Текст книги "Mankillers"

Автор книги: Ken Casper

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The hostages hastened into the dimly lit room. “You women sit over there.” Again Randolph motioned with his weapon, this time toward the settee across from the bed.

The first thing Buck noted was that Rex’s stump really was bleeding.

“Doc,” Randolph shouted impatiently over the keening of the man sprawled on the bloody sheets, “Shut him up quick or I will.”

Buck hated turning his back on his adversary, but he had no choice. He was leaning over his patient when Ruth moaned, “All that blood. I . . . I think I . . . I’m going to faint.”

Over his shoulder, Buck saw the elderly woman sway and Sarah grab her under the arms. “Let me help you, Momma.” She seated her on the settee.

Ruth placed the back of her wrist dramatically on her forehead and mumbled. “That bloody stump . . .”

While Randolph’s attention was diverted to the two women, Buck reached under the covers. He started to turn when Sarah screamed, “No-o-o.”

Like a tiger, she leapt to the man standing in the middle of the room and reached for his arm. Two shots rang out simultaneously.

#

When the smoke cleared, the body of Randolph Drexel lay in a pool of blood in the middle of Ruth Greenwald’s back sitting room.

Sarah stared at it, her pulse hammering in her ears. Or was it the reverberations of the gunshots? How strange that Randolph should look so calm, so relaxed, so still. She had betrothed herself to this man, promised to love, honor and obey him, and for a few months she had felt not quite love but at least affection for him. He had given her a baby. Then he’d taken it away. Affection had turned to pain and loathing and finally hatred. What she’d feared most was that he’d also destroyed her capacity to love.

Until Dr. Thomson appeared in her life. Buck made her feel what she’d never experienced before, certainly not with Randolph—a bond, a union of spirits. Without realizing it she’d found love, not the kind that consumed but the kind that fulfilled.

Buck’s expression was subdued as he placed his fingers on the neck of the human form on the floor.

“This time he really is dead,” he announced somberly.

Sarah felt an arm tug at her waist, looked over and saw her mother’s stoic face.

“It’s as it should be, my dear. When the righteous in a man departs, evil enters.”

Sarah threw herself into her mother’s arms. “I tried to love him, Momma. Truly, but—”

“He didn’t deserve your love, sweetheart, and never appreciated what he couldn’t give himself. Let Him who is Eternal judge his merits, and let us move on with our lives.” Ruth led her daughter to the settee and sat beside her. They squeezed each other’s hands.

#

A .44 caliber hole was centered directly over the heart of Randolph Drexel. Buck wondered if Sarah’s husband had known of Buck’s reputation with firearms and if it made any difference. He gazed down at the corpse. He’d just killed another man, but as with the others, he felt no regret. This man too had deserved to die.

He surveyed the room. The smell of gun powder hung heavy in the smoky air. Had Sarah not bolted when she had and struck Randolph’s gun arm, Buck might be a cadaver on the floor as well. She’d saved

his life. Again. Not just physically. But they could discuss all that later. At the moment he had a more critical situation to attend to. He rushed over to the bed.

“You certainly played your part well,” he said, raising Rex’s bloody stump from the soaked sheet. “I never realized you were such a good actor. But why the hell are you bleeding? You weren’t when I left the room.”

“Acting?” Rex arched his back and spoke through gritted teeth. “The pain isn’t an act, doctor. I pulled out one of your neat little stitches, and let me tell you, it hurts like hell.”

“I’ll get you some laudanum.” Buck looked around. The flask, which had already been nearly empty, lay on the floor, the last of its contents forming a small puddle on the polished hardwood beside the oriental carpet. He looked to the parlor table where he’d earlier placed a fresh supply.

Sarah climbed to her feet. “Let me help.”

“You don’t need to,” he told her.

“Yes, I do.” Her first step was unsteady, but then she visibly steeled herself and moved forward with determination. “The two of you saved my life. I owe you both more than I can ever repay.” She retrieved the fallen spoon, wiped it with her fingers and collected one of the uncorked flasks from the table. “You must be in agony, Rex. I’m so sorry.”

“Not as much as you might think,” he answered in an attempt at humor. “Screaming and yelling tends to take one’s mind off pain. Maybe that’s why we do it.”

She gave him a generous spoonful of the medicine. He settled back, more relaxed, though the narcotic hadn’t yet had a chance to take effect. As soon as it did, Buck more carefully examined the torn suture.

“For God sakes, why did you pull out the stitch?”

Still clenching his jaw, Rex replied. “I was hoping the bastard might be distracted by the sight of my bloody stump. I certainly didn’t expect Ruth to be squeamish and faint.”

“Momma? Squeamish?” Sarah asked in a mocking tone. “Not in my lifetime.”

The older woman moved up behind her daughter. “I’ve probably seen almost as much blood as the doctor here. I was the one who was acting.”

“You fooled me, Mrs. Greenwald.” Buck removed his suture kit from the canvas bag in which he’d stored the laudanum. “You should consider a thespian career.”

“Actually, doctor, in my youth I appeared for an entire season on the stage of the Dock Street Theater, once with Junius Booth.”

“Momma, you never told me you knew the Booths.”

“It was a long time ago, my dear, and I don’t intend to ever mention it again, not after what his son John Wilkes did.”

“While we’re waiting for the laudanum to take effect,” Buck said, looking back over his shoulder, “I’ll attend to . . .”

Everyone followed his gaze to the cadaver on the floor behind them.

Buck knelt beside the body and aligned it parallel with the edges of the oriental rug. He’d just killed the husband of the woman he loved.

When he’d finished rolling up the dead man, he returned to his patient, replaced the suture and bandaged the amputation.

“This time,” he told Rex, “please leave my neat little stitches alone, will you?”

His words slurred from the narcotic, the man in the bed replied, “I will if you promise to keep out the riffraff.” Glassy-eyed he gazed up at Ruth. “I’m sorry about the hole in your wall.”

“Pish.” She patted his shoulder maternally. “I think I’ll leave it there as a souvenir.”

Pounding came from the cellar door.

“Mercy.” Ruth clucked her tongue. “I forgot about Duncan and Rosie.” She walked briskly to the staircase portal and opened it.

The butler came out first, looking bewildered, then relieved.

Rosie crept out behind him. “Sweet Jesus, Miz Greenwald, I feared you was all dead.” She looked through the doorway, saw the boots sticking out of the rolled carpet, and with a gasp clutched her folded hands to her chest.

“Miz Greenwald, ma’am, you want me to fetch Mr. Jeffcoat?” Duncan asked, less shaken—or pretending to be.

“At once. Tell him to come quickly. I don’t want this vermin in my house a moment longer than necessary.”

Sarah stood over the shrouded body of the man who had been her husband. “How could I have ever felt anything positive for him?”

“He fooled us all.” Ruth murmured, wrapping her daughter in her arms once more.

#

Later that night, as Buck lay alone in his bed in the John C. Calhoun suite of the Sand Hills Hotel in Columbia, South Caroline, he reviewed the events of the day. He’d made a vow not to perform any more amputations and not to use his marksmanship abilities to kill another man, yet within the past twenty-four hours he’d done both. Still he was unable to see how he could have avoided either. One man’s well-being depended on his surgical skills. The other had threatened the very survival of those he loved. He’d handled the two missions with cold precision, but it would be wrong to think he hadn’t felt anything. He was grateful for both skills, as a physician and as a marksman.

He couldn’t predict what the future held. He earnestly hoped his days of surgery were over, that he could spend the rest of his life helping men live honest, honorable and well-balanced lives. He also knew, however, he would do anything and everything fate demanded to protect those he loved. He remembered something the rabbi had told him, wisdom he was only now beginning to fully comprehend: life doesn’t honor a man; a man gains honor by how he lives.

His mind no longer troubled, he slept.

Tomorrow a new life would begin.

EPILOGUE

One Year Later:

Buck sat on the box of his new phaeton, the reins in his hands, Job beside him. A maroon phaeton. Sarah had been emphatic that it be maroon.

“The color suits you,” she said.

He didn’t understand why. As far as he was concerned, one color was as good as another, though he would have baulked if she’d campaigned for the canary-yellow. Nevertheless he had to admit maroon was attractive. Not as formal as the shiny black he’d automatically gravitated toward, but still not frivolous.

“Stately,” she’d called it.

He wasn’t sure what that meant either, but it sounded nice. More important, it pleased her, and he’d do anything in the world to please his wife—he smiled to himself—except buy a yellow carriage.

She and Janey were seated behind him, facing each other. They’d talked incessantly for the first hour of this trip to Jasmine, grown silent the second.

Buck’s practice with Dr. Meyer in Columbia was thriving. Over the last several months he’d been treating men home from the war who were suffering from what some called nostalgia or melancholy, and others referred to as Soldier’s Heart, a vague indefinable lethargy, and he’d begun to make real progress with them by listening and by learning to better guide their narratives. So far his only surgery had been lancing a small boil. Professionally his ambitions were being realized.

His personal world had settled down and expanded as well. He’d resumed shooting, his targets were again only paper and pine cones. In another year or two he’d begin teaching Job to shoot. He looked forward to the paternal role. Buck had never expected to use the word happy, but it was the only one that came close to the emotion that filled his heart every day.

Six months ago he and Sarah had been married in a private ceremony, attended by the Graysons and a few other close friends. They’d honeymooned in Charleston where Sarah and he had rediscovered the pleasure and tranquility of sailing.

“You’re almost as good as Aaron,” she’d claimed.

He’d appreciated the compliment but hesitated to pursue it. Sarah had apparently accepted the fact that her blockade-running brother had been lost at sea during the war, but her mother still clung to the hope that one day he’d return.

Now they were all on their way to Jasmine.

“Our first barbecue,” Sarah remarked. “And probably the first one at Jasmine without pork.”

Buck laughed, confident a pig would be roasting somewhere on the grounds, but she didn’t have to know that. “Let them eat chicken.”

“Or beef,” she added with a sly grin. He’d have to be crazy to think he could hide anything from her. She was after all her mother’s daughter. Was it another Jewish aphorism that said if a man wanted to know what kind of wife a woman would make, he had only to look at her mother?

“Or deer meat,” Job chimed in.

“Or quail,” Janey added.

“Or catfish,” the boy sang out.

Buck laughed. “I don’t think anyone’ll go hungry. If they do, it’s their own darn fault. I’m not sure kugel will ever replace tapioca or rice pudding, though.”

“Apple kugel’s the best,” Job announced.

Sarah smiled at the five year-old. “It’s my favorite too. I bet Grandma also brings Blintzes.”

“Yum.” He patted his belly. “Is Liza going to be there?”

Buck smiled. The boy had become very fond of Asa’s stepdaughter who was going on four. Job clearly enjoyed playing big brother.

“You bet.”

“And Ophelia?” Janey asked. Ophelia was Benson’s daughter and about the same age as Janey.

“Ophelia too.”

A few minutes later they arrived at the twin pillars guarding the entrance to the Thomson plantation. The high, wrought-iron gates were open wide. Buck pulled the horses to a halt. The four passengers took in the scene before them. The grounds, ragged and unkempt a year ago, were pristine now. The hundred-year-old oaks had been neatly pruned of four years of neglect. The sun sparkled through their thick foliage.

“Oh my!” Sarah pointed to the as-yet-unfinished two-story house at the end of the drive.

The multi-gabled roof of cypress shingles was still light brown. As it aged it would weather and darken. The walls were complete, most of the windows installed. The old mansion had had six Corinthian columns in front. This one had six as well, but these were simpler Doric pillars. Nor was this residence as big as its predecessor, four bedrooms instead of eight, the piazzas smaller, the chimneys more modest. It would still have a separate library and large dining room. The detached kitchen in back, which was being built with brick from the old foundation and chimneys, was also smaller than its forerunner but more efficiently designed. Buck couldn’t help but wonder what Emma would have thought of it all. He hoped she’d approve.

“It’s beautiful, Buck.” This was the first time Sarah had been here since construction began several months earlier.

“Or will be,” he said. “It won’t be as grand as the old house, but it’ll be all ours. We’ll fill it with our own memories. No one else’s.”

Buck drove around the building site to what had been the courtyard behind it. The slave quarters had all been torn down, including Emma’s, but the chinaberry tree was still there. Buck had insisted when he’d turned responsibility for the plantation over to Asa that the chinaberry would not be cut down. A black wrought-iron fence with a small gate now surrounded Emma’s gravesite. Buck had ordered a tombstone as well, but it had not yet arrived.

Beyond the tree, he could see the overseer’s new house. It was modest, but it radiated a contentment that Buck found appealing.

“Look, Daddy, there’s Uncle Asa!” Job shouted and pointed.

Buck smiled. What would Clay think about having his role as father usurped? Buck had loved his exuberant brother, but he also suspected Clay would be grateful to Buck for relieving him of paternal responsibility. Wasn’t that the private matter Clay had wanted to discuss with him on their way home? Thank you, little brother, for giving me a son. Especially since Sarah can’t have children.

Asa descending the porch steps. He hardly resembled the orderly he’d been. Hard muscle had filled out his once scrawny frame, but much more impressive was his demeanor. The depression of the past had disappeared. “Kentucky” was now happily married and the stepfather of a daughter.

“It’s about time y’all got here,” he called out, as Buck brought the carriage to a halt. “Liza’s been asking after Job. She’s got a new hoop she wants to show off.”

A dark-haired woman came out onto the porch behind him, drying her hands in her apron. Rebecca Boone was shorter than her husband by a couple of inches, with fair skin and a million freckles. The affection that flowed between them was palpable. She greeted the Thomsons, invited Sarah inside to have some lemonade—and talk. She told Janey she could take Job to the pond where Liza and Ophelia were fishing.

“Damming up that creek a few months back was one of the best things Asa’s done around here,” Rebecca commented.

“He’s handy to have around, isn’t he?” Buck quipped.

Asa made a face.

The sound of gunfire stiffened Buck’s spine for a second before he turned in its direction.

Asa gave him an understanding glance. “Varmints,” he explained. “Benson found a nest of skunks not far from the barbecue pit and wanted to be rid of them before folks got here.”

“You’ve done a tremendous job with the place,” Buck complimented him. “You look content too.”

“It’s good to work the land again. I’m home, and I got you to thank for that. Crops’re all doing good too. Even planted some fruit trees. Maybe next year we’ll have peaches, apples and such.”

“Apricots?” Sarah asked.

“Them too,” Rebecca said. “Everything seems to grow real good here.” She smiled subtly. “Including me.” She gazed at Asa. “We’re going to have a baby in about six months.”

Buck’s eyes went wide, then a slow grin creased his face. He grabbed Asa’s hand and shook it enthusiastically while Sarah gave Rebecca a tearful hug.

Sarah was about to say something when they heard the approach of other carriages on the macadam drive and waited for them to appear around the corner of the main house.

Gibbeon sat on the dickey of the landau, holding the reins. Gus, Miriam and Ruth were seated behind him, each pointing to the house under construction and chattering. From the expressions on their faces, Buck deduced they were pleased with what they saw.

Right behind them was another buggy. At the driver’s side sat a young woman in a stylish hoop dress, holding a parasol.

“Ah, here’s Rex,” Buck remarked, “and Amelia.”

“My,” Rebecca muttered. “Isn’t she something. That outfit must have cost a fortune.”

“She doesn’t have to worry,” Sarah assured her. “Her daddy owns half the real estate in Columbia.”

“Rich and beautiful. Quite a catch,” Buck said as he slipped his arm around his wife’s waist.

She gazed up at him, a playful grin on her lips. “She obviously adores him.”

“Ahem.” Asa coughed discreetly.

Buck chuckled and released his wife. “Later,” he whispered in her ear.

After the gentlemen helped the ladies down from the carriages, Rex introduced Amelia Ball to the Boones. The others had already met his fiancée. More hugs were exchanged, then the party began its slow perambulation to the pavilion that had been set up not far from the new house. A crowd of local neighbors, including Reverend Christian, were already there. No alcohol was in plain view, but the jollity of the gathering suggested there might be some not far away.

“Rex,” Sarah commented as they strolled along the gravel path, “I can’t believe how well you’re walking, barely a limp.”

He smiled happily. “Getting that blasted foot taken off was the best thing that ever happened to me. No more pain.”

“You should see him dance,” Amelia added. “He literally swept me off my feet.”

The smoky aroma of roasting meat filled the sultry air. Emma’s old friend, Dola Rose, wrapped in a long apron and wearing a colorful headscarf, greeted them from the other side of the pit.

“We ready to serve whenever y’all say. This here’s beef and chicken, and we got some venison too. Anyone wants pork, we can get it for ‘em from Mr. Boone’s place.”

Miriam nudged her husband. “I guess I won’t have any trouble finding you when you disappear.”

“Now, Miriam dear—”

“Don’t you Miriam dear me. I‘m not concerned about the pork. Just don’t overindulge in the bourbon from that hip flask of yours.”

Buck laughed. “Come on. I need some of the forbidden meat too.” He leaned close to the banker. “You can have my share of the whiskey.”

“You’re a saint.”

“Just don’t get me put in Miriam’s doghouse with you.”

Gus chortled. A few steps on, he said, “By the way, I received a letter from our friend Tracker the other day. He’s in New Orleans now, has a job on a riverboat overseeing the gambling. Sounds happy. Said he was sorry to miss your wedding, but he didn’t get the word until it was too late. Said he sent a present. Y’all get it?”

“It arrived a few days ago. Sarah loves it. A music box with the William Tell Overture. To remind her of their running together, no doubt. I’m not sure if I should be pleased or jealous.”

Gus smiled. “He asked me to extend his best wishes to the two of you. Added that if you hadn’t married her, he would have.”

Buck laughed. “Then I’m glad I got there first.”

“Confidentially, my friend, I suspect he is too. I can’t imagine him with a wife. That’s not the kind of danger he relishes.”

#

Sarah had been to many barbecues over the years but always as a guest. This time she was the hostess and was amazed how gratifying it was to be the lady of the plantation.

Ruth came up beside her. “You certainly look happy.”

“Oh, Momma, I am. All the troubles of the past seem like a bad dream now. I just wish Poppa could be here.”

“He’s in your heart, so he is. In mine too. And he’s happy for you beyond measure.”

The two men returned from Asa’s backyard and joined them. Sarah had the satisfaction of knowing Buck didn’t drink. As for Gus, if he’d had more than a thimble-full of the contents of his hip flask, it was a lot.

“I wish you could see the glow on your face, sweetheart,” Buck said, taking her hand. “I’ll certainly arrange more barbecues, if they make you this happy.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that.”

“Is it the good news about Asa and Rebecca? He’s over the moon.”

That glow her husband had mentioned pulsed inside her. “You should be too.”

“With you I’m always . . .” His words slowed and faded.

She grinned mischievously.

“You’re not telling me—”

She nodded.

“But . . . you said . . . you couldn’t—”

She leaned closer to him and whispered, “Even the best doctors are sometimes wrong, dear.”

He seemed to be holding his breath. “You . . . You’re . . . sure?”

She nodded again. “Dr. Meyer confirmed it yesterday.”

For a moment he appeared paralyzed, then wrapped her in his arms and murmured in her ear how much he loved her.

All at once she realized their guests had stopped talking and were staring at them. She blushed which only encouraged them. Smiling and laughing, they started clapping. When Buck and Sarah finally released each other, people came forward with their congratulations and best wishes.

After a round of toasts, the white folks retreated to their food, drinks and games. Several minutes later the servants quietly approached and shyly extended their best wishes as well. Among them were Gibbeon and Janey. Despite the happy sentiments, however, Sarah sensed that Gibbeon was troubled about something, and Janey looked worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I needs to speak to Mr. and Miz Grayson, ma’am,” Gibbeon mumbled, his head bowed.

Sarah eyed Buck. This sounded serious.

Miriam, who was standing a few feet away talking to the minister, came forward. “What’s the matter?”

Leaving a group of men on the other side of the pit who had been joking about something, Gus joined them. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Grayson, sir, Miz Grayson, ma’am.” Gibbeon hesitated. “Janey and me wants to get married, and we ax your permission.”

Miriam shot her husband a crooked smile, then reached forward and took Janey’s hand in one of hers. “Y’all don’t need our permission, girl.”

“You’re not slaves anymore,” Gus reminded them. “You’re free. You can do whatever you want.”

Miriam took Gibbeon’s hand as well. “And you have our blessing. May you love as long as you live and live as long as you love. Be fruitful and multiply and fulfill the Lord’s covenant.”

Janey bit her lips as tears rolled down her face. Gibbeon’s eyes were glassy.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed to say in a broken voice.

Behind them the group of servants who had been watching, let out a whoop, encircled them, and quickly ushered them away, laughing and jabbering.

Asa and his wife joined Buck and Sarah. “It’s been quite a day,” Rebecca remarked.

Sarah was quickly surrounded by the other women, all offering advice, all bubbling over. Buck too was receiving unsolicited counsel on the joys of being a father, accompanied by a great deal of back slapping and ribald snickers. Sarah was listening to a friendly disagreement about the best methods to handle colic, when she noticed her husband had left the group and was walking leisurely toward the chinaberry tree.

#

Daylight was waning, but the sun was shining in Buck’s heart. He was going to be a daddy. Job was going to have a little brother or sister.

Clay, I promise to be a better father to them than ours was to us.

This was the happiest day of his life, yet there was still so much sorrow and pain he had to leave behind, so much of the past he needed to overcome. But as Ruth commented one day, a man without memories learns nothing.

Many of his memories he would cherish forever. Like the pride in his father’s eyes the day he presented Buck with his first horse. The quiet satisfaction he’d felt in nursing a sick colt. The pure joy he experienced when he read to Emma, knowing she was listening to every word. The day he took Clay down to the creek and watched him catch the biggest catfish in the county that summer. The pride on Asa’s face the first time they’d saved a wounded soldier’s life together.

Like when he and Sarah locked eyes in the dining salon of the Shenandoah. Rabbi Cohen’s approval when Buck first learned the power of listening. The expression on Gibbeon and Janey’s faces today when they realized they were truly free.

Best of all, when Sarah told him he was going to be a father.

Buck hadn’t understood the full meaning of the words the rabbi had spoken at Jacob Greenwald’s funeral, but he found them consoling nevertheless.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

Buck walked over to where Emma’s cabin had once been. Only ghosts remained.

At the top of the knoll where the old chinaberry tree proudly stood, he turned and gazed at the estate that lay before him. His heritage. Job’s heritage and soon another’s as well.

Like him, the tormented countryside had buried its dead. New homes were being constructed. Not as pretentious as their ancestors, but infused now with hope.

It had been almost two years since the war had ended. Two years since a sniper had taken his brother’s life. The mankiller who’d started a killing spree was now also a relic of the past.

The avenue at Jasmine remained unchanged. Mighty oaks stood sentry over a graveyard where once a defiant mansion hunkered down. The rubble of a way of life, grand and cruel, had been cleared away, but at what a price. Hundreds of thousands of men dead. Tens of thousand more maimed. Thousands of families homeless and mourning. Livelihoods destroyed.

Yet the country’s boundaries were unchanged. The Union had been preserved. The nation’s borders remained as they had been before the fighting. No new lands or treasures had been gained. A great man had been lost.

A rustling sound tore Buck from his reverie. Sarah was by his side. Her fingers found his. She smiled at him and in that smile he saw all the sadness and love and joy he felt.

He continued on up toward the chinaberry tree, Sarah by his side. Emma’s horseshoe was permanently fastened to the wrought-iron gate now. He stood and gazed at the lonely grave, then lifted his eyes to read the name deeply etched in the coarse bark.

EMMA

Under it someone had added three words from an old familiar spiritual.

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Ken Casper was born and raised in New York City, served more than thirty years in the United States Air Force, and has since had more than two dozen contemporary novels published. Mankillers is his first historical novel. He and his wife live on a horse farm in San Angelo, Texas. Visit him at www.KenCasper.com.

Pres Darby is the author of the autobiographical Tears of the Oppressed: An American Doctor in Afghanistan, and The Reluctant Assassin, a fictional diary of John Wilkes Booth’s adventures after Lincoln’s assassination. Mankillers is set close to where Darby grew up in an antebellum home. Now retired, he lives in San Angelo, Texas.

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