A reckless love, p.8
A Reckless Love, page 8
Once Schuyler had the carriage settled into a comfortable pace again, Aurora released the side rail and frowned at Levi. “All right. Enough cloak and dagger. What is he talking about?”
“You remind me a lot of your grandmother,” Levi muttered.
“Doesn’t she?” Schuyler glanced at Aurora. “I think it’s the eyebrows.”
“No, it’s the bulldog refusal to let anything go once she’s set her mind on it. I thought Selah was bad . . .” Levi chuckled. “All right, Pete, so I’ve got plans for your saloon, and a boardinghouse doesn’t fit in with them right now. Though eventually—”
“You’ve got plans? Excuse me—you might have married into this family, but according to Mississippi law, a woman’s inheritance does not pass automatically to our husbands. And even if it did, Selah’s part is only a third. Joelle and I could outvote her.”
“Joelle has already agreed,” Schuyler said. He almost sounded apologetic.
Aurora stared at him. “My sisters colluded against me? I don’t believe it.”
“Pete,” Levi said gently, “you’re nineteen years old, a single female. You can’t operate a boardinghouse on your own, even if you had the money and resources to do it. You know I think you’re one of the three smartest women in Mississippi—probably below the Mason-Dixon line—but there are just certain facts of life we can’t get around. Selah’s going to have a baby, and I can’t add to her physical stress. Joelle’s busy planning to marry this chowderhead—”
“Hey!” Schuyler yelped.
“—plus she’s running a school and writing a book. Nobody has time to keep running back and forth to town, checking on you.”
“ThomasAnne does.” Now that she thought about it, the sudden inspiration struck Aurora as pure genius. Nobody was more genteel and upright than her older, unmarried cousin. Nobody had more time to spare than ThomasAnne. “She would adore living in town, where she could assist Dr. Kidd in his office as a nurse. But before we get into all that—tell me what plan you had for my boardinghouse. Don’t think you distracted me into forgetting that part of the discussion.”
Levi pressed his lips together. “All right. All right, you win. But this has got to stay right here among the three of us. Well, five, counting your sisters. I want to use the saloon to hide Sager, Jefcoat, and Moore until the trial starts. Pinkerton has been hired to increase security for these Klan trials, and that scene last night worries me a lot. Certainly Sager managed to get out of it without violence—admittedly with a little assistance—but next time things might not end so easily.”
Schuyler nodded. “Tempers are hot, especially in close little towns like Tupelo. Most of that crowd—you saw them, Pete—have been involved in one or more Klan activities. I saw them myself! People are scared they’re going to get caught up and prosecuted. And when people are scared, they’re dangerous.”
Levi leaned forward. “Aurora, I need you as far away from the trouble as possible. And can you understand why I want to move those witnesses out of sight?”
“I can understand, and I appreciate you taking time to explain it to me.” Chills walked up Aurora’s arms as she realized the peril she had so blithely flirted with yesterday evening. But now she also knew, with eyes wide open, exactly what she’d been given to do. Both her sisters had risked their own lives and reputations to help others. Now it was her turn. “Let me posit my own suggestion. It may surprise you to know that I agree—moving the deputy marshal and his charges into the saloon is a good idea. But what if we start the renovations as a way to cover their presence? If ThomasAnne and I are there, directing the activity, workers coming in and out during the day, no one would imagine we’d have male guests. You could even make a production of Sager taking the men out of town, then bring them back under cover of darkness and install them upstairs.” She chanced a look at Schuyler and found him remarkably thoughtful. “And if you’re still worried about society protocol, Schuyler could come stay too, as our male protector. I know you’re tired of sleeping in the barn, Sky.”
There was a brief electric silence as the two men considered her proposition. It could go either way. If Levi thought it was too complicated, or Schuyler resisted leaving Daughtry House and Joelle, Aurora was going to have a hard time defending the idea. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly, but in her very spirit she knew this was something she had been born to do.
Finally Schuyler exhaled sharply. “I need to leave Daughtry House until Joelle and I get married. I’ve been putting it off, but I have to admit, I don’t have any real objections. What do you think, Levi?”
Levi smirked at Schuyler. “I think you understand why Selah and I had such a short engagement. And I also think our little sister would make an exceptional tactical officer.” His smile for Aurora contained a gratifying note of respect. “All right, you win this round as well, on the condition that Sager has no objections.” He held up a hand to forestall her whoop of victory. “However, you’re going to let me propose it to him. Otherwise, I can guarantee you’d be shot down without a second thought. Agreed?”
She meekly nodded, though she felt her grin spread from ear to ear. “I’m going to be the first landlady jailer in the modern South! Just don’t tell ThomasAnne.”
Zane had had about enough of this hick town jailhouse and its low-information constable. He kept himself from throttling Pickett by whittling a raccoon from a birch twig he’d picked up during his dawn trip out to the privy. Before that, he had not slept well in the ladderback chair; but then, he rarely got a full night’s sleep anyway.
Consequently, the arrival of Levi Riggins and Schuyler Beaumont midmorning found Zane not only hungry but testy.
“I hope you’ve brought food again,” he said when Beaumont opened the door without knocking and poked his head inside.
“Not exactly.” Beaumont entered, followed by Riggins. “But if you’ll trust Pickett to keep an eye on your folks for half an hour, we’ll treat you to breakfast at the Gum Pond. Brown may be a hothead idiot, but his cook knows his way around a stack of hotcakes and some Andouille sausage.”
“That’s just a block away, right?” Zane let his chair drop onto all fours and glanced at Pickett, sitting at the desk reading an old newspaper. He needed to talk to Riggins and Beaumont, but he did not want to discuss this case in front of the constable. Two negatives did not make a positive in this case. Either choice might result in serious trouble.
“The sheriff will be in this afternoon,” Pickett said, rattling the paper. “He’ll expect you back by then.”
Zane scowled at him. “I’ll get back when I get back. You stay put and don’t let them talk you into anything stupid. Anything happens to either of those men, I’ll hunt you down.”
“That was diplomatic,” Beaumont said as the three of them walked the short distance to the hotel.
“Diplomacy is not my main job.” Zane realized he probably could have spent the night at the hotel. Both prisoners had slept just fine, and the town had been quiet, including the train station two streets over. The first train had arrived at eight this morning. But he suspected the hotel’s owner might have instructed his clerk not to house the “interloper.”
“No,” Riggins said, “but it would go a long way to getting you to your goal, which is keeping those two fellows—and yourself, I might add—free of bullet holes.”
Beaumont opened the hotel’s front door. “Do you think Jefcoat or Moore will talk to the sheriff? What have they told you?”
“Not much, beyond what I had already learned from Riggins on the train. I know Jefcoat was once your good friend, and that he’s deep in the Mississippi Klan.”
Beaumont nodded as he led the way to a corner table. “Jefcoat was connected to the Klan through his father, who served as a Confederate soldier. He’s a racist, dead set against the election of Negroes to Congress—and a proponent of voter intimidation. By his own admission, he was aiming at Reverend Thomas during that Tuscaloosa riot when he shot my father.”
The three of them took seats. By this time of the morning, the restaurant was relatively quiet, most breakfast customers having come and gone. Zane gave Beaumont a curious look. “When did you discover how far he’d sunk?”
Beaumont’s face was set, voice gritty. “He kidnapped me and would have killed me if I hadn’t claimed to know Lem Frye’s location.”
Zane tipped his head. “That’s a name I haven’t heard.” He sighed. “And there are a lot of names to keep up with.”
Riggins nodded. “It’s a nasty, sprawling nest of vipers. I’ll provide you a list. Lemuel Frye is the white schoolteacher I mentioned on the train—the one who married the Maney children’s Negro caretaker.” He leaned in. “Follow this. Mrs. Frye grew up on the Jefcoat plantation and was sold to the Maneys. There are lots of ties between those two families. And Maney knows the Fryes have some incriminating evidence against him. They’re in real danger, and we’ve got them in a protected location.”
“I’ve talked to Jefcoat since he was caught, and he’s scared,” Beaumont said. “But I can’t get him to break. Jefcoat said ‘the general’ sent him to stop me from going to Tremont. I suppose that could mean either Maney or Forrest. Or neither. I know one thing, though. I addressed Maney by name the night of the newspaper attack, and he instinctively responded. I never saw his face, but that voice is one I’ll recognize if I hear it again.”
“How much of your involvement in this mess is general knowledge?” Zane asked. “Does the Klan think you’re with them or against them?”
“Wait.” Levi reached into his coat pocket for a leather notebook and pencil. “I want to take notes on what we know in orderly fashion. Then we can look at it all and make connections, catch lies, eliminate suspects.”
“Good idea.” Schuyler glanced at the menu posted in chalk on a blackboard next to the doorway and waved to a woman in an apron, who bustled about straightening chairs. “But let’s get those hotcakes rolling first. Mrs. Brown!”
The woman approached, smiling. Apparently her husband had failed to inform her of his humiliating rout last evening, for she took their orders with no noticeable prejudice against any of her three customers. “Hotcakes and sausage it is,” she said and backed into the kitchen.
Levi opened his notebook to a fresh page, looking around to make sure they were not likely to be overheard. “All right,” he said, keeping his voice low, “the question about Schuyler’s involvement in the local Klan was apt. Sager, you should know I sent him undercover with the intent of tracing the leadership.”
Zane’s respect for the young dandy rose. “That’s a pretty dangerous assignment.”
Beaumont shrugged. “I was the only one in the right circumstances to make it work. I announced a run for the Mississippi legislature as a conservative, knowing that would attract the attention of the contingent we’re after.”
Zane folded his arms. “You still in the race?”
Beaumont glanced at Riggins. “Probably going to drop out, since circumstances have changed. The election will take place this fall, and I’m inclined to throw my support behind a Negro pastor I’ve come to know quite well. To answer your question about the Klan, I’m assuming that everyone at the two meetings I attended—plus the mob who vandalized the newspaper—knew who I was. I can give you some names, some I can only guess at because everyone was disguised with either a hood or a mask or blackened face.”
“All right, start with those closest to you,” Zane said. “Jefcoat first. But there’s another one still running around loose, right?”
“Yes. Jefcoat, Kenard Hixon, and I were college fraternity brothers and remained close after graduation. My father put me to work negotiating some railroad land deals, which is how I reconnected with the Daughtry family. All that wheeling and dealing suited me and my two friends perfectly. And when I landed the deal with Daughtry House, the two of them followed me here. Pretty girls, good food, hunting and fishing, you know?” Beaumont looked sheepish. “Then my father was killed and everything got serious.”
Zane started to press Beaumont, but Mrs. Brown chose that moment to return with a tray full of food, and the conversation necessarily became more general until she went back to the kitchen.
By the time the three of them had knocked the edge off their hunger, Zane had formulated his line of questioning. He pushed his plate aside. “Beaumont, so far you’ve named Hixon and Jefcoat, plus maybe the two Confederate generals, Maney and Forrest. Anybody else you could identify from your involvement with the Klan?”
“Whitmore for sure. That toupee is unmistakable.” Beaumont looked over his shoulder at the hotel desk, where the proprietor worked. “And Mr. Brown. They were at the first meeting I attended, as were the barber and two deputy sheriffs from Tuscaloosa—although they both left town the minute the deputy marshal showed up to take away Jefcoat and Moore. You might be surprised to know I talked at some length to our pastor, Gil Reese.”
“The one who was betrothed to your fiancée?” Zane couldn’t help a little grin.
Beaumont winced at the dig. “The same. Poor fellow claims he only participated in the attacks because they threatened to come after members of his church if he stood back or protested. I don’t know.” He threw his napkin down in disgust. “He demonstrated a mighty callous attitude toward good people who don’t deserve his scorn.”
“I wonder if there’s a way to get him to testify against the higher-ups,” Riggins said. “There are two strategies for putting a halt to this pack of wolves—taking out the low-level minions like Jefcoat, one by one, or leaving them in place and using them to get to the alphas. There’s one more I’d add to the list of sympathizers—the Tupelo telegraph operator, Daniel Carpenter. He’s friendly to your face, but I know for a fact that he was in communication with Scully, who was his counterpart over in Oxford.”
Zane nodded. “We’ll find a way to pump him for what he knows as well.”
Riggins looked at Beaumont with quiet respect. “Schuyler got a lot of information in a short amount of time. It’s too bad he can’t stay undercover.”
Beaumont rubbed his jaw. “Now that Joelle is in the crosshairs as a liberal Negro-lover, and I’m betrothed to her, I’m not sure I’d still be believed as an insider.”
“Lots of men put up with soft-hearted womenfolk,” Zane said with a shrug.
“True, but I haven’t tried to hide my friendship with Yankee-boy here.” Beaumont toasted Riggins with his coffee cup. “He’s known to be my attorney, and we’ll soon be brothers.”
Zane hadn’t seen his sister in nearly nine years, and he mistrusted most friendships. But he appreciated it when he saw it. “Then it’s out of the question. We’re pulling you out as of now. Besides, once you stood with me last night, you made yourself persona non grata with this bunch.” He smiled. “Not that I’m not grateful. Miss Daughtry created quite a scene.”
Beaumont chuckled. “She thinks she defused it.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of perspective.” Zane looked around for someone to pay for the meal. “I need to get back to the jail.”
“Wait.” Riggins stuffed his notebook back into his coat pocket. “Speaking of Aurora, there’s another reason we brought you away from Pickett’s big ears. We have a suggestion for a safer place to put your prisoners and yourself.”
“All right. Let’s hear it.” But Zane had a cold, gut-level suspicion he wasn’t going to like the idea.
eight
AURORA SAT ON THE FRONT STEPS of the Dogwood Boarding House, elbows on knees and chin on her fists. Some might say—her fretful cousin ThomasAnne amongst them—that her second visit with the saloon girls had not gone smoothly. Short of a blast of dynamite, Bedelia refused to be moved out of her room at the front of the house (“squatter’s rights” seemed to be the linchpin of her psyche). Furthermore, Rosie’s idea of a career in fine dining seemed to consist of rice and congee.
But not for nothing did Joelle call Aurora the Princess of Rainbows. She was going to make a success of this venture if it killed her.
Bedelia had introduced some logistics of the scheme that she hadn’t honestly considered until now. Both women needed a place to stay while the place was being renovated—during this short period it would be used to hide Zane Sager and his prisoners—and they both needed training in the skills for their new employment. The logical solution would be housing them in one of the outbuildings at Daughtry House. There they could shadow the hotel servants and simultaneously aid in preparations for guests to arrive in the fall. Elderly, wise, built of godly moral fiber, Mose and Horatia Lawrence—managers of the kitchen and grounds—had over the years maintained a strong influence over Aurora and her sisters. She could think of no more ideal shepherds for two lonely women cast adrift in the world.
But in the interest of realism, a couple of tripwires stood likely to blow her magical plan to bits. For one thing, Horatia was a busy woman and might not appreciate such a distracting assignment. Even more problematic, Irish-born Bedelia and Chinese Rosie would almost certainly resent understudying a Negro couple.
Aurora frowned at a weed pushing its optimistic way through a muddy patch in the pathway. Every problem had a solution, if one refused to admit defeat and applied a little thought. Just because she couldn’t see it now didn’t mean it wasn’t there. What would Grandmama do in her place?
Everybody assumed Grandmama relied upon her considerable force of will when managing her circle of influence. But Aurora could vividly remember the morning her mother had left her with her grandparents and then ridden the train back to Ithaca with Selah and Joelle. Ithaca was too dangerous, Mama said, now that Papa had gone to fight the Yankees. Her grandparents wanted to pay her tuition at a new school for girls in Memphis. She would love it, and the family would be together again for Christmas, because the Confederacy was going to win. Mama snapped her fingers to show how quick that would be.
