your dress and crimp that wild McCann hair of yours! We can't have the other girls outdoing you...now can we? Besides that...your papa will be on his way.”

  Katie pushed her hair from her eyes, stretched, and finally padded downstairs in her bare feet , kissing Annie on the cheek and attempting to choke down her breakfast. She was just too excited to eat.

  Annie had hired extra help in the kitchen where cakes and pies were being turned out like an assembly line. By mid afternoon, everything was ready; so the men began pulling their trot lines and bringing in loads of catfish to fry in cast iron kettles over wood fires. There was much scurrying about in and out of the big house that day, as Annie made sure all was in order. All the while she dreamed of Jesse's homecoming, humming a happy tune to herself. She felt whole and alive again.

  Two hundred guests arrived in waves and milled about on the grounds, while local musicians played their fiddles and banjos, tapping their feet to pure blue grass rhythm. As things got under way, the ragtime band took their place on the newly constructed band stand; and the young people, dressed in their silks and satins, swayed like multicolored wildflowers in a wind swept meadow.

  Sounds of tinkling glass and lilting laughter drifted on the summer breeze all the way down to Main Street. “Those McCanns sure know how to throw a party,” mumbled the old regular at Percy's Tavern. With that observation, he looked around and realized he was talking to an empty tavern. Yet feeling festive, he lifted his glass and toasted himself: “One excuse is as good as another. Here's to me.”

  Cal had been brought down scrubbed up and decked out in brand new clothes; and behind him came Katie in her new heather gray and a Gardenia in her hair. Her eyes clouded over as she searched the crowd for her papa and did not see his smiling face. Her smile faded away.

  Seeing her daughter's concern, Annie pulled Buck aside and asked questions to which he had half answers; but he told her what he could:

  “Jess had to go find the sheriff, Annie. He was told the lawman might be found way out in the woods... by an old depot somewhere...and he counted on being back in a day's time. Then he needed to straighten out the mess at the turp camp in time to come home. Still, he should've been here by now.”

  “Why did he need the sheriff?” she asked. “Does it have anything to do with Leroy Conner's death? Was it really an accident?”

  “I'll let Jesse tell you that when he gets home. But don't you worry. Jesse McCann is a man of his word. Dadgummit...no need to get worked up...not in your...delicate condition.”

  But Annie would not let it be: “I'm surprised you didn't stay in Pine Crest and go with him.”

  Now the old lumberjack was getting hot around the collar: “Jess told me to skedaddle. Sent me home. He thinks he can take care of himself. Guess he thinks he don't need this ol' fart's help!”

  “Did it occur to you that he may have been looking out after you?”

  “I recon...but you know what sensitive souls we Irish can be.”

  Buck Hennessy's private thoughts were far different:

  If he doesn’t make it home...I'm headed to Pine Crest tomorrow...and I'm going to drag him back home...whether he likes it or not.

  Then as the fiddles returned with the old Civil War song “Annie Laurie”, Buck grew nostalgic to the point of chivalry. Suddenly, in his delusions of grandeur, Beulah Birdwell morphed into a dewy-eyed damsel—a far cry from the “stiff-necked goody-two-shoes” he had declared her to be. And so he wobbled over, attempted a low sweeping bow, and straightened to a soldier's stance of attention.

  “Well now...Birdy,” he purred. “Have you ever danced with a one legged man?”

  X: Missing

  The party came to an end, as all good things do. Most of the guests left at dusk and said their hasty good-byes. We must leave now, someone said. We must leave before the haze settles across our path. The strange misty fog had now become a part of their lives, like the sunshine and rain and the changing of the seasons. Whether a good or evil omen, it was, in the eyes of the old timers, supernatural if not evil.

  Unlike the other guests, Buck Hennessy, Jared Morgan and Uncle Adam Kessler stayed on at the big house. They had the matter of Jesse to discuss but were waiting for the women to go inside so as to protect them—as men are apt to do. So they waited, sat under the sycamores, rolled their cigarettes and spoke of days gone by.

  Their idle chat was interrupted by the baying of a lone-wolf high on the bluff. The call rolled along on a wall of fog, as if the animal was either a part of it or its adversary. Jared turned his head to the melancholy call, and his eyes sparked with old memories:

  “It's been a long time since I've heard that sound,” he said. “The first time I heard it was the night Annie was born. I heard it as I rode for help... and when I returned to find Hannah had delivered our baby before she died...I heard it again. That was the coldest night you ever could live through . It was a time before I went away to the Native Village...and we were in a tar paper shack much like the Conners' old place...with gaps between the boards...and the norther' blew out the fire after I rode to fetch Minna. Baby Annie would have perished had the she–wolf Tahsha not taken her into her den. I understand now that the animal's mothering instinct was what saved Annie...but that night I drove myself to the point of insanity searching for that baby...and grieving for my wife.”

  Buck nodded, remembering the loss of his own sweet Charlotte in the bloom of their youth. He pulled his bandana from his pocket and swabbed his eyes and blew his nose.

  All talk stopped when Annie walked up. “Katie has gone up to her room finally,” she said. “I've done my best to reassure her about her pa...but you men don’t need to pull your punches with me. I know you're getting ready to search...so give Jess my love... if you find him...and no matter what you find out...don't spare me the truth.”

  “I can see the hurt
in your eyes, Shiwa,” whispered Jared. “Think of your baby and nothing else for now. Go and rest. You've had a long day.”

  “He would be here if he could...wouldn't he Papa?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  After Annie left, Adam began the discussion about his nephew while pulling intently on his cigaret :

  “Since the day my sister's son was born...without his father even knowing of his existence...Jesse was raised by my sister to be a responsible man. There was always Kate's fundamentalism that instilled discipline and responsibility... even with no fatherly guidance. All he had was an indifferent, if not abusive stepfather. Jesse would never forsake his own. He would be here tonight if he were able. Something is very wrong.”

  “Well then”, said Buck. “Will you come with Jared and me to Pine Crest to help search for him?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The next morning at day break, the three men rode out in the Tin Lizzy , resolute in their common goal of finding out what happened to Jesse McCann: nephew, son-in-law and closest friend. Their first stop at the end of their journey was the Pine Crest Hotel where they talked to the boy clerk at the front desk. “Listen here son, is Mr. McCann still registered here?” Buck asked.

  “He is, sir... but he hasn’t been in his room for over a week and yet he has not checked out. But a fella left this here message for any man who came looking.” The boy handed Buck a handwritten, unsigned note that placed an urgency on their search:

  “To whom it may concern: Jesse McCann is, I believe, in a desperate situation. If you have come looking for him, be advised he is held against his will, though I can not know exact location, somewhere in the old lumber camp on the other side of the tracks, deep in the forest. Good luck in your search.”

  Jerod's breath caught in his throat: “I recognize this handwriting. Mr. Hennessy, do you remember the day long ago when I delivered the handwritten letter to Annie...the letter that persuaded her to give Jess a second chance?”

  “My memory is failing...but...let me see now.”

  The discussion and Buck's mind search was cut short by the clatter of wagon wheels. There in front of the hotel were the several turpworkers with their coon hounds loaded up with them. Jesse's three man search party stepped out to the boardwalk to see what was up.

  “Mornin' fellas” said one worker who appeared to be the spokesperson. “Heard you were searching for McCann...so we organized a group to help. You can follow us out of town to the mills if you like.”

  “Good,” replied Uncle Adam. “We could use extra men, especially woodsmen know those parts better than anyone. You all can walk in a radius starting at the logging camp, split into groups and go in opposite directions.”

  “Fair enough,” said the man as he flicked the reins and rolled out.

  “My Lord, Kessler,” Buck hissed in an urgent whisper. “Why would you trust these hooligans? You West Texas folks know nothin' whatsoever about how things work on this side of the state. Lots of bad deeds are hidden in those ol' woods. There ain’t much law and order ... and what we do have is corrupted by bribes and favors. You can't trust anybody...especially these men.”

  “Aren’t you a bit paranoid?”

  “Better paranoid and called a fool than naive enough to lose the battle.”

  “Battle? You're no longer fighting the Civil War, Hennessy.”

  “But that's exactly what it could turn into! All I can say is I hope we find Jess before those men do. Stop and think, Kessler. Jess went for the sheriff to report Conner's murder...and you can bet some of these ol' boys have reason to shut him up...They're already ruffled up over work conditions too. They may have done somebody's dirty work. Folks that has no scruples will do anything for money. I pray to the Almighty that they don’t find him first. Lets haul our hinnies.”

  “You can't hope to walk such rugged terrain and keep up with us.”

  “Try and stop me. I let Jess turn me back before and look what happened. Nossir! I got me a walkin' stick, and I'll walk until I wear this wooden leg to a nub...and God help the man who tries to stop me.”

  Adam eyed the old man through lowered lids: “You Irishmen are too emotional for your own good. It clouds your judgment...if I may be so blunt.”

  Buck grabbed Uncle Adam Kessler, who was a good twenty years younger and a head taller, and went nose to nose: “Blunt don't bother me none. And you Germans are hardheaded and coldblooded...and that keeps you from trusting gut instinct...and by golly...that's how folks survive out here.”

  Jared, in a departure from his peace-loving nature, grew restless with the chatter and raised his voice:

  “You're wasting our time with your bickering! For all we know, every second could be a matter of life and death. Now let's go find my son-in-law.”

  The search party drove out to the depths of woodlands far removed from civilization. They entered the shadowy primeval forest, as the relentless haze swept southward from Morgans Bluff and fanned fingers of fog through the shadowy thickets of Pine Crest. Not even the breeze or the sun could lift it. No one had ever seen anything like it.

  The turpworkers spread out across the lumber camp, past the saw mill, trekking over downed logs and marking the trail behind them with rags tied to trees. The dogs, anxious for the hunt, strained at their leashes. The terrain alternated between rolling hills and deep endless thickets to tall stands of southern pine. Buck struggled mightily, stumbling but forging ahead with the use of his stick, stopping from time to time to catch his breath.

  “Jess should've let me go with him,” he grumbled to Jared under his breath, and then immediately knew the foolishness of his thoughts. “Leastways, I'm here to see that he's found, instead of along side wherever he is and a burden at that. Sometimes Jess makes decisions we don't understand...and then we see the right of it.”

  The men struggled past deep ravines and shady forests—on to what was known as “The Big Thicket” where men had been known to be lost forever. Long ago northern missionaries became so directionless in the area, they were never seen again. Some of the lost wandered upon the Native American Village and stayed to build churches and be a part of the tribe. Only experienced woodsmen returned from that vast and complex area that reached all the way to the Louisiana bayous.

  Buck felt his age and his handicap in every step he took. Deep in his unspoken thoughts was the idea that he was foolhardy: What made me think this old numskull could rescue Jesse...when I can hardly walk...but I have to try...good Lord knows I do.

  His second thought was that it was Clinton McCann who left that note at the hotel.

  XI: Desperation

  On the day of the search for Jesse, the mysterious blue haze spread to the forest. It filled the dark void where Jesse lay. From its moisture-laden interior the rain began building from a pinging to a pelting downpour; and the earthy fragrance rose from the soil above him. And so he began to think of life rather than death. He dragged himself, inch by inch, to the small open space beneath the concrete cover and the wall. Somewhere in his half-functional brain was the exhilarating thought of rain trickling down his throat, renewing every cell in his body. His pulse raced at the thought of quenching his deadly thirst ; for he suffocated in the sweltering heat and stale air of his would-be tomb.

  Leaning against the rock wall, he opened parched lips to take in life sustaining moisture. In his addled brain, he was out of place and time—a boy again in dry and rocky West Texas: Mount Mission, where children danced in the rare summer shower, splashing through puddles and catching the cooling drops on the tips of their tongues. He could hear the overly protective Mama Kate calling him in, scolding him: You'll catch your death, Jess! Get in the house and dry off this very minute!

  And he heard the boy who once was he: Just a little longer, Mama.

  Now the sweet rainwater coursed through his body to revive his muscles and refuel his brain. He drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep. Hours passed, and when at last he opened swollen eyes, his first coh
erent thought was of home. Home. Would he ever see it again? He began to grieve, more for his family's heartbreak than for himself and his torturous end. He grieved for Annie who would give birth without him, he grieved for the baby he would never lay eyes on: a child who would grow up fatherless—in some ways, as he himself had.

  And oh the regrets! He had foolhardily gone off on his own and had broken his promise to be home for Katie's homecoming . He had pushed Buck away and had sent him back to Morgans Bluff —trying as always to protect those he loved. In doing so, he had placed himself in harm's way and brought a sense of rejection to Buck who loved him as the son he had never had. He had been more of a father than Clinton McCann ever could have been.

  The rain ended. A large shadow passed over the small patch of sunlight above, and twigs broke under the tread of human feet. Heart racing, Jesse called out: “I am here...I am here.” His voice was weak, and the words faltered.

  A woman’s voice called down to him—a voice shrill and oily at the same time, bouncing off the walls of the well, magnified by the depth and stillness:

  “Are you still alive Jesse McCann? If you hear my voice... answer me.”

  “Who's there?

  “Has it been so many years that you no longer recognize my voice?”

  “Go for help... whoever you are.”

  “So sorry. I can't oblige you. There's a little business matter to tend to first...business with your sweet little wife...as a matter of fact. I need her to draw up some paperwork before she can know your whereabouts...if you happen to still be alive. I have sent the request by Domingo who will be my spokesperson...such a loyal ally he has been...and I reward him well. Your life is in Annie's lily white hands. We shall see what means the most to her...you or Morgan Mills. By all rights, my father should have willed it to me...not to a granddaughter by his half-breed illegitimate son. All I want is what Papa should have given me to begin with.”