by Gen LaGreca
“And this man, I have just learned, also lied about his activities that night.”
“Sez who? A slave?” Markham shot back.
“You touch him, and I’ll smash you,” Tom threatened.
Markham leaped toward Tom, a fist cocked at his accuser’s face. The deputies quickly wedged themselves between the two men.
“Tom! What impertinence! Whoever said you could threaten my overseer?” said Charlotte.
She raised her eyebrows at Tom, expecting an apology. But he didn’t offer one, only a look of surprise at the side she took.
“Sit down, gentlemen!” ordered the sheriff.
The men complied. The deputies stepped back.
“Go on, Mr. Edmun—”
“He spoke to a slave, Sheriff. A slave,” Markham griped. “That don’t count as no evidence, an’ you can’t hear it out!”
“I will hear it, Mr. Markham.” He turned to Tom. “Go on.”
“When I went to your cottage after the crime to tell you the news, I found you fully dressed and armed in the middle of the night. You said you were going out to patrol the slaves’ cabins and that you do that every night. That wasn’t true. You were up to something else that night.”
“You believe a slave over me? You rotten Yankee!”
“Why did you lie?” Tom asked sharply. “What were you doing that night?”
“’Cause a worthless slave says somethin’ don’t make it true. They all got a’ ax to grind.”
“If you won’t give an answer, I can supply my own theory,” said Tom. He looked at the sheriff.
“Go on,” said Duran. “Maybe your theory will prod Mr. Markham here to tell us the truth.”
Tom leaned forward in his chair, looking grimly at Markham.
“On the day of the crime, you went into the old carriage house to whip a slave. There you saw an invention, something you had never seen before. You were curious. You poked around, examining it. You could’ve found the drawings and calculations I had in a box near the driver’s seat. They showed how to operate the device, what it could do in the field, and the tremendous work output it had over manual farming. From the device, the drawings, and the numbers, it would be easy to figure out what the invention was and its potential to revolutionize farming.”
“Them’s lies, all lies!” bellowed Markham.
“You could’ve figured that the invention was just what you needed to solve your own problems. You blamed the slaves for your low yields. With the machine, you could get high yields. You blamed Miss Polly for not letting you beat the slaves so the crop would be better. With the machine, you wouldn’t have to beat any slaves to get a good crop. You could be far more efficient and have hardly any field hands to supervise. You could be more valuable to any employer if you had a tractor instead of slaves.”
Markham’s lips curled as if he wanted to bite Tom.
“And you could make even more money, a great deal more, if you could sell the tractor. In fact, if you could steal the invention and sell it to someone with a lot of cash to develop it, then you could quit working altogether and live off the proceeds. That thought could have occurred to you as you stood there in the old carriage house, marveling at an invention you’d never seen before. With your poor yields from recent years and a new owner coming to the Crossroads, well, your future employment is less than certain—”
“Hogwash!” said Markham.
“You could’ve come back that night to steal the device. In the process, you could’ve awakened Senator Barnwell, who tried . . . valiantly . . . to rescue . . . it.” The horror of the event surfaced in Tom’s voice. “You could’ve had a knife with you from the plantation, which you obtained beforehand. You could’ve performed the vile deed, taken the device, hid it nearby, and left the senator on the floor where Ted Cooper found him. Later, after you returned to your cabin, I knocked on your door before you’d had a chance to undress. So you lied about why you were dressed and what you were doing at that hour, and you feigned surprise at the terrible news I brought.”
“I was surprised fer real!” roared Markham.
“You would’ve had plenty of time after that night to hide the device and weapon farther away, to make them nearly impossible to find.”
Tom sat back, looking at Markham. The women fanned themselves nervously. Everyone waited for the overseer’s reply.
“Okay, Mr. Markham. Tell us your side,” said the sheriff.
“That’s all humbug, beginnin’ to end, Sheriff.”
“Then what’s the truth?”
“The Yankee’s a fool. That’s the truth.”
The sheriff persisted. “Then tell us what really happened.”
“Nothin’ to tell.”
“You did see the invention in the old carriage house, as you told us previously?” asked the sheriff.
“I seen it.”
“You were dressed to go out in the middle of the night, and you told Mr. Edmunton and later you told me that you were going to patrol the slave cabins as you do every night. Correct?”
“What of it?”
“Do you really patrol those cabins, Mr. Markham?”
“Who sez I don’t?”
“Come clean, Mr. Markham,” the sheriff continued. “You weren’t patrolling any slave cabins. You were dressed to do something else, weren’t you?”
“It’s not what yer thinkin’.”
“Why were you going out that night? Did it have something to do with the invention?”
“I didn’t kill nobody, Sheriff. And I ain’t never got near the contraption.”
“What happened that night?” asked the sheriff, growing impatient.
“I was about to do somethin’, but I never got the chance. The Yankee here come to my door jus’ as I was leavin’.”
“What were you about to do?” the sheriff prodded.
“It warn’t my idea. I was workin’ fer somebody else.”
“What wasn’t your idea?”
“To take the machine.”
“To take it and do what?”
“Somebody wanted it smashed. Paid me half a year’s wages to do it.”
Tom’s head shot up.
“Continue, Mr. Markham,” said the sheriff.
“Somebody paid me two hundred dollars up front and was givin’ me ’nother two when I done it. You can see the money yerself. It’s in a bag given to me.”
“Exactly what were you being paid to do?” The sheriff persisted.
“To take the invention away. Smash it to smithereens. Bury the parts. I was about to git the ax and my horse, then go over the hill to haul the thing away. That was when he come to my door.” Markham pointed hatefully to Tom.
“That can’t be true, Markham,” said Tom. “It makes no sense.”
“No? Somebody tol’ me what that thing was, that it’ll do farmin’, that it’ll replace the slaves and maybe even replace me.”
“Who told you that?” Tom continued.
“The person that wanted it smashed. I tell ya, I was happy to do it. I was double happy to get paid fer it. Why would I want a bunch o’ no-good slaves runnin’ wild, takin’ my job?”
The sheriff stood up and walked close to Markham, towering over him. “Who paid you?” he said.
“Somebody who wanted the engine chopped up.”
“Who?” This time it was Tom who was on his feet grilling Markham.
“I don’ want it held against me. I was just gonna do what I was told.”
“Who told you to take the invention and smash it, Mr. Markham?” Duran pressed.
The sheriff’s voice was stern. His deputy put his hand on a pair of handcuffs tied to his belt, as if getting ready to use them. Markham’s eyes darted from the deputy’s cuffs to the sheriff’s face. He stood up and pleaded with the lawman.
“Lord’s sake, Sheriff, don’ ask. I got my job to think of.”
“You’ve got your life to think of, Mr. Markham. Who gave you money and put you up to stealing the invention?”
Markham looked at Charlotte. “Please don’t hold it against me, ma’am. Please!”
“Who wanted the invention smashed and was willing to pay you a half year’s wages to do it?” Duran demanded.
Sweat from Markham’s forehead sprinkled on the rug as he lowered his head and shook it in refusal. Then he slowly raised it in acquiescence.
“’Twas Wiley Barnwell.”
CHAPTER 20
Tom looked shaken by Markham’s words. He walked up to the overseer and pointed a finger at his chest. “You’re lying!”
“Oh, yeah?” Markham slapped Tom’s hand down and grabbed for his throat.
“Sit down, gentlemen!” ordered the sheriff, wedging himself between them.
The coroner stood too, ready to assist the sheriff.
Exchanging angry stares, the men complied. Duran and Dr. Clark returned to their seats also, in an effort to ease the building tension.
Tom’s head dropped. With his face hidden, he looked like a boy encountering his first disillusionment. “The senator wouldn’t do that to me,” he whispered, as if talking to himself.
“Oh, no?” Cooper smiled at Tom’s discomfort. Life had returned to the man saved from the hangman’s noose. “Sounds just like old Wiley to me.”
“It’s certainly more in tune with the man I had the great honor of knowing!” Nash looked pleased by the turn of events. “The senator was always the first one to defend our traditions against outsiders.” He glanced at the women, as if hoping to impress.
“You think it’s okay to destroy a new invention?” Tom raised his head in astonishment. “I have a higher opinion of the senator. I know he’d never do that.”
Duran looked at Cooper and Nash, “Did either of you actually hear the senator express any opinion of the invention?”
The men shook their heads.
“Mrs. Barnwell,” said the sheriff, “did you ever hear your husband say anything about Mr. Edmunton’s invention?”
“I don’t know if Wiley was fixing to do any mischief to that machine or not,” said Charlotte. “If he was, he didn’t share his thoughts with me.”
The sheriff’s face was drawn tight and his eyes were bulging, on heightened alert to everything said.
“I don’t know if Wiley realized what was troubling me,” his widow added. “Even before the . . . crime . . . I feared that Tom’s device might be . . . cursed.”
Tom looked as if he’d been slapped.
The sheriff turned to Rachel. “What about you, Miss Barnwell?”
“Papa didn’t say anything to me, Sheriff. Of course, I urged him to talk to Tom about his obsession with that machine. Seemed downright unhealthy, it did.”
Tom looked as if he’d been slapped again.
“To tell the truth,” Charlotte said, reflecting, “I worried that Rachel would be taken away from us and moved to the North because of Tom’s wild ideas. The senator assured me he’d see to it that Tom wouldn’t pursue that path. He said Tom was young and a bit brash, and without a father, he needed guidance.”
She looked at Tom, her eyebrows raised, as if she were hoping to impress her words upon him. “Of course, Tom’s quite a nice young man. I don’t mean to say we didn’t like him very much, but he just needed a little grooming.”
It was Tom’s turn to raise his eyebrows, not liking to hear himself described the way someone would describe a horse.
“Ladies, are you saying that Mr. Markham’s story about the senator fixing to harm the invention makes sense to you?” asked the sheriff.
“It does,” said Rachel, nodding.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” added Charlotte.
Only two people in the room—Tom and the sheriff—looked surprised that the women nonchalantly considered their patriarch capable of betrayal and theft.
“But do you have any evidence?” Duran asked.
The women shook their heads.
“Sheriff, they’re wrong about the senator.” Tom stood up before the group. “We can’t forget the meaning of his tragic death,” he said painfully. “He fought to save my tractor, not to destroy it. Doesn’t the evidence show that the senator tried to ward off the robber?”
The sheriff listened without comment.
“Markham lied about his activities on the night of the crime,” Tom continued. “Now that we’ve caught him in his deception, he belatedly admits he intended to steal the device. He’s certainly not going to admit to the actual theft and murder, so he’s made up a story.”
“’Tis the gospel truth,” the overseer insisted.
“Markham went to the old carriage house to steal the invention for his personal gain. He put on the cover. The senator heard rumblings, came out to investigate, and defended the invention with his life. Markham then stabbed him, took the device, hid it somewhere, and returned home, where I later found him. Doesn’t that seem like the logical theory that fits the evidence?”
“’Taint so, Yankee!” roared Markham, rising from his chair. Any pretense at cordiality toward the man who was his acting manager was no longer possible. “When the senator got to the Crossroads that mornin’, he called for me. He shown me the contraption. He told me what he wanted me to do. Gave me money. We made a deal.”
Tom shook his head. “The senator said he was going to the Crossroads early that day to inspect the place before Cooper’s visit—”
“He didn’t inspect nothin’. He come to see me and make a deal. That mornin’ when he shown it to me was the last I seen o’ the contraption. The crime was done ’fore I could git to do my business that night.”
The sheriff stood up and walked to Markham. He faced the overseer squarely.
“You saw the invention,” Duran said sternly. “You knew its location, and you were told what it was. Isn’t that so, Mr. Markham?”
“Like I said.”
“You made a deal to steal it?”
“But I didn’t hurt nobody.”
“You were up and dressed to do the deed that night?”
“But I never got to do it ’fore the Yankee here knocked on my door.”
“You lied to me about your plans for that night?” Duran continued.
“I didn’t see no reason to mention—”
“You took the invention?”
“Somebody stole it ’fore I left the house.”
“Who?” asked the sheriff.
“How am I to know?”
“How is it that the man who supposedly hired you to steal the invention is dead, Mr. Markham?” Duran’s voice was hard.
The overseer had no reply.
“Look, Markham, you had access to the weapon,” interjected Tom. “You had knowledge of the invention. And you had the opportunity to commit the crime. Later, when Cooper was about to be hanged, some vestige of guilt seeped into your conscience, so it was you who wrote the anonymous letter to free a man from paying for your crime. You were the one who left that letter at my house in the night, so I would stop the execution. This was what you did to relieve your conscience from a second death. Wasn’t it?”
“Them’s lies! All lies!” thundered the accused. His fists tightened, eager to contact Tom’s face.
“What do you think, Dr. Clark?” The sheriff turned to the coroner.
“Let’s take him in,” replied the coroner grimly.
Duran nodded in agreement, then turned to his deputies. “Cuff him.”
One deputy placed Markham’s hands behind him; the other curled manacles around his wrists. The clicking of the iron locks filled the room.
“Wait!” The urgent voice of a woman came from outside the room.
Kate Markham stepped into view in the narrow opening between the two panels of the pocket door. She slid the panels open further and walked into the room. She faced the group solemnly, without any attempt to hide or excuse the fact that she had been eavesdropping.
“Did you say the murderer wrote a letter?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss Markham,” said the sheriff,
who had been introduced to her earlier. “Haven’t you been following the case?”
“No, Sheriff. I’m afraid I haven’t been reading the newspapers, but I do know that my brother could not have committed that crime.”
“Stay outta this! They got nothin’ on me. I kin clear myself,” barked Markham.
Ignoring her brother, Kate continued. “You said the murderer wrote a letter—”
“Hush up!” yelled Markham.
“My brother couldn’t possibly have written that letter or any other document.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“He told me he kept the plantation journals,” added Cooper.
“He couldn’t have kept the journals, either.” Kate frowned at her brother.
The sheriff cocked his head as he appraised the woman. “Why not, Miss Markham?”
“Shut up, Katy!”
“Because he’s illiterate.”
Like a creature who gets a sudden glimpse of what it means to be fully human and of how far short he falls, Markham’s face flushed and his eyes dropped in an embarrassment that was awkward for the others to watch.
“Damn you!” he mumbled to his sister through gritted teeth.
“Sheriff, my brother never had any inclination for book learning. When our mother sent us to our little town school, Bret paid no attention to his lessons, and the other students surpassed him in every subject. But where he excelled was in beating them up after class.”
The sharp glance she shot at her brother suggested that time had not tempered her reaction to the events she described.
“And Brett especially enjoyed beating up those who couldn’t fight back, like the slave children he encountered when my father took a job as an overseer. So you see, Bret never learned, never wanted to learn.”
Markham was silenced by his sister’s rebuke. He listened docilely, as if he were still a boy and her voice had the power of their mother.
“After Miss Polly died, my brother downright begged me to come here and stay for a while—not to manage the house servants, as Miss Charlotte and Mr. Edmunton were concerned about, but to keep the books.” As she spoke, her brother fidgeted like a boy caught stealing cookies. “I didn’t realize he was lying to folks about that, but it seems to me Miss Polly kept those journals.”