TWENTY-FIVE
After church, I had a stroke of luck. Charlie was waiting with his family for the next service in the chapel when I emerged from the sanctuary. He agreed to grant me leave to return home, without any argument. His only condition was that I would call if I was not able to come back in a week. I certainly hoped to keep to that schedule but knew there were no guarantees.
I had a good laugh at Aunt Dorothy’s expense when I called her after lunch. She seemed terribly put out that the train schedules did not run as she wished they did and that Knoxville was further south than she had estimated. Her plan to meet in Washington, D.C. was scrapped and we agreed to rendezvous at the Knoxville train station. She was scheduled to arrive there an hour before me.
The next morning, Teddy drove me to the train station and promised to find Jessie Early and let her know that I had gone to the farm. I waved to him as the train pulled away, my heart filled with yearning to stay and a guilty sense that I was abandoning him when he needed me the most.
I spent the trip alternating between enjoying the scenery, finishing my read of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and reliving vignettes of my childhood. I wished I could hold tight to the good memories of my father when he was still alive and forget the agony of his death and the wretchedness of my life on the farm after he was gone. But, as usual, the contemplation pulled me back and forth – the bad times and the good times. Just like the ethical dilemma I had when I thought about the ultimate task of the gadget. I no longer resisted the obvious. I knew it was a bomb. Basic scientific principles indicated that it would be a weapon unlike any before. One that would fall on the just and unjust without regard to their value or their future, bringing destruction and suffering to all.
These thoughts left me feeling morose as I disembarked from the train but the sight of Aunt Dorothy’s smile on the platform chased away the gloom of the past, the present and the future in a flurry of happiness over our reunion. And, of course, being Aunt Dorothy, she had the rest of the day planned. We left our luggage at the station and went for lunch. After that, we had an appointment with Wilford Coxe, attorney at law. Finally, we would go out to the farm.
Aunt Dorothy had arranged and Mr Coxe delivered. He had visited my mother in the jail that morning and obtained her signature on a document that awarded me unconditional power of attorney with the ability to take action regarding any of her property and the welfare of her son. When my aunt asked how Annabelle was doing, Mr Coxe said, ‘She already looks as drained as many do after a much longer term incarceration but she is facing the future with more equanimity than I would. She expects to be convicted and be imprisoned for the rest of her life but understands that death in the electric chair is also an option. She’s stalwart in her belief that she did the right thing because she was protecting her child and she would do it again. She told me, Miss Clark, that she made a mistake when she didn’t stand up for you and she refused to repeat it with her second child.’
Her words collided with a numb spot in my heart and left me speechless. Could I trust this expression of regret? Or would that simply open me up to further pain and disappointment?
‘If she means what she says, Mr Coxe, that is welcome news indeed. Isn’t it, Libby?’ Dorothy said.
I forced my mouth to move and form the proper words, ‘Yes, it certainly is, sir, thank you for passing that along.’
Aunt Dorothy looked at her watch and said, ‘We must be moving on, sir. I am sure we’ll be calling on you again in a day or two but I arranged for transportation to the farm and it should be arriving at the station at any moment.’
As we walked down the street to pick up our luggage, Aunt Dorothy said, ‘Agnes is coming to get us in her wagon. I hope you don’t mind. She assured me that it’s quite comfortable. Although it will take a bit longer, it will give you a better look at the changes in the countryside.’
‘Agnes? Old man McLeod’s daughter?’ I asked. When my aunt nodded, I said, ‘You’ve kept in touch with each other after all these years?’
‘Yes, we’ve had some lively arguments from time to time but when you’re disagreeing through the mail nothing ever gets too heated. I suppose the fact that she never married either is part of our bond. She’s never even considered another man after her sweetheart died at Blanc Mont Ridge during the Great War. Broke her heart permanently when she lost him. Any romance brewing in your life, Libby?’
‘You never married so why do you always ask me about that? I wouldn’t think it would interest you.’
My aunt chuckled. ‘Everything about you interests me, child. You only had your dad for a short time but he was a good man and an excellent father. I imagine that would have imprinted strongly on your heart and because of that, I always imagined you’d marry one day. I just want to make sure you don’t throw your life and your career away on a man who is not worthy of you.’
‘I imagine you have set the standards of worthiness at the impossible to achieve level. I think you hold me in too high a regard.’
‘Not at all, Libby. You simply do not value yourself as much as you should. Oh, there’s Agnes.’
I looked across the pavement and the first thing I saw was an old straw hat being waved through the air. It was attached to a thin but muscular arm and angular body. None of the pillow softness of Aunt Dorothy was apparent in Agnes’ physique. Farmers’ wives around here tended to my aunt’s plump shape after years in the kitchen cooking, baking, canning and jelly-making. Their only outdoor exercise consisting of gathering eggs, slopping hogs and milking cows. That was definitely not Agnes’ lot in life. She worked every aspect of the business and, as a result, was as rangy as an old farmhand.
When we crossed the street, she gave me a hearty slap on the back. ‘Well, Libby, old girl, you sure have grown up.’ She squeezed an upper arm and said, ‘But we’ll have to toughen up your muscles a bit.’
‘And why is that, Agnes?’ my aunt asked in an acidic tone.
‘Look at me, Dorothy. No woman can be as soft as you and do the work required out here. I took over running a farm that had risen to its full potential. Libby here is fixing to take on one that has seen better days. No way to do that without real physical strength.’
‘What makes you think Libby is staying here, Agnes?’
‘Heavens, what else would she do? Her stepfather is dead. Her mother will never see the light of day again. And her little brother doesn’t have any more sense than Annabelle and he’s too young besides. Who else could run it? Libby has an obligation.’
‘She also has an obligation to her country, Agnes. She is playing a vital part in ending the war. She can’t just walk away from that.’
‘Really? Just what does she do?’ Agnes said and turned her eyes on me.
It seemed to me that it would be exceedingly unwise to jump into the argument. Certainly it was about me on the surface, but I sensed a deeper current, one that ran all the way back to their school days.
Aunt Dorothy snatched up the reins of the debate and allowed me to hold my peace. ‘Libby is not going to throw her life away toiling in the sun and snow. She is far too intelligent and has far too much to offer the world than to stay cloistered down here in the sticks.’
‘Ah, there we go again. Just like always. You think you are better than me. You think I wasted my life. And you think you’re some paragon of virtue and womanhood. You think your life matters and mine doesn’t.’
‘I never said that, Agnes, and you know it.’
‘Oh, you don’t need to come right out and say it, Dorothy. I know, I know. Now where is that danged luggage?’
With both my aunt and her old friend mumbling under their breath, we retrieved our bags and climbed into Agnes’ horse-drawn wagon. I sensed that my aunt wanted to make a big deal out of sitting in the back and leaving Agnes alone up front driving but the other woman beat her to the punch. ‘Now, don’t go arguing over who’s going to ride shotgun because I prefer to sit alone centered on the seat when I’m driving the team, s
o you both are going to have to sit in the back.’
Aunty Dorothy harrumphed and I swallowed my amusement as we climbed up and settled into the front of two bench seats. It seemed as if these two women had formed a relationship based around the argument over the relative merits of their lives, perhaps as shields against the outside world where both of them were considered odd for never marrying.
Listening to occasional rumbles of discontent from my side and up ahead, I took in the scenery that I had not seen for a decade. The town seemed to have expanded out beyond the boundaries I had known and overall the area appeared a bit more prosperous than it had been during the Depression years. Not only did it take me back to my childhood, it also spoke to my current life. Between the reservation and Knoxville, the land and its people seemed very much the same.
TWENTY-SIX
When we reached my father’s farm, the changes wrought in the last decade grew more pronounced. The white plank and board fencing cried for a coat of paint and some of the wood had slipped into rot. Piles of dried leaves from last fall, still filled the front yard. On the house itself, a couple of shutters hung crookedly and one was gone altogether. Honeysuckle had overrun one end of the broad front porch, where it seemed to swallow a rocker whole. After sitting empty for just a few days, the home already appeared abandoned.
As Agnes pulled the horses to a stop, she said, ‘As I told you, Libby, you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. I can send a man over to help out if you want. One of my farmhands has got a knack for carpentry work, he might prove useful.’
‘Thank you, Miss McLeod.’
‘Just make that Agnes, girl – you’re a woman now. I’ll send Andy over in the morning. And I’ve sent someone over every morning since your mama was arrested to tend to the livestock so they haven’t been going without food and water but they have been cooped in. They’ll all want to get out in the morning. Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. Turning to Dorothy, she added, ‘See you later, you old grouch.’
‘Would you like to come in for some tea before you leave, old friend?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve neglected my chores this afternoon and I’ve got to make sure Cook has gotten dinner started. The boys get hungry after a full day’s work. I’ll see y’all around,’ she said as she climbed back into the driver’s seat. She snapped the reins and she was off.
Aunt Dorothy and I watched as a low cloud of dust whirled around the wheels when she headed back up the drive. I felt as dispersed as that dirt – overwhelmed by the endless work here and anxious about the situation back at the city behind the fence.
We walked in through the kitchen door. The room was neat and clean. The absence of dirty dishes and any mess from food preparation indicated that the last evening of Ernest’s life had begun in typical fashion with my mother straightening up after preparing and serving the meal. What else happened before she shot her husband? Did the conflict build slowly or simply erupt like an untended pressure cooker?
In the living room, everything was neat and tidy except for the roll-top desk where papers were strewn all over the floor as if it had been upturned. Probably the result of a law enforcement search or maybe my mother’s desperate hunt for a spare key to the shed before she decided that shooting him was the only answer.
We walked upstairs and set down our bags in the hallway. We approached the door to the master bedroom and paused to look into each other’s eyes as if gathering strength to face what we would find. Dark blood and clumps of hair and tissues dotted the headboard. The blankets crumpled at the floor by the footboard were spattered with dark blotches of red. The pillows and sheet on the mattress were dark and crusty.
I shuddered. I had no regard for Ernest Floyd but to see his life’s blood spilled by an act of violence still hit me hard. How did my mother feel when she saw it? Did the memory of it still haunt her? Or was she able to dismiss the thought of it, just as she seemed to erase me, once it and I were out of her sight?
‘We will have to clean this up tomorrow morning,’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘I’d like to bring little Ernie back here to stay with us until we’ve resolved his future but we can’t while the evidence of his father’s violent death remains in this house. The mattress will definitely have to go. We need someone with a truck to haul it away.’
I nodded and backed out into the hall. I showed my aunt the room that once was Ernie’s nursery. Now it was filled with boyish things: a rock collection, a squirrel skull, a snake skin, a yo-yo and a slingshot. I was delighted to see a shelf of boy’s adventure books: the Hardy Boys, the Rover Boys, the Submarine Boys and, a stack of comic books. Most importantly, for our immediate needs, there was a full-sized bed.
‘Wonderful,’ my aunt proclaimed. ‘I can stay here until your mother’s bedroom is fit for habitation again.’
I approached the door to the room that was once mine. I hesitated with my hand on the knob not knowing what I would find. When I pushed it open, I felt as if I were stepping back in time – I was twelve years old again. Nothing had changed. My Raggedy Ann doll was still propped up on my pillows. My bookcase overflowed with childhood favorites: Nancy Drew, The Bobbsey Twins, Five Little Peppers and more.
I ran my finger across my dresser. There was not a speck of dust anywhere. Had my mother freshened up the room once she asked me to return or had she kept it this way all these years? If the latter was true, what did that say about her? And about me?
I was ready for bed when the phone intruded. Gregg was on the other end wanting to make sure I’d arrived safely and to offer an update on the first foray into Hansrote’s home. ‘We found a notebook,’ he said. ‘It appears that it was written in some sort of code. Teddy started transcribing it but since we needed to get into the lab, there wasn’t time to do much.’
‘What did it look like to you?’
‘I went in there in a suspicious frame of mind and the notes made an impression that they were some type of record for information given and payment received but we haven’t had time to analyze it today. I think we don’t have enough data to get the full picture of what was there. When we have more, maybe it will be clearer. We’re going back as soon as we can. But we’re giving it a close look tonight and will try to get more tomorrow morning.’
‘Did you find a spare key?’
I could hear Gregg’s grin in his voice. ‘Yes. We just hope he doesn’t notice it’s missing tonight. Joe came into town with me to get a copy made at the hardware store. He also plans to call his sister. Listen, I know you said we don’t have to report to you but do you mind if we call? I think we’d all feel better if we keep you informed. You might notice something we’re missing. But, if you don’t want to be disturbed or interrupted …’
‘You absolutely will not disturb me. And if you call after dark, I can’t be doing farm chores or taking care of legal problems at that hour so you wouldn’t have to worry about interrupting anything.’
‘Great. We’ll call when we can. But we’ll manage here. You don’t have to worry about us.’
‘Don’t be careless, please. You don’t know where the next volley might originate.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
I woke up at dawn the next morning, amazed that my old habit reasserted itself when I returned to the farm. I dressed and went out in the yard with stealth in hopes of not disturbing Aunt Dorothy’s sleep.
First, I went to the chicken coop where the hens were in a tizzy. It wasn’t just their days of confinement, there was a black snake in one nest surrounded by shattered shells. I shooed the chickens outside and went to the barn to retrieve an axe and a shovel, grumbling about rural life on the way.
When the snake rose up at my approach, I raised the axe and slammed it through him and into the wall. His head fell into the straw and after a few squirms, both pieces went limp. I regretted killing him but knew if I merely removed him, he’d return now that he’d found this easy feast making the hens neurotic and eggs non-existent.
I used the shovel to scoop up
his bloodied remains, the mess of jaw-pulverized eggs and the bedding in the nest. After throwing all that into the weeds along a field, I filled the bin with a fresh armload of straw. I went to the barn and saw that our once large herd of dairy cattle now numbered three. Soon after Ernest married my mother, we’d had to terminate them all when tuberculosis swept through the valley. An unbidden smile crossed my lips as I realized getting the new ones had to have been my mother’s idea. She was useless in caring for them but there was nothing she loved more than a fresh glass of milk, still warm from the udder. I got down the stool and a pail and pulled on each set of teats one by one, then herded them out into the pasture before carrying the bounty into the kitchen.
When I got there, my Aunt Dorothy, still in her robe and slippers, was busy fixing breakfast. ‘You had so many eggs in the refrigerator, I decided to scramble a few. Don’t know what you’re going to do with them all,’ she said.
‘Hoard them for now,’ I said. ‘Not sure the hens will be laying again any time soon. I just killed a snake in the hen house.’
‘A snake? You killed it?’ Dorothy said with a grimace.
‘Oh, please, don’t tell me you never had to do in a snake?’
‘Ages ago, before I left the farm. But I was a child then. I can’t imagine doing it now.’
‘Trust me,’ I said, ‘it all comes back. You never lose the knack for some things. If I find another one, I let you do the honors and you’ll see.’
‘No, thank you,’ Dorothy said, furrowing her brow.
‘I still have to slop the pigs but that can wait until after breakfast. I’ll clean up and be back as quick as I can.’
I shuddered at my first glimpse of the door to the left of the stairs. I was not looking forward to the task of cleaning the master bedroom. I was not all that squeamish and I’d certainly seen some gruesome sights in my life; but, somehow, knowing my mother had pulled the trigger and created that bloody scene, made the thought very unnerving.
Treason in the Secret City Page 14