A Dark and Lonely Place (9 page)

“It’s that girl,” he said bitterly, and moved to go after the boy.

His wife placed her small, worn hand on his forearm and raised her eyes to his. “He just wants to say goodbye, Joe,” she said softly. “You remember how it was.”

He nodded gruffly and caught her in his long arms.

“I got to get busy,” she said after a moment, touched his stubbly cheek, and gently extricated herself.

“You can’t bring that sideboard,” he said hoarsely, as she turned away. “It’s too big. We don’t have room for it.”

It had belonged to her grandmother.

“We can fit it in the wagon, Joe. Bobby and two of the girls can ride up front with us.”

He nodded and went to harness up the team.

The Upthegrove house was a mile and a half away. John arrived breathless, lungs bursting. The place was dark. He stood beneath Laura’s window and whistled like a mourning dove, a signal they used. No response. Again. Nothing. He carried a feed bucket to her window, stood on it, and scratched the screen.

He heard her whisper in the dark. “John?”

“It’s me, Laura . . .”

She was suddenly there, a swift shadow in the dark. Eyes straining, he couldn’t see her face or what she wore but recognized her sweet scent, orange blossoms and roses. At that moment a mockingbird burst into a soaring, full-throated, heartbreaking song in the night. John would never forget the sound or that moment. They would remain with him, in his memory, forever.

“John, what are you—”

The front door burst open with a crash as though kicked by a mule. Laura’s stepfather loped barefoot across the creaky porch in his long johns, brandishing his breech-loading, double-barreled, .44 caliber shotgun.

“I got you now, boy!” he shouted. “Freeze right there! Caught you dead to rights climbing into my little girl’s bedroom!”

John stood his ground, heart pounding. To his surprise, he felt no fear. In fact, he thought, he could die now, without regret, outside her window.

“No, sir,” he answered boldly. “I was not climbing into your daughter’s room. I wouldn’t do that. I just wanted to tell her something important.”

Laura’s mother, in nightclothes and a hairnet, materialized like an apparition on the porch. Laura’s brother, Dewitt, trailed after her. “Mama, what’s happening?”

“Hush, boy!” she told him. “Git yourself back to bed, right now.”

“What could you possibly have to tell our Laura that’s so important at this time of night?” her stepfather asked, as he racked one into the chamber.

“Daddy,” Laura cried. “Stop! Don’t do anything! Please!”

John turned to her. “Don’t worry, Laura,” he said softly. “We’re leaving tonight. My whole family. I came to say goodbye. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Goodbye? When are you coming back, John?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know, Laura. But I will, I promise. Remember that. I’ll be back!” Out the corner of his eye he saw her stepfather advance.

“Get down from there, you son of a bitch, now!”

“Are you my girl?”

“Yes, Johnny.”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he said. It came naturally. It was the first time he’d called her that. He liked the sound of it as he stepped off the feed bucket.

“Git your skinny ass out of here. Now!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re damn lucky, boy. Last time I came this close to shooting somebody, I did it! Killed me a Yankee. Git outta here now, afore I shoot you too!”

John stole a fleeting glance at her window but still couldn’t see her. He turned and left the way he’d come. When he arrived home, heartsick and out of breath, the house was empty, his family gone. He and their dog, a bluetick hound that emerged from the woods behind the house, followed the wagon’s tracks for a good two miles before they caught up with it. His father reached down with a strong arm and pulled them both into the wagon. His mother hugged his neck. “We worried about you, son.”

“No need, Mama. We’re all together. Everything’s all right.” He would never cry in front of his mother. That would not be a manly thing to do.

Clouds drifted across the moon’s face, darkening the trail ahead. Joe Ashley constantly searched the shadowy road behind them, relieved to see no one else following. John regretted all the things he did not say to Laura, and her stepfather. With a ragged sigh, he put his arm around his youngest brother, Bobby, who leaned against him, sitting up, sound asleep.

Is Laura asleep? John wondered. Or awake and thinking of me? He promised himself he’d see her again. He’d be back. But how and when?

CHAPTER SEVEN

POMPANO, FLORIDA

T
he lure of work, adventure, and exploration led Joe and Leugenia Ashley and their nine children across the state by horse-drawn wagon to booming southeast Florida.

Aging empire builder Henry Flagler was making history. He needed every strong back he could find to help build and maintain his railroad. His crews relentlessly slashed south through a steamy, mosquito-infested wilderness toward the tiny outposts of Miami and Key West. Flagler had never intended to extend his railroad so far south, but Julia Tuttle, a Miami pioneer who urged him to do so, had changed his mind by sending him fresh Florida orange blossoms during a particularly bitter northern winter.

His new vision, referred to by doubters as “Flagler’s Folly,” was to link civilization and the semitropical jungle along Biscayne Bay for the first time.

Joe Ashley and several of his sons hired on as woodchoppers. Wood was the fuel that produced the steam to feed the hungry engines of Flagler’s huge “iron horses.”

Music, laughter, and new friends quickly filled the family’s modest new home in Pompano, between Miami and Palm Beach.

John worked briefly at a packing house, but chose instead to hunt, fish, and trap. He explored the South Florida wilderness, an outdoors-man at home in every wild and lonely place. He was instantly drawn to the Everglades. The solitude and the green-gold light of the great swamp fascinated him, despite its physical discomforts.

The ’Glades offered no shade or shelter, only razor-sharp sawgrass and hip-deep black Everglades muck. Wading through it was like trying to walk through quicksand. Flat terrain, ruled by alligators, snakes, and scorpions, stretched out forever beneath mountainous white clouds that drifted so low, he felt he could touch them.

There were flying ants with red-hot stinging feet. Clouds of yellow gnats swarmed into the eyes, ears, throats, and noses of visitors. Vicious, biting horseflies grew bigger than bumblebees. Deerflies bored into their victims’ skin to lay eggs, and there were millions and millions of huge, bloodthirsty Everglades mosquitoes.

Most people felt as though they were being smothered by warm, wet wool blankets and found it difficult to breathe in the hot, thick, moist air. Yet John felt oddly at peace in the eerie silence, broken only by bird cries, crashing thunder, and the bellows of alligators.

He roamed south, all the way down to Miami, the city by the sea. Excited by its tourist attractions and the enthusiasm generated by real estate developers, he decided it was the perfect place to stake out a homestead and raise a family. He wished Laura were there with him to see all its amazing modern conveniences.

He met a girl at a church social in Pompano. He heard her before he saw her or knew her name. A sudden high-pitched laugh built into an ear-splitting screech that reminded him of the sounds made by wild animals as they did nasty things to each other in the swamp.

When he turned to look, she caught his eye, stepped forward, and waited expectantly.

“Hello,” he managed, after an awkward silence.

He blinked as her laughter escalated into another screech. What’s so damn funny? he wondered.

“Not very imaginative,” she said smartly, and cocked her head. “But I ’spose a man has to start somewhere.” Still amused, she asked him to fetch her a cup of punch.

Small in stature, Lucy was voluptuous in figure. Freckled, with straw-colored hair, she loved to gossip and flirt. As they sipped the lemony drink, she entertained and startled him with naughty, even salacious gossip about others present.

Relieved when his brothers Bill and Frank arrived, John introduced them to Lucy and escaped into the quiet night.

But the damage was done.

Bill was smitten. Though Lucy continued a teasing one-sided flirtation with John, she accepted Bill’s marriage proposal.

John secretly hoped the romance would fail. But each time he returned from a hunting or fishing trip, the wedding plans had taken a
giant stride forward. The close-knit Ashleys warmly welcomed the local girl into their family.

In the barn, John built a handsome sideboard, his wedding gift to the happy couple. Joe Ashley, an expert carpenter, had taught his sons the art of woodworking at early ages. On the eve of the wedding, as John applied the final coat of clear varnish, Lucy cornered him in the barn. The gift was to be a surprise, John feared her laugh might spook the horses, and he felt uneasy alone with her, so he steered her outside.

“But I just love the smell of fresh hay,” she objected.

Safely out in the open, under a moonlit sky, his soon-to-be sister-in-law took his arm.

“I am glad it’s you standing up for us, John.” She paused, her lips moist and slightly parted, her eyes bold. “You
are
the best man, you know.” She winked. “Just say the word, Johnny, and this wedding can be postponed, unless you and Billy agree to trade places in the weddin’ party.”

Speechless, he groped for words strong enough to convey his dismay.

She mistook his pause for interest, unbuttoned her snug shirtwaist, and with her full breasts free, reached for his hand to lead him toward the shadowy grove behind the barn.

John’s jaw dropped.

“Don’t pretend to be surprised, Johnny.” She stared at him confidently, one hand on her hip. “You’ve known from the start that you’re the man I want. I just took up with Bill to stay close to you.”

“You’re not close to me, Lucy. I’ve told you before, I’m committed to another girl.”

Her freckled breasts were still exposed and impossible to ignore.

“For God’s sake, woman, cover yourself up. Then grow up. What if somebody came out here? My brother plans to marry you, and you’re damn lucky to find a man like him.”

“
You
grow up!” Her gray eyes darkened. She stepped closer and got in his face. “And when did you last set eyes on
your
girl? She probably doesn’t even remember your name. Think she’s waiting on you, Johnny? What a pipe dream! Maybe she doesn’t even exist. Maybe,” she said slyly, “you don’t like real women at all. Is that what ails you, boy?”

“Laura remembers my name,” he said. He stared at Lucy standing in
front of him on tiptoe, her nipples exposed, her wet lips challenging him to prove his manhood.

Then he laughed, loud and long.

She dropped to a flat-footed stance, her face red, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. Fingers shaking, she quickly rebuttoned her shirtwaist.

“You just lost your chance,” she whispered bitterly. “And you will regret it.”

“You ever hurt my brother, Lucy, and you’ll be the one with regrets.”

She drew her right hand back to slap him, but he roughly caught her wrist.

“Bill deserves a good wife,” John said. “If you marry him tomorrow, you damn well better be one.”

She wrenched away and angrily stomped back to the house.

He watched her go and wondered why in God’s name he had ever introduced them. Who knew? He wanted to tell Bill, to level with him, right there and then, before it was too late. But his brother was crazy about the girl. And both families had happily planned the event for weeks. The ball had rolled too far to stop now.

The union that joined two popular families was reported in flowery prose on the social page of the local weekly newspaper.

John stood up for his brother and wished him good luck. The beauty of the simple ceremony—its music, vows, and his mother’s happy tears—touched his heart. More than ever, he needed Laura beside him. She and the Caloosahatchee River haunted his dreams both awake and sleeping. He’d only written her twice, had promised to come for her as soon as he could support a family. He couldn’t be sure she’d received his letters, since his father had warned him against using a return address for the same reason they’d departed.

Now, after nearly four years, he’d accumulated the resources to properly court Laura. He had scouted Miami sites suitable for a homestead. The time had come, at last. He announced his plans at a family supper on a summer Sunday.

“Oh, John. I’m so sorry.” Lucy sat directly across the table, fanning herself. “Bless your heart. Didn’t you hear, honey? My west coast cousins in Fort Myers wrote me weeks ago that Laura Upthegrove died in
that yellow fever epidemic last spring.” Stunned silence followed. Yellow fever had killed scores across the state, even wiped out entire families.

“Are you sure?” John asked, his voice grave.

Her shoulders lifted toward her ears and she rolled her eyes. “Well, I wasn’t there, was I, sugar? But I was told by kin who were. Would they lie?”

John rose to his feet so abruptly that his wooden chair toppled to the floor with a crash. He left the room without another word.

Every eye at the table was fixed on Lucy.

Face flushed, she slowly spread sweet butter on a warm biscuit and took a dainty bite. “Well.” She lifted her chin, smacked her shiny lips together, and pouted. “Don’t you all be giving me that look. How was I to know he’d take it so hard? Wasn’t me killed that girl, I just gave him the news. He’da heard it sooner or later. Bobby, dear, would you please pass the chicken?”

His mother, Leugenia, followed John into the kitchen and touched his arm.

“Did you know?” he asked, anguish in his eyes and a lump in his throat.

She shook her head. “No, son. I heard it when you did, just now.”

“Think it’s true?”

She pondered the question, brow furrowed.

“Lucy wouldn’t have no reason to lie, would she?” She looked him square in the eye. “Lots of people died in that epidemic, but maybe somebody mistook her name . . .”