Shadows of St. Louis (16 page)

Shots Fired

Frank and his friends never made it to the Goodwin home. On the way there they ran right in to Rebecca Jane walking down the street with her maid Emma Lynn.

"Pull over, don't let them see us," he ordered Maxim.

"Why not?"

Frank wasn't exactly sure why he didn't want Rebecca Jane to see him. Wasn't that the point of his coming out in the first place? Wasn't he going to her house to find her and teach her a lesson? He vaguely remembered something to that effect, but the rum was doing odd things to his mind. He couldn't really think straight anymore. And the fact that she was with the pretty little Negro girl confused him even more. He wasn’t even sure which one he wanted. Maybe he would take them both.

"Let's see where they’re going," Frank slurred. Yeah that seemed logical. He could follow Rebecca Jane and find out where she was going. But then what? "Let's follow them and find out where she's going," he said trying to sound confident and in charge in his drunken state. "Maybe she'll lead us to him and I can teach them both a lesson." He patted his gun in his pocket to make sure it was still there.

***

Rebecca Jane noticed the car following them for the past two blocks, but she didn't want to alert Emma Lynn. She had been through enough. Besides, it could be nothing. It could be a couple of tourists who were lost and trying to find their way. Rebecca Jane shook her head imperceptibly. Now that was a ridiculous thought.
Tourists in East St. Louis?
Why would anyone want to come to this city?

No, Rebecca Jane knew exactly who it was behind those taillights. Even in the dark she recognized Maxim's car.
Frank's loyal best friend Maxim.
A boy who blindly did anything Frank asked of him. It meant Frank was no doubt in the car.

What could he possibly want? He had to know that things were over between them after what happened in the alley behind the
Grande
Hotel. After what he had done to Emma Lynn, there was no way she would ever want anything to do with him.

She glanced over her shoulder a little at the car slowly creeping behind them. Oh how she wished Charles would hurry. There was no way Frank would try anything when Charles was around.

A chill crept over her. What exactly would Frank try? How would she and Emma Lynn protect themselves against him? No doubt Bart was with Frank and Maxim as well. That was three against two. They would be defenseless.

Rebecca Jane squeezed Emma Lynn's arm in a sign of reassurance. Emma Lynn was so lost in her tears and her fears that she didn't even notice the car behind them.

Rebecca Jane could see the entrance to Clarence's small shack. Another few steps and they would be safe. She could snuggle into his strong arms and feel safe, forgetting all about Frank Gibson.

***

"Stop the car," Frank ordered just as Rebecca Jane and Emma Lynn entered a filthy, disease-ridden structure that the Negros called a house.

Maxim pulled over and turned off the engine.

"What are you going to do?" Bart asked.

Frank lit a cigarette then stared at the match until it almost burned his fingers. After throwing the match outside the window, he pulled out his gun and said, "Drive."

***

Rebecca Jane had just reached for the arms she'd longed for all day when the first gunshots rang through the building. Clarence pushed her down to the ground as screams filled the neighborhood.

She saw Emma Lynn grab Jessie and cover his small body with her own. Tears filled Rebecca Jane's eyes as she realized that the shots most likely came from her no good former companion, Frank. This was her fault. If anyone got hurt from this shooting spree, she would only have herself to blame. Well, herself and her mother. It was her mother's fault that she was ever involved with the likes of Frank Gibson at all.

The shooting seemed to last forever. The glass shattered. The screams in and out of the building filled the air. Clarence's arms tightened around her.

When the shots finally subsided, Clarence released her and said, "Stay down. I'll make sure it's safe." He hopped up, grabbed a gun from the shelf and went outside.

"Call the police!" someone cried.

"Grab your guns. Protect your family," someone else cried.

Staying low, Rebecca Jane crawled over to Emma Lynn and Jessie. "Are you all right?" she asked through her tears.

Emma Lynn nodded numbly as she held on to Jessie. "What's going on? What happened?" Emma Lynn
asked,
her voice full of shock.

"It was Frank. I know it was. I saw him following us here."

Just then Rebecca Jane saw Cecilia clutching her chest. She removed her hand and blood dripped from it. Then her eyes rolled to the back of her head and then her body went limp. "Oh God," Rebecca Jane gasped. "She's been shot! Clarence! Clarence!"

"Jane!" Clarence yelled, rushing back into the room. "Are you okay?"         

Rebecca Jane pointed to his sister lying in the corner. Clarence dropped his gun, gathered Cecilia in his arms and cried into her hair.

"No! No! No!" Rebecca Jane cried as she pulled at her own hair. Why did he do this? It was her Frank wanted. How could he kill an innocent person like Cecilia? She was like the only mother Jesse had ever known and now she was dead.
Dead because of Rebecca Jane.

The room was near silent. The only sound was the sobbing of Clarence. The man she loved.
The man that meant everything to her.
She hated to see him in pain.

"They're coming back!" someone outside shouted.

Rebecca Jane heard the sound of a car screeching through the neighborhood. She looked down and saw Clarence's gun on the ground. Without thinking, she picked it up and pointed it out the window. She fired at the vehicle several times before she noticed in horror that it wasn't the right car.

The Sirens

Henry heard police sirens heading to the wrong side of town as he made his way to Emma Lynn's house. He wasn't sure at what time she wanted him to come, but he couldn't stay away any longer. He also really needed to know if there had been any repercussions in the Goodwin home due to his mother's visit.

He hoped they would be able to share a bed together that night. Not in a sexual sense, but just share the bed as they had a couple of nights ago after Emma Lynn's injury. He would be perfectly content just holding her in his arms for the rest of the night. Besides, he wasn't even sure if he would be welcome back in his own home later. His mother promised to keep his intentions with Emma Lynn a secret, but he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted anymore. He was tired of the lies and the secrecy. He didn't care who knew he loved Emma Lynn. Unfortunately, his newfound strength and confidence would almost certainly result in him being permanently ostracized from his family. He didn't care though. As far as he was concerned, Emma Lynn was his family.

A teenage boy holding a torch nearly ran Henry over as he crossed the street. "What's going on?" Henry asked.

"You haven't heard?" the boy said. "The Negros shot and killed two white police officers driving through their neighborhood. A bunch of us are gathering to make sure they get justice. You
wanna
come?"

Henry glanced down the street. He could almost see the Goodwin home from where he was standing. His Emma would be waiting for him. "Sorry, I have an appointment."

"Suit
yourself
," the boy said with a shrug before running toward the colored part of town.

Emma Lynn's cellar was dark. Was she already asleep? He tried her window, but apparently it had been fixed and wouldn’t open. He peered inside and saw that not only was her bed empty but most of her belongings were gone. She was gone.

In a panic, he ran up the stairs to their back porch, bumping into Charles.

"Henry, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was supposed to meet Emma here. Where is she? Her stuff is all gone."

Charles nodded guiltily. "Mother kicked her out. Rebecca Jane is currently taking her to Clarence's house for the night. I'm on my way there as well. I'll —"

"Oh no."

"What?"

"There's been a shooting in that part of town. We have to go find her. She could be in danger."

Henry followed as Charles immediately dropped his bag and ran down the stairs.

***

Fires blazed and tortured screams penetrated the air when Charles and Henry arrived on Clarence's street. Mobs of white men gathered in the streets, some throwing bricks through windows, others lighting wooden houses on fire and still others cutting firemen's hoses so that there would be no rescue.

Henry turned away as a group of five white boys dragged a black, bloodied body through the streets. One of the boys had a rope. Henry knew what was coming next.

Charles picked up a stick and brick and said, "Follow me." Blending in with the angry crowd, Charles and Henry made their way down the street. He cut around to the back of the neighborhood and wove through houses, tents, and makeshift shelters. Suddenly a gun started firing. Henry immediately fell to the ground and covered his head.

"Don't shoot. Don't shoot!" Charles yelled. "I’m Charles Goodwin. I just want my son."

The shooting stopped. Henry and Charles stood slowly. When they tried to keep going, Charles stumbled.

"Charles? Are you all right?"

"I think. I think I've been shot," Charles replied.

“Sit down,” Henry ordered as his medical training kicked in. Kneeling beside him, Henry tried to take stock of the situation. "Where were you hit?"

"Thigh."

Henry ripped off the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.

"You were also hit in the head," Henry said shifting away part of Charles' blood soaked hair. "It's just a graze." He ripped off another part of his shirt and held it to Charles' head. "I know you're hurt, Charles, but we have to keep moving. We have to find Emma Lynn, Rebecca Jane, and Jesse."

Charles
twinged
at the mention of his son's name. He must have found some reserve of inner strength and forced himself to stand up.

"Follow me," he said, heading down a narrow pathway between houses.

The door Charles tried to enter was locked and apparently barricaded. Even after Charles used his key the door wouldn't open. He tried to force it open with his shoulder, but it caused too much pain. That's when more shots were fired. Charles and Henry fell to the floor covering their heads.

“Don’t shoot, please,” Henry called.

From the ground, Charles pounded on the door. “Clarence, Cecilia, it’s me Charles!”

Henry heard furniture scrape against the floor as if the barricade was being moved.

***

Emma Lynn thought she'd heard the voice of her beloved Henry, but she wouldn't let herself believe it until she could see him and feel his skin against hers.

"Henry!" she cried, burying her face in his chest. "You came for me."

"Of course, I came for you," he said.

Emma Lynn tried to speak. She wanted to tell Henry how much she loved him, but she was beyond words. All she could do was cling to Henry as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tighter and tighter. Her ribs protested in pain, but she couldn’t let him go. "Are you all right?" she asked finally, stepping away and taking a good look at him for the first time. "You're bleeding."

"No, I'm not. It's not my blood. It's Charles’."

Emma Lynn gasped as she looked at her brother for the first time. "Help me get him inside."

Henry helped Charles to his feet but said, "I don't think we should stay here, Emma Lynn. The mob is burning down the entire city. We need to get out of here."

"And go where, Henry?" she asked.

"We need to get to the other side of town. Maybe we can hide out at the Goodwin home until this blows over."

A pale and shaking Rebecca Jane said, "No, I'll never go back there. I'd rather die here.
Right here where Cecilia died."

"Cecilia?" Charles groaned.

"She's gone, Charles. Frank shot her. I know it was him," Rebecca Jane said. "I was angry and I fired back but it wasn't Frank in the second car. I think I did something. I think I
— "

Rebecca Jane broke down in tears. Clarence tried to comfort her but he was crying just as hard over his sister's death.

"What's that smell?" Emma Lynn asked suddenly. She didn't really need to ask. She knew exactly what the smell was. It was the smell of burning.
Burning wood and burning flesh.
She knew Henry was right. They couldn't stay there. The fires were spreading and they were going to be burned alive if they didn't get out.

She focused on the screaming in the streets. She wasn't sure what fate was worse. Being burned alive or beaten to death by an angry mob.