by Donis Casey
“Did you talk to Mr. Khouri’s father?” Alafair asked Scott. “I hope he’s not in hot water.” She had told Scott about Nick’s encounters with Grandfather Khouri and Emmanuel Clover had admitted his own. She hadn’t mentioned her conversation with Rose Lovelock. Her mother-in-law Sally had pointed out that Rose was long gone. Besides, the woman had enough troubles.
“I did talk to him,” Scott said. “I don’t arrest folks for wishing harm to their enemies. But after what him and Emmanuel told me I’m convinced that it was Zrska who murdered Win and Billy Claude, not Dutch. Nor was Robin involved, either. Not in the killings, at least. Ober still thinks that Dutch was the saboteur at the plant, and it is true that he was I.W.W., same as Robin. Ober figures that Dutch and Zrska had undermined the train trestle together before they made their way into the plant bent on some other mischief.”
“You don’t really think Robin had anything to do with sabotage, do you?”
“I don’t, Alafair. But that’s not for me to judge.”
Alafair didn’t look happy, but she said, “I know it. Can I see him now?”
Scott nodded toward the door to the cells. “Go ahead on.”
She disappeared and Shaw sat down in one of the chairs under the window. “You ain’t going in?” Scott asked him.
“I’ll give her a minute.”
“It was good of you to bring her in to town to visit with him before I haul him off.”
The corner of Shaw’s mouth twisted up in an ironic smile. “I ain’t letting her out of my sight again for a long spell, Scott. There is no telling what she might get up to.”
Scott chuckled. “Good luck to you.”
Shaw stood up, reconsidered, and sat back down. “Scott, Robin is a misguided pain in the neck, but he is not a traitor. Besides, he’s family. Do you really have to turn him over to the marshal in the morning?”
“I’d just as soon not, but there must have been a hundred posse men who heard his anti-war rant. He was in cahoots with the draft rioters, there’s no denying that. The insurgents are being rounded up all over the state, and for the moment the U.S. Marshal’s Office is holding most of them in the federal jails in Holdenville and Muskogee. I don’t have any choice but to take Robin in.”
Shaw leaned forward in his chair, an earnest expression on his face. “I ain’t a socialist, Scott. Far from it. It is not the business of government to take a man’s property or skills that he worked hard to gain and give them to someone else without even asking. But there’s many a man I respect who believes that party line, to one degree or another. There are so many socialists in Oklahoma they can’t all be put in jail! The majority rules in this country, but don’t the minority have rights, as well?”
Scott regarded his cousin for a moment before answering. “They used to. I guess we’re about to see if they still do.”
Chapter Sixty-eight
“I am opposed to every war but one; I am for that war with heart and soul, and that is the world-wide war of the social revolution.”
—Eugene Debs, 1915
Rob stood up from his seat on the cot when Alafair came up to the bars. For a long moment they gazed at one another in silence.
“Reckon I won’t be seeing Mama on this trip,” Rob finally ventured.
Alafair didn’t know whether to laugh or smack him. “Oh, Robin.” Her voice was filled with vexation. She reached into her handbag and withdrew an envelope. “I just got another letter from Elizabeth.” She waved it in his face. “She says that a while back you wired her from New Mexico to come bail you out of a tight spot.” She began to read. “Seems Robin was being held along with several hundred other union men in a detention camp at Hermana, New Mexico. They were deported from Bisbee in cattle cars after all the miners in town went on strike…”
“Not all the miners.” Rob gave a thin smile. “Most of them, though. After we got to Hermana the Army let me wire my sister in Tempe. I asked Elizabeth to contact the I.W.W. lawyer in San Francisco, and she did.” His voice took on an incredulous tone. “Then her and Web got on the train and come all the way out to Hermana to spring me, even though neither one of them is licensed to practice in New Mexico. I wasn’t going to leave my comrades stuck behind barbed wire. But the camp commander didn’t give me a choice. I figure he was eager to get shet of me, because he didn’t look too close at Web’s credentials or Elizabeth’s, either one. He told me to get out of the state. Elizabeth wanted me to go back to Arizona with her. I’ll tell you, I was amazed that they’d take that chance, especially Web. I know Elizabeth has never given a good…a tinker’s…a fig about what anybody thinks of her, but I always figured Web for a stooge of the…I mean, a solid citizen who was pretty interested in his reputation.”
Alafair appreciated the fact that he had avoided strong language in favor of sparing her delicate sensibilities. “It shook Web up some when she near to left him last year,” she said. “Any man who goes into law practice with his wife had better have no fear of the judgment of others.”
Rob shook his head. “Whatever the reason, I surely have amended my opinion of Webster Kemp.”
“So why didn’t you go back with them?”
“I figured the law in Arizona wouldn’t be pleased to see me.” He shrugged. “Besides, they took a big chance for me. I didn’t want to make life hard for them.”
“So you decided to come out here and make life hard for me?”
Her sharp tone took him aback. “No, I…”
She interrupted him. “You lied to me, Robin.” The bitter disappointment in her voice pierced Rob like a knife. “You said you had no idea of causing trouble for us while you were here, and then you turned right around and went out to talk to those mutineers.”
For an instant, he couldn’t speak. He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “I didn’t want you to know, Sister. You can’t be held responsible for what you don’t know.”
She grasped the bars and leaned in. “I love you, Brother, but you break my heart.”
He put a hand over one of hers. “I love you too, Alafair. And I’m beholden to y’all for your hospitality, even to such a rogue as I. I ain’t et so good in years! You take my leave of the children for me. When this mess is over, I’ll come back and see how y’all are doing. Until then, will you come and visit me in prison?”
Alafair pulled back and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “Of course I will.”
Chapter Sixty-nine
“Anti-draft rioters…this afternoon faced the U.S. Commissioner to answer the charge of treason. District Attorney McGinnis announced that where evidence is sufficient he will ask for the death penalty.…Authorities are confident they have two national organizers among the 250 prisoners.”
—Ada Weekly News, August 7, 1917
Scott pulled off the road at the crossroad and stopped the car. Rob felt a thrill of alarm. He had known Scott Tucker since he was a child, and trusted his honor. But he had been taken to a secluded location by the law before, and it hadn’t turned out well for him.
He leaned forward toward the front seat, anxious. “Why are we stopping?”
For a long moment Scott neither turned nor spoke, until Rob began to consider making a break for it. He didn’t expect he’d get far, handcuffed as he was, but he was damned if he was going to just sit and take it. Even from someone who was his almost-family.
“I knew I should have brought a deputy with me.” When he finally spoke, Scott seemed to be talking to himself.
“What?”
“That’s the trouble with transporting a prisoner all the way to Muskogee by yourself,” he said to the air. “You turn your back for a minute, and the son-of-a-gun gets clean away from you.”
Rob’s eyes widened, and he eased himself back into the upholstery. Scott turned around and stretched his right arm across the seat back. The keys to the handcuffs were dangling from his finge
rs. The two men eyed one another for a minute.
Rob finally broke the silence. “What is this?”
“Yonder is Texas.” Scott pointed to the south with the keys. “Arkansas is closer, but I’d go south for a spell anyway, before you turn back east. Whichever way you go, stay off the main roads ’til you cross the Oklahoma line.”
“You’re letting me go?” Rob envisioned himself shot in the back while ‘trying to escape.’
“Get them cuffs off, pick up that bindle, and get to hoofing. And don’t come back here. Do you understand?”
“No,” Rob confessed.
“I promised the citizens of Boynton that I’d keep the peace for them, and you’re no peaceful creature, Robin Gunn. I’ll remove you from their midst, but I’ll be jiggered if I’m going to deliver a man up to prison for trying to help his fellow man and stop a civil war in the process.”
“But how are you going to explain this?”
“Damned if I know. You want to argue about it?”
Rob did not want to argue about it. He took the keys without another word, unlocked the cuffs around his wrists, and scrambled out of the automobile. “I won’t forget this.”
“You’d better not, you dad-blasted Red.”
“Tell my sister…”
“Get out of here,” Scott interrupted, “before I change my mind.”
Rob flashed a grin, hoisted the backpack onto his shoulder, and took off. He was ten yards down the road when he slipped his hands in his pockets and began whistling “Arkansas Traveler.”
Scott sat in the front seat of his automobile for a long time, watching the jaunty figure grow smaller and smaller as it retreated down the narrow dirt road to the south. He was still sitting there when he heard the clop of hooves coming up the road from Muskogee. He turned his head enough to see Trent Calder rein in beside the car.
Trent pushed his hat back off his forehead. “Howdy, Scott. You having car trouble?”
Scott shrugged. “Just pondering the state of the world. So did you join up?”
“You’re looking at a U.S. sailor.”
“Good for you, son. Get in and I’ll give you a lift back into Boynton.”
Trent dismounted and tied his horse to the back of the Paige, and had just settled into the front seat next to Scott when he caught sight of the distant figure walking away from them, toward Texas.
“Who’s that yonder?”
“Who knows? Some bindlestiff out of a job and on the road.”
Trent’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the distance. “Looks more like a boy.”
Scott put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. “Naw. I reckon I know a man when I see one.”
Chapter Seventy
“The actual peril confronting the United States through the perfidy of the Imperial Germany Government had not been appreciated or realized by the general public in the early stages of the World War.”
—Final Report of the Tulsa County
Council of Defense, 1919
Charlie’s zeal was considerably subdued over the next few weeks. He was forced to give up his job at the plant, suffered with a headache and double vision for a while, and had the fear of God put into him by his parents. In fact, he was so humiliated that he barely spoke for days. But there was one thing he had to broach with his mother, howsoever much he dreaded approaching her.
He waited until one early morning after breakfast, while she was out in the woods behind the house, feeding the turkeys, as was her habit.
The birds scattered when he walked up, and Alafair gave him a curious glance. She was still torn between anger, relief, and abiding affection for her wayward boy. She was also aware of his chagrin and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Even if it was his own fault.
“What do you want, son?”
He was encouraged by her mild tone. “Mama, I know you and everybody told Daddy what happened to that killer that night, how my horse trampled him and all.” He hesitated, and Alafair nodded to urge him on. “Well, back when Daddy first let me have the roan he told me that if it ever hurt anybody he’d put it down. I been scared to ask him why he hasn’t shot the horse already. But Ma, couldn’t you please, please ask him not to do it? That horse may be half-crazy, but he saved my life for sure.”
Alafair tried not to smile and didn’t quite succeed. “Honey, your daddy and I already discussed it. He figures that beast is just too smart and knew that awful man aimed to do you harm. You go and talk to him about it, son. The roan may still be on probation, but on this occasion he’s been given a reprieve.”
Charlie sagged. “Thank you, Ma. Oh, thank you. That old horse may be a pain, but I love him even if he loves Fronie more than me. In fact I’ll let her name him Honey Pie or Sugar Darling Cuddle Baby or whatever. If he wants to be called by a baby-talk name, I reckon I owe it to him.”
***
Henry Blackwood examined his head wound in the mirror over the dressing table in his bedroom. The bandage was finally off and the hair that Doc Addison had shaved was growing back. The stitches were out, but the wound was still scabby and ugly. Henry huffed his disappointment. He swung his arm back and forth a few times. At least the shoulder sprain from his fall into the clay dump had finally cleared up.
He caught sight of his uncle’s reflection in the mirror. Eric was leaning on the door jamb, watching Henry’s gyrations with amusement.
Eric grinned when he realized he had been noticed. “You’ll be as pretty as ever before you know it. I expect you’ll be able to go back to work in a day or two.”
Henry rolled his eyes at Eric’s teasing and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I’m thinking that it’s time for me to move on, Eric. Oklahoma’s too rough for me. As soon as I got here I was beaten up, and since then I nearly got ground up like sausage and had my head bashed in. I wouldn’t mind the danger, but I don’t think the work I’ve been doing here is making all that much difference, anyway.”
Eric looked disappointed, but he didn’t try to argue. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’ve enjoyed your company. I’ll miss you.”
“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in on such short notice, Uncle. I’ll miss you, and my friends, too. That’s why I should leave now. I’ve gotten too close to these people. Besides, I nearly killed myself when that clay dump lever gave way too early.”
“You did some fine work,” Eric insisted. “Undermining the rail trestle was very effective.”
Henry gestured to a stool in the corner and Eric took a seat. “That was a tough one. I had to work on it for several nights, sawing and digging, but I only had a couple hours to get the supports pulled out before I was supposed to meet Charlie.”
“Why’d you go along with that boy’s insane idea, anyway? That really did almost get you killed.”
“Well, I knew the saboteur wasn’t going to show up. I didn’t know about the killer, though. It’s just as well. Getting knocked in the head turned out to be a hell of an alibi.”
“Do you have an idea where you will go now?”
Henry shrugged. “I can’t go back to Brownsville since they’re after me for that incident at the Port Isabel shipyards. Maybe I’ll head on to Mexico and join up with von Wegner in Vera Cruz. Perhaps he’ll send me to Prussia from there.”
Eric stood up and retrieved a bottle from the top of the Hoosier cabinet. “Let’s have a drink to your success, Jungen.” He poured two shot glasses full of a schnapps, then handed one to his nephew before raising his own high. “Das Vaterland, Heinrich.”
“Das Vaterland über alles, Erich.”
Chapter Seventy-one
“The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father’s sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.”
—Thomas Moore, 1798
/> Alafair had considered letting Shaw go to the train station without her to see the boys off. She didn’t want to do anything to cause Gee Dub the slightest distress, and she wasn’t sure she could trust herself not to cry. But in the end, she had to go. She had to keep him in sight for as long as possible.
The train had already pulled in by the time they arrived, and one or two Boynton-bound passengers were disembarking. Johnny Turner, son of the owner of the Boynton livery stable, was waiting on the platform surrounded by his parents and two of his sisters. And Laura Ross, Alafair noted. She smiled at the sight. Johnny had been in love with Laura Ross for years. Laura had never seemed to notice, but here she was, seeing Johnny off to war.
Johnny nodded at them as they walked up the platform steps. “Howdy, Mr. and Miz Tucker. Gee Dub. Looks like we’re going to walk the red road after all.”
Shaw and Gee Dub smiled at this appropriately descriptive Creek phrase for war. Alafair and Laura Ross did not.
Scott and Hattie Tucker were there, as well, along with three of their four sons. The older two, Slim and Stretch, were married and thus draft exempt, for now, at least. The fourth son, Spike, was too young. It was the third boy, twenty-three-year-old Butch, who had come to do his duty. Hattie didn’t have Alafair’s scruples about weeping in front of her departing son. Scott had his arm around Hattie’s shoulders, murmuring comforts to her, when Alafair and her men walked up the platform steps. Butch walked over to greet them, leaving his distraught mother to his father and brothers, grateful for the distraction.
He winked a blue eye at Gee Dub. “Well, here we are.”
Gee Dub winked back. “Here we are.”
Alafair hugged Butch around the middle. “Your ma’s having a hard time, I see.”
“She was fine when we left the house. A minute ago I said that maybe I’d get a medal, and she started bawling.” He shrugged, baffled by female behavior.