One Last Time (17 page)

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “My God, Averie, what did you see?”

“Don’t look, Emily. Please don’t look.”

“It’s Lunar, isn’t it?” Her face pales. “What have they done to Lunar?”

I can’t answer her question because I don’t know. What I do know is he is still alive, and there is no rope around his neck. However, he’s been badly beaten and is tied to one of the pillars supporting the portico. I drop my basket. With one hand, I lift my skirt, and with the other, I grab Emily’s arm and start pushing my way through the crowd. My heart is racing, thumping hard against my chest. I don’t care who I knock down. I’m getting to the front. I don’t know what I will do when I get there, but I press forward, knowing I’ll figure something out. A hand grabs me and pulls me back. How dare anyone mess with me? I’m mad as hell right now and ready for a fight. I turn in fury. “Quillan!” I sigh, relieved. He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me and Emily.

“What happened?” Emily chokes back her tears.

“The men from Georgia are stirring up trouble. They’ve got everyone riled up. They jumped Lunar when we got here this morning, trying to beat information out of him.”

Potbelly Collins is speaking now, hamming it up like some bloated politician.

“These men from Georgia have proof the Underground Railroad cuts right through these parts, and some white folk, possibly your neighbor, is helping your slaves escape!” The people respond in a suspicious furor, which delights Potbelly. I shake my head in disbelief. The dumb ass is inciting a riot and pleased at doing so. Raising his voice, he yells above the crowd, “Rice harvest is next week! Can you afford to lose your workers? I, for one, have lost twenty slaves this month alone!”

I glance over at Jeb and the boys. Their faces show no expression as they stare at their bleeding brother. I wonder what place they go in their mind to get through something like this.

The slimy man steps toward Lunar. “You know anything about those twenty friends of yours?” Lunar doesn’t respond. He stares ahead, deadpan, like his brothers. Slimy takes a Billy club and strikes Lunar hard in the small of his back. Emily covers her scream. I move forward, ready to take the stick out of the man’s hand and shove it up his ass, when Quillan pulls me back. “Averie, no.”

“I can’t stand here and watch.” I struggle against him. “They’ll kill him.”

“Quillan’s right.” Mike joins us and takes Quillan’s side. “There’s nothing you can do right now. They won’t kill him. They’re just working him is all.”

I ball my fist in rage, appalled at how someone could easily treat another human being so brutally. I look around at the faces in the crowd. Not a person bows their head in shame. Their lack of concern for Lunar’s pain makes me think each and every one of them is possessed with the contemptuous power of hatred.

Emily watches, her eyes wide with horror, yet she keeps her composure, staring straight ahead, deadpan like the rest of them. I wonder again, what is she thinking to get through this?

“That’s my Negro!” James Faulkner’s voice booms over the crowd, silencing Potbelly. I stand on my tiptoes again and watch Mr. Faulkner take the steps to the portico. His face is flushed, and he’s not looking too happy. “What gives you the right to cripple my best Negro before harvest?”

Potbelly freezes like a deer caught in headlights. As usual, he tries to win the favor of the crowd. “I do believe losing twenty slaves will cripple my harvest. As best I know, you haven’t lost a single Negro. How do you explain that?”

“I tend to take better care of my property than you do yours. Maybe, if you made things a little better for your coloreds, they wouldn’t high tail it and run off.”

The crowd laughs and Potbelly reddens with embarrassment. Not intending to be outdone, he pulls a card from his sleeve. “These men from Georgia have reason to believe your daughter is working for the Underground. You know anything about that?”

The crowd gasps, and Emily squeezes my hand.

“Yes, the most powerful man in these parts.” Potbelly feeds on the hysteria. “Mr. James Faulkner is working behind our backs, sabotaging us, so he can harvest his crop much faster than the rest of us. How do you think he’s become the rice tycoon?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous and a waste of my time.” Mr. Faulkner waves his arm at the sheriff. “Now cut my Negro lose. I’m taking him home to heal. He’s got work to do next week.”

The Sheriff nods. “We’re done here folks. It’s enough for today. Now go home and keep a look out. Anyone with information bring it to me or my deputy. We’ll be the ones deciding who’s guilty and who’s not.” He cuts the ropes, and Lunar falls to the floor. “Boys, take your brother home,” Mr. Faulkner yells out to Jeb before descending the steps and leaving.

Jeb and his brothers move toward the steps, but Slimy stops them cold. “Now, you know you ain’t allowed on the steps of the courthouse,” he says. “But seeing as I’m an understanding person, I’ll be kind and help your brother down to you.” With a forceful kick, he sends Lunar rolling down the brick steps. Despite her best efforts, Emily gasps, drawing unwanted attention from the slimeball. “Well if it ain’t the rice princess with crimson hair,” he sneers. “You’re looking mighty pretty today, too pretty to be frownin’ like you are. What’s the matter, honey, you worried about your Negro lover?”

Quillan lunges for the man, punching him in the face and knocking him off balance. Slimy teeters backward before regaining his balance. I brace myself for what’s coming next. Slimy throws a punch, hitting Quillan hard, squirting blood across his shirt. Quillan strikes back, hitting harder than I could have imagined him able. Slimy teeters backward, dazed. Blood covers his face, making it hard to determine where it’s coming from. I see his seedy friend scrambling down the steps after Quillan, hell bent on making it two against one. I scream a warning, but it’s too late. Grabbing Quillan, he turns him around, placing his fist against Quillan’s jaw. Quillan stumbles backward. Before he can regain his balance, Slimy hits him again, sending him to the ground.

Mike is in the air now, landing a flying sidekick to Seedy’s chest. I grin. Finally, a chance for Mike to put his first-degree black belt to use. I’ve seen Mike in competition. He’s good, but I’ve never actually seen him in a fight when it counts. I hold my breath. He spins around, knocking Slimy in the side of the head with a powerful roundhouse kick, and then finishes him off with an axe kick to the shoulder. Slimy hits the ground, and Mike goes after Seedy. After a couple of quick snap kicks to the chest, Mike pulls him close and then turns his fist up ready to strike with the heel of his palm. “One blow to kill!” His eyes narrow in fury. I swallow hard. Surely, he won’t. Instead, he comes down with a hammer fist obliterating Seedy’s nose.

A gun blast stops the action, drawing everyone’s attention to the Sheriff. “Break it up!” he orders, placing his gun back into the holster. “You!” he yells, looking at Mike. “Am I gonna have to lock you up again?”

“He’s with me,” Quillan coughs, wiping the blood from his mouth. “These men here are harassing the women.”

“Now looky here,” the Sheriff gives Slimy a warning. “I’m gonna have to send you boys back to where you came from if you stir up any more trouble, you here?”

Slimy stands up slowly, weakened by the beating Mike gave him. Picking up his hat, he gives Emily a wink before walking away. “See you at the party, Princess.”

Lunar refuses to ride in the lumber wagon, so with the aid of his brothers, he walks back home. The darn lump in my throat swells bigger by the minute. We skirt past the mansion and continue down a dirt road, following it as it narrows and disappears into a grove of trees. The rustic smell of autumn is replaced by a foul stench riding on the breeze and wafting around us like the falling leaves. We step into a clearing, and I see the reason for the odor. Flies swarm around the raw sewage, snaking across the desolate property in murky streams, decomposing in the morning sun. My eyes water, and I hold my breath to keep from gagging.

Dozens of tiny wooden hovels occupy the small area. All are weathered and most are standing at a slant. One swift gust of wind, and I imagine the dilapidated shacks tumbling like a house of cards.

Several have no doors; the only protection from the wind and rain is a piece of burlap hung over the threshold. The breeze causes the rough fabric to billow, revealing the interior of the slave quarters. I gasp, taken aback. Holes in the roof allow the rain inside, muddying the floor, making the shacks more of a pigsty than a home fit for human habitation. I see no beds, no furniture. Only piles of straw and threadbare blankets cover dirt floors. I shake my head in disgust, but it’s not the rancid muck that repulses me as much as the atrocious conditions these people are forced to live in. But then again, they’re not living, they’re simply surviving. If I could, I’d transport every one of them back to my time and set them all free from this coldhearted existence.

Lunar doesn’t have a home of his own to go to, no comfortable private room with a bed to lie in and heal from his undeserved beating. He will more than likely find a soft patch of clover somewhere and rest until he’s ordered back to work, which will be as soon as he’s able to stand without teetering over.

How can Lunar heal in a place like this? The grime alone will infect his wounds. I shake my head and look at Emily. I break the long, forlorn silence. “Can we slip him in through the carriage house and let him use one of the secret rooms?”

Emily smiles softly and nods. “It’s what I am thinking, too. Jeb, let’s take Lunar to a safe room for now.”

“It’s broad daylight, Miss Emily, you know that.” Jeb’s apprehensions are reasonable, seeing he was forced to stand by and watch his brother get beat to a pulp and could do nothing to help him.

“Don’t you worry about anything, Jeb,” Emily consoles him. She nudges me with a certain determination carved on her face. I smile back, and my heart warms. I like Miss Emily Faulkner. My lump gets bigger.

Since Mike is the only one who came through the fight unscathed, he volunteers to scout ahead and give us the all clear, so we know when it’s safe to sneak Lunar in through the carriage house. Since James Faulkner was in town earlier, none of us are sure whether or not he headed home after the public accusations against his family. If so, he could very well be in the carriage house about now. We head back to the mansion and take our rest just past a line of trees that borders the driveway leading up to the house. The blanket of gray moss that hangs thick provides us with excellent cover. Within a few minutes, Mike whistles, giving us the all clear. We dart from behind the foliage and into safety. Jeb and the boys hand Lunar over to Quillan and Mike. The five of us take to the passageway.

Lunar doesn’t look too good, but at least he’s coherent and resting comfortably on the feather bed. Emily sits beside him, cleaning him up and dabbing ointment on his wounds. I can tell she’s worried. Who wouldn’t be? She can’t even send for a doctor. I, however, might fit the bill. I’ve sat around the apartment the past few months waiting for momma to show up and watched enough
Grey’s Anatomy
to perform surgery if need be. I walk over to the bed and take his pulse. It’s superslow, but that’s normal since he is in optimum shape. His breathing is steady. That’s good. I check his eyes to see if his pupils react to light. They do.

“Who’s the president?” I ask, hoping slaves are privy to such information; otherwise my test question is worthless.

“James Buchanan,” he mumbles.

“Good,” I say. “What day is it?”

“Saturday… Why you asking me questions you should already know? Did they hit you in the head, too?”

We laugh. Even Lunar snickers before he grimaces in pain.

“He’s fine,” I assure Emily who’s smiling at me through her tears.

“Emily!” James Faulkner’s voice booms throughout the mansion, bonging louder than the old grandfather clock.

Emily’s smile fades, and I watch her eyes widen in fear. The bookcase door slides open. Pearl appears in a panic. “Miss Emily, your daddy done be lookin’ everywhere for you. You better go to him before he come snoopin’ up here on the third floor!”

Emily pales even more than she already is. “Oh, dear God, Averie.” She directs her panic at me. “What am I to do?”

Great, we’re a week away from bedlam, all hell is breaking loose, and she is asking me, off-the-cuff, what to do. I’m trapped. The room is closing in, like a noose around my neck. I’m terrified I’ll say the wrong thing and give her bad advice. What if Lunar hangs, Emily commits suicide, and Quillan never gets his life because I couldn’t come up with an idea? Then again, why beat myself up? This is Quillan’s operation, and he admittedly came here without a plan, so why should I stress? I look over at him, and he is staring at me as if my words will be the life breathed into his soul. I swallow hard, gasping for air myself. I know why I care. I care because I love the people in this room. They’re not unfeeling characters of an eerie legend or lifeless portraits in my black history books. They’re not babies who never made it. They’re my friends, and they have impacted my life, changing me for the better. I close my eyes and think, and when I do, I can see my momma. Her presence is almost tangible, as if she’s standing right beside me in this room.

“Averie.” I hear momma’s sweet voice. “Honey, just tell the truth. It’s the one thing that will set everyone free.” I wipe the tear that has fallen from my cheek. Opening my eyes, I look at Emily straight on. “It’s your Judgment Day, Emily. Time to tell the truth.”

She nods. “I’m scared, Averie.”

I brush away another tear. “Me, too, Emily. Remember, there is no fear in love.”

“I hope Daddy loves me enough.”

“Oh, I think he does,” I reassure her. At least, I hope he does. My daddy disappointed me, but I’m not going to think that way right now.

“Will you come with me?” she asks.

“Of course, I will,” I say.

James Faulkner’s study would rival the oval office. I’ve never seen anything like it. He is a rice tycoon, that’s for certain. The man is wealthy, acquiring the best life has to offer. I try to not act too impressed, seeing as I am the granddaughter of Allen T. Griffin. According to everyone, he is filthy rich. So for all intents and purposes, I should be accustomed to rooms like this.