And as Young often said, a fella needed two things to be an honorable man: his own piece of land and a good woman to call his wife. I didn’t believe Bart had either, and he was at least ten years older than I. Bart Humphries was only in this war to please his father, but at some point along the way, he’d given up on pleasing the judge. And he’d given up on seeing us go home to Kentucky.
It was in that moment that my thinking changed; I decided I needed a new plan. I could still seek justice for Young Springfield. I would go myself and tell what I’d seen. I would tell every man I met, especially the ones back home and every soldier, what a coward Bart Humphries had proven to be. And not one more man would die for me. Not even these two prisoners. Yep, time for a change of plans.
I watched and waited for the alcohol to do its evil work. When he couldn’t move, or speak, or fight, I’d secure the lieutenant, bind him up and lead him back to Jackson. I had no interest in taking these men as prisoners. It was exceptionally cruel to ask them to walk through the woods and down many muddy roads with no shoes on. No. I would safely release them if I could figure out how to do that. I certainly wouldn’t murder them in cold blood.
As I predicted, sometime after the moon rode high, the lieutenant succumbed to his alcohol and fell fast asleep, snoring away as if he did not have a care in the world. Perhaps he didn’t. But he should have. I waited until he had been snoring a good long time before I pulled out my knife and approached Tolliver. He shrank back—a learned response, I supposed, because even though I barely knew the man, he wasn’t one that I would ever expect would back down from a fight. Not at all like Bart Humphries, who only excelled at bullying others when he was at a disadvantage. I put my empty hand out toward Tolliver to let him know I meant him no harm.
With my eyes on both the men, I said in a low voice, “Fellas, I believe it’s time we part ways. I regret what has happened to you and your friends. I’m going to set you free. It’s probably as much as we deserve, but I have to ask you to be men of honor although neither of us have been honorable towards either of you. Turn from this battlefield, sirs, and return to your Confederate brothers. Leave Patch Town and leave Jackson. Do I have your word that you will leave us in peace?” As quick as a shot, Tolliver leaned forward, and I thought for a moment he would spit in my face.
“Wilmer McCoy never hurt a fly, private. He just joined up a few days ago and never even shot his gun. John was my friend. All my life, he was my friend,” he said as he blinked back tears. “For Ben’s sake, we’ll go, but if I see you again, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”
I turned the knife over in my hand once and then flicked the blade across the rope. These ropes were worn, almost dry-rotted, and I was surprised that they’d kept the men secure for so long. Tolliver rubbed his wrists as I freed them. I got on my feet quickly and backed away just in case he took a swing at me. Humphries didn’t stir, but the dog kept a wary eye on the soldiers as they disappeared into the forest. He shuffled to my side, his tongue hanging out. He kept watching until we couldn’t hear them anymore.
“Now it’s your turn. You’ll have to leave too and soon. You are a good boy. A real good boy.” He wagged his tail at my compliment. I walked back to the campfire and sat down. I was tired, bone tired, but I couldn’t sleep. No, make that I shouldn’t sleep. I needed to stay awake, or I would face Humphries’ wrath unprepared. Yes, stay awake, that’s what I should do. At least that was my plan, but like all well-made plans, they never worked out. And I was so tired.
I fell asleep quickly and dreamed of the dog. We were in the blue hills of Kentucky, running through Cold Creek, just on the other side of Bear Point. I threw the stick, and the dog ran joyfully to retrieve it. Yes, he was such a good dog. He deserved a name. A good name. At the last throw, he jumped at me, nearly knocking me down.
And then I realized I was already down. The dog whined and whimpered, and I couldn’t comfort him.
I was awake.
My head felt like it’d been split open and there was a heavy weight on my chest and legs and arms.
And I could not move my hands. I turned my head and gagged. I knew that taste. That was dirt. And then I saw him. The lieutenant leaned over me, the rusty shovel in his hand.
“You are awake after all. I beaned you pretty good, but you are one hard-headed sonofabitch, Darcy. That is a shame, you being alive and all. This is a horrible way for a man to die, and I do apologize for it. But as you can see, I’m left with no choice and I have only a few bullets left. Unless you would like me to strike you again?”
My eyes wide with fear, my heart pounding hard and slow under the weight of the dirt and the injury, I tried to answer.
“No? Alright then. You let those prisoners escape, private, and I have a duty to administer punishment.” He tossed another shovelful of dirt at me.
I jerked and shook and struggled to free myself from the horrible dirt coffin that surrounded me, but it was to no avail. The soil now covered my ears, which was a mild relief as I no longer had to hear his voice, but that also filled me with sadness for I knew I would never hear anything again. Never again. I gasped for one last breath of air; my final regret wasn’t that I had allowed the lieutenant to live or that I had released the rebel prisoners. It wasn’t even that I would never see Aunt Ruby or anyone I loved again.
My last regret was that I never named my dog.
Chapter Fourteen—Cassidy
Domino wasn’t the kind of kitten to show a lot of love and affection. He spent most of his days trying to figure out how to hide in a bag or a box or in one of my cabinets. He was independent, as I heard most cats were; however, the way he was carrying on now, you would think I had been gone for a month of Sundays. I immediately put my bags down and fell on my knees to pick up my black ball of fur. I kissed him and rubbed him, which lasted all of about two minutes. Naturally, he didn’t want me to hold him for very long, but he did want all of my attention when I was with him. For the next ten minutes, I set about taking care of his needs. I cleaned his box and gathered up his toys in his basket, which he quickly redistributed all through the house. I refilled his kitty food dispenser and made myself available to him. He was, after all, my kid.
It was nice to be home. Nice to pretend for a moment that I wasn’t going to spend a large part of the day painting in my studio. I didn’t know why I was putting it off so much—I’d seen the worst already. Imagine being buried alive! I shivered at the exceedingly evil act. And I couldn’t un-see what Private Plum Darcy experienced. Yes, it was a horrible way to die, and what was even worse was how maligned his memory had been. To think, all this time, historians had been celebrating the wrong man. Lieutenant Bart Humphries was no war hero but a coward of the first degree. Sierra was researching the events right now, and I was anxious to see what she came up with. If anyone could dig up the truth, it was Sierra McBride.
But before I did anything, before I even unpacked, I grabbed my keys and my purse and made a quick phone call to Helen. Yes, she would be home, and she would welcome my company. I kissed Domino one more time before he climbed out of my arms and sprinted off down the hall. I headed out, but I had a stop to make first.
Nobody loved sweets as much as my beautiful friend Helen Devry. There were no more King Cakes, since they only made those in January and February, so I had to settle for fresh bear claws from Ladd’s. I was glad this bakery was out of the way because otherwise I would be too tempted to stop by there every time I passed it. But for Helen, I didn’t mind indulging once in a while. With my delicious-smelling baked treats and two cups of freshly brewed coffee, I made the quick drive to Dixie House and found her waiting for me on the porch.
“Good morning, Cassidy. What a thoughtful treat to bring me. Ooh, Ladd’s! My favorite.”
“Nothing that you haven’t done for me. You want to eat these out here on the porch?” Better here on the peaceful porch than by the pool, although it was a lovely location. I would never forget seeing the ghost of the young wo
man who drowned out there.
“Wherever you would like to sit would be fine with me. It is quite nice out today. Not too hot and not too cold. And I’ve always enjoyed this view of downtown Mobile. Fortunately for me, the street isn’t as busy as some of those around us.”
Helen looked beautiful as usual. Today she wore a white linen shirt and as she did most days left her white hair hanging loose and flowing. I handed her a cup of coffee, and she removed the lid and began doctoring it the way she liked it. Luckily, the folks at Ladd’s had included an assortment of flavored creamers and sugars in the bag. I did the same.
We divvied up the desserts and didn’t talk for a while. I didn’t want to ask her about that ghost. I knew he was there just as she did, and I didn’t doubt her experience. I mean, I’d seen it on the camera playback, for goodness’ sake. And I didn’t want to talk about her illness, not unless she brought it up. Helen was a survivor as she had already proven. She was going to make it; I had already made up my mind about that. Hopefully, she had too. They say that your mental attitude has a lot to do with your success in overcoming such illnesses. I really had no experience other than peripherally, but I took those statements on faith. I wanted to believe that Helen was gonna be with us a good long time.
“I suppose you’ll be painting today. Was it hard being away from the canvas for the weekend?”
“Surprisingly, yes, it was. The sketching helped, but there’s nothing like getting those faces and images down in oil. I can’t explain it. But yes, I have plans to immerse myself up to my elbows in oil paints for the next few days.”
“That’s good to hear. Always follow your passion, and it will never let you down.”
Between mouthfuls of pastry, I asked, “What about you, Helen? You have so many interests, but I’m not sure I really know what your passion is. Care to share?”
She took a bite and thought about it for a moment. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she answered, “That’s a great question. You know what’s funny is before I got this diagnosis I’d been thinking a lot about that. When I was a younger woman, my passions were different. I loved traveling and history when I was in my twenties. In my thirties, that changed, and I was passionate about my family. I was kind of a late bloomer back in those days. In my forties, I was passionate about helping my late husband, Dave, with his business and being a supportive wife. But all those passions were fulfilled. I really have no regrets. I don’t think I’m the kind of person that has one thing; you know, just that one thing that you have to do in life. I envy you, Cassidy. I think you are one of the lucky ones in that you have your one thing. And it will carry you through your life through all your ages and changes. I don’t have that, and I really want to find it, to tap into it, if I have one. I’m interested in many things, but I’m not passionate about any one thing. I guess that’s not as important a problem to have now.”
“Sure it is, Helen. Not that it is really a problem. Having many interests and passions is a good thing. Don’t give up on having new passions.” And here I was promising myself that I would not be emotional when I had tears in my eyes and was holding her hand. “And I’m going to be around to help you find those passions.” She wiped at her eye, but that was it as far as emotions went. Helen was determined to keep everything together, and I wasn’t going to be that friend who made her cry every time we met. So, I followed it up with, “Unless you take up skydiving or pole dancing, and then I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
She laughed aloud and said, “Lucky for you, then. I have already done both of those things.”
We sipped our coffee, still laughing at the thought of the two of us jumping out of an airplane together or me winding around a brass pole. Me crying and her smiling confidently—in both those situations. Yep, I can see it now.
And then I had a thought. Or more like an inspiration.
“Helen, I can’t tell you what your next passion is or what it’s going to be, but I would like to paint you. Sometimes when I paint a person, I can see what’s around them, maybe things they can’t see themselves. I’ve had more than one client over the years tell me how much that meant to them. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to paint you. You won’t have to pose; I’ll just take your picture and take it with me. Is that okay?”
Helen flashed her broad smile and showed perfect white teeth. “Of course! I would love that. When can you get started on my painting?”
“As soon as I finish the painting I’m working on, which shouldn’t take me very long. I can already see it. And I have a sketch, so it won’t be such a struggle to complete.”
“I love it. Go ahead and take my picture now before this humidity frizzes my hair.”
And I did just that. We spent another hour together talking about absolutely nothing except Midas and Bruce. We planned her birthday party, which would be next month, and we said nothing about the disease or her upcoming battle. Best to pretend nothing was happening. That was the vibe I got from her. And I would follow her lead in this and be a good friend to her no matter what happened. As I hugged her goodbye, I felt a sense of peace. Everything was going to be okay. She kissed my cheek, and I scurried off to my car to head home and get started on the painting.
It was time to put Private Darcy to rest. I had the living to attend to now.
Chapter Fifteen—Midas
I arrived at the office later than normal, but I wasn’t worried about missing anything. Sierra had proven to be an excellent office manager, and she took up the slack in my weaknesses, which were many as far as taking care of the office went. She handled all the phone calls and emails, and Joshua was great at taking care of the website. Hiring her had been the best thing I’d ever done. I didn’t know why Sara had been so opposed to the idea, but then again, my ex-girlfriend was the kind of woman that liked to do it all. And the funny thing was, Sara hadn’t been that great at managing the place. It was more like she had been good at letting you think she was managing the place.
Sierra was a far superior, more efficient replacement. And she was a way better person.
As I stepped inside, the doorbell rang, and it made a funny sound. It sounded something like a cross between a dying cat and a church bell. Sierra slid out of her office in her chair to see who it was. “Oh, hey! I was wondering if you were going to come in today. It’s almost eleven o’clock. Do all old men sleep late?”
That was her way of reminding me that I was older than she was, although not by much. “So, are you calling me old?”
“Not directly to your face, but I’m hinting at it.” She grinned bigger now. “You’re late, fearless leader.”
I tinkered with the doorbell, but it didn’t help. Now it sounded like a sick cow when it went off. “What’s going on with the doorbell? Can we just unplug it?”
“I don’t think it works like that. We’ll get Pete to look at it in a bit.” As usual, Sierra had a stack of papers in her hands. She waved me towards the conference room. “We’ll worry about the doorbell later. You won’t believe what I discovered.”
“Already? If you’re that excited, it must be pretty good. Where is Joshua?”
“He’s around here somewhere. I think he’s in the equipment room with Pete, who is tinkering with his cartoon box, and Aaron called to say he is on his way. Running a few minutes late.”
I sat at the conference table with her as she arranged her papers. This was as good a time as any to get the expected awkwardness out of the way. “The other day, you were telling me something about Cassidy. Care to tell me what that was about?”
I saw Sierra sag visibly, and she sighed as she slapped the last folder down. “I knew you were going to go on the defensive. Like I said, it’s not that I don’t like Cassidy. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her gift, but I have some concerns about how things are going around here. And I’m not the only one.”
Although I was trying not to be defensive, especially after being accused of it, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit protective of Cas
sidy. “I’m listening.”
Sierra tapped her pen on the manila folder in front of her. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just me being me. I don’t know. Joshua says I have my cranky days.”
“No hedging, Sierra. Out with it.”
“I miss the old days, Midas. I miss when we were a team, all of us a team. I mean, it’s great to have Cassidy in our group, and I know you love her. But we rely so heavily on Cassidy for information.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yes, I think it is. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to everyone else. I mean, nothing can replace good old-fashioned research. Nothing should replace investigating, seeking answers.”
I frowned. “You think I’m replacing you, Sierra? That’s not what is happening.”
“Never said that, Midas. You hammered this point to us for years. We are to go in and investigate with an open mind. We debunk what we can and investigate the rest. I don’t think that’s happening anymore. Not with Cassidy and her psychic creative powers or whatever you want to call it.”
Wow, talk about being blindsided. I hadn’t seen this coming at all.
“I thought Cassidy was integrating into the team and that everything was working out fine. Is anyone complaining? Is it Pete? Because he’s not really in a position to gripe about anyone.”
Spooked on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 3) Page 19