The Last Legal Hanging

by Mae Berry

  “Too many lads missing these days.” The lines around Father Seamus’ eyes and mouth deepened. “And those accounted for are not always wanted.”

  “Aye,” Finn hesitated a moment, “the one I’m asking after is wee. About three. Father disappeared. Boy disappeared. Mother’s frantic.”

  Father Seamus shot Finn a probing look. Either his unease with the case came through or the priest was too good at reading him. Probably both. “I heard tell something about it,” Father Seamus said, “Mother’s German, aye? Someone was talkin’ about the father.”

  Finn’s uneasiness increased with the hesitancy in the priest voice. “What’d they sayin’?”

  “I be talkin’ to Finn or to the marshal?”

  Finn stopped and faced the priest, folding his arms across his chest. “One and the same, father. But I know you want that boy found.” Finn rested a hand on the priest’s shoulder.”

  Father Seamus sighed, studying the boardwalk in front of his feet. “I heard tell the father was a mite… touched. Not right. He looks good on the outside, but on the inside…?”

  Finn sucked in a breath. “That bad?” The hair on his neck was standing on end.

  “Aye.” Father Seamus squared up his shoulders and eyed Finn. “You best be finding that lad quick like.” Finn nodded, his jaw, fists and gut all clenched. He’d known something was off. For a moment he wondered why God saw fit to send him cases like this. It wasn’t fair, Finn did his part. He worked hard to help the orphans under Father Seamus’ care. He was always ready to lend a hand or a few coins to those who needed it. That should count for something? Right? Even things out? Make up for what he’d done? So why cases like this?

  Father Seamus laid a gentle hand on Finn’s forearm. “I know what you be thinking. It be hard, but don’t take this one too much to heart. I be knowin’ better than most how this kinda thing strike at you. Fathers and sons. You can’t keep evil from the world. But the devil gets on your back and rides you hard. Makes you think you are responsible for—”

  Finn jerked his arm out from under the priest’s hand and stared at the ground.

  “It weren’t your fault Bobby,” he whispered, “what happened to… to Killian.”

  Finn flinched, his eyes turning the color of cold emeralds. He looked past Father Seamus. “I need to find the boy, father. That’s all. It was given to me. It be my job to locate him. Keep him safe. Protect him. See him home to his ma.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Killian has naught to do wit’ it.

  Chapter 8

  Bates

  July 12, 1859

  Independence, Missouri

  "Gentleman, here is a likely boy. Sold for no fault; owner just wants cash. Trained as a blacksmith. Worth plenty. Boy, pull off your shirt. See gentlemen…” The voice sang on, part of the ruckus of the big city. Bustle going on all around. The dust is everywhere, on windas, the darkies’ skin, even folks standing still. Every wagon that comes by kicks up little tornadoes. Chokin’ my throat and floating in the air making it smell like the day before bath. Bein’ breathed in and out by so many folks takes all the sweetness out. Presses too. Feels jist about ready to pop all over everything. Thunderstorm is comin’.

  Pa stops walking his eyes glinting at a darkie in the corral. “Muscles on that one are big.— round as watermelons.” He lets loose a stream of tobacco and stalks over to the slave pens. I watch the puffs of tired, dead dirt spurt after him.

  “Bates! Get yerself over here boy!” He sends me a look that says I gonna be gittin’ it for not being where I ought.

  “Comin’ pa” I scurry over and slide next to him. He swings a swat at my backside. I peer into the pen. Lands sake, the ones left ain’t too likely. Pa motions one boy closer. He pinches his dark skin, rolls back his lips, and rubs the hair on his head.

  “Kain’t be too careful. Some traders put blackin’ on the hair to cover gray. Lift your shirt boy.” The darkie in the pen slowly obliges. I try hard not to roll my eyes. Pa going on and on. “Gotta check for whip marks. Marks mean he’s a trouble maker. Don’t want none of that.” Pa turns a stern eye on me. “You gettin’ this boy?”

  “Yes, pa.” I nod my head and turn in a circle. Kain’t help it. Don’t get to the city much. Independence is loud. So loud I like to press my hands to my ears to find quiet. Folks peck around like chickens goin’ from shop to shop. No one pays no never mind. People have to scurry around wagons on crazy turns. Big ruts fill the street. Surprised more horses ain’t throwin’ shoes. A sharp pain hits my back and I turn to pa. He glares at me.

  “I’m tryin’ to teach you something boy. Yer standing there gawkin’. Paying no mind to what I say.” He starts pepperin’ my back side as he says his piece. “You ain’t blessed with the brains God gave a goose. Go on now, git back to the wagon and bring it ‘round.” He shoots a stream a ‘baccy at me and shoves. I fall on my knees. Don’t make no never mind. Don’t hurt. Much. I’m tough. Pa turns back to looking over the stock. I snort, we both know he ain’t ever gonna find one he can afford. ‘Sides, ma would have a fit if he brought one home. He ain’t got cause to need one, he’s got me to do all his work. He shoots me a look outta the corner of his eye. I pick myself up and move on down the road zigging to walk around the ruts. ‘Cept when I find ‘em with mud in the bottom—n them I jump right in.

  I stop at a store window. There in the back I see ‘em. Big ole jars a bustin’ full. Full of candy— peppermint, butterscotch, lemon drops, horehound, sour drops— and my favorite, cinnamon. My mouth waters. Wish I had a penny. Don’t do no good to ask pa. He don’t believe in wastin’ money and candy be a waster for sure. Asking jist get me another swat. I sigh. As I go, I hear a grunt and some jeers comin’ from down an alley. I snap my head ‘round and go check. I peer around the corner. The steamy air is worse here all pressed close between the buildings. I see a group of boys in the back standing in a circle kickin’ at something. One really big boy swings back his leg and aims his boot at whatever it be. I hear a cry. Last year in school the teacher brought in a magnet. It pulled the metal shavings to it, no matter how we tried to hold ‘em back. Jist like the shavings, I’m pulled down that alley.

  The big boy notices me and snarls, “Ain’t none of your concern, hayseed, git on now.” I try to turn but my feet ain’t listening. I move closer. I’m not fool enough to open my mouth. I seen crowds like this one before. They can just as easy turn on someone else, but I jist gotta know what they’re messing with. The other boys keep jeerin’ as I move in close. I stand on tip-toe and peer over the head of one of the shorter ones. On the ground in the circle’s middle is a small darkie all curled up. His clothes is torn an’ he’s covered in dirt. I see blood on his shirt and face. One eye is puffy. The big boy sees me lookin’.

  “Seen enough, cracker?”

  “I ain’t no cracker.” I rub the back of my hand across my nose and face him square in the eye. I nod at the boy on the ground, “Don’t he belong to somebody? Ain’t you gonna be in a heap a trouble when his master finds out you done busted him up?” Breaking the rules is a bad thing. It’ll get you whipped.

  “Na,” says a boy in too short overalls, his eyes gleaming. A look on his face I’ve seen before. On boys drownin’ kittens.

  “What we got here is a free nigger,” says the big boy. “No one gonna care what we does.”

  “He’p…” whispers the boy on the ground. A niggling starts in my belly. He seems fragile, blood matted in his hair. He clutches his right hand to his chest. His fingers ain’t right. All messed up. He spits blood into the dust.

  “Whatcha doin’?” roars the big boy, “You spittin’ at me? You spittin’ at me?”

  The circle closes in for more kickin’. The big boy glares at me. “You with us or you ain’t. An’ I don’t think you wanna know what ain’t be like.” I study the boy on the ground. He looks so small laying there, trying to curl up tighter. The niggling inside my belly turns hot and rumbles. Stupid kid, shouldn’t been out about by hisself. Do
ing that jist asking for trouble. Maybe next time he’ll be smarter. This just be teaching him a lesson— fer his own good. I feel my blood zinging. A grin comes to my face. I join the circle and start kickin’. It be so much better, giving the lickin’ then getting it.

  Bates

  October 3, 1861

  Kearney, Missouri

  I scramble up the bank grabbing at bushes and grass to stop my back sliding. I make it to the tree up top and duck down, quiet as can be. I peer ‘round at the group of boys walkin’ down the road pushing and shoving and jeerin’ at each other. They didn’t see me. I let out a quiet breath and slowly slide down to sit out of sight. I hold back a growl as I watch ‘em walk by. Taking a beatin’ for getting home late is better than letting them git a hold of me. I jist can’t stand another round of ‘em at me. The niggling starts in my belly. I can still hear their taunts: ign’rent, dunce, idjit. Kain’t take no more. I wrap my arms ‘round my legs and lay my head on top. It’s all on account of I kain’t read real good. No matter how hard I squint and try to make out the letters they jist don’t make no sense. Teacher gave up trying to teach me last year. Told me it weren’t no use. If ma hadn’t insisted, don’t think he’d of let me back to school. The only eleven-year-old boy sittin’ on the little kid bench. If pa finds out, I’ll be out for sure. I sigh and look up. I see Lewis comin’ across the field. He must’ve followed me. I narrow my eyes. Great. My eight-year-old brother. The one that takes to books like a duck to water. The one who can do no wrong. The one too scrawny to help with the outside chores. He looks up at me. I scowl fierce, but he keeps comin’.

  “What you want Lewis?” I growl and clench my hands into fists. Don’t need none of his sass. A low roar starts inside me.

  “Hey, Bates.” He waves his hand and smiles at me, kinda nervous like. I snort and roll my eyes. As if he ain’t jist seen me at the schoolhouse. Lewis takes a deep breath and looks everywhere but at me. “I was wonderin’ if you could help me?” His voice squeaks as he drags his big toe through the dirt at the bottom of the tree. “I need someone to help me with my readin’.” He fidgets with his book strap. “You don’t have to do nothing. I jist need you to listen to me read and look over my shoulder.” He rubs his empty palm down his trouser legs. “Give me some practice.” He finally shoots me a glance from his lowered eyes.

  I scowl even fiercer and angle my head at him. “Why?” Don’t know what he’s about. Trying to trick me into showing how dumb I am?

  “Well, I figured you being my big brother and all…” He shrugs his shoulders. “It would really help me, Bates, please say yes?” He looks at me with such pleading eyes it surprises me. Maybe he ain’t doin’ as good as I thought.

  “I suppose. Fer a spell.” The roar inside my belly quiets and moves down to my feet and out into the ground.

  Spud runs up. A mix of all dog colors and all fur types going every which way. He wiggles all ‘round Lewis. Spud followed Lewis home from school one day and never left. Lewis loves Spud. Spud loves Lewis. Lewis drops to his knees and buries his face in Spud’s ruff.

  “Bates is gonna help me read better,” he says squeezing Spud around the neck. “Ain’t that a good big brother?” He looks at me like I could hang the moon. I puff out my chest and nod down the road.

  “Lets git on home now. Got chores to do. Need time to do some readin’.” I stand and head out. Lewis slips down the bank behind me and I grab him to keep him from falling. Jist like when he was little. Me takin’ care of him. Helping him. I puff my chest out more. “Race ya!” I holler and we tear off down the road. Course I win. I’m the big brother.

  ✽✽✽

  Ma is surprised when we tell her what we’re about, but after supper she clears the table and sits us both down. Pa is visiting Mr. Phelps and won’t be home until later. Spud is sitting at our feet, his head on Lewis’ leg. Me and Lewis sit real close and he opens a McGuffey reader. I’m surprised teacher let him take it home. Course if Lewis is having trouble, teacher would. Teacher always liked Lewis. He starts readin’ real slow running his finger along under the words. He stops at the bigger words and makes each sound. It is surprising; after reading the same thing over and over, the squiggles on the page start formin’ words. I know what some of ‘em is afore Lewis reads ‘em.

  Right before bedtime. Lewis closes the book. “Thanks, Bates! This helped.” His eyes are shining. “Do you think we could do it again tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing. Anything for my little brother.” I ruffle his hair. He smiles then calls Spud and the two make for bed. I puff out my chest again. I knowed enough to help him real good. Yep, that be me. The good big brother.

  Bates

  September 9, 1872

  Kearney, Missouri

  “Ma!” I hear Lewis yelling from the back of the house as I come in from chores. Hot, smelly and outta sorts. Of course, Lewis is flittin’ about inside while I’m busting myself outside with pa.

  “Ma! Where’s the suitcase? I’ve got everything set out, I just need to get it all packed.” He rounds the corner and stops in the kitchen doorway. “Where’s ma?”

  “Out feeding chickens I spec’t.” I dunk my hands into the washbasin on the back porch and grab the soap. I rub the gritty surface over and over my callouses. The rough texture soothes my hands. I like how that word texture rolls on my tongue. Texture. My new dictionary word from last night. Each night I pick a new one to try out. I splash water on my face and neck. Lewis stands there, looking at me. I snap. “What are you fired up about?” I pull down the towel to wipe off the water. “What are you needing a suitcase for?” I throw the towel on top the bureau and step into the kitchen, hands on my hips. A nasty nigglin’ starts up in my insides. “Where you goin’?”

  Lewis rolls his eyes. “Where have you been?” he says, his tone saying I’m the biggest dolt that ever walked. Dolt, another of my new words. Lewis rolls his eyes. “The letter came last week.”

  “Letter?” I eye him, the niggling churns.

  “Bates! The letter from Kirksville. They accepted me! I’m going to college. I’ll be a teacher in two years,” he says chewing on his lip. He stands a few moments more with his hands on his hips, head cocked. Deep in thought. I stare at him, my breath hitching in my throat. How did I miss this? Too busy playing slave most likely.

  “Where’d pa get the money?” That churning in my belly is rumbling.

  “I’m going on a work-study program.” He looks out the window, “I have to work at the library for my room and board. Pa’s just paying tuition.” He snaps his fingers, his face in a big grin. “I remember where the suitcase is.” He turns and heads back up the stairs, full of excitement and hope. Everything in me drains right out. Except the rumble, it’s turning into a roar. A roar so loud I can’t hear nothing else. I turn back out the door letting it slam behind me. I head straight for the barn. Straight for my lying, thieving father.

  “Pa,” my voice comes out tight and pinched. My throat all closed up. “Pa, I need to talk with you.” The roar is boiling over. My eyes see everything as red. Blood red.

  “What is it boy?” Pa is squatting next to Ole Charlie, picking muck out of his hoof. Charlie has sense enough to realize my voice don’t sound normal. He turns his gaze, eyeing me as he chews his supper. The horse is smarter than my father.

  “What’s this about Lewis?” I try to keep my voice even, but the roar is taking over. Pa continues his work, slow and steady never once looking at me.

  “What ‘bout him?”

  “He’s headin’ to the teacher’s college?”

  “Yep.” Pa continues to pick the hoof, sure slow strokes of many years practice.

  I spread my legs and curl my hands into fists. My teeth clench so hard, I’m surprised one don’t crack. I’m shaking all over. I never challenged pa before. Always stood by as the dutiful son. Always submitted to him, his will as head of the household. But this… this is beyond unfair.

  “Why?” I croak out, “Why is he going? You told me y
ou couldn’t afford to send me to college. You said it was a waste. of. time.” The roar has taken over. Can’t hold back no more.

  Pa stands and rounds on me, his eyes narrow, then his fist flies. I don’t even see it comin’. Pain explodes in my right eye. “Don’t you dare, ever question me! Don’t you disrespect your father!” The rafters shake with his bellow. Charlie stamps his foot and sidles away. “You ain’t smart enough to make it in no college.” Air blasts out as he punches me in the gut. I double over gasping. “You ain’t smart enough to be a teacher. You are barely smart enough to help ‘round this place.” He towers over me. “You need to work on runnin’ this farm or I will find someone else. Do I make myself clear?” He stalks toward the barn door. “Finish up with Charlie. Put the harness away. Clean off the plow blade. And make sure the barn is straight. I don’t wanna see your face until breakfast!” He slams the barn door. I sink to the floor and rock back and forth. The roar gets smaller inside me, but something is different. It don’t drain out entirely. It presses in getting smaller and tighter and hotter. Turns into a solid painful ball in the middle of my chest.

  Lewis’ dog Spud walks over. His muzzle is gray and he don’t move real good. All stiff in the joints. He sits next to me with a sigh and licks my face. I reach out to pet his head. I tangle my fingers into the fur at his neck. Poor old dog. He’s really gonna miss Lewis when he’s gone. No one else has time for him. Like as not he’ll just stop eating and pine away. I’ve seen it before when Mr. Butler passed. He and his dog Bess went everywhere together. Folks said he loved his dog more than his wife. After he died, Bess just lay on the front porch and wouldn’t do nothing. Someone finally took pity and put a bullet in the back of her head. I stroke the top of Spud’s head. Poor old dog. Things are fixin’ to get bad for him. Real bad. Anyone who cares for the dog wouldn’t want to see him suffer. A little of the heat in my chest cools.