by C. J. Lyons
It was a gamble—she’d revealed her presence and her location to both shooters. But she was rewarded by a muffled curse as the man lurched upright, then tried to swing his weapon around toward her, got caught in the net, and tumbled the sixteen or twenty feet down to the ground. He landed with a whoosh and a loud grunt, his rifle hopelessly tangled in the netting.
She didn’t let down her guard as she approached. It was the judge, snarling up at her, still trying to get his rifle aimed properly. Hard to do with one arm obviously broken. She sidestepped the rifle’s barrel and reached over his head to yank it from his hand, taking the netting with it.
“You broke my damn hip,” he moaned. “And my arm. What the hell? You’re going to pay for this.”
“Like Officer Thomson and the Mann family did?” she asked as she searched him for more weapons, removing a fixed-blade hunting knife and a pistol. “Or how about Winnie Neal? That’s the name of the girl you killed with your own hands, isn’t it, Judge?”
“Bitch,” he snarled. She wasn’t sure if he meant her or Winnie. “Deserved what she got. I’m not going to let her ruin things now, after all this time.”
He was stalling. Wanted to keep her away from the second shooter—his son, the mayor, she suspected.
The judge wasn’t going anywhere, not the way his one leg was noticeably shorter than the other, and he didn’t seem in any immediate danger, so she left him there, taking his weapons with her as she circled around to the graveyard where she’d sent Karlan.
TK quickened her pace, wondering where Grayson was in all this. Did Lucy have a traitor in her midst?
She reached the graveyard’s outer perimeter just in time to see the mayor raise his rifle at Lucy and Karlan. They were in front of Lucy’s Subaru, half driven into the fence. Grayson stood on Karlan’s other side, helping to support the police officer. Pretty obvious Karlan had been shot, but she couldn’t tell how badly he was injured.
The car blocked her line of fire, so she kept moving, trying to find a clear bead on the mayor. Before she could get a shot, an older black woman wearing a navy blue dress climbed out of the Subaru, her hands up in surrender.
“Please. Don’t hurt them,” she said. Had to be Maybelle Mann.
TK kept moving, skimming through the brush as quietly as possible, crouched low now that the trees had thinned out. She needed to move another ten yards or so before she’d have a clear shot. All she could do was pray that Maybelle could stall the mayor long enough.
“It’s me you want. I’m Maybelle Mann.”
“Grayson, take Karlan’s gun and hers as well,” the mayor ordered, gesturing with his rifle. He didn’t seem as comfortable with the long gun as his father—or maybe it was his fancy suit and shoes that weren’t made for walking in the woods. “Bring them here.”
Grayson hesitated. TK strained to get a clear line of sight on both him and his father. What if he turned Karlan’s weapon on Lucy?
Maybelle stepped in front of Grayson as if protecting him.
Of course, she had no idea it was his father with the rifle. She was willing to sacrifice herself to save total strangers.
“Go on,” she told Grayson and Lucy. “Get him out of here. Leave me. It’s okay. Go on now.”
“Grayson, do as I say,” the mayor snapped, his patience clearly at an end.
Grayson grabbed Karlan’s service weapon, shoving the larger man’s weight onto Lucy so that she staggered beneath it. TK quickened her pace, just a few more feet.
But then Grayson raised Karlan’s Glock at Maybelle.
TK debated breaking cover, making herself a target—but there was no guarantee she could draw both Grayson and his father’s fire.
Grayson’s aim wavered. “Is it true? What she said? What the judge did?” His voice broke with anguish. “How could he?”
Lucy was making a show of helping Karlan to the ground, but TK could see that she was really maneuvering to draw her own weapon out of sight of the mayor. He was still the real threat, more so than Grayson. She hoped.
“It’s the past,” the mayor answered his son. “Now it’s our job to protect our future. To protect our family.” Leave it to the mayor to turn a hostage negotiation into a political speech.
Grayson shook his head. TK kept moving, getting into position to take out the mayor. She trusted that Lucy would deal with Grayson if need be. Right now, the kid was serving as a damn fine distraction.
“So you knew? Did he kill the others, the ones in the car?”
“No. That was his father. Doing what’s best for the town. We’re Greers. That’s who we are. Now shoot her. Show me you’re worthy of the Greer name.” JR’s tone snapped across the graves, crackling with command.
For a tense moment, TK thought Grayson was actually going to do it. He held the heavy Glock with both hands, aiming at Maybelle. She stood, facing him, her face filled not with fear but compassion.
“It’s all right,” she told Grayson, ignoring the mayor. “Just let them go first. This man needs a doctor. Let them go.”
TK was screaming at Lucy in her head. Why didn’t she take the shot, kill Grayson? She was so close, she could do it easily.
As she moved into position, she answered her own question. If Lucy shot Grayson, then there was nothing standing between the mayor and Maybelle. And if Lucy tackled Maybelle, Karlan would be hopelessly exposed, in the line of fire.
No way could one person move fast enough to save both Maybelle and Karlan.
Good thing there were two of them. TK was about to break cover, when Grayson surprised her, whirling to aim at his father. “Did you start the fire last night? Did you kill all those people?”
“Those people died as a result of their own stupidity.”
“Why?”
“It’s not your place to ask why. It’s your place to do. Stand aside, I’ll take care of the bitch myself.”
Grayson raised his arm and fired. At his father.
The shot went hopelessly wild. The mayor didn’t flinch, merely frowned as if not very surprised at his son’s betrayal. His aim at Maybelle never wavered. No way would he miss her, not as close as he was.
TK leapt out from cover, almost tripping on a half-buried gravestone. She held the shotgun up with her left hand as if surrendering. “Mr. Mayor. I have your father. Let’s talk this over before anyone else gets hurt.”
As a diversion, it was potential suicide. The mayor’s aim jumped toward TK.
Lucy pushed Maybelle down and fired at the mayor. Grayson threw his body over Maybelle’s as his father whirled and fired at her.
Gunfire thundered through the air. Three more shots from Lucy and one from TK’s shotgun.
The mayor staggered back then sagged to the ground.
TK went to cover him as Lucy checked on Karlan and the civilians. Grayson cautiously rolled off of Maybelle. Guess the kid had finally made a decision for himself, chosen a side instead of following lockstep in Daddy’s path.
There was no doubt the mayor was dead. She kicked his weapon away and felt for a pulse, more for Grayson’s sake than anything. Only question was whose round had killed him. He’d taken three to the chest, one to the face—all from Lucy—while her shotgun round had pretty much blasted away most of one arm and part of his abdominal cavity.
She turned and shook her head at Lucy. Grayson looked up, his face streaked with mud and dead leaves, tears seeping down his cheeks. “My dad?”
“Sorry. Nothing anyone can do. But your grandfather should be fine—a few broken bones, is all.” She joined them, crouching beside Karlan.
“Is Maybelle okay?” the detective gasped.
“I’m fine,” Maybelle assured him, moving to where he could see her. “Thanks to all of you.”
“I think I was shot.” Karlan’s face was red, sweat pooling around the collar of his uniform shirt. “I’ve never been shot before.”
“You haven’t yet,” Lucy said. “Hit the vest.”
“Still counts,” TK argued as tog
ether she and Lucy ripped at the Velcro straps holding the vest in place, giving Karlan room to breathe. “Bullet impacted his body even if it didn’t penetrate.”
Lucy rolled her eyes at TK. “I can tell you’ve never been married or had to make that particular phone call to a loved one.”
Grayson got to his feet, stumbled toward his father’s body before TK could stop him, then lurched and vomited. Maybelle wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him away from the gruesome sight.
Then suddenly, they stopped. Grayson straightened. Maybelle let go of him and crouched down, her fingers tracing a grave marker that had fallen over.
“Abe Brown.” She circled around until she was patting the ground above the grave beside the marker. “This is it. This is where we’ll find Winnie.”
Epilogue
July 4th
* * *
Maybelle stood behind the podium on the courthouse steps as if she was the president ready to give his State of the Union address. Straight, tall, a touch defiant.
“What are you going to say?” TK asked her as she adjusted the microphone. Lucy, David, and Karlan stood behind them at the top of the steps, along with, at Maybelle’s personal invitation, Grayson Greer. TK was still pretty pissed off at Grayson—at his entire family—so she was stalling, avoiding joining him and the others for as long as possible.
Maybelle flattened her lips together in a grimace. “I don’t intend to say much of anything. Other than to finally confess the truth.”
TK wasn’t sure what that meant. In the past few days, it felt as if hidden truths had emerged from all around her. Or maybe it was that they’d boiled to the surface from inside her.
The conversation she’d had with David about fear and facing the truth of who you were still resonated. Especially now as she looked out on the faces of the people crowded into the town square: black, white, brown; some angry, waiting for Maybelle to give them an excuse to act on that anger, some curious, some hopeful, most weary.
Maybelle touched the cross that had been her mother’s—one of the few items from the Wayfarer that had survived the fire at the coroner’s office. One of Madsen’s students had brought it to Maybelle along with the news that they had found Winnie’s body exactly where Maybelle said they would. Along with the knife and rock, which would hopefully be enough to put Philip Greer behind bars for the rest of his life.
“Ready?” TK asked.
Maybelle nodded, and TK turned the microphone on then moved back to stand beside David. He leaned against his crutches, said it was easier to stand than try to sit down and get up again. Despite the crutches, he managed to free a hand to interlace with hers.
Then Grayson sidled behind the others, moving from where he’d stood on the far side of Karlan to stand beside TK. She scowled at him, but as usual, he didn’t take the hint.
At first Maybelle stood in silence, the gravitas of her countenance enough to draw attention and quiet the crowd nearest the steps. Then she began to speak, not in a loud or strident voice, rather in a quiet voice that had everyone leaning forward, paying attention.
“My father died at the bottom of these steps,” she began. “And when I say ‘died,’ I of course mean he was murdered. Killed in a war we’re still fighting today, sixty years later.
“Despite your cheers and chants and cries for justice, this is not a war between white and black, not a righteous battle of good and evil. This is a war of anger and fear. A war of lies and fists. A war driven by shame and shouting that threaten to drown the truth. A war that has been fought for two hundred years in this land of freedom and justice for all. A war that will continue to be fought until we—each of us, every one of us—embrace those freedoms and turn our energy to fight for justice and truth.
“My father used to say that all blood is red—he’d fought in two wars, killed men in combat and then as a surgeon fought to save them, his arms plunged up to the elbows in their blood. All blood is red. No matter the color of the skin that holds it inside. It’s not the person’s color or blood that makes them different or dangerous. It’s their fear.
“Fear is our enemy. Fear makes us rage at the change in the world and search for an enemy to unleash our fury upon. Fear gives us false hope that our might makes right even as we know the truth we refuse to give voice to: that violence comes from cowardice, not courage.
“I was only a little girl when my parents were murdered. Some would say that excuses my silence. But my father didn’t sacrifice himself solely to save an innocent boy from a lynch mob, he did it to save me. And he wasn’t the only one courageous enough to stand for the truth. A white man stood beside my father. Police officer Archibald Thomson. A white lawman, charged with bringing justice to this town and keeping the peace, he had the courage to break the peace, to refuse the mob the false justice they sought, and he died.”
She pointed to the base of the steps. A few people in the front row stepped back.
“Right there. Right where you stood with your rocks and bottles and signs and tear gas and guns and riot batons. Right there three black people—my mother and my father and an innocent boy—and one white law man stained the earth forever with their blood sacrifice.”
Maybelle continued, “It shouldn’t have happened. Not here, not anywhere. And I’m ashamed to my very soul that it did. That I watched. That I hid. That I ran. That my life was paid for with my parents’ blood and the blood of two innocent children and the blood of a white police officer. To this day, over six decades later, I still dream of their blood. All that blood. It haunts me. My father was right: all blood is red. And you can’t tell it apart.
“All courage comes from love, my mother used to say. My mother. White men killed her just for showing her black face to them when they were angry and afraid. They killed her without knowing her name or who she was. They would have killed me as well. But I lived. I’m here today, and it’s taking all my courage to stand here and tell you the truth, but I’m here now and here’s the truth you need to know: I’m ashamed. Ashamed of myself. Ashamed of that mob of angry white men who thought that killing innocents would salve their fear.
“Ashamed of all of us here today. Because when we treat each other like beasts without brains or hearts or voices or souls, we are all cowards. Our fear knows no bounds and its cry silences any hope for truth, justice, or a future.
“So, I’m begging you. Lay down your weapons. Stop the bloodshed. Look, listen, think, and talk. Sit down and listen and talk.
“We live in a country where speech is free—but not cheap, never, ever cheap. That free speech was paid for in blood—including the blood of my parents. Your parents and grandparents and great-grandparents as well. Respect their sacrifice. Sit down.”
She raised her hands, palms down, and patted the air like a kindergarten teacher summoning her students to sit down for story time.
To TK’s surprise, it worked. Several of the onlookers in the front of the crowd lowered their signs and sat down on the pavement. Then more people behind them, until like a wave, it spread out through the crowd, with the law enforcement officers standing guard backing away and lowering their weapons as well.
Finally, only a scattering of men—why was it always the men who were the last to surrender their anger, TK wondered—both black and white, stood like islands in a sea of quiet, glaring at each other, fists at their sides.
Grayson edged closer to TK, brushing her arm.
“Still think we’re better off separate?” she whispered to him. Lucy said she should take it easy on the kid—after all, in the end, he’d made the right decision, even if it had meant betraying his family. But TK knew all too well that decisions made in the crucible of battle didn’t always mean a permanent change of heart.
“Then what’s the answer?” he asked, for the first time sounding unsure of himself.
“All courage comes from love,” Maybelle repeated. “Have the courage to learn the truth—all of it. Not just the bits and pieces that ease your
fear. Face the truth, and you never need be ashamed again.
“Because in our hearts, we know the truth,” Maybelle’s voice rose but was not strident as it echoed across the square. She waited a beat and then lowered it to an intimate whisper. “We know the truth. Don’t we?”
Many in the crowd nodded, entranced. A few shouted, “Yes!” or “Amen!”
Maybelle continued to weave her spell. “We know what needs to change in this country, and we know how to change it. One of the last things I remember from the day my family was killed was how happy they were about a man named Brown who that very day had won the right for all children to receive equal education no matter what color their skin. All they had to be was American.
“My parents, they were so proud that day to be American. So happy because they knew I could be anyone I wanted. I could grow up to be a doctor, a surgeon, saving lives like my father. I could grow up to be a teacher, saving minds and molding futures like my mother. My parents gave their lives, and so did a white policeman. Why would they do that to help a stranger, a boy they’d never met?
“Because they had a dream of what this country was and how decent people should behave and stand up for each other. Because that was how Americans acted here in the land of the free and home of the brave.
“And when they took me away,” Maybelle continued, her voice now threaded through with the hint of the girl she’d once been, “and I had nightmares about that day and could barely remember my parents’ faces and people told me to forget all about it, it was only a dream, a bad, bad, dream, and everything would be okay once I woke up and forgot it… Do you know where we ended up? Where the Lord in His infinite wisdom sent me to try to forget my little girl dreams? He sent me to the one place where a decade later I could witness first-hand the power of a dream.
“You know where He sent me? To a factious town called Selma, Alabama. And soon I was a teenager, too smart for my own britches, those little girl dreams of who my parents were and why they died and what they wanted from life long gone and forgotten.