House on Diablo Road: Resurrection Day (The McCann Family Saga Book 3)

by Jeanie Freeman- Harper

  The guilt of keeping the secret from his parents had become heavy, and he knew, regardless of his promise, that he should tell the truth. Otherwise, the dreams would continue. After bolstering his courage, he decided to go to see his father at the mill and be done with it. He would take whatever discipline Jesse administered for being in a forbidden place and whatever revenge Cal carried out as well.

  Unaware that his father was conducting business, Tobi rushed into the mill office before he changed his mind. “Daddy, I need to talk to you alone, please?”

  “Where are your manners,Tobias? Say hello to Mr. Higgins.”

  “Hello,” Tobi mumbled.

  “Is this an emergency?” asked Jesse.

  “No sir.”

  “In that case, can you sit in the waiting room until I’m finished with business?”

  Tobi felt a rush of relief that he could delay the talk just a little while longer. Mr. Gumption was taking a swift dive off a crumbling cliff of resolve.

  “On second thought, that’s okay, Daddy. I changed my mind. It was just some silly kid stuff.”

  Jesse smiled indulgently. “Did you ride out on Shadow?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you tell your mother where you were going?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’ll be home for supper, and then if you decide you want to talk, you’ll have my full attention. Is that a deal?”

  Tobi nodded and glanced at Snake Eye who was again twisting the ends of his handlebar mustache, as he studied the boy through narrowed eyes—just as he scrutinized every human being, consciously or unconsciously. It felt, to the guilt-ridden Tobi, as if the man had bored a hole into his brain to see that he was just a snot-nose little liar. Tobi was more than ready to hop back on Shadow and head for home.

  Afterward, the men settled on an amount, and the search was to begin the next day. “Have Buck Hennessy meet me at the Gentleman's Literary Club tomorrow at three. You're familiar with the speakeasy above the bookstore?”

  “I've heard of it, but I doubt that Buck even knows about that place, much less has the password.”

  Snake Eye chuckled. “Oh, he knows.”

  One never knew about the old reprobate.

  13: An Admission

  Annie fluttered about the kitchen, flying from one task to the next, distancing her mind from the front porch chat between her husband and her youngest child. She busied herself clearing Granny’s tray, the food from which ended up as hog swill, causing her to worry even more. Still, at the moment, her focus was on Tobi who was now out of her protective reach and disclosing God knows what to his father.

  When had she lost herself within that plush velvet cage of home and family? Where was the independent young woman she had once been? The New Year was approaching: 1922, a time when women were just beginning to control their destinies, as she had done long before it was fashionable. Now that a woman’s pathway was opening, Annie had retreated into a world of anonymity.

  Not always, but sometimes, she missed the families at Boggy Slough and the logging camps, where children ran ragged and barefoot and came up with gashes and wounds that needed her care. There in the bog she had treated water moccasin bites and malaria, and rickets. She had been valuable, a woman of worth to the community. Even Tobias didn't seem to need his mama as much any more.

  Jesse was often tied up with the mills; production had skyrocketed as trams loaded with tons of raw timber snaked their way out of the forest in record numbers. Her husband’s responsibility had doubled, and she was often alone.

  She had fallen gently into a sweet, deep crater of domestic life and had awakened one day at its bottom, cozy and comfortable. Still, at times, as in that evening, she missed the feel of hard leather reins in her hands, the jostle of the old wagon rumbling over the rough roads. She missed sudden summer downpours and the breathless race against the rain to tend to someone in need of her care. She had become addicted to a rush of adrenaline that once coursed through her veins like a rich fine brandy.

  She even missed the work at the hotel dining room when she had waited tables as a young woman. She missed the innocent camaraderie of the lumberjacks and railroad men who come in to rave over her biscuits and sawmill gravy and share latest gossip. Yet now the Excelsior Hotel had become a book store downstairs and the Gentleman's Literary Club upstairs—a speakeasy, of all things. Everything in Morgans Bluff had changed with the coming of the twenties and Prohibition. Yet she herself had become mired in the sameness of her everyday life.

  At least she had successfully raised their daughter. Katie was in New Orleans on her honeymoon with a husband of equal status, one who doted on her and was, no doubt, indulging her every whim. Annie knew Jesse and Minna were unhappy about the marriage to a Bonney and the move into that strange old house. Yet on her daughter’s wedding day, Annie had become enchanted with the place. But she could not be sure why. After the euphoria had evaporated, a small question buzzed about in her head like a persistent mosquito: What if Minna was onto something...something about the house and maybe even the man.

  Her reverie ended with the slamming of the screen door and Jesse’s calm but authoritative voice. “Tell your mama where you and your brother went on Founders’ Day.”

  Tobi peered up at Annie through long dark lashes. “Well, it’s like this...we got lost chasing a rabbit, and we walked for a real long way until we came to an old rickety house. A lady asked us in to rest, and she told us the best way to get back.”

  “What lady?”Annie asked.

  “She wouldn’t tell us her name, but she showed us a picture from a long time ago, and in the picture was Mr. Hennessy and some people who picked cotton at that place on Diablo Road. Mr. Hennessy was real young and had both legs!”

  “Is there more you need to tell us,” Jesse asked.

  Tobi turned and looked at Cal who jumped into action, pushed Tobi to the floor and held him down. Tobi was trying his best to get a punch in, but Cal had him pinned. “Shut your mouth, you little liar!”

  “Cal, let him up!” Annie shouted.

  Jesse sprang forward and pulled Cal off Tobi. “Calvin! Take a walk and cool off, and hand me the keys to the Model T.”

  Cal gave them all a baleful look, flung the keys to the floor with a look reminiscent of his long deceased father Leroy Conner. Then he slammed the door on his way out.

  Jesse pulled Tobi to his feet. “Now what else do you have to say?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Then go up to your room, Tobias”

  “Not again!”

  “Again.”

  As the boy went up, Buck’s voice boomed down from the top of the stairs. “What’s all this uproar down here? What shack in the thicket and what woman?”

  He entered the room looking pale and deflated—he who was usually as imposing as a grizzly. He looked as if a tree had fallen on him for the second time in his life.

  Jesse’s reply came in measured pace. “There’s nothing going on down here that I can’t handle, Buck.”

  “My Lord. Why don’t you just let the boys be boys? Even so, there's no call to be going into a stranger’s house. Does Tobi know the woman’s name?”

  “He says she didn’t want them to know her name and asked them not to say they had been there.”

  Buck collapsed into a chair and laid down his cane. “I've always dreaded this day... but the time has come. Annie, Jesse, sit down. It’s time I told you the part I left out of the story about the night Cyrus was killed. There was one little thing I kept to myself.”

  ‘What does that have to do with this?’

  “Everything. The boys obviously went way too far out, got lost and ended up at the old Hennessy home place, where my grandparents used to live, and where my papa grew up. Has to be the one because it's the only house around. The old woman they saw there is Phoebe Monet.”

  “Louis’ wife?”

  “No one else it could be. I sent her and Louis and Baby Thomas out there the nigh
t of the hanging, so they would be safe. The man looked awful guilty. He was the only person seen with the body and took it off in the wagon. As it’s turned out, the Monets have lived out there all these years, beyond the thicket where nobody goes.”

  Tobi was trying not to cry. “We wouldn’t have gone in, but the lady came out and offered us fried peach pie, and we were hungry and …”

  Buck grinned. “And you just couldn’t resist.”

  Jesse went wide-eyed and slack jawed, still dazed by the confession Buck had just made. “Why, at that point in time, did you interfere in as serious a matter as the murder?”

  “There was little regard for truth in Civil War days. Those Night Riders started out as the Home Guard sworn to protect the women and children left behind by Confederate soldiers. They took it upon themselves to hang deserters and traitors, sometimes without a trial. The Night Riders ran East Texas. Why did I help Monet hide you ask? I protected an innocent man from the same fate as Cyrus, who was innocent of desertion!”

  “How can you be so sure Monet is innocent?”

  “I would bet my life on him. As for where he hid the body—that I do not know and swear it on sweet Charlotte’s grave. Only one who knows is Louis, and maybe Phoebe. Could be he was terrorized by Jonathan Bonney and his Night Rider vigilantes. Maybe they forced him to dispose of the body. Those fellas said they hadn’t been out riding that night, and I know better. I heard their horses thundering over Deadman's Bridge.”

  “Will you tell this to Snake Eye Higgins? I’ve hired him to find Cyrus’ remains. He wants meet you at the speakeasy at three tomorrow. Will you tell him how to find Monet?”

  “Yeah. I reckon I’ll even take him out there. It's me and only me knows the way in and out. I need to square things, since I got one foot in the grave...and it’s the only foot I got.”

  Annie smiled at the wry, natural humor so typical of their old friend. Upon impulse, she gave Buck a peck on his scruffy cheek.

  “What’s that for?” he purred.

  “For being you. That’s what for.”

  14: New Orleans

  “Taffy...strawberry...taffy...vanilla.Get it here...get it now. Catch a spell, and all is well.”

  The Creole street vendor strolled down Dauphine Street pushing a cart filled with pastel colored candies wrapped in paper. Katie leaned out from the balcony of the French Quarter hotel room and waved to him on the street below. The man looked up, smiled, and tipped his cap. “Taffy for you, Belfiti...free for a kiss on the wind!”

  She blew him a kiss, and he threw her sticks of taffy with a fine overhand pitch; when she caught them, they both laughed in surprise. “Savor my gift to you, Beltifi…it is magic for you.”

  The man winked and rolled his cart on down the street, until Katie no longer heard his sing-song chant. She unwrapped a stick of the chewy concoction and ate it with gusto, enjoying the sweet salty smoothness. Catch a spell , and all is well.

  A sudden cool breeze blew in across the Mississippi River, where a luxurious river boat floated effortlessly with the current. Katie visualized tourists on board, foxtrotting to the best bands in the South and could even hear the sounds of the clarinets and saxophones. She felt as if she could see everyone on board and feel their happiness. All of her senses were heightened at the same time.

  The sting of homesickness had left her. She had felt it earlier morning while wondering if her parents missed her, if her brothers were behaving, and if Mr. Hennessy was in good spirits. She wondered if her great grandmother had begun to eat again—for it was Katie alone who was able to coax her. Yet even she had failed, since the Founders Day celebration. Granny had reacted almost violently to the proposal in front of the crowd that day. She at first thought Granny’s fears about the house and the Bonneys were unfounded, and although she trusted Nate with her life, the unidentified sounds in the house had shaken her badly. She had decided it had been just what Nate had suggested: the wind scrapping the holly bush against the house or mice scurrying about in the walls.

  Now, looking out beyond the narrow streets and ancient buildings of a city with a ces't la vie perspective, she made a decision. When they returned home, she would tame that old house. She would forge through it top to bottom, remodeling and refreshing and making it hers. Maybe the horror of the past would vanish, and if anything evil roamed those halls, it would go away. Her mother could arrange for a Shaman to come and purify the place, including the family cemetery, if it made Granny happy. For Granny would not rest until the deed was done.

  She hadn’t long to think through the project. A freshly bathed and shirtless Nate came to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her. Her senses were filled the fragrance of Bay Rum aftershave and the feel of cool, damp skin. She turned and hugged him to her and laid her head against his chest “Isn’t it lively here, Nate? I love New Orleans, but I’ve been thinking. I can hardly wait to get back home, so I can redo that old monstrosity you call a house.”

  “I like the house the way it is—solid bone structure and antiquated charm, just like you.” He kissed the tip of her nose, her chin, her cheeks.

  She captured his eyes with hers. She would not be placated. “I’m serious, Nate. The house needs a woman’s touch. It hasn't been lived in since your great grandfather rattled around in there.”

  ‘We’ll discuss the house after the honeymoon. We only have two days left. I have a newspaper to run, you know. What’s that you have in your hand?”

  “Oh...would you like a piece of taffy? These are from the street vendor, and he said they held magic.” She smiled at the absurdity of the remark. “Not that I believe in it, but I did eat a piece of it and felt awfully good. We shall see what becomes of me.”

  “I don’t need charms or potions or spells. I already have magic...right here in my arms.”

  He scooped her up and carried her in from the balcony and placed her on the rumpled bed. “I love you Kathryn Hannah McCann Bonney,” he murmured. “I’ll never let you get away from me.”

  ***

  Late morning, the honeymooners enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at Cafe Du Monde. There they lingered over fresh, yeasty beignets and rich cafe´au lait. It had been a glorious week filled with dark smoky jazz clubs, artists’ villages, and coffee shops where writers and pseudo-intellectuals commiserated over world events, post World War I. The 1920s had brought a sense of celebration to the country, and New Orleans had become the bohemian mecca—a mix of the garish, the artistic and the mystical. The city had its way with her, and she was somehow changed by it.

  Nate noticed the shift in Katie’s mood and attempted to pull her thoughts back to him: “Is there any one thing we’ve failed to do while here—something you would enjoy?”

  Katie's eyes lit up. “Oh yes! Let’s walk across the street to Madame Emmaline’s. ” She pointed at a sign: Fortune Telling : Tarot Card Readings, Seances. Spells Made and Spells Broken.

  Nate's smile vanished. “I don’t believe in that voodoo, but it's okay if it makes you happy.”

  “Then you will!” She crooked her arm in his, and they crossed the street. “Don't look so dour. I promise not to take it too seriously.”

  As they entered the tiny shop, there was the aroma of exotic incense, combined with the stale sweetness of aromatic candles. A crush of tourists filled the tiny shop, as inch by inch, they moved to the back where readings were held. In front of the curtained stalls sat a large woman with a multicolored head scarf, crimson lip rouge and gold spangly earrings. She looked at them with bored and guarded eyes. “You must wait. All our readers are with guests...except Thomas. You would not like Thomas.”

  “And why would I not?” Katie asked.

  “Because he is not a pure blood. He is mixed and has some dark, secret past. He was raised here in New Orleans by Haitian Creoles, but rumor is he’s African and Irish—a mix that makes gri gri.”

  “Are you not a mixture as well, as are most of us?”

  The woman jutted her chin and squared her sh
oulders. “I am pure Acadiana French from Vermillion Parish!”

  “Ah, I see, but you employ this man of mixed blood.”

  “For the locals...those filled with trouble. Tourists like happy fortune telling, and he does not always tell them what they want to hear. He channels in the bad along with the good, more than the tarots show show. The cards are only a prop for his gift.” Madam Emmaline leaned closer. “Thomas channels spirits and sees the past and future!”

  “I’m intrigued,” Katie said. “Thomas it will be. Nate, will you pay the lady?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Madame Emmaline said. “And don’t ask for your money back.”

  Although strong and sturdy looking, it was obvious by his aging hands, that Thomas was well past middle age. He was dressed in ordinary street clothes and a seaman’s cap over curly salt and pepper hair. Only one feature was extraordinary: his pale blue eyes which were startling against the mocha-colored skin. When he directed his gaze upon the two of them, Katie was transfixed. Then he drew her hand into his for a moment as a means of connection. She turned his hand to look at the golden ring bearing the Freemason’s insignia. “You are a Mason?” she asked.

  “No, Mademoiselle, but the ring belonged to my real father and was given to me before I came to live here. My mother would not tell me who brought it to her for me nor would she speak my father’s name. You see, he was not her husband. This is all that the people here told me.”

  Thomas fanned out the tarot cards, and suddenly his fingers clenched the edge of the table. “I will not tell you what I see. Mache' pon! Souple!”

  “No. I’m not leaving until you tell me what you see,” Katie said. “That’s what my husband paid you to do.”