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

by Jeanie Freeman- Harper

  Nathan began wandering from one bedroom to the next, feeling his way in the darkness and finally returned to the hallway with a single candle. “I can’t even find a kerosene lantern. It’s as if someone has hidden them. Maybe some day they’ll get electricity out here in this God-forsaken place. I’m starting to wonder why I wanted to live here.”

  The candle flame began to flicker wildly, even though the air was still. The effect was almost hypnotic, as everyone gazed at it wide-eyed and unblinking. It seemed like a lifeline in that pitch black cloud of terror, yet the noise stopped, and the fog, like a living thing, crept down the stairway and vanished.

  “Ain't no rest in this house,” Buck grumbled. “Will somebody tell me where Crow is? I’ll bet it’s him trying to scare us off!”

  Jesse shook his head. “I don’t know that he would be capable of pulling off something like that. Besides, he sleeps in the old carriage house. I’ve kept a watch on him. I know he was asleep in his own bed earlier.”

  “Playing possum no doubt,” Buck replied. “Do you hear that? Now what could that be?”

  From downstairs came a pounding noise, which Jesse identified as a knock on the door. “Everyone stay put, while I see who it is.”

  “My Lord. Don’t answer that door,” Buck whispered. “Nobody but a dead-dog drunk or vicious criminal would be out on a night like this...and in the middle of nowhere at that. After what’s happened tonight, it might be something even worse.”

  ”This is my house,” said Nate. “We’ll answer the door together.”

  Buck was not to be outdone. “And then so will I. I’ll whoop whatever needs whoopin’, be it human or otherwise.”

  Jesse was in no mood to argue. “Okay, Buck. You and Nate. Everyone else go to one bedroom. Get Granny Minna in there with you, and lock yourselves in.”

  Annie’s eyes turned stormy. “Don’t answer the door, Jesse!”

  “Annie, do as I say.”

  After the women and the boys were locked in upstairs, the men went down, and Jesse peered through the peephole, as Nate held the candle to it. Jesse saw a tall man in a navy pea-coat, hunched over from the cold winter night. From the looks of him, he was only slightly older than Jesse and of the same build but dark in complexion. Beside the stranger stood the towering form of Snake Eye Higgins.

  Jesse set his revolver on the entryway table and opened the door. The man extended his hand in greeting. Jesse responded, but his eyes never left Higgins’ face. “Do you have news for me, Higgins? Who is this with you?”

  Before Snake Eye could answer, the man spoke up. “We’ve never met, you and I, but I’m your first cousin, and I've come from New Orleans. I've come to help you find that which you seek and to set this house in order.”

  “My cousin you say? Higgins, who the deuce is he?”

  “I’ll let him speak for himself, Mr. McCann.”

  “My name is Monet,” the man said. “Thomas Monet.”

  A smile spread across Buck’s face. “Why I knew you when you were just a bundle baby.”

  “If Buck knows you, that’s good enough for me,” Nate said. “ Excuse my bad manners. Come inside. It’s blustery out tonight.”

  The men entered and Snake Eye began to explain: “I saw Mr. Monet in town, and he was asking about you, Mr. McCann. Then we went together and talked to Mr. Clancy at the Gentleman's Literary Club. He told me you all were spending the night out here. Prissy old codger knows everything about everybody.”

  Thomas Monet handed Jesse the business card from Morgan-McCann Mills. “My mother gave your card to me, and It was given to her by Mr. Higgins.”

  “Good enough. My daughter tells me that when she visited you in New Orleans, you had a vision.”

  “That’s much of what I’ve come to discuss with you, all of which is connected with what’s wrong with this house. Have you seen or heard anything unusual?”

  “Good Lord, yes. Just before you came. We thought the house was coming down on top of us. We heard sounds like I’ve never heard in my life.”

  “I knew it when I read the cards for your daughter at Madame Emmaline’s. I knew there was something in this house. What have you seen at the dogwood tree?”

  “Nothing as yet. What are we supposed to see?”

  “I can’t be sure yet.”

  “So you’re that baby I once knew. You’re Louis and Phoebe’s son,” Buck said. “How can you and Jesse be cousins? He’s not related to either of your parents.”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Jesse added.

  “Souple, Kousan! Louis Monet is not my biological father, though I was raised by his family. Do you see the ring I wear? Someone placed it on my finger the day I was sent to live in New Orleans. It belonged to my pou debon papa. It bears the Freemason insignia. As that closed society goes….”

  “You’re saying....”

  “Louis Monet is not my father.”

  “Cyrus McCann,” Jesse murmured.

  17: Kathryn and Nathan

  Nathan Bonney was in a quandary the next day, and the time had come to talk. Katie’s family had gone home that morning after one hellish night, and they had insisted the couple go with them. Yet they needed time to talk. Now alone, they walked that land that had been so beloved by Cyrus McCann and so coveted by Jonathan Bonney—that piece of earth owned, at different times, by both. If that were not enough, they both had been married to the same woman. The Bonneys and the McCanns, once estranged by distrust and distaste, now became connected through the marriage of Kathryn and Nathan. Now all had come full circle to the place bequeathed by Jonathan’s will.

  “I do love it here,” Nathan said. “When I was little, my parents used to bring me here to see Jonathan. He was an old man then, but he took me riding on his horse and told me old Civil War stories. He was different with me than anyone else and not at all the way I’ve heard him described. The world saw him as a hard nosed Secessionist and even suspected him of being the leader of the Night Riders—in essence, a murderer. All I remember is an embittered old recluse, who happened to love me, his one and only great grandchild.”

  Katie grew thoughtful, picturing the little boy riding double atop Jonathan’s horse, listening to old war stories. There were many sides to most people, and some were shown only to those who gave unconditional love—like a child. She began to understand her husband's fixation on the land and everything that came with it, was partly an emotional one. Yet she sensed something more underneath it.

  It was one of those warm mid-winter days that takes East Texas by surprise, when golden daylight brushes away the drabness with a watercolor tint. Nothing could compare with that breathtaking day. Katie matched her pace with Nathan’s and thought carefully before responding. “It has to be your decision, but I say we do as your parents suggested, and pack our bags. I think I should go back home, until the house has been checked out top to bottom. After last night’s episode, I have to question my beliefs. We heard not only the inhuman sounds...but laughter and crying, as well. It was human. I’ve thought about it, and as distorted as things were, I heard a woman's voice.”

  “Who then?”

  “From what I’ve learned, there were only two women who had any connection with the house. One was Lucinda, and also Buck’s wife, Charlotte. The women were cousins and both died tragically. You were in the house for awhile before we married. You act as if you knew nothing about this. You had to know, but you didn't tell me.”

  “You sound as if you have no faith in me. There was nothing happening before now. I know of nothing in that house—other than a few mice and perhaps a raccoon bumping around in the attic. Don't you believe me?”

  Katie said nothing.

  At the end of their walk, they came to the ancient dogwood, whose winter bare branches were gnarled and withered. An owl stared down at them with great golden eyes, as it rested on the largest branch. Katie could not take her eyes from it. For a moment it was as if it had cast upon her a spell. She saw the old blood stains bene
ath the branch, set permanently within the grain of the wood, as a testament to the tree's violent history.

  Here? Did something happen here, Old Owl?

  “There's something bizarre about this tree, don't you think?”

  “I don’t think any more than I have to. I prefer to feel my way through life.”

  He removed his long coat to lay it across the cold ground and pulled her down with him. He wrapped her in his arms as strong and sheltering as the tree above them.

  “Katie, whatever happens, nothing can hurt the two of us...as long as we trust and rely on each other.”

  “Then you think a Bonney and a McCann can coexist happily?” She asked the question, knowing his answer.

  “Oh yes, but I think we have to really work at it.” He grinned and pulled her close enough that she could feel a heartbeat in rhythm with her own, and soon she could not distinguish his from hers.

  Suddenly, she, and only she, heard an almost inaudible growl accompanied by a rustling sound, as fog began to creep from the meadow to the tops of the pines.

  “Sometimes I feel like an animal is watching me,” she whispered. “Please Nate, let's leave. I think it's time for us to pack our bags...just for a little while. I'm going back home for now. Please understand.”

  Gone was the blissful smile on Nathan's face, and a darkness settled in his eyes.

  18: Resurrection Day

  Jesse felt a fresh urgency to retrieve what he believed were his uncle’s remains. The intensity of the search increased after his sons’ revelation. If the search was to end at Blue Hole, Snake Eye Higgins’ job would then include recovery from a deep watery grave. The endeavor had become more simple, and at the same time, more complex.

  After that horrendous night on Diablo Road, Jesse was hoping, against his own good sense, that Granny Minna was right about the restless spirit, and it would find peace and walk those halls no more. Although logical by nature, he could not discount the mystical. If his efforts to bring resolution failed, and the phenomenon continued, Nathan would have no choice but to sell the house and land. The old plantation would belong to neither family—Bonneys nor McCanns.

  So it came to be that Higgins, Thomas Monet, and Jesse met in Sheriff Bridges’ office on a cold and windy day, as seemed fitting to the task ahead.

  “I have men I can assign to retrieval,” Sheriff Bridges said. “But they haven't the lung capacity. Do you think Calvin could go back in, Mr. McCann?”

  “I ‘m not sure I want him to,” Jesse replied.

  “What if he bundles up in long johns under his clothes. What if we attach a good strong line, so he can give it a yank when he runs out of air? He can make as many trips down as he needs to secure the bones in netting. We won’t have a problem pulling him up. He’s lighter than any of my deputies, and we can keep a fire going on the bank to warm him.”

  “Maybe If he wants to go back in, but I need to be the one who holds the line. That responsibility is mine.”

  Sheriff Bridges nodded.

  “Now that we have that settled, there’s someone still alive who knows the truth,” Snake Eye said. “That person is Louis Monet, and we know where he is, thanks to Buck. We need to talk to him again. Let’s bring the shotgun up too and check the bones for damage. That would mean the man was either shot before hanging, or shot afterward when they botched the job. I knew of a case like that once.”

  Jesse cringed. “You would think Night Riders would get it right. They had plenty of experience with lynching during the Civil War.”

  Higgins response came swiftly. “Why are you so all-fired sure it was them?”

  ***

  The plan unfolded with a trip out to Blue Hole. The men were grim and doggedly determined. Cal, on the other hand, was excited to be a part of the drama. In clothing, for protection against the cold water, he took in several progressively larger gulps of air to expand his lungs. A deputy tied the netting around his waist, secured the rope under his arms and lowered him into the water. Jesse took the rope from the deputy’s hands, and Higgins manned the second line for whatever was retrieved.

  After several dives to secure everything, the task was completed, and that long awaited resurrection had come! As the net full of bones cleared the surface of the water, a sudden whirlwind spiraled up out of the depths, at the same moment Cal came up with the shotgun. All the boy could think of was the woman’s warning about the “whirly dervish” pulling you down to the deadly depths without release. He felt as if something had taken hold of him and was intent on pulling him back under. He kicked hard.

  “Get me on out of here!” he sputtered. Jesse pulled, and Thomas came to his aid, bringing a frantic Cal to the surface. Once he was on the bank by the fire, he changed into dry clothes, and Jesse wrapped him head to toe in blankets.

  In a distance, under a tree, they laid down a pristine, intact skeleton dressed in a nightshirt, tangled in cord to which bricks were attached. Jesse was surprised by the emotion he felt about someone, though related, he had never met. He gave Cal a clap on the back and sent him to the sheriff's truck, with regret that he had allowed him to be a part of the recovery.

  Thomas Monet sat on the ground and covered his eyes, in an attempt to tune out the mental images that flooded his gift of second sight. At times such as that, the ability was a terrible burden. Remembering that Thomas was indeed of his own blood, Jesse went to sit with him. “It's almost over now, and I for one am glad of it. Be glad with me.”

  Sheriff Bridges did a quick inspection. “The entire back of the skull is missing. This man may have been strung up on a tree, but that's not what killed him. Higgins, you were right. Somebody used that shotgun on him.”

  Snake Eye peered through the gaping hole to view the teeth, as all soft tissue had long since gone. “The fillings in these teeth look like old amalgam—silver mixed with mercury. That means this person had dental work done in the mid eighteen hundreds. Gives you an idea of his age and the era. It fits.”

  “How did you know about that?” Sheriff Bridges asked.

  “I’m a bounty hunter, man. Sometimes I bring ‘em in to the law, and sometimes I bring ‘em in to the undertakers and coroners. I learn a lot that way.”

  Thomas was absentmindedly twisting the Masonic ring on his finger. “In my mind, I see the eye,” he said.

  “What eye?” Jesse asked.

  “The Masonic Eye symbol. I see a tattoo in my mind. I see the tattoo artist who follows the Confederate camps. I see him placing the tattoo on Cyrus McCann's arm. This man whose bones we have uncovered, was a Freemason. This ring I wear was his. Here lies my father, just as I see him in my vision.”

  Sheriff Bridges knew how the man died, but he didn’t know who did it or why. “If Cyrus was a member of that brotherhood, I’ll guarantee you he wasn’t executed by the Night Riders. No one in East Texas messes with a Mason.”

  Jesse listened quietly and thought carefully. Could he have been wrong? He turned the shotgun about and inspected the stock. So now the mystery had shifted. The answer lay with the weapon he held in his hands. “I can read the initials L.M.”

  All four men stared at each other.

  “No!” Thomas shouted. “I know what you are thinking. It can not be him.”

  Snake Eye was now on the scent like a seasoned hound dog. He was fixing to make the big time. “Jesse, let Calvin ride back with the sheriff. He’s leaving for town as soon as they load up the remains. Lets you and me and Thomas take a little hike through the thicket out yonder. Anybody got a machete?”

  ***

  From the steps of her dilapidated porch, Phoebe Monet pulled a shabby shawl tightly around her shoulders and listened intently. The sounds had stopped. She had heard the commotion coming from the other side of the thicket: the clatter of trucks and male voices raised in excitement or dismay. With her keen backwoods sense of distance and direction, she knew it had come from Blue Hole.

  They’ve come. Just like I knew they would. The world has come to pull
us back in.

  She shouted through the screen door for Louis, who was in his usual spot at the bedroom window, staring at dust motes floating in streams of sunlight. His gnarled hands clutched the arms of the chair, and his eyes were wide and unblinking.

  “They’ve gone to the bottom of the hole, old man,” Phoebe continued. “Do you hear me? They went in that confounded hole today.”

  Just like every day for decades, Phoebe pretended they two were actually holding a conversation. “I knew they wouldn’t leave it alone, especially after Thomas came up from New Orleans. My son sees too much in his head. He’s cursed by a whopping dose of Creole mojo...thanks to your family’s influence. He'll not let it rest, and neither will Jesse McCann.”

  She was startled to see Louis now standing at the screen door, hands hanging limply at his sides and staring in the direction of Blue Hole. In his eyes was a spark of comprehension which smoldered briefly, then fell into the ashes of a burned out mind. Even so, he pulled a chair to the door, shaking as much from anticipation, as from the wind that whipped through his threadbare clothing. He knew they had found his long buried secret. One thought entered his mind: Retribution has come.

  He had dreaded the day for the major span of a human life, but he always knew wrong comes full circle. The thought of that moonlit night in 1864 had driven him to the brink of madness and had forced him into a life of seclusion in the wilderness. There he had survived, in another man’s shack, in the middle of nowhere. If it had only been he to think of, he would have been relieved to have it end then and there.