M. Donice Byrd - The Warner Saga

by No Unspoken Promises

  “Thanks.”

  Hy returned to his chair, tilted it on the back legs and propped his well-worn boots on the desk. He cast one last look at his prisoner before closing his eyes.

  Deputy Hyram Abercrombie startled awake when he heard the noise at the door. The noise had been fairly light and his first impression was that someone was trying to break into the jailhouse. But then the noise came again and again almost as if someone were throwing a rubber ball against the metal door. By reflex Hy reached for his gun belt and strapped it on. He unholstered his gun before he slid back the small bolt on the Judas hole. No one was there and yet even as he gaped at the empty sidewalk and street, the sound continued. He could tell whatever was hitting the door was doing so around the level of his knees. It was probably some stray dog thumping its tail against the door, he thought sarcastically, as he looked back to the cells to see if anyone would see him make a fool of himself. Only one prisoner was awake, Blake Warner, and he was due to swing in the morning. It could be a ploy to break him out by Northern supporters.

  Hy took a deep breath as he cocked his pistol. In one swift move, he unbolted the lock and yanked open the door and a child tumbled into the room, landing on his dusty boots. He was relieved at first but then as he picked the child up, feeling the weakness in her limbs and the moist heat of sweat radiating from her body, he became alarmed. She was dressed in a white cotton nightgown, torn and covered in dirt and grass stains. She couldn’t have been more than four or five and it was nearly three in the morning. The girl was breathing so hard she was unable to speak.

  Hy tried to set the girl on her feet but she sagged to the ground and pointed outside unable to get air into her lungs.

  “What is it, darlin’? Is something wrong?”

  “Men…” she gasped. “Help.”

  “I don’t understand. Take a minute and catch your breath.”

  The tot pointed at the street again. “Hurry,” she said breathlessly. “Hurry.”

  Blake Warner rose from his seat on the bunk and moved to the bars. The girl looked like the little girl he’d given candy to just before his arrest.

  “Lolly?”

  Her head jerked up at her name.

  “Do you know her?”

  “You arrested me half a mile from their farm. That’s the little Morgan girl. My God, they live three or four miles outside of town. Did she run all the way here?”

  Hy tried to set her on her feet again but supported her weight so he could look her in the face. “Is that who you are? Are you Lolly Morgan?” She nodded. “Did you run all the way here?” She nodded again.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Blake urged. “There is something seriously wrong. Go wake up the Sheriff and get out to that farm. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The deputy scooped up the girl as he moved toward the door.

  “Maybe you should leave her here with me,” Blake said.

  “And have you used this baby as a hostage?”

  Still convinced someone wanted to rescue their spy; Hy eased the girl back to the ground and grabbed a set of shackles out of a wooden box under the shelves. He took them over to the spy and shackled him to the bars, then left, taking the child and locking the metal exterior door. A moment later, Blake heard the sound of a horse moving away from the jail at a fast clip.

  Blake could not clear his mind enough to find sleep. It didn’t matter, he supposed, since he was going to swing in the morning. He closed his eyes and conjured up a vision of Meredith in his mind and wondered if he loved her. He never thought he could love any woman but he certainly couldn’t think of much else. In his letter, he told her he loved her even though he refused to believe it could be true. But since he was to swing in the morning, he wanted her to believe he did. What harm would there be in letting his widow remember him fondly.

  Blake tried to get comfortable with his hand attached to the bars but found it almost impossible. He wished the deputy would come back soon and let him know what happened at the Morgan’s farm. The longer his absence drew out, the more worried Blake became. From his cell he heard a number of horses and wagons on the street. There was an awful lot of commotion for the middle of the night for a small town the size of Chimeric Valley. At first they all seemed to be headed towards the farm. Then later, some of the traffic seemed to be coming into town from that direction. But still no one came back to the jail.

  The sun came up. A different deputy showed up and questioned Blake about deputy Abercrombie’s absence. After unshackling Blake and taking him and the other prisoners out to the privy, the deputy locked him back up without the manacles. A few minutes later, that deputy also departed for the Morgan’s farm.

  By midmorning, townspeople began knocking on the door trying to find out if there was going to be a hanging or not. Had it not been for the strong door, Blake probably would have swung that day, but in all the chaos, Blake had been forgotten.

  It was after noon when the sheriff and the deputies returned to the jail. Blake hadn’t eaten all day but really hadn’t had much of an appetite. He sat in his cell and listened, trying to understand what occurred. It wasn’t until the citizens of the town came in asking questions that Blake found out the woman he had spoken to the day before was dead. As was her husband. The boy, Pete, had nearly bled to death. He’d been stabbed and his tongue cut out so he couldn’t tell anyone who had committed the crime.

  They had no suspects, no evidence, no motive. They had been unable to find tracks but suspected it was more than one person they were looking for because Anna Morgan had been gutted with a knife and Howard Morgan had been shot with a shotgun. Lolly hadn’t been able to add much, only that there was a lot of yelling when Pete woke her up. He opened the small window in the pantry where they slept, helped her outside and told her to fetch men to help.

  Lolly sat next to her unconscious brother waiting for him to wake up. Her patience was gone. Quietly, she called his name with no response. She tickled his sensitive feet through the covers and then mercilessly moved her attention to his ticklish ribs. She even tickled his nose with her hair. Lolly sat back on her heels, tears began to form in her eyes. She grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake him. “Petey, wake up! Wake up! Please,” she cried. “Wake up!”

  The doctor’s wife heard the commotion and ran into the room. “Lolly! What are you doing, you naughty girl.” Her tone gave no doubt that Lolly was in trouble. “You’re going to wake the dead.”

  Lolly jump from the bed on the opposite side from Mrs. Morris. When the woman began coming towards her, Lolly slid under the bed. “I want my ma!”

  “Now you know that’s not possible,” the woman said getting on her knees. As soon as she reached under the bed, Lolly darted out from under the other side and out the door. Mrs. Morris had barely cleared the bedroom door herself when she heard the screen door slam.

  From his cell, Blake heard what, at first, he thought was the squeal of children playing. But as the sound came closer, he heard the panic and more than that, he heard his name being called.

  “Help me, Uncle Blake! Help me!”

  The little girl appeared in the open doorway. She paused only a moment before running past the startled deputy to Blake’s cell, her little arms reaching through the bars. Blake arrived at the bars only a second before her.

  “Lolly, what’s wrong?”

  “Chasin’ me,” she panted. “Save me. She’s gonna kill me.”

  Just then the doctor’s wife skidded to a halt in the doorway. It took her a moment to realize she held her skirt halfway up her calves. She put one hand on her chest as she tried to catch her breath. “You!” she gasped as she pointed at Lolly.

  Lolly screamed again and reached deeper into the cell as if she could somehow pull herself through the bars.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Hyram Abercrombie grabbed the girl by the waist to get her away from his dangerous prisoner and to give her back to her caregiver.

  Lolly let out a scream that c
ould have brought the walls of Jericho down. She tried to hold onto Blake but her grip gave way as the deputy pulled her. She caught the bars and held on for dear life.

  Blake grabbed at her but only managed to get ahold of some of fabric of her dress. “Leave her. You’re going to hurt her,” Blake yelled. “Please, let her go.”

  The deputy demanded Lolly and Blake let go. Mrs. Morris scolded Lolly for being naughty and making her run. As the pandemonium escalated, Lolly became more and more hysterical until the deputy and Mrs. Morris finally heard the level of her distress.

  “For God’s sake,” Blake yelled above the screams. “Please, open the door. This baby's been through enough. She needs me.” When they didn’t move, Blake begged. “Please, she needs me.”

  Something in Blake’s tone spurred the deputy into action. He grabbed the keys out of the desk and fumbled until he had the cell door open. Lolly darted into the cell and into Blake’s arms. He sat down on the cot, rocked her and stroked her head, whispering words of comfort into her ear. Gradually, her screams were replaced by hiccupped sobs. Eventually, those became a low, moaning cry until they finally faded into silence. Several times Blake had to blink back tears remembering his own terror when his mother died. He wanted to make promises to her that everything was going to be all right but it was out of his hands.

  Lolly sat perfectly still in his lap, only moving when Blake attempted to stop the rocking motion. She would continue rocking until he started back up. They continued on like that for more than an hour.

  “Are you really her uncle?” the deputy asked.

  “Of course he is,” the little girl answered for Blake. “And I’m his aunt, too. Ain’t I, Uncle Blake?”

  “Niece,” he corrected.

  Blake gently tugged on the little girl’s braid. He hated to let her get attached to him knowing that he would not be there the next day.

  “Oh, yeah, huh, niece,” she said. “He’s my Uncle Blake. I saw his picture.”

  “Your ma has his picture at your house?” the deputy asked.

  The little girl’s brow knitted. “Not anymore.”

  Blake looked at Lolly incredulously. Although he knew she meant that she had seen the picture he had of his sister, she had made it sound as if her mother had owned a portrait of him.

  “Are you telling me, you really are this girl’s uncle? And that your whole story about searching for your long-lost sister is true?”

  Blake could only shrug in response. His fortune seemed to be suddenly changing before his eyes. Restraint, he told himself. Don’t overplay your hand now.

  “If that’s true, then why didn’t you just send us to their farm to confirm that you were out there and you found your sister?”

  “And have her hanged, too, for aiding a spy? Besides, our meeting didn’t go well. I didn’t know what she would’ve said.”

  Hyram Abercrombie scratched his beard. He’d have to talk to the sheriff about this.

  Blake’s one-day reprieve turned into a second day. The sheriff wanted to talk to Pete Morgan before he did anything. If he could confirm the little girl’s story, he’d really have no choice but to let their spy go.

  19

  Meredith sat on the bed in Blake’s room petting Donna’s tabby cat. Her eyes remained downcast when Donna walked into the room. He had been gone more than a week with no word from him.

  “I don’t pretend to understand my brother,” the older woman said without preamble as she joined Meredith on the large bed. “I’ve never condoned his behavior but I’ve never taken a forceful stand against it either. I’ve always just made allowances for it.”

  “I’m not upset Donna. I’m really not.” The forced brightness in her voice belied her words.

  Donna looked thoughtfully into Meredith’s eyes, opened her mouth to say something, and closed it as if she thought better of it. Then after another moment she tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she began speaking. “Have you ever seen anyone age before your eyes?”

  The look on Meredith’s face showed her surprise at the abrupt change of topic. “No.”

  “It only took about a week for my father’s hair to turn from dark to gray. At first I teased him about it and he claimed it was a requirement of the Senate to have gray hair,” she said with a waning smile. “Soon after, his cheeks became pale and sunken as he began to lose weight. He never smiled. The sparkle left his eyes. I thought he was dying.”

  “Was he ill?” Meredith asked rubbing the kitten’s soft fur against the side of her face.

  “When I asked him, he said it was only stress. He was finishing up his last Assembly term and making a bid for the Senate. If he didn’t win the election, he would have to go back to his old law firm. Although doubt still nagged at my mind, I chose to accept what he said. I was a teenager at the time and I didn’t want to face the possibility my father might have been mortal.”

  A lump rose in Meredith’s throat. She understood completely. It was all too new to her. Raw. “Did his health improve after the election?”

  Donna shook her head. “He won the election so I thought he’d get back to being his usual self. Mama threw a big celebration party and then we were so busy with Christmas that I didn’t notice how far my father slipped. He seemed to have a bit of color in his cheeks on Christmas morning but I soon discovered his Christmas cheer came out of a bottle of brandy. He started a fight with Mama then stormed out of the house and didn’t come back until late that night. The next day, he left for Washington to set up his new office although he still had weeks to take care of that. Mama and my sister, Cloris, didn’t seem to think anything was amiss, or perhaps just didn’t care. Their marriage had been bad for as long as I can remember.”

  Donna sighed, leaning against the footboard. “Father came back for a few days in February. He looked much worse. His hair was unkempt; he put off bathing until we complained. His mood became intolerable. He was a shell of the man he had been.”

  “It must have been hard on you,” Meredith commented, the cat all but forgotten.

  “I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t concentrate in class. I got into trouble at school for the first time in my life. It was a bad time for both of us. My breaking point came on a blustery, cold February day. The icy wind blowing off Lake Michigan made it unbearable. My teacher kept me after to scold me for the drop in my grades. When I came out, there was a crowd out in the schoolyard. I worked my way into the group to see what was happening. In the middle of the circle there were two of my classmates and the dirtiest piece of gutter trash I had ever seen. He was small, at least five years younger than my friends. There were holes in his clothing and he had put newspaper inside his jacket to help him keep warm. I didn’t know what was more appalling; his gall for coming into our neighborhood or the fact that his mother let him out of the house without a heavy coat, gloves and a hat.” Her eyes came up and met the younger woman’s. “Honestly,” Donna muttered shaking her head. “I didn’t know any better. I thought this little beggar-boy was filthy because he was too ignorant to bathe.”

  Donna took a breath. “The boys pushed him around, taunting him, and held a nickel above his head just out of his reach. He kicked Bennett, the one with the nickel, so hard in the kneecap that he fell to the ground and then the boy kicked him between the legs and pried the nickel out of his hand as he writhed in pain. Bennett called him a.... Let’s just say he questioned his parentage.”

  “You mean he called him a bastard?”

  Embarrassed over Meredith’s crudity, Donna blushed and nodded. “Nearly all the bystanders gasp at the blasphemy and I came very close to missing what he said. His fists were balled up at his side ready to defend himself as he announced, ‘I am not a’ – you-know-what. ‘I have a father and he’s as rich and important as any of yours.’

  “Bennett began badgering the boy to tell his father’s name if he wasn’t a by-blow and eventually he yelled, ‘His name is Senator Randolph Knight.’ He launched himsel
f at the boy who called him that name and bloodied his nose before the other boys could pull him off. Needless to say, I was suddenly the center of attention and the butt of the jokes. I defended myself by calling him a liar. He stuck to his guns, so I grabbed him by the collar and set off at a good pace to find my father. He didn’t put up much of a fight at first. I thought it was because I was older and stronger but in truth, it was probably because I was taking him away from the group of boys who would’ve beaten him up. Not until we reached my father’s in-town offices about a quarter-mile away, did he give me any serious trouble. As soon as he saw Father’s name on the door of the inner office, he panicked. I had to fight him tooth and nail to pull them past Father’s secretary into the office. For the only time in my life my father cursed at me and demanded to know why I’d barged in his office with this ragamuffin. Well, I punched the boy in the arm and tried to force him to tell my father what he had said. He just stood there as if he’d been poleaxed. His eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘He claimed you’re his father.’ I said it in a smug tone thinking Father would set him straight about telling lies. Father’s eyebrows came down as his attention turned to the boy and I knew I was about to hear a good setting down. He scowled at him for only a moment before his eyebrows shot up. The sheer desperation in his voice when he cried out Blake’s name scared me. I was horrified when I realized this child was my father’s son.”

  “I imagine you were,” Meredith agreed.

  “Father’s chair skittered backwards as he came around his desk. He fell to his knees, gathering that filthy waif up in his arms and he cried. He thanked God over and over with his lips pressed against Blake’s forehead until his sobs began to cease. He held him at arm’s-length and asked if he was all right. Blake only nodded. Father began chafing Blake’s arms and set his warm cheeks alternately against his because he was so cold. I think Father felt the wetness on Blake’s cheek before he saw it. Father asked him why he was crying. Blake thought he was in trouble. He said, ‘I’m sorry I told, sir. I know I wasn’t supposed to.’ Father pulled him back into his embrace and told him not to be sorry that he did the right thing. Blake looked at him and asked in the most vulnerable voice I’ve ever heard, ‘You’re not angry with me?’ His little chin trembled until Father told him he would gladly give up everything to know all of his children were safe. Then as if all the strength and fight left his body, Blake sagged against Father’s chest.”