Diamond Duo (34 page)

“What is it, Papa? What’s wrong?”

He shifted his weight. “Darlin’, I did some checking myself
today. Asked a few questions, talked to some folks.”

“And?”

He squinted at something over her shoulder, the corners of his eyes worried crinkles. “I learned some things. Frank Malloy saw Annie and Abe at Kate Woods’s place on Sunday. It wasn’t even the noon hour, but Abe was plying her with drinks. Frank said she seemed pretty well into her cups by the time they left. He seen them head down Austin Street to Gill’s Corner then turn and cross over the Polk Street Bridge. Said they both carried bottles of beer.”

“Was he sure it was Annie?”

“Said she was real pretty and wearing two big diamond rings.”

Bertha nodded.

“Two or three hours later, Frank saw Abe come back alone.”

Bertha thought for a minute. “So he did leave her across the bridge. I wouldn’t have believed it. It’s so unlike him, from all Annie said.”

“You think she spoke the truth?”

Bertha’s head reeled. “I don’t know what I think anymore.”

Papa lifted his gaze. His leather saddle creaked as he leaned to peer closely at her eyes. “Bertha, I think this is over now. Abe’s gone. Annie’s gone. You did the best you could for her. It’s time to lay it down.”

Bertha caught a glimpse of the sun between a break in the low-lying clouds. One thing was certain. That same sun looked down on Annie–somewhere. Bertha had never been asked to carry a heavier burden for another soul. Papa was right. She didn’t share his notion that she’d done the best she could, but it was over.

She brought her attention back to his anxious face. “I know it’s time to let it go, Papa. And I promise I’m going to try.”

Monday, February 5

S
arah stepped out of the barn and brushed her hands together to clean them from the dust of the feed bin. Her back ached, her head throbbed, but when hadn’t they during the last two dreadful weeks?

Fourteen days had passed since Henry’s trouble in town, and he hadn’t snapped back as fast as she’d expected–from his injuries or his mood. Not being able to do his work made him even meaner. Thomas and some of the other neighbors pitched in where they could, with the plowing in particular. Sarah shouldered the rest of her husband’s chores on top of her own.

She prayed daily for grace to live with Henry. He had taken on most of Dandy’s more trying traits, but Henry bested the mule in cantankerousness. And despite the fact she ministered to him every spare minute, he had adopted the mule’s same distaste for her.

To make matters worse, the weather turned from bad to horrid since the day of his injuries. Heavy snow had fallen in Jefferson–by far the most bitter pill for Sarah, since Henry had dangled warm winters to entice her to come south. Not much she hated more
than being cold, and working outside in the snow the last few days had chilled her to the bone.

She took a lingering look at the house and groaned. She longed to go inside by the fire, take off her boots, and prop her bruised and swollen feet on a kitchen chair. But one glance at the wood box this morning told her she’d be gathering firewood today. The cookstove and fireplace had gobbled every stick she could find over the two-week cold spell. Best to get the box filled now and get back in time to start supper. Henry’s appetite had made a full recovery.

She glanced toward the stand of trees. Gathering firewood wasn’t her favorite chore. When she first took the job from Henry, she’d found a treasure of small, easy-to-carry branches and sticks, those that Henry would pass right over. Now all the suitable pieces she could bundle up in her apron were gone from the nearby places. This forced her to wander farther each time, which meant a longer walk back with her burden.

The days had grown a little warmer since the snow fell, but white patches still lingered in areas shaded from the sun. She decided to walk as far out as she intended then gather as she made her way back. That way she could pretend she just decided to go for a walk.

May as well find some pleasure in the task.

She stepped back inside the barn and lifted her coat from the hook. The dog lay on his side, his body stretched to full length, in a hay pile near the door. She paused beside him. “I’ll be right back, Dickens. Thought I’d let you know I was going, since you’re the only living soul on the place who cares.”

Sound asleep, he moaned and rolled to his back with his hind legs straddled and his front legs folded to his chest. She sighed. “No, I don’t need any help. But thank you kindly for asking.”

She slipped into her coat, tied on her scarf, and struck out. No need carrying a hoe or a snake stick into the woods today. Too cold. Which meant snakes had more sense than people.

At the edge of the yard, she ducked under the fence and slipped
into the coolness of the surrounding forest. Despite being bone-tired, despite the way her man was acting, Sarah found herself enjoying her walk in the woods. On the trail worn there by Henry’s feet, she saw a few gathering birds and chasing squirrels, but the rabbits and deer were in hiding. She loved the wildlife in Jefferson–except the coons. They were funny to look at, yet true to their markings, they were bandits, every one. The rascals spent all their time stealing food from her garden, the feeding troughs, or Dickens’s dish.

The sun had dared to peek through the clouds a couple of times during the past two weeks, its warmth a welcome relief. It seemed inclined to shine a bit today, but the overcast sky put up a stiff fight. A pity, since now the wind had picked up.

Sarah walked until she came to a small clearing. The last storm had littered the area with fallen limbs. There were ample good-sized pieces for her to collect and fold into her apron, with plenty left for the next time. She’d have to try to remember the spot.

She stood up to get her bearings. Unless she was mistaken, the Marshall Road lay to her right with Polk Street Bridge just a little ways up, which meant she was south of the Big Cypress Ferry. That put town straight ahead.

She pulled up her collar and fastened the top button of her coat. The sun finally quit on her altogether, and the cloudy sky pitched the thickly wooded grove into near darkness. A chill crept up her spine that had little to do with the weather. The chattering squirrels had disappeared. The birds, too, if the silence meant anything. She found herself glancing up, willing the light to come back, because when the sun left, the joy went out of the walk. Sarah reckoned she’d best stop fooling around and finish gathering so she could get on back home.

She spotted a perfect-sized limb near the ridge of a slight hill and bent to retrieve it. Then another she could reach without straightening. And one more just ahead.

Still stooping close to the ground, Sarah’s hand closed around the crumbling stick as her eyes scanned the grassy mound ahead. Her body stopped so fast she jerked; then she fell back on her
hands and crab-scrambled away.

Dear God in heaven, don’t let it be!

She felt helpless, defenseless down on her behind, so she fought to her feet, ripping the hem of her coat as she stood.

Jesus, close my eyes! I don’t want to see this!

If not for the wood bugs crawling on its eyes and from its nose, Sarah might’ve sworn the body was sleeping. Dressed like a lady, it rested on its back with one arm folded across its stomach. That was all Sarah took time to see.

She longed to break and run but knew she mustn’t. Whoever did it might be watching. She forced herself to turn and walk away as if she hadn’t seen. Certain at any second the killer would lunge from behind, she pulled her chest forward until her shoulder blades popped. It seemed as if she could see, hear, smell a thousand times better as her darting gaze searched the woods.

Just a little farther and she’d reach the Marshall Road. Just a few more steps to safety. She went a little faster. Three steps. Faster. Two more steps. Run!

She burst onto the road with legs so weak she tripped and fell. A horse and rider came at her from the corner of her eye as she went down, and dread slammed into her chest. All the strength left her body just when she needed it. Limp, she tried to crawl, desperate hands clutching at woody stobs and tall tufts of grass to pull herself along. With the last ounce of might she could muster, she thrust her body from the ground and staggered away from the road in a panic.

“Sarah!”

She didn’t know the voice.

“Sarah King!”

He knew her name.

She froze, swiping tears from her eyes with dirty palms to see. If she didn’t know his face, if he came for her, she’d outrun him if it meant sailing off into the bayou.

“Sarah, come here, girl. Are you all right?”

William Sims. The colonel’s son. Lived in a big house on Friou Street in town.

She didn’t realize she held her breath until white spots swirled past her eyes and blackness loomed. She lifted her chest and gulped. Air flooded her lungs. Giddy, she went down hard on her bottom. “No, sir,” she gasped. “I ain’t all right a’tall. I need help.”

He got off his horse and hurried to her side. “Are you hurt?”

She motioned toward the woods with a trembling hand. “Mr. Sims, there’s a lady laid up in those woods. She’s dead.”

His head jerked toward the grove. “Dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

He stood up and started for his horse. “Just sit right there. I’ll go for help.”

She reached a grasping hand toward him. “No, sir. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

He pointed his finger. “You do like I say. Stay here so we can find you. You’ll have to show them where it is.”

Sarah ran up on the road and stared after the galloping horse. “Oh, please don’t leave me here,” she whispered. She whirled in a circle, searching the ditches, the bushes, the trees. When her eyes lit on the woods at the place where she’d burst through, she retreated to the opposite side of the Marshall Road, her eyes still fixed on the spot. Pulling her gaze away, she turned and ran a few feet, pressed her body against a tree, and slid to the ground. How would she ever go back in there?

Well, I can’t! I won’t.

She could leave. Run on home to Henry. Cook his food. Do his chores. Put this nightmare right out of her mind.

But Mr. Sims knew who she was. And Mr. Sims told her to stay put.

It seemed three lifetimes before clamoring hooves hit the Polk Street Bridge. Three men appeared on the road in front of her, Mr. Sims and two others.

“Well, where is she?” one of them growled.

Mr. Sims pushed back his hat. “I told her to stay here.”

Sarah knew she’d better show her face. She stood. “I’m over here.”

The big man scowled at her from across the way then motioned with his hand. “Well, come over here, then.”

She pushed the brush aside and hustled over the road on shaky legs. The official-looking man looked straight at her but spoke to Mr. Sims. “What’d you say her name was?”

“Sarah,” he said. “Sarah King.”

The man tipped his hat. “Sarah, I’m Justice of the Peace C. C. Bickford, also the ex-officio coroner for Marion County. You can call me Judge Bickford.”

She didn’t know what all the words meant, but the way he said them made her feel more and less afraid at the same time. Unable to speak, she stared up at him.

He pointed at the man riding the other horse. “This here’s my constable, Mr. A. J. Stambaugh.”

Sarah nodded at the constable.

Judge Bickford cleared his throat. “I understand you ran across something amongst those trees.”

She nodded again.

“Speak up, now. If you think you found something, say so.”

“I did find something. A dead woman.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re certain of that? It couldn’t have been an animal? A deer or wild hog? A bundle of trash, maybe?”

“I’m right sure of what I saw.”

Looking none too happy, he pointed at the tree line. “Sure enough to have us traipsing all over those woods?”

Anger easing her fear, Sarah shook her head. “I can walk you straight to her.”

The man chewed the inside of his lip, studying her hard, and then sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”

Leading a parade of white men on horseback into the woods had to be the most peculiar thing Sarah had ever done. Though less afraid in the company of the officers, she still checked over her
shoulder every few steps to make sure they were still with her.

Glad she’d taken the time to get her bearings before she found the body, Sarah retraced her steps. She stopped within a few yards of the place where the woman lay and pointed ahead of them and to the left. “She’s over on that mound yonder. Do I have to go any farther?”

They didn’t answer, just got down off their mounts and walked in the direction she’d pointed. When they stopped and leaned over the woman’s body, Sarah moved closer to the horses. She found comfort in the animals’ warmth and size, knowing they’d be the first to sense trouble.

After the men looked around a bit, they hurried back. Mr. Sims looked sick to his stomach. The judge took off his hat, spat on the ground, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “How close did you come to the body?”