The Apostasy

by Ted Minkinow

  “What had you gotten away with?” asked Warren.

  “I didn’t know,” she replied.

  “But you know now?” asked Cassandra in a doubtful tone that belied an understanding that was beginning to frighten her.

  “Yes, I do,” Hattie said, and I’ll get to that in just a second, dear. Does anybody want to know why they murdered my Jerome?”

  Tuesday, July 17, 8:16 pm, Brewton-Brunson House

  The horse stood at the back door as if a century and a half had been peeled away like layers of dusty clothing. The gray-clad Colonel stepped to his mount, pausing only to caress its nose before loosening the tether and boarding the saddle. Instinct guided the two across familiar paths now covered by the ash of passing years. They would arrive at the proper spot even had he not known where to go. It was one of the mysteries of his existence, the strong attraction of location; an allure that transcended time.

  With the help of his God Almighty—who, he believed, sponsored this last crusade—he would not fail. A third chance would not present itself.

  CHAPTER 72

  Tuesday, July 17, 8:23 pm, Hattie Jackson’s House, Vienna, Alabama

  1

  “Friends tried to comfort me,” Hattie said. “It was sweet, but I couldn’t get past how I knew they felt.”

  “How’s that?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Their hearts broke for me all right,” she said, “but they were also relieved.”

  “Relieved?” said Jeremiah, and the look on his face added inflection to the question.

  “Why yes,” Hattie said, “and after it all calmed down, I couldn’t blame them…they were scared.”

  “Of what?” said Jeremiah. “That the real killers were still free?”

  “No, child,” said Hattie. “They were scared of a midnight visit in their own homes. The white folks were happy…a version of justice had been served.”

  Hattie sipped her coffee.

  “It was the second murder, wasn’t it,” Chief Anderson said.

  “What?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Miss Hattie said there were two murders. She mentioned the drifter. I’m guessing the second murder is what set off the town.”

  Hattie nodded. “Miss Elizabeth was Chief Bennett’s mama,” she said. Then she told the story of the rape and murder…how an itinerant preacher named Leland Graves claimed a nattily-dressed black man ran from Miss Elizabeth’s house.

  “So that’s that?” asked Cassandra. “They get two for the price of one? Kill them all, let God sort it out?”

  Hattie said, “There remains no excuse for the injustice.” A pause, and then in a firm voice, “I have forgiven all of them and hold no grudge against their families.”

  Warren stepped into the silence. “You said there was reason to believe Leland Graves killed the hobo. The man subsequently appeared at the second murder scene. If evidence linked him to the first crime…”

  Hattie smiled. “There probably was no evidence linking Leland Graves to either of the murders.”

  “But you said…”

  “I said I felt sure he did it. That’s it, no evidence, no witnesses, no nothing.”

  Warren relaxed back into his chair and Hattie had the awful feeling she was losing him.

  “A few days later I finally told Nana Sally about Leland Graves and the Rufus fellow. Nana’s face paled and I could see her wrestle the color back to her cheeks and regain control. She knew these two but wouldn’t say it.”

  Hattie paused for a moment and then looked at Tom.

  “You said you had something to show me?”

  2

  Chief Anderson checked his wrist. This friendly dinner affair now threatened late night indigestion. He decided to excuse himself and find his way home…where sanity sometimes flourished. Maybe give them another fifteen minutes or so—a decent interval—and then skedaddle.

  Tom broke into the silence. “We found an old letter you might be interested in. Show her, Cassie.”

  Cassandra’s look said “Smooth transition Tom” but she reached into her purse. “Here,” she said, and handed the paper to Hattie.

  Warren scanned the letter as it changed hands. It looked old. The ink’s hue, coupled with the odd paper size indicated a hundred years…maybe more.

  3

  Hattie donned her reading spectacles…she glanced at the page. Tom could not tell whether he saw relief or horror in her reaction.

  “Where in heavens did you get this?”

  “Jeremiah found it in my attic.”

  “He what?” Hattie asked. She stared at Jeremiah for explanation as she placed the letter on the table.

  Jeremiah said, “I found a whole bundle in a hollow table leg.”

  “And why were you taking Tommy’s furniture apart?”

  “We all kind of did it…you know…together.”

  Hattie’s look said, “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, stupid.” Cassandra kind of came to Jeremiah’s rescue.

  “He dreamed it, Aunt Hattie. An antique soldier walked into the house and put them there.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so,” Hattie said to Jeremiah. She handed the letter back to Cassandra. “Read this, child. Cursive writing tires my eyes and it wouldn’t be proper to leave out Chief Anderson.”

  4

  Warren tethered himself for the moment and it took less than two sentences to recognize a love letter.

  Great.

  He found his mind wandering back to the investigations until the first line of the third paragraph almost made him jump to his feet and snatch the letter; just to make sure…RM has been rooting for information like a hog nosing through a chamber pot. He glanced at the others. Was he the only one that caught those initials?

  “Oh no,” Jeremiah said. “No. No. No.”

  The Chief smiled.

  “What’s up with you?” asked Tom.

  “Torch…Buddy, is your fighter pilot vision focused where the sun don’t shine?”

  Tom still didn’t get it.

  “RM,” Jeremiah said. “Rufus McCarran? How much trouble can one cracker cause? Is every ogre in your bedtime stories named Rufus or do they all just share the same initials?”

  “They don’t,” said Warren. “No they don’t.” Then he turned to Hattie. “Listen, Miss Hattie, I believe in God, the sanctity of Bryant-Denny stadium in Tuscaloosa, and in anything else I see and hear. I don’t believe in ghosts, spooks, little green men, or that Elvis is a fishing guide in Key West.”

  After a pause and with visible effort, Warren softened.

  “Look, I’ve enjoyed the evening…I really have. But I’ve got two murder investigations underway, so much help from Huntsville that I can’t wipe without grabbing someone else’s hand, and nothing is getting resolved.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “And it’s getting late.”

  Warren stood. “If you will excuse me, I thank you for the meal and for the company. Miss Hattie…Dr. Walters…Dr. Gentlemen.” Everyone nodded and Warren made for the door.

  It closed before he turned into the night and toward his car parked at the bottom of the driveway. It hit him immediately that they weren’t there; not the driveway, not his police cruiser. As his eyes adjusted to moonlight he saw a dirt path in front of Hattie’s house, not the two-lane paved street he expected.

  Warren’s stomach dropped like an apple off Cheehaw Mountain. Heart pumping, he whirled to grasp Hattie’s door.

  Door heck, he thought, the whole darn house is gone.

  That’s when the smell hit.

  “Howdy Chief. Honor to see you again.”

  The voice came from behind.

  CHAPTER 73

  Tuesday, July 17, 8:43 pm, Hattie Jackson’s House, Vienna, Alabama

  1

  “We shouldn’t have let him go,” said Cassandra.

  When nobody said anything she added, “Someone’s out there.”

  More like something, thought Hattie, but she did not think the group was quite ready for that…not
yet. A fluttering in her bones told her time was short, a storm was brewing and she wanted these precious young people to survive.

  Hattie recognized the handwriting…knew the instant the flowery penmanship came into focus. Nana Sally, she thought.

  “Tommy,” she said, “Remember when that nurse wanted to keep you out of the emergency room?”

  Tom drew out the single-word answer. “Yes,” he said.

  Hattie smiled. “Why did you argue with that lady?”

  “I was worried about you.” He paused. “Aunt Hattie, I think…”

  “That’s the point,” she said. “Didn’t you say something about a DNA test?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “You should have informed her that you and I are cousins.”

  2

  Warren recalled the voice, and as recognition fired in his brain other more potent fireworks erupted. When he regained consciousness, he was in deep trouble. Warren Anderson did not plan on living to see the morning.

  3

  Hattie waded in.

  “Sally Jackson, wrote your letter,” she said. “Sally Jackson…Nana Sally…My grandmother.”

  Tom could not have looked more stunned if a chorus line of possums dancing the can-can had just passed through the room.

  “You saying ole master planted more than cotton?” Jeremiah asked.

  Hattie smiled. “It’s not quite as simple as that,” she said.

  She held up the letter. “Look at this,” she said. “They loved each other. When we have time I’ll show you my stack, letters I inherited when Nana Sally died.”

  Tom said. “Are you saying that Jackson Brewton is your grandfather?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “He’s the one.” A short pause, “It all fits.”

  Tom smiled…he walked over to Aunt Hattie and hugged her.

  “All I got to say,” said Jeremiah, “is like uncle like nephew.”

  Tom released Aunt Hattie. “Dude,” he said, “what are you talking about?”

  “Me.” It was Cassandra and she spoke in a pleading voice. “He’s talking about me.”

  Tom’s face went blank for a second…but only a second. He glanced at Cassandra. She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Oh, that,” he said, and the nonchalance sounded forced…but only by a little and Hattie thought that was OK.

  Cassandra’s smile lit the room. She took his hand and he leaned over to kiss hers.

  Hattie let the two have their moment…but only for a moment.

  “You children listen to me now, and keep an open mind.” She had their attention. “I would like to speak more about the letters…let you explore mine for that matter, but I feel time is running short.”

  “What time are you talking about?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Time for all of us,” said Cassandra.

  “Why do you say that child?” Hattie said in the voice of college professor milking an answer from a shy pupil.

  “What the heck,” Cassandra said, “I guess you can’t think I’m any crazier.”

  “Stop it,” Hattie said...a firm voice, but also calm. “Each of you has seen things…whether by sight or intuition. Trust yourselves.” And then in a gentler yet still insistent tone she said to Cassandra. “Trust us.”

  Cassandra grabbed the letter from the tabletop. Everyone looked at the paper as if she were holding a plateful of cold chitterlings.

  “I’ve seen him,” she said.

  Nobody responded and Hattie thought that a good sign. They’ve all seen him, she thought and it made sense to her. Cassandra, still standing and still holding the letter up like Exhibit A, broke Hattie’s thought.

  “This may hold the key,” said Cassandra.

  “If that letter’s the key to anything,” Jeremiah said, “then I don’t think I’ll want to step through that door when it opens.”

  “Willing or not,” Hattie said, “that door is here.” Then she said, “Listen to me, children.”

  What she would say next held importance and Hattie knew it. “Everyone please just come clean.”

  When Cassandra spoke she sounded tired…and more than a little hesitant to bite into an unsavory concept. “I’ll fix more coffee.” As she moved, she said, “I think we should take a scientific approach; review the facts and not our feelings.”

  So close, thought Hattie, and now I’ve lost them.

  But Cassandra surprised her.

  “First,” she said, and held up a finger for emphasis. “Jeremiah…”

  He looked up and his face said, “Why me?”

  “You say an army man showed you the letter in a dream…hidden inside the leg of an antique table.”

  A pause.

  “Coincidence? Maybe, but the odds consist of a decimal point and lots of zeroes before we hit the first digit.”

  “Second.” Another finger joined the first. “The name Rufus shows up several times over fourteen decades…each period’s physical description synchs with the others.”

  “Third,” her ring finger joined the fray, “non-natural deaths are rare in Vienna. You can take my word for it. The town lynched Aunt Hattie’s fiancé, and we’ve seen three recent deaths, all happening in time with a Rufus showing up. And realize that I’m discounting the warning from Sally Jackson, mainly because we have no other facts.”

  Though Tom and Jeremiah said nothing, Hattie hoped they were listening…really listening.

  “Those three points encompass the given in this equation.” She dropped her hand.

  “I’m going to dispense with the mathematical machinations necessary to calculate probabilities, but just for me. You two,” she looked at Jeremiah and then gave Tom an extra helping of her stare, “should decide for yourselves.”

  Jeremiah raised his hand. “I’ve seen him,” he said.

  Hattie knew he meant the Confederate soldier…her grandfather…Tom’s great-great uncle. She thought Tom understood too because instead of asking for clarification, Tom said, “Me too.”

  Nobody responded so Tom added, “haven’t seen him as much as I’ve felt him…for the past few days, anyway.”

  Cassandra said, “I think we need to let Aunt Hattie finish. And Aunt Hattie,” she said, “why don’t you stop romancing us and lay it out.”

  “So what’s this primal apostasy?” asked Tom.

  “The what?” asked Jeremiah.

  “The letter,” Tom said, “Sally mentions a primal apostasy that creates and coupled with love possibly makes vulnerable. What does it mean?”

  They all turned to Hattie, expecting her to resume lead in the conversation. Her pallor had dropped a few octaves…not on a music scale but in Kelvin. Her eyes fixed toward the front of the house. They turned to see what caught her attention.

  The front door stood wide open, an infinite black beyond outlined a gaunt figure standing in the doorway. He wore the suit of an antebellum gentleman. Waxy strands of white hair fell in sparse shafts beneath a wide, black brimmed hat. His grin revealed opposing rows of teeth sharpened to the points of ice picks and yellowed to the uneven hue of rotting butter.

  “Allow me to answer that question,” said the Reverend Leland Graves.

  CHAPTER 74

  Tuesday, July 17, 8:55 pm, Hattie Jackson’s House, Vienna, Alabama

  1

  “Good evening, Hattie Jackson.” A calm voice…high-pitched and southern. And then, “Thomas Brunson, Cassandra Walters, and Colonel Johnson.” The Man wanted them all to understand that nobody escaped his attention. “Mind if I come in for a spell?”

  “Why don’t you just stay where you are,” said Hattie. No chance she would invite evil to step into her house.

  “I got a better idea,” said Jeremiah, “why don’t you drag your skinny white Colonel Saunders butt back into the hole you climbed out of.”

  He glanced at Hattie…and she could see how he kept an eye on Leland Graves at the same time. Smart boy.

  “Who is this guy?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Leland Grave
s,” said Hattie, and she thought she’d need to shout to be heard over the blood pounding in her temples.

  “Are you saying this is the same guy you had a run-in with in the twenties?”

  “Come now, Colonel Johnson,” Leland Graves drawled, “Y’all know me.” A smile revealed the rows of yellow shark’s teeth. “Even so, I confess the advantage.”

  Hattie swallowed…felt her heart begin to run...felt the need for air. She held her breath for a second…to slow things down.

  “What do you want?”

  “Soon enough, Hattie Jackson,” Leland Graves said through his vulpine grin and in a tone that implied “I’m just here to pass the time.” Even so his voice carried evil smog so granular that they could taste it.

  “I have no desire for your company,” Hattie said. It is the primal apostasy that both creates and, I pray, makes vulnerable. She took a chance.

  “My Grandmother knew about you, didn’t she?”

  “Sally Jackson,” Leland Graves said. He spoke in a voice devoid of emotion and the lack of spark disappointed Hattie, but she continued down the path.

  “She beat you,” not a question, a statement.

  Hattie was fishing…but felt she was making progress. She thought she held cards even if none seemed to be aces. She decided to bluff.

  “The primal apostasy,” she said. This time she did get a reaction.

  Leland Graves’s color did not pale. It blinked. For a microsecond something in his form fell out of balance. Just as quickly, he returned to equilibrium. Hattie wondered what the others perceived. Sally’s statement threw Leland Graves askew. Only by the barest margin, but this was a start, a reason for hope.

  “The primal apostasy?” Leland Graves snorted. “What could you know about the primal apostasy?” He grinned.

  “Tell me then,” said Hattie. She had no idea what he was talking about…but at least Jeremiah, Cassandra, and Tom remained silent.

  His eyes narrowed and his lips sliced an arc.