Brann’s Revenge

by S. Smith

  That evening I rode my bike around town looking at the various houses that were for rent. I inquired at several places as to the rental fees and my mind played out all types of scenarios about our marriage, perhaps we would have children, grandchildren, etc. Although she hadn’t said yes, I knew it was a forgone conclusion, and I was ecstatic just thinking about it.

  The next day I went over to the Brann’s house to see how everyone was doing. They were all packing, including Inez. I knew they had planned to pack, but seeing them actually packing took my breath away. I suppose it was the first real evidence that they were serious about moving. I went to Inez and asked, “Did you have a chance to think about what we had talked about?”

  I knew that if Inez moved to Oklahoma, I might never see her again. It may not be a long distance now with the transportation system that we currently have, but back then, she might as well have moved to Siberia.

  She said she did and she’d also talked to her mother about it. Her mother was from a small town in Illinois with a very strict upbringing. She had married Mr. Brann at the age of seventeen, not because she loved him, but because she wanted to get out from beneath the very strict rules of her family. She eventually grew to have a very deep love for Mr. Brann, but it took several years for this to happen. Their first years of marriage were difficult.

  Recalling her own experience, Mrs. Brann insisted that Inez come with her. She didn’t want her in a loveless marriage. She thought that Inez wanted to marry me out of convenience rather than love. Her mother also said something I’ve never forgiven her for, repeating a lie that someone told about Inez. As I got closer to Inez I could tell that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and she was sniffling. When I asked her if she’d been crying, she told me that she hadn’t, but I knew she was lying. Mrs. Brann was not her cordial self. She was very distant from me and hardly said a word to me, which was not like her at all.

  I finally got Inez out of the house for a walk. We walked from the Brann’s place down one of Mr. Cameron’s trails to the Brazos River. We spent several hours at the river, not talking much but just being with each other. I finally asked her, “What are your plans?” She said she had talked with her mother. Her mother didn’t just insist, but demanded that she come with them to Oklahoma. I asked why. Inez paused a long minute before she said a word. I was beginning to wonder if she would ever tell me. Then she said her mother had accused her of becoming a prostitute and had even called her a whore! Her mother said many people in town had seen her down on 2 street and had accused her of becoming a bawd lady. She said her mother thought I was trying to start a business down on 2 street with Molly, and was using her as one of the ladies. Her mother had even talked with several folks around town and they had confirmed this. These were people of supposedly good repute. One man told Mrs. Brann, when she was shopping in his store that he knew of a john that had paid for Inez’ services. But she offered no name to identify this man.

  I could not believe my ears. This was outrageous and a complete lie. I had never been so upset or falsely accused in all my life. I didn’t know what to do. I told her we would make this right. It was a complete falsehood and we would find out who started this salacious lie and set it right. I asked Inez if this was the reason her mother wanted to move to Oklahoma so quickly and she responded affirmatively.

  Normally I’m a forgive and forget type of person, but I was ready to fight! My anger was at an all-time high. I was crazy with emotion.

  We started walking back to the house, but stopped on a piece of Mr. Cameron’s property next to a small creek called Proctor Springs. We had spent hours and hours at this spring. It had the freshest and coolest water in the entire state. We’d wade in the cool water in our bare feet, slide down the rocks in our trousers and just nap and talk beside the gentle trickle of the springs. It had such a calming sound. There were rumors of the medicinal healing of its waters and people would come from as far as Houston to sit in its coolness and feel its calming trickles. Folks would also throw coins into one of the pools and make a wish. Then they waded into the pool and retrieved their coins, as a penny was a lot of money back then. If they didn’t retrieve them, then the next person who came along would. It was also a place where many a proposal had taken place on bended knee. It was the place that I intended to formally ask Inez to marry me.

  But now my rage was so high I couldn’t appreciate its healing waters. I told her I needed some time to think. As I walked away, I asked her to stay there while I thought about things for a few minutes. I said I’d be back in just a bit. I had to collect my thoughts and determine why anyone would do this to us. I had my strong suspicions, but I wanted to find out who had made these salacious accusations. Somehow I knew that whoever had made them would lead us to the murderer of Mr. Brann. Perhaps we were asking too many questions and getting too close to finding the answer. I knew we could set this right.

  Walking the trail that led parallel to the river almost all the way to the bridge, I stopped at Molly’s house. There, I stepped in and asked Molly about the rumors. She said she had heard the rumors but wrote them off as nonsense. She said, “No one would ever believe that %^$#^ story, Red. It’s just some **## trying to get at you and Inez. They might be F%*&^ trying to break you two up. They might think you are asking too many *&^**$ questions. They might still have a *%$#^% grudge against Mr. Brann and still hold a *^&%$#$ grudge against his family. I wouldn’t ^&$#*& worry about it Red, as you can’t make every &^&^% happy. Just ^&%$#&*&^ let it go.”

  I was satisfied with Molly’s answer. She was right and she always had such a way of bringing sense to a senseless situation. The source of the rumor was likely a small-minded person trying to build themselves up by trying to bring us down. I wasn’t going to let them do this. I was going to calm Inez’ nerves about the whole thing. We were both of age, so we could get married if we wanted to, regardless of her mother’s wishes.

  Again Utopia started playing in my mind. As I walked the muddy trail back to where she was waiting for me, I pictured being married to Inez and growing our family together. As I retraced my steps, I stopped at the river bank where the cattails grew and picked out a few for her. I also went by Mr. Brann’s house and picked out a couple of blades of Indian grass from Mr. Brann’s garden. He had been so proud of the long slender grass that he carefully transplanted from the Civil War battlefield in Vicksburg. I shaped one of the blades into a ring that I could slip on her finger. I visualized myself on my knee formally proposing to her right by Proctor Springs. I was going to do it right then.

  When I arrived at Proctor Springs, she had placed her purse under her head and was peacefully sleeping. I heard her soft breath and could see the still-wet tears in her eyes. She was at peace and I didn’t bother to wake her as I knew she was tired and stressed and probably needed a few minutes of rest. I laid down and took a short nap right beside her.

  When I awoke twenty minutes later, Inez was laying exactly as she was before. She hadn’t moved. I reached over to wake her and she was a clammy, cool temperature. Surprised and shocked, I immediately jumped up and tried to shake her a bit to wake her but she had no life left in her. She was gone.

  A note was under her head. It read:

  “My Dearest Red,

  They have killed me. When they took my father, I was devastated. But now they have taken the only thing that I had left, my reputation. My mother will never again trust me and will always look at me as if I am damaged and dirty goods. Even if I were to move, my reputation would follow me. I cannot live in Waco with a reputation as a whore and I cannot live in Oklahoma without you.

  Red, I love you and do not want to leave you like this, but I have no choice. Please try to find out who did this. Please try to solve this and bring them to justice. Not only did they murder my father, they murdered me. They have taken my soul!

  I will love you into perpetuity, Inez”

  Underneath her head was a bottle of morphine capsules, completely empty.


  I just collapsed right beside her and cried like a baby.

  I had known loss before with the death of my mother, but I’d never known loss like this. I was again completely and utterly alone in the world. Inez was wrong –they hadn’t murdered two people – they had murdered three because I was now dead to the world. If there had been more morphine tablets left, I would have immediately taken them.

  I put the grass ring on her left ring finger before I went and got help.

  Chapter 14

  LIFE IN WACO WITHOUT INEZ

  We buried Inez in Oakwood in the same grave as her father, with the Indian grass leaf ring still on her ring finger. It took me a long time to recover from the loss of her. I spent the next several years angry at everyone and everything. I don’t think I had ten conversations in the course of two years, with the exception of Molly.

  Afterward, I closed everything and everyone out. I didn’t work at my courier job anymore. I probably didn’t bathe for six months. I didn’t even read! I was a lost soul. People would try to comfort me, but I wasn’t having any part of it. I was a broken man and the same people who murdered Mr. Brann and indirectly murdered Inez, were now slowly killing me, which is perhaps what they wanted.

  Mrs. Brann, Gracie, and Billy moved to Oklahoma and I never spoke to nor saw any of them again, nor did I want to. I wanted to ask Mrs. Brann who had made those false accusations, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I blamed her just as much as I blamed the accusers for killing her daughter with the deadly knife of utter distrust.

  I nearly threw my Mother’s Bible into the river. It meant nothing to me other than to remind me of one of the possible culprits that could have put Davis up to this.

  My depression consumed me and was seemingly endless. I know they say depression feeds on itself and in my case it certainly did. If you think sad thoughts, they will bring on additional sad thoughts that make the depression even worse. I was letting my depression get the best of me and I was in a dark spiral. I thought about how beautiful Inez was and about all the good times we shared together. I dwelt on her voice and her common sayings and sank into a vast darkness of hopelessness. I walked around town never saying a word to anyone or even acknowledging their presence. I passed by all the places we had visited and seeing them only increased my melancholy. I suppose it was a combination of loneliness, anger, and lack of belonging. I missed her so much. I longed for her cheerful smile and conversation. At times it was difficult for me to look beyond the next moment. It was crushing and I could tell that it was further infecting my already gangrenous mental wound.

  At night I would sit alone in my little toll booth house with only a small kerosene lamp and think way too much. It was like being in solitary confinement. I truly believe I was starting to lose my mind. Things started haunting me. At one point I thought the bridge was talking to me, telling me to climb to the top tower and jump off head first onto the road. I would occasionally see Inez and Mr. Brann in shadowy figures inside the booth talking gibberish to me. I even saw my mother. She kept repeating, “Open it, open it, open it!” I had no idea what it was until I looked around the room. The only thing that could be opened was her Bible.

  I was going stark mad and tried to shake it off. I went for late night walks. I walked to Proctor Springs in the dead of the night and sat in the place where Inez had died. I cried my heart out. I wanted to die right there so that I could be with her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Time and time again when I arrived home, I was met by my mother’s voice in my head saying, “Open it.” And finally I did.

  When she was living, I never saw my mother as a particularly religious person. When I heard her voice in my toll booth demanding that I “open it,” I started thumbing through her Bible. My opinion changed. Much to my surprise, I found she had a side to her that I had never really seen. Her Bible was heavily marked up in her handwriting. She noted different passages that apparently were quite important to her. I’d never really opened her Bible before as it had never interested me. Now I was desperately grasping for some semblance of sanity and she showed it to me.

  I considered these passages which she had heavily marked up, particularly the 23rd Psalm. I finally realized that she had intended these passages for me. I don’t know how she did it, but she pointed out passages that I needed to recover from the depths of the hell where I was. After a few nights of reading, I started feeling comforted by her passages. I could see and hear her talking in my mind’s eye. It wasn’t the ugly hallucination it had been before but was instead the fond memory of her soft pleasing voice, speaking to me. It was food for a starving man. She was again showing me the flowers.

  Through her voice and my studying, I came to an understanding with myself and with God. If I continued as I was currently going, I would die and whoever did this would win. I wasn’t going to let them win. I was going to find out who did this and bring them to justice. I would fulfill what Inez asked me to do.

  The first thing I did was to jump into the Brazos River and rinse myself off. I found the cleanest set of clothes I had, and hopped onto my bike. I rode to First Street Cemetery and put flowers on my mother’s grave. Then I rode to Oakwood and put flowers on Inez’ grave and Mr. Brann’s grave. I took a polishing cloth with me and cleaned the ornate marker just as Inez had done dozens of times before. I knelt and prayed to God to help me find out who did this and to make it right. I haven’t stopped praying since.

  Then I started walking around town and getting to know people again. I wanted to meet people and to talk with people and start living again. I needed to reacquaint myself with my friends around town who I had shunned all of this time. I wanted my life back.

  Chapter 15

  THE NEIGHBORS

  I’ve always felt an affinity towards my neighbors, the colored folks. I’m not sure if it was because we shared the same plight of being dirt poor, or if it was that we lived in close proximity to each other along the river. They consistently did kind things for me. I appreciated their kindness and tried to respond in a similar manner. This is not to say the white folks of the town were not caring and doing nice things for me. They most certainly were, but I suppose the colored folks’ kindness meant a lot to me. They had hardly anything and yet what they had they wanted to share among others who had even less.

  Of course all races have the full spectrum of folks. One extreme are the kind folks who would give you the shirts off their back. Then at the other extreme are the bitter, angry folks. I try to avoid them. Nothing good comes out of any interactions with them. They say that bitterness and anger hurts the one who harbors it the most. I tend to agree, as you never see people like that living long, happy lives. Bitterness and anger are like an acid that consumes your soul and eventually kills you. No, thank you. Give me the happy-go-lucky folks over the angry folks, anytime.

  I think recognizing what harboring this anger can do to a person was part of my healing process after Inez died. I could see how it tore others apart at the seams and I didn’t want it to destroy me. I had to let go of it and continue on my journey called life. That didn’t mean that I forgot. I continued to investigate and tried to find out who did this terrible crime, but I had to expel this poison from my system. It became like a demon inside of me that I had to oust or it would kill me. The kindness the colored folks showed towards me helped me to banish this demon.

  Shortly after my sanity returned from losing Inez, I was walking along Bridge Street in East Waco. It was a bright and beautiful Spring Sunday morning. Suddenly a dog came out of nowhere and started jumping up on me like he had known me for years. I’d never seen him before. The dog looked like it was part Terrier and part German shepherd. Its fur was a reddish brown. It had floppy ears that hung down over the sides of its head. Its tail looked like an arched feather as it waved continually in the wind. I looked around to see who it belonged to. Not seeing anyone, I assumed it was a stray. Back in those days, there were no such things as dog tags, so I had no idea who it belonged
to. I walked to the bridge, hoping it would follow me, and it did. I gave the dog some scraps from my recent meal. He seemed grateful and continued to hang out with me. I started calling him Pal as he became the buddy I so desperately needed at the time.

  A day or two later, a few of the colored folks came by and said the dog actually belonged to a colored family down the road. I asked who it was and they said it was the Briscoe family. I had known the Briscoe folks for years, since Old Man Briscoe found the tin box full of money. I thought about it for a few minutes and decided that if Pal was their dog I had to take him back. As I approached their yard, their boy Jules saw Pal and ran up to him. He hugged Pal and yelled, “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy” in his loudest voice.

  It was obvious that the dog belonged to him. The boy must have been about 8 or 10 years old and had really missed the dog. He said, “You found my dog! Thank you, Red, thank you, Red!”

  I said, “No Jules, the dog found me. I didn’t know he was your dog until some folks came by and told me. I was just feeding him and taking care of him. He’s a really great dog.”

  Old Man Briscoe heard the commotion and came out and spoke with me about the dog. I told him what had happened. He was glad that Jules had gotten his dog back. He could also see that I had taken a liking to the dog and was sad about giving him up. He said, “Red, we have another dog, Mandy, that was born in the same litter as Sandy. He’s a really good dog as well. You’re welcome to keep him if you’d like to. He’d be a good companion for you.”

  I told him thanks, but no thanks, as I didn’t really like dogs that much. Of course I liked Pal, but I didn’t want another dog. I didn’t want the bother of feeding him. Feeding myself was challenge enough.