by Lila Beckham
Just then, the clouds parted and Joshua saw more shadows. They seemed to be sneaking up closer and closer each time. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He laid his pistol in his lap and then chuckled at himself. A gun was no match for a ghost.
Joshua could hear katydids chirping, and down by the river, bullfrogs were croaking loudly. At times, they quieted and he could hear the flow of the river as it brushed fallen branches and flowed over rocks along the edges.
Behind his house, the river was narrow; most of the time, a sugar white sandbar lay along his side of it. The water was not extremely deep except on the western side where the bank was probably a good twenty feet high.
Felled trees hung down from the embankment, their tops reaching down into the water. Most had fallen when hurricane Camille came ashore in 1969.
The storm had tore Biloxi slap up, pushing fishing boats ashore and washing away houses and docks.
They said the surge ahead of the 190 mile per hour storm was twenty-five feet high, with enough force to mow down anything in its path. The force of the water pealed the pavement up off the ground down along the coast.
In his mind, Joshua could still see the devastation. The winds that reached Mobile were in excess of a hundred miles per hour. Electricity had gone out within the first 30 minutes and it had taken the power company three weeks to restore the electricity at his house, longer at others. He knew they were due for another storm soon, but hoped it was a long time before another came.
Most folks pulled together and helped each other when disaster struck, but some people took advantage of the situation. They robbed folk’s blind, family homes and businesses alike. Some places along the coast were torn up so bad that you could not tell what it was before the storm. A farmer over in Mississippi found a pine needle drove through a fence post a mile inland of the gulf!
The snap of a breaking twig drew Joshua’s attention back to the woods surrounding his cabin.
His ears became alert to every single noise there. He could hear a cricket rubbing its hind legs together and then he heard a pinecone turn loose its bough and fall. It slid through the leaves of a nearby birch tree.
He heard a muffled thud as it landed and rolled in the pine straw gathered beneath the trees.
Joshua glanced up at the sky trying to locate the moon’s whereabouts, wondering when the light would break through the clouds again.
The grunt of a wild boar rutting somewhere along the river drew his eyes in that direction. He wanted a cigarette so bad he could taste it, but did not want to disturb the natural rhythm of the nightlife.
The sound of an armadillo skittering through the undergrowth to his left drew his attention in that direction. As he looked, the moon came from behind the clouds highlighting a nightrider who sat perched upon the back of a jet-black pony whose left eye was encircled with white paint. The rider sat staring at Joshua. His mane of black hair hung in two thick braids over his bare chest.
Joshua stared into his eyes briefly before the moonlight disappeared and darkness took him away.
What was so strange was that he knew from the look in the rider’s eyes that the rider saw him, as plainly as he saw the rider.
Joshua’s nerves could not stand it any longer; he reached for his smokes. He stuck one in his mouth and struck a match. Light from the match, lit up an area a few feet in front of him, and right there, not three feet away, sat the rider on horseback staring at him.
Joshua held the match aloft, staring back at the Indian. Suddenly, a burning sensation on his fingertips caused him to turn loose the match. It fell to the floor and he stomped it out with his bare foot, which in turn burned the bottom of his foot.The rider chuckled softly as Joshua spouted a string of profanity.
By the time Joshua got another match lit, he was alone. He thought of Jack and wondered why Jack had not so much as growled at the intruder. He needed to get some lighter fluid and refill his cigarette lighter. It would have stayed lit much longer than the match did.
***
A tattered, rebel flag hung limply from a galvanized metal pole in the front yard of the house. It looked as defeated as the confederate troops must have felt at the end of the Civil War.
Roy McGregor’s motorcycle sat parked beneath a shade tree, ready for his next ride. He will never ride again though, at least not in this world, thought Joshua Stokes as he lit a cigarette. Roy lay dead, rotting in his living room.
Joshua got out of his patrol car and walked toward the house. When he had gotten the call, about an hour after daybreak, Joshua was still sitting in the rocker on his back porch, pondering the reason for his recent visits from the spirit world.
Joshua Stokes had seen ghosts his entire life, but none had ever interacted with him as these last two had and it baffled him. He thought that if a dead person wanted to visit and talk with him, it would be someone he knew, not a total stranger or someone from so long ago.
His folks had never talked of having any Indian blood in them, and the girl ghost with the sewn shut mouth, her visit was just downright freaky.
Joshua took several long drags off his smoke as he stood outside Roy’s small house, which was in the Forks, a tri-angled area that lay between Georgetown and Wilmer to the east and west and north of Fairview.
Joshua took a deep drag. He felt as if he had been drug over fifty miles of bad road and dreaded having to go inside where Roy’s body lay.
John Metcalf was still inside processing the scene. Joshua knew that he must enter and do his assessment before the body could be removed.
He mentally took notes of the surroundings.
If any evidence was present, every Tom, Dick, and Harry that lived north of Fairview was trampling it. Joshua caught Deputy Cook’s attention and with a motion of his head called him to him.
“Cookie, we need to keep these folks from trampling what evidence there is around here. Unless you know something I don’t and you already know who killed him.”
“Well, no Sheriff, I don’t know who killed him.”
“Then I would suggest you get a couple of deputies to help and stretch out some of that yellow tape and keep everyone except our people out!” Stokes said sternly.
“Yes, Sir!” Cook replied, suddenly aware of the situation.
Joshua finished his smoke and was about to drop it to the ground and grind it into the dirt, when he caught himself. He knew better, especially since he was on the scene of a crime. They would need every bit of evidence gathered and catalogued for the trial when they caught whoever killed Roy.
Something felt odd, out of place. It was something that Joshua could not put his finger on, but it was bothering him. He walked out away from the house about 20 more feet, leaned against a pine tree and then lit another smoke.
He took a long drag off his cigarette and then studied Roy’s house and the surrounding area.
His eye roamed from left to right, studying every inch. The clothesline stretched across the backyard, was filled with freshly hung laundry. That was it, the laundry! Where was Cassandra and where was her car? Roy had a longtime, live-in girlfriend. She was missing and so was her car.
Joshua walked over to where Deputy Cook had set up a command post and asked him if anyone had talked with Cassie Bohannon. When Cook looked dumbfounded, Joshua explained that as far as he last knew, Roy had a girlfriend who lived with him. Her name was Cassandra Bohannon.
“She should be here too, wouldn’t you think,” Joshua suggested.
“Well, yes Sir, I reckon she should, but to be honest, I didn’t know about her.”
The deputies had gotten the yellow crime scene tape stretched out within a thirty-foot perimeter of the house. When Joshua looked toward the house again, John Metcalf was standing in the front door. He motioned for Joshua to come in. Deputy Cook followed Joshua to the porch and was going to follow him inside, but Metcalf stopped him before he entered.
“Sorry, Deputy Cook. I just need the sheriff right now. I need to go over some
thing with him, before I can let anyone else in,” Metcalf explained.
Joshua saw Cook’s chest fall and felt sorry for him. He told Cook to stand guard at the door and to not let anyone into the house until Metcalf gave the go ahead.
“Yes, Sir” Cook replied, visually puffing his chest back up as he turned and stood as at attention. Joshua turned into the room and was surprised by the dimness of it.
“Do you know who called this in?” Metcalf asked.
“No, I don’t, John. They called me at home this morning and told me about it.
“Well, I haven’t seen Roy in a while, Sheriff, but I do not believe the dead man in there is Roy.”
Joshua had removed his handkerchief from his back pocket and covered his nose as he walked inside. He now stood openmouthed, the handkerchief held loosely in his hand. Metcalf’s words had surprised him.
26
The Copeland Gang
A few minutes after Will left the room, old Annie came back to retrieve the breakfast tray. Emma heard Annie’s footsteps before she opened the door and jumped back into bed, jarring the tray and knocking over a glass.
“Old Annie ain’t deaf, Miss Jeanette. I know you was back up at dat winder again. You is gone get yo papa up here on both us, fore you know it!”
“I’m tired of staying in bed!” Emma exclaimed, trying to sound as she thought Jeanette would sound.
“I know you is, Honey, but you has got to do what da doctor says. He s’posed to be back today to check on you, maybe he’ll let you get out dat bed then.”
“Well, I surely hope so. It’s no fun laying in bed all day long and not getting to move around.” Annie started to speak, when some commotion outside drew her attention to the window.
Emma sprang out of bed and ran to the window. She squatted down so Jeanette’s father would not see her if he was out there.
Annie squatted down amid grumbles and grunts, and then they both peeked over the windowsill. A gang of eight to ten men on horseback was gathered near the dock, talking with whom Emma thought was the overseer. Their voices were loud and hurried.
“Is dey Yankees?” Annie asked.
“I don’t think so. They look like regular men to me,” Emma replied, but Annie’s question let her know that the war must have already begun. One of the riders was slumped over his horse; he appeared to be injured.
“They said the doctor was out here!” she heard one of the riders exclaim. The overseer replied, but Emma could not hear his response. The overseer and the other riders began dismounting. Several of the men removed the injured rider from his horse and began toting him toward the house.
“Oh Lawdy, one of them men’s needs nursing’. I reckon old Annie better get herself down there. You stays put now Miss Jeanette, an don’t you come outta dis here room, you hears me!” Annie said firmly.
“Yes, em” Emma replied as she helped Annie to her feet.
As soon as Annie closed the door, Emma ran back over to the window so that she could listen. She wanted to know what was going on, but she still could not hear what the men were saying. Their voices sounded excited, and Emma’s curiosity was stronger than her fear of Annie.
When she squatted back down, she heard the men gathering just beneath the window, so she stuck her head out the window to see what was happening.
When Emma looked down, she looked right into the eyes of a young man wearing a gray flannel shirt and cowboy hat. He had the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen. His hair was of a dirty blond hue and hung in curls to his shoulders. Except for his slightly bucked teeth, his finely chiseled features were almost perfect. His eyes were gentle, but Emma could see that he was worried. Perhaps about whatever events were taking place.
Although she knew that she should, Emma could not pull herself away from the window. The young man had not moved his eyes from hers nor had she looked away.
She did not move until she heard a man’s voice yell, “What the hell you mean we can’t bring him into your house!” Only then did Emma drag her eyes from the young man’s eyes to look toward the loud voiced man. When she looked back toward the young man, he was also looking toward the loud voiced man.
“Get outta my way woman! Can’t you see that Clem needs medical attention, and he’s gonna get it too,” the loud man said gruffly.
“Outlaws are not welcome in my home.” Emma heard a woman say firmly, and then watched as the loud angry man pushed his way through the door.
She heard a man’s voice say something, watched the loud man back out the door with a broom shoved in his face.
“Militiamen are out fighting the war, protecting our community, not roaming the countryside pillaging common folk!” the woman wielding the broom said angrily.
The angry man drew a gun and said for them to move out of his way.
The well-dressed, redheaded man rode up fast on the big white horse. He dismounted before the horse had even stopped and said loudly, “Copeland, there will be no need for violence!”
Emma sat there, completely fascinated by the scene below her. It seemed as if she was watching a movie. However, she knew that she was no longer in the year 1976 where cowboy and outlaw movies were an everyday occurrence; she was back in the real life days those movies were fashioned after.
She heard a noise toward the river road and as she looked in that direction, she saw a one-horse buggy coming up the driveway. It was exactly like the buggy Doc Adams drove on the TV show, Gunsmoke. Emma tried to see if the man driving the buggy were Doc Adams, if so, she would know she was dreaming.
“Lizabeth, Annie, prepare an area for the doctor to attend to this man.” Emma heard the redheaded man say as he walked toward the doctor’s buggy.
When the buggy came to a halt in front of the house, Emma was still stretched out the window. She looked toward the doctor, he gave her a perturbed look. She imagined it was because she was out of bed.
The look in the doctors old blue eyes, changed from a look of annoyance to a look of concern as he looked toward those gathered in front of the house.
“What’s going on here?” the doctor asked tersely.
“One of these men has a gunshot wound that needs tending to, Doc,” the redheaded man replied.
“Yeah, Doc. Clem Stringer’s been shot and you need to fix him up so he can ride,” one of the outlaws said coarsely.
“Ain’t likely he’ll be going anywhere soon from the looks of him and it’ll be the cemetery if you all don’t get out of my way and let me do my job,” the old doctor said firmly. Emma could tell the doctor was use to delegating when he began spouting out orders to Annie and Lizabeth for hot water and clean rags.
“Plenty of em” he shouted.
The crowd of men and the doctor had moved into the house and Emma could no longer see what was going on, nor could she hear what was being said. The sound of their voices was muffled through the thick walls.
Moments later, some of the men were ushered back into the yard. Among them was the young man in the gray flannel shirt. As he walked over to a shade tree, Emma watched him. After a spell, he looked up to her window. Their eyes met and she smiled at him.
Her smile seemed to take him by surprise and then he smiled back at her. His teeth were not perfect, but at least he has some, thought Emma. She noticed that some of the men had no teeth or they were rotted out.
The men seemed anxious, but after a few minutes, they must have decided they were going to be there a while. They trampled over the flowerbeds getting their horses tethered to tree branches, and then they gathered wood and built a fire. They built it right there in the front of the house… Emma thought they should have more respect than that for other people’s property.
While growing up, she had heard many stories of the Copeland Gang. She knew of their notoriety, but for some reason, she was not afraid of what they might do.
The first time Emma heard the story of the Copeland Gang, and of how they had murdered the Moffett family, she was probably not yet five years old. She
reckoned she was not afraid because she already knew what was supposed to happen.
Is this going to be the day of the massacre, Emma wondered as she watched the men setting up a camp. Then she remembered that the massacre supposedly did not take place until after the war was over. At least that was the story that survived the retellings of history.
Emma could feel his eyes on her even before she looked over to where he had squatted under a tree. He was staring at her. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, as if he was trying to figure her out.
This time, Emma did not smile at him. Instead, she searched his eyes for the killer inside.
If they were supposed to be so mean, and just a bunch of ruthless outlaws, it should be evident in his demeanor; the other men too, at least that is what Emma thought.
None of them, except the man who had gone inside with the injured man, seemed like a ruthless outlaw, at least to her. Emma had always felt she was a pretty good judge of character. Only time would tell. That is, of course, if she did not jump back through time before the alleged massacre took place.
“Jacob!” a man shouted. When he did, the young blond headed man jumped to his feet and headed toward the house.
“Ride back over to Clem’s house and tell his wife that he’s dead. The doc couldn’t save him. Tell her we’ll brang him home to bury after while,” the angry man told him.
Emma watched as Jacob walked to his horse, mounted, looked back toward the house, and then spurred the horse down the road the doctor’s buggy had come down. Jacob did not look directly at Emma before he rode off, but she could tell the man’s death saddened him.
Emma was still looking out the window, watching the goings on, when she felt the wind rush past her once again. When she turned to face the room, it darkened.
That was when she realized she was back in the dusty cellar, where she found the human skull. She remembered how the spirits surrounded her, causing her to lose consciousness and slip back in time… Emma knew it was no dream, nor was it a trick of the mind. She had actually been there.