A Season in Hell

by Easy Jackson

  “Mr. Beauregard tried,” Tennie said. “But the doctor is a family friend. He claimed Maribel wouldn’t do it, and he’s not allowing her to be committed. He said it is hard enough for Miss Helen to hold her head up when they have an uncle who enjoys showing himself in town wearing women’s underclothing and having everybody laughing at him.”

  Gid leaned forward. “He be from their other side, not us’uns,” he said, shaking his head at Tennie to make sure she understood.

  Tennie nodded and continued. “Now, when Maribel’s husband died, she knew she’d have to wear black mourning and be a widow for at least a year. Except because of the way he died, and the bad feelings it caused, Maribel found she can’t quit wearing the mourning or circulate around for another husband. No one will have anything to do with her—at least not those in her social sphere, which, frankly, is all she knows. She feels she’ll never catch another husband. She blames Lafayette for that and has convinced her brother the only way she can get out of the vicious circle is if Lafayette is dead. But there is another way.” Tennie took a deep breath. “That’s where you come in,” she said, looking at Hawkshaw.

  “No,” he said.

  “You are returning the money and not instigating Lafayette into drawing his gun against you because I am your cousin and talked you out of it,” Tennie said. “You want to leave that life behind and become a wealthy planter and horse breeder in Texas. You have the land, the money, but not the position. You need a wife from a better social circle in order to be respected among the wealthy Texans. That’s hogwash, but they don’t know it.”

  Hawkshaw leaned closer to her. “No,” he said in her face.

  Tennie ignored him. “The marriage could be in name only if that is what Miss Maribel wishes. You won’t force your affections on her, and you will allow her to keep whatever dowry she has. Miss Viola said that is important—that you stress to Miss Maribel she will have control over her own money from the get-go.”

  “I am not marrying anybody,” Hawkshaw said through gritted teeth.

  “You don’t have to,” Tennie said. “That’s the beauty of the plan. You will tell Mr. Beauregard you have a sister in Houston who you promised could arrange the wedding for you. Miss Viola said she could guarantee Miss Maribel will never make it past New Orleans before jumping the train and leaving us.

  “Then you can write Mr. Beauregard and tell him what happened, but he won’t care because Miss Maribel will be out of his hair, and he will have Miss Helen. You will have your reputation, and Mr. Lafayette will have his life, because Maribel will forget all about him when she is someplace else with a lot of money in her hand. And Mr. Beauregard is not going to send any hired killers after someone he has agreed to have as a brother-in-law. There are all these laws about breach of promise you could pursue if you wanted to, and he won’t want to antagonize you into doing that.”

  They continued to argue over it for almost half an hour. “What if this crazy woman decides she wants to marry me?” Hawkshaw demanded. “What then?”

  “It won’t happen,” Tennie said, refraining from reminding him just because Lupe wanted him didn’t mean every other woman did. “Miss Viola said Miss Maribel only likes suave, sophisticated men. All you have to do is perhaps belch a time a two, or use a toothpick to clean your teeth, and she won’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  Finally, Hawkshaw began to crack. “Would you swear to me on the Bible if she gets it into her head we should really get married, you will find a way to stop it without getting me killed by her insane brother?”

  “Of course,” Tennie promised. “But it may involve some sort of disease.”

  “I don’t care. But you will have to do all the talking. I am not going to say a word.”

  “I promise,” Tennie said, her eyes glancing at Gid, who sat behind Hawkshaw.

  Gid gave her a short nod.

  Hawkshaw got out of the surrey, pulled out his knife, and grabbed a small branch from a tree.

  “Hey now, what are you doing?” Gid said.

  “Get up front and take the reins,” Hawkshaw said. “I have to make a toothpick.”

  The boys had already been schooled by Tennie not to interrupt or say a word about what was going on. They looked back and forth between her and Hawkshaw, their faces mirroring such little faith in her plan, she almost gave it up.

  “You’re going to be telling a lot of fibs, Miss Tennie,” Lucas said when he decided the grown-ups had finished talking.

  Tennie sighed, turned, and spoke to the boys. “What would make Jesus happier? For me to tell a few white lies these people want to hear to get them out of a fix? Or get on a high horse and pretend I’m better than everybody else by refusing to tell a fib or two that could possibly save the lives of Mr. Hawkshaw and Mr. Lafayette?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Miss Tennie,” Lucas said. “I just meant you ain’t a very good liar.”

  Hawkshaw snickered, and Gid nodded.

  “Maybe listening to Miss Nab’s horse trading all week was a blessing in disguise,” Tennie mused. “God was priming me up.”

  “Oh, hell,” Hawkshaw said. “My whole life hangs on a thread held by an ex-slave, a mountaineer horse trader, and an eighteen-year-old religious fanatic.”

  “I’m not a religious fanatic,” Tennie said. “If I was, I wouldn’t be associating with you.”

  “You haven’t got sense enough to know who to associate with and who not to associate with,” Hawkshaw said. “If you had a lick of sense, you would have laid the law down to that dim-witted fiancé of yours and told him he’d better forget about chasing outlaws and give you a decent home.”

  “Don’t you talk to Miss Tennie like that,” Gid said. “She does too have sense. She got more sense than any woman I knowed besides Nab.”

  “Well that’s not saying a lot, is it?” Hawkshaw said.

  “How’ d you like for me to rip you out of this here surrey and break every bone in your body?” Gid said.

  “How’d you like for me to pump you full of bullet holes first?” Hawkshaw returned.

  “Always hiding behind a gun,” Gid said. “What are you going to do when the day comes you don’t have a revolver to hide behind?”

  Gid reined the horses automatically to the right, and they entered the lane of the Beauregard plantation. Tennie and the others stopped fighting and fell silent. The ravages of war had not destroyed the stately oaks leading up to the mansion, nor the ancient tall shrubbery that softened the corners of the house. A large white painted brick home, it had tall white columns at least six feet in diameter spanning across a wide porch. Its stately beauty drew Tennie’s breath away. She had expected a fine home, but nothing in her imagination prepared her for the heartbreaking loveliness of the Beauregard estate.

  As Gid pulled up the drive, Tennie said while staring at the mansion, “Maybe I won’t be your cousin. The judge already knows I’m not.”

  “Y’all get out here by the door, Miss Tennie,” Gid said. “I’m going over yonder to those trees with the horses. I’m turning this here surrey in the direction we need to go in case we got to hightail it out of here.”

  Tennie turned to the boys. “Lucas, you and Badger stay close to the surrey and don’t go off. If we have to leave in a hurry, we want you right there with us.”

  “Are we going to get shot at again?” Badger asked.

  “I hope not,” Tennie said, stepping down from the surrey.

  Hawkshaw stood with her, looking up at the mansion. Tennie thought it odd no one came out to greet them. That wasn’t like country people. Dogs ran around the house, baying at first, but were soon licking Tennie’s hand. She knew whoever was inside the house had to have heard the hounds.

  Gid left the boys with the surrey, joining Tennie and Hawkshaw. Gid looked pale, like his stomach was upset. Hawkshaw walked onto the porch and banged on the door. Tennie and Gid followed him. Hawkshaw had to knock three times before someone came to the door.

  She was short
, blacker than charcoal, and had a face like a bulldog. “What you want?”

  Gid was incapable of speech—he looked too tongue-tied to even say his first name—and Hawkshaw had already warned he wasn’t going to talk.

  So Tennie introduced them. “You may remember Mr. Hawkshaw from a previous visit, and of course, Mr. Coltrane is a cousin of the Beauregards. I have a letter of introduction from Judge LeRoy. We would like to speak to Mr. Beauregard, please.”

  “He ain’t here. He done took Miss Helen down to the lower forty and no telling when they be back.”

  “We’ve come a long way to see him,” Tennie said. “We’ll just wait.”

  “Suit yourself.” The black woman slammed the door in their faces.

  “Oh my.” Tennie looked at Gid. “Are they always like this?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t never come up this far.”

  She sat down on the steps. “We might as well wait here. We certainly aren’t going to be invited into the house until Mr. Beauregard gets here.” She hoped he would invite them in when he arrived. She didn’t want to conduct business on the front steps, but she would if forced to.

  Hawkshaw and Gid sat down warily near her, knowing she meant to straighten out matters that very day, even if they had to sit on the porch for three hours.

  Tennie expected Gid to start talking, but he remained unusually quiet, looking down at his clothes, taking his hat off and staring at it, as if he thought them not good enough to be seen on the front porch of the Beauregard plantation house. Hawkshaw made noises of impatience, wanting the whole affair over with as quickly as possible. A few small black boys found Lucas and Badger. Tennie could tell by their hand motions they wanted their visitors to go off somewhere else with them, but Lucas and Badger refused to budge. In addition to playing with the dogs, they ended up climbing all over the horses, but they were gentle creatures and didn’t appear to mind. Gid muttered that he didn’t dare unhitch them.

  Tennie, while remaining seated, began looking around. The cotton fields to the left were infested with weeds. The bases of the columns the mansion rested on were showing signs of rot. The beautiful white paint was beginning to peel in places.

  She gave a start when she heard what sounded like Negro men and women screaming and scuffling, coming from around the other side of the house.

  Gid shook his head. “No use interfering. We don’t have a dog in that fight.”

  Tennie nodded and leaned back against a column, hoping it would hold her weight without collapsing. Despite the loveliness of the Beauregard plantation, she couldn’t escape the oppressive feeling of crumbling decay. As the fight with its shrieking foul invectives continued, she stirred uneasily. “I wonder what they are arguing about?”

  Gid shrugged, consumed with worries of his own.

  Hawkshaw looked the other way. “Violence is only a temporary respite from despair,” he murmured as if reciting a quote.

  Tennie had never heard it before, but he didn’t look inclined to talk about it. She stared at him, not totally understanding what he said or how close to the bone he felt it. She looked away and left him alone with his thoughts.

  It was thirty minutes later, not three hours, when they saw a buggy coming up the lane.

  “It’s him and cousin Helen,” Gid said, standing up, wooden with fear.

  CHAPTER 19

  The buggy stopped in front of them. A small man resembling a bulging toad alighted. He reminded Tennie of a picture she had once seen of John Quincy Adams, except Raiford Beauregard was much uglier. He came around the buggy and held his hand out to a slender woman with brown hair and a pretty, narrow face.

  “Giddings! Hawkshaw!” Raiford said when he saw them, his voice hostile. “What are you doing here?”

  Neither man spoke. Helen looked concerned. “Did Esther leave you out here?” She turned to Raiford. “Really, Raiford, you must do something with her. Of all the inhospitable things to do.”

  “I can’t do anything with these slaves,” Raiford said. “Ever since Lincoln freed them, they are surly and unresponsive. By God, in my father’s day, it would have been thirty lashes for them.”

  Tennie stepped forward. “Mr. Beauregard? My name is Tennessee Granger. I am the marshal of Ring Bit, Texas.”

  “Marshal! Impossible!” Raiford said, staring at her as if she was a maggot on a dead cow.

  “Yes, it is hard to believe,” Tennie said, knowing most people did not understand the difference between a town marshal, a sheriff, a U.S. deputy marshal, and a U.S. marshal. “I assure you I am, and you may wire the U.S. deputy marshal in Texas to ask him. Mr. Hawkshaw has agreed to accompany me here.” Tennie didn’t know where that came from, but she continued to play it.

  “Then why is he carrying a gun?”

  “Because I don’t carry one,” she said. “He is with me of his own free will, and we are here to talk business with you.”

  “Business!” Raiford turned to Hawkshaw. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “That’s the reason we are here,” Tennie answered. “Do you want to discuss it on these steps, or would you prefer to go inside?”

  Raiford Beauregard looked about to explode, but brushing past them, he muttered, “Come into the parlor.”

  Helen looked upset as they followed him inside.

  “Helen, leave us,” he said.

  “No,” Tennie said. “It concerns her in a way, and I would prefer she stay.”

  Tennie was glad he didn’t have a sword in his hand, or Raiford Beauregard would have skewered her to the wall. Instead, he glared and threw open the double doors to his parlor.

  Tennie entered, trying not to let herself be overly impressed with the lavish furniture, the costly drapes, or the large fireplace with elaborate china urns on a carved mantel.

  To show his displeasure, Raiford took a chair and threw himself into it, not waiting for the women to be seated. Tennie sat on the edge of a sofa nearest him, while Gid reluctantly took a seat next to her. Hawkshaw sat in a chair away from them, while Helen stood with her hand on the back of Raiford’s chair. Tennie looked down at the arm of the brocaded sofa and noticed how dirty the fabric was. The carpet in front of her had a bulge that told her the servants were lifting the edge and sweeping dirt under it.

  “Can we get you something to drink? Perhaps some tea and other refreshments?” Helen asked.

  “No!” Tennie said. Realizing she had been too emphatic, she tempered it. “No, thank you, ma’am. We are fine.” She turned back to Raiford. “The judge sent along this letter of introduction.” She rose to give it to him.

  He stared at her, grabbing the letter and reading it quickly. Helen took it from him, scanning it before she let her hand fall, still holding the letter.

  “All right. What it is?” Raiford said as Tennie sat back down.

  “I am engaged to Mr. Lafayette’s brother, Wash,” she said. “I have used my influence to convince Mr. Hawkshaw to return the money you advanced him. He realizes he is leaving you in a rather bad situation, but together, we have come up with a plan we think will solve all your problems without risking the life of Mr. Lafayette or the reputation of Mr. Hawkshaw.”

  Raiford opened his mouth, but Helen put her hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you should listen to her, Raiford,” she said, looking at Tennie with an odd expression on her face.

  Tennie didn’t know how much Helen knew about Raiford’s original plan. Perhaps she suspected it but was curious to see what Tennie had to say.

  “Mr. Hawkshaw, as you can see, isn’t getting any younger.” She dared not look at him. “He would like to leave his violent profession behind and become a gentleman farmer and horse breeder in Texas.”

  “And what do I care about that?” Raiford said, his voice dripping in acid.

  “Mr. Hawkshaw has the land, the plantation, the horses, the money, everything one needs to succeed, except for one thing,” Tennie said. “To be accepted in the upper circles of Texas society, and by the people who
would purchase his horses and allow him to circulate in their midst, he needs a wife of breeding and culture.” She thought if they saw the run-down ranch Hawkshaw would be taking his horses to, they would kick her out of the house immediately.

  Instead, Helen leaned forward, lips parted in hopefulness, while Raiford suddenly let his lids fall over his eyes, looking sly and devious.

  “He’s a Yankee,” he said. “Yankees care nothing for those things.”

  Gid came to life. “Oh no, Cousin Raiford. He be from old Kentuck. You knowed how it was up yonder. Why the blue bellies just came in there and forced people to fight with them. Mr. Hawkshaw, he didn’t have no choice.”

  Hawkshaw shot Gid a look that said he would like to kill him, but he looked away before the Beauregards could catch it.

  “Certainly,” Tennie agreed, hoping Hawkshaw would not murder her, too. “Mr. Hawkshaw would like to make a business proposition involving your sister, Miss Maribel. He would like to offer her his hand in marriage. In name only, if that is what she would prefer.”

  The double doors of the parlor flew open with a bang. A tall, handsome woman dressed in black entered. “What is this? Why is my name being bandied about?”

  As Maribel stared at Hawkshaw, Tennie looked her over, realizing she possessed that deadly combination of black hair and blue eyes. She was not a young woman, but there wasn’t a gray hair showing in her head. Her straight nose and full lips looked down on Hawkshaw.

  “I thought you were going to kill him!” She threw the back of her hand to her forehead, and in a show of theatrics, she moaned. “Oh, God! Shall I never be free? Shall I never be loosened from this albatross around my neck? Should one youthful mistake be allowed to ruin my life?” She sank into a chair facing them, looking downward and sighing with overplayed emotion, covering her eyes with one languid hand.

  Tennie wanted to curse Lafayette at that moment. Why did he always get mixed up with hysterical women? And why was she always stuck dealing with them?

  “Maribel,” her brother said, ignoring her performance. “Mr. Hawkshaw has come here with a proposition for you. He needs a wife of background and refinement to help him advance in Texas society. He would like your hand in marriage with no strings attached. It could be one in name only if that is what you prefer.”