A Dark and Lonely Place (22 page)

Laura quickly covered her with a soft quilt, then whimpering, in a fury, she ran for the pearl-handled revolver John had given her. It was gone, along with John’s guitar, Joe’s radio, a pair of his boots, and most of the food in the icebox. The attacker had also taken Leugenia’s wedding band, which she had not taken off her finger for thirty-five years. Laura dropped to the floor in Bobby’s room, dragged his hunting rifle from under the bed, loaded it, then checked every room, every closet, every cupboard. Then she checked the barn. She knew she would kill him if she could find him, whoever he was. But the man who had violated Leugenia was gone. Laura cursed herself for not flying home the second she sensed trouble.

She locked the doors and windows, washed Leugenia, half carried her to bed, treated her injuries as best she could, then made her some tea.

Bobby, fourteen, arrived home first. He’d been fishing and carried a bucket full of perch and trout.

Laura met him at the door, gun in hand.

He looked bewildered. “Is that my rifle, Laura?”

“Yes, Bobby. I had to borrow it. Go to your brother John now, as fast as you can. Tell him he must come home at once. Your mother’s been hurt. Tell him she’s alive but injured.”

“Shouldn’t I run for the doctor first?” Bobby stared wide-eyed at the broken plate and blood spatters on the kitchen floor.

“No,” Leugenia wailed from her bed.

“Go, now!” Laura avoided the boy’s questions and sent him on his way, then went back to sit with Leugenia.

“It was a tramp. He was hungry and I fixed him a plate,” she said, weeping. Her face was cut and swollen, her body battered and bruised.

Laura fixed cold compresses for her face and gave her whiskey for the pain. She feared it would take hours for John to arrive, but she soon heard boots on the porch. Rifle in hand, gritting her teeth, she threw the door open, saw him, lowered the gun, and burst into tears. “How did you get here so fast?”

John had experienced a dark premonition, a sense of something wrong, about the same time she had, and headed home. He met Bobby on the road.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Inside.” Laura gestured toward the bedroom but restrained him. “Before you see her, John. Don’t ask questions. I can tell you all you need to know. She gave me the man’s description. She’s embarrassed, hurt, and humiliated, and she loves you too much to have to talk to you about it.”

John caught his breath and closed his eyes as she whispered the details.

“I couldn’t tell Bobby,” she said, her hand over her heart. “That’s for you or his father to do.”

Bobby, upset, curious, and confused about what had happened, was dispatched on another mission, to fetch his father and brothers.

John and Laura sat on either side of his mother, each holding her hand as he spoke with her briefly. “He took my wedding ring, Johnny,” she said, her lips puffy and swollen. “What am I gonna tell your father?”

“He’ll understand,” Laura said gently. “It’ll be all right.”

John left the room, unable to speak, his handsome face as hard as stone, his eyes dark and frightening.

His father and brothers arrived a short time later. Joe broke down and wept, then armed himself. The atmosphere became incendiary as the men shouted, cursed, paced, and punched the wall. “Save that energy,” John said, “and help me decide what to do.”

“Florida’s penalty for the crime is death,” Bill said grimly. “They’ll hang him.”

“If he’s not gone on another boxcar before the sheriff decides to send somebody up here from the county seat,” Laura said.

“Sheriff Baker and his boys would laugh,” John said bitterly. “They’re after me. You want those sons of bitches to question Mama about what he did to her?”

“They’d joke about it. They’d say that we can’t protect our women.” Joe’s eyes streamed, his fists clenched. The boys, who had never seen their father cry, became more agitated.

“Then we’ll handle it ourselves,” John said.

All but Bill agreed. “You’re already in trouble, John. If you take the law into your own hands, I want nothing to do with it. Don’t want to know about it. I have a wife to take care of.”

“That’s fair,” John said stoically. “I’ll go. I’m already wanted for murder, so it don’t matter. I’ll find him.”

Relieved, Bill headed for the door. “Lucy’s waitin’,” he told the others. “I’ll have her come by tomorrow to help care for Mama.”

John and Laura exchanged a glance. Each knew what the other thought. “No need,” Laura said sweetly. “Why burden Lucy with this? It might upset or frighten her. I’ll take good care of your mother.”

“But Lucy’s family, you’re not.” Bill bristled at his wife’s exclusion.

“Laura
is
family.” John fixed his eyes firmly on his brother. “And she is right. Not a soul outside this room should know about this. Mama would be mortified if people knew. What happened to her today didn’t kill her, praise Jesus, but that would. We need to protect her.”

They all knew that Lucy, an inveterate gossip, would relish repeating the story and would most likely embellish the already shocking details.

“It’s ugly,” Laura murmured. “Why burden your wife? If John takes care of it, it’s not as though our neighbors need to know for their own protection.”

“You’re right,” Bill said. “Thank you, Laura.”

The men all swore to keep Leugenia’s secret.

At the door, Bill turned. “If you do this, John, be careful. Make sure you kill the right man.”

“I will.” The words were a solemn vow.

First he had to fight his father, and his brothers Frank, Ed, and even Bobby. All insisted on going with him. “You can’t stop us, John!” Ed shouted, his thin face pinched, eyes red. “I’m going after him, with or without you.” Armed with his own rifle and a revolver, he pushed past John, toward the door. The others joined him.

“We’re tougher than any posse!” Joe yelled. “Let’s go get him!”

“Hold it!” John caught Ed by the shoulder, wheeled him around, and confronted the others, his back to the door.

Ed flailed and took a swing at John, who shoved him against the wall as they scuffled.

“This is our fight!” Frank said. “Our mother. Don’t expect us to sit by.”

“That’s right!” Joe yelled.

“Wait.” John held out his hands, palms up. “I’m the only one here who’s in trouble. None of you ever had a run-in with the law. You need to keep your reputations clean for the good of the family. Sure, we all shoot better than any posse Sheriff Baker could put together, but if we all ride out of here hell-bent on the trail of this son of a bitch, it’ll draw attention. That’s the last thing we want. The bastard is armed; he took Laura’s revolver. If we all start acting crazy, some of us could get shot. That animal has already hurt us enough. And you know, I always hunt best alone.”

He urged them to guard the homestead till morning. If he had no luck, he promised, he’d come back then and turn them loose. He won the argument.

He carried a shovel with him when he rode out that night. The tramp would probably head back to the railroad yard to hop another southbound boxcar. He had a head start but probably believed he had more time since the Ashley men were not expected home until dark.

The manhunt didn’t take long. John’s hunting dog loped along beside him. The tramp, slowed down by the load he carried, was headed for the railroad yard.

Not far from there, John’s dog alerted him to a stash of clothing and other items in the brush off the side of the road. John’s guitar, Joe’s radio, and food from their pantry.

John waited quietly until the man returned from checking out the boxcars in the railroad yard. He wore Leugenia’s gold wedding band on his pinky and carried Laura’s gun in his pocket. Joe’s boots on his feet were a dead giveaway. His long, dirty fingernails, yellowed teeth, and pockmarked face, all described by Leugenia, sealed his fate.

John took no joy in what he had to do, even when the tramp wept and whined that it was Leugenia’s fault. After all, she had invited him into the house. John didn’t regret killing him as much as he regretted the death of DeSoto Tiger. Why should his mother be victimized again and humiliated by the law? Why should the family name be dragged through the mud and the newspapers any more than it already was because
of him? Why should she have to face her attacker in a courtroom full of strangers? The law mandated death by hanging as the penalty for his crime. In this case it was correct.

The tramp was lucky, John decided. How much easier it is to die instantly from a bullet in the brain than to be hanged, kicking and jerking, at the end of a rope.

John sent the bastard to hell but knew he had to live with what he’d done. He buried the man deep, in a place where he would never be found.

John arrived home, hollow-eyed and sick at heart, shortly before dawn.

He put his guitar, the radio, Joe’s boots, Laura’s gun, and the food on the porch. Laura was awake, waiting in the shadows.

“Is it over?” she whispered.

He nodded, then avoided her eyes.

“Thank God.” She asked no questions. “We should be thankful,” she said, instead.

He lifted his pained eyes to hers in search of solace. “What for?”

“Your mother’s life. If he’d killed her, we never would have known who or why . . . And that I found her, not Bobby. I’m so thankful for that.”

He smelled the familiar fragrance of her hair and fought the urge to weep in her arms like a heartbroken child.

The door flew open. “John? Is that you?” It was his father, the boys right behind him. No one had slept.

“I have a ring to return,” John whispered.

Joe gave him a questioning look.

“He won’t be back,” John said. He dug in his pocket and handed his mother’s wedding ring to his father.

Joe sniffed loudly, then hugged his neck. “Thank you, son, I’ll take it to her.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S
heriff’s deputies hunting for a dangerous fugitive visited the Ashley place three times over the next seven days.

They displayed a wanted poster for Daniel W. Moody, who had escaped from a Georgia prison after serving only two years of a life sentence. Now sought for the recent assault and murder of a woman outside Atlanta, he was last seen hopping a southbound freight. Moody was believed to be in Palm Beach. Several local sightings had been confirmed.

Laura again suppressed her revulsion and calmly studied the poster during the lawmen’s third visit. “Haven’t seen him, and I’m sure I won’t,” she said truthfully. “We don’t get many strangers way out here.”

The deputies dismounted anyway, tied up their horses, and prowled the property as they’d done before, eyes darting, guns at the ready, more vigilant and wary than a routine visit warranted.

The tallest deputy, who had introduced himself as T. W. Stone, asked again to speak to the lady of the house. Laura replied that Leugenia had gone out once more, to pick berries in the woods.

“She’ll be so sorry she missed you,” Laura lied.

Leugenia was actually in the house, still recovering. No need for her to view her attacker’s picture now.

Stone frowned and warned again that womenfolk should stay close to their men until the escapee was run to ground. Speaking of the Ashley men, T. W. wondered aloud if Laura might share some information on John’s whereabouts.

Laura said she hadn’t seen him lately. That was true. It had been at least ten minutes since he kissed her goodbye and climbed into the barn loft, where he now lay prone, his rifle barrel trained on Deputy T. W. Stone, his index finger on the trigger. How easy it would be to kill Stone, to put a bullet through his heart at that distance. But he did not.

John learned later that the posse also visited his brother Bill’s place three or four times. Bill was always away, but T. W. Stone and Lucy spoke each time. John’s neighbors said they’d only been visited once, some not at all. Baker’s men were using the Georgia fugitive as a pretext, to snoop around the Ashley homesteads in search of John, who had no interest in shooting them, especially with his family in the cross fire. He finally retreated to his Everglades fishing camp, where Laura joined him two days later.

He unburdened his troubled mind as they lay together in bed. “This isn’t what I planned,” he said. “I want our life, the one in Miami. But it ain’t possible with my picture hanging in the post office under the word
Wanted.
”

She sighed sympathetically and nuzzled his shoulder. Her black hair hung long and loose.

“I love Florida.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “We’re a native son and daughter. Everything and everybody I love is here. But my family’s embarrassed, and Mama’s upset that I got Bobby involved. We meant no harm, didn’t hurt anybody. Didn’t know Sheriff Baker had no sense of humor. The man wants me dead, but I ain’t ready to hang yet, not when I have you.”

“What are you saying, John?” Propped up on one elbow, her right breast exposed, she searched his eyes for the answer.

“This all might blow over if I left for a while,” he said. “Miami’s memory is short. Some blame the Florida sun. Whatever it is, people here forget faster. Baker could lose his job or leave town. Then I could just ease back in and square things.”

“You’d leave Florida?” Her eyes were wide.

He nodded.

“I’m going home,” she said, and folded her arms around him. His heart sank.

She smiled. “Ain’t no home for me without you, John.”

His eyes flashed fire. “You’d come with me, Laura?”

“Never told you a thing I didn’t mean. Never will, John.”

“It ain’t right to ask you to run from the law with me.”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t let you run without me.”

PART FIVE

CHAPTER NINETEEN

J
ohn had already been ambushed that night. Once was enough. What was this? He considered the possibilities.

Lucy still had a key. He scanned the neighborhood for her red Mus-tang. With all its extra chrome, flashy wheels, and the Cuban flag that dangled from her rearview mirror, her ride, like its driver, was hard to miss.