Dunaway's Crossing (34 page)

“Shut up,” he snapped before moving to the phone.

Bea Dot rolled her neck to relieve the stress. She felt like she’d been in an arena with an angry bull.  Listening to his side of the conversation, she deduced Ben’s father had called inquiring why he was late.

“I know…I know…” Ben said. “I’ll be there for the meeting, don’t worry.”

Bea Dot’s spirits lifted. He had no choice now but to leave the house, and she could go to Aunt Lavinia’s.

He returned to the kitchen, grumbling. When he kicked over a chair, Bea Dot forced herself to breathe evenly so Ben wouldn’t notice her amusement. Stifling a smile, she said, “Let me make you some eggs before you go.”

“I told you to shut your mouth!” he screamed, picking up the bud vase on the kitchen table. He hurled it at her, but missed, and the porcelain shattered on the wall next to the door.

As the shards of porcelain fell to the floor, Bea Dot’s tension snapped, and her fear disappeared. Instantly, she saw a two year-old before her. For that matter, Ben’s attitude and behaviors had always been puerile. She had allowed a man to control her when he obviously had no control over himself. With that discovery, she finally recognized what she wished she’d seen when Bonner introduced himself.

She didn’t need Bonner’s departure to open the door to her release. She could have walked out any time. What would Bonner have done? Tackled her on the street? She doubted it. He hadn’t even the courage to resign to Ben’s face, but instead left in the cover of darkness, leaving Bea Dot to face Ben’s ire alone. Why, even when he’d forced her to come home, he’d done it with Ben’s threatening letter not with his own force.

Of course, Ben was a greater obstacle, but he’d already ensured her friends in Pineview would despise her. What did she have to lose? Although Ben glared at her with sweat at his hair line, for once she didn’t shrink in fear. Instead, she laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” Ben screamed like a petulant brat, but the strain on his vocal chords provoked a fit of coughs that doubled him over.

This time Bea Dot did back away, her fear returning, but for a different reason. Ben’s headache was no hangover. Quickly she turned her back on her husband and rushed to her room for her satchel. She had to get out immediately.

Once his coughs subsided, though, Ben followed her and caught up to her at the front door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Aunt Lavinia’s house,” she said as she reached for the door knob.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He snatched her satchel away and tossed it behind him where it landed on the floor with a thud. “You must be crazy thinking you can just walk away from here. Get back in that kitchen.”

“No.”

Ben gripped her arm and slung her toward the interior of the house. “You’ll do what I say or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m already sorry,” she replied. Energy rushed through her veins, and her whole body shook at the newness of confronting her abuser. “You were right. I was wrong to mislead you, and I’m sorry I married you. We’ve both been miserable.”

He backed away a step at her newfound confidence.

“But I am not afraid of you anymore,” she continued. “You have taken everything away from me. You took my child, not that I wanted it, but you killed it. You’ve cut me off from my only living relatives, and you’ve destroyed any chance of happiness with the one man who actually loved me.”

At that remark, Ben’s glare returned, and with it the tick in his cheek. But she continued.

“You are so angry that you want to make me as unhappy as you are. Well I won’t let you do that anymore.” She picked up her bag and strode toward the front door, unsure whether he’d let her pass or not.

He didn’t. Instead, he grabbed her at the collar and pushed her back to the wall, just next to the front door. There he pinned her, his face to hers. Bea Dot turned her face away as he panted putrid breath in her face, his fingers wrapping around her throat.

“I could snap your neck in a heartbeat.”

“Then do it,” she replied with a shaky voice. She closed her eyes, praying her hunch was right, that Ben wouldn’t kill her. If he did, he’d have no one left to punish. His pause lasted an eon, but then his fingers tightened, and pressure built in her face as the room went dark. But then she heard a bang, and Ben’s hands flew away. As she sucked in air, her vision cleared. Two men tumbled on the floor, then broke apart.

“What the hell?” Ben shook his head as he pushed himself to a seated position. Then he coughed violently.

Will Dunaway rose quickly and rushed to Bea Dot’s side. He was thinner than before, paler too, but he was alive, and she couldn’t have been happier to see anyone.  He frowned at her in concern. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Let’s go now,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door. “Your Aunt Lavinia’s waiting.”

Recovered from his coughing spell, Ben lunged and grabbed the back of Will’s collar, pulling him close. Then he drew back and punched Will in the kidney, then turned him around and punched his face, sending him crumpling to the floor.

“No!” Bea Dot cried as she fell to his side. She tried to help him up, but Ben gripped her waist to pull her away from him. Fighting back, she yelled, “Let go of me, you monster!” She managed to slip out of his hands for a moment, but Ben came back, this time with more force. As he pulled her up, she clutched at Will’s legs, resisting Ben’s strength, as her fingers searched the top of his boots. Just as they found what they were looking for, Ben yanked her from the floor and turned her to face him. Gripping the front of her dress with one hand, he drew back his other to slap her, but stopped short when Bea Dot pointed Will’s hunting knife at his neck.

“Let go of me this instant,” Bea Dot said, her voice low like a bobcat’s growl.

Ben hesitated, so Bea Dot pressed the knife point into his neck, just enough to draw a speck of blood. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He stood with his back to the wide open front door. Bea Dot locked eyes on him, not daring to turn to check on Will, but she heard raspy breath and movement behind her. She hoped he could stand.

Ben’s expression transformed from anger to surprise to utter confusion, and even though he loosened his grip on her, he didn’t let go. She pressed the knife at his neck and narrowed her eyes, refusing to break her gaze.

Aunt Lavinia’s voice sliced through the tension.

“What in the world is happening here?” she asked as she stepped into the door. Her eyes widened when she saw the knife, but she checked her surprise instantly and turned to Bea Dot. “Darling, put that knife away before you hurt someone,” she said, touching Bea Dot’s forearm. “Where did you get this thing? Does it belong to Mr. Dunaway?” Gently she pulled Bea Dot’s arm away from Ben until it was extended to her side.

Hunched and bleeding from the mouth, Will stepped forward and took the knife from Bea Dot’s hand. Aunt Lavinia slid between Bea Dot and Ben, and though she kept her eyes on him, she spoke to her niece. “Gather your things, dear. I think you should come home with me.”

Bea Dot backed slowly away, then turned to Will for reassurance. When he nodded, she picked up her satchel, then stood at his side. He took it from her, then put his arm over her shoulders. Aunt Lavinia maintained her gaze at Ben, but not with anger or threats. Instead her face was as congenial as if she were greeting a visitor to her house.

“We’ll be going now,” she said. Then she took Bea Dot’s arm and led her toward the front door. Will followed.

Just as they reached the front door, Ben called to her. “If you walk out that door, Mrs. Ferguson, you can be sure all of Savannah will learn your filthy secret.”

The exertion provoked another coughing spell.

Bea Dot froze for an instant, then relaxed and faced her husband for the last time. His shoulders shook as he coughed into his bandaged hand. The she turned her back on him and descended the front steps flanked by Will and her aunt. She felt lighter than she’d felt in two years.

“Gossip?” Aunt Lavinia asked. “That’s what he’s holding over you?” She shook her head in amusement. “That won’t get him far. That man’s got more dirt on him than a ditch digger’s shovel.”

Bea Dot’s Uncle David pulled two cigars from his coat pocket as he descended the club’s front steps. After offering one to Will, which Will declined, he stuffed the other in his mouth, stopping on the sidewalk to light it. His pink cheeks fluctuated as he puffed life into the tobacco.

“Thank you for joining me for lunch today, Will.” Mr. Barksdale puffed sweet smoke from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke.  He strode in the direction of his Jones Street home.

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Will replied, almost jogging to keep up with his host. The man had legs longer than a life sentence. “The meal was quite a treat, and I appreciate your loaning me this coat and tie.” In truth, Will couldn’t wait to loosen the silk noose around his neck.

“Not at all,” Mr. Barksdale said. “Least I could do for the man who saved my niece’s life.”

“Actually, sir, that was Mrs. Barksdale.” Will huffed and puffed as the two men walked. “She handled Ben like a snake charmer.”

“Ha, ha!” Mr. Barksdale’s laugh echoed off the Jones Street homes. “Maybe I should send my wife to Atlanta to meet with the General Assembly!” He laughed again and clapped Will between the shoulder blades, which sent Will into a bout of coughing. Bent over at the waist, Will hacked into the cracks of the brick-paved street.

“Good heavens, boy. Are you all right? I didn’t think I’d hit you that hard.”

Shaking his head no, Will coughed a few more times before straightening.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Since the influenza, my lungs have cleared, but every now and then they want to give me a little reminder.”

“Well, take it easy, son.” Mr. Barksdale resumed walking, but slowed his pace. “If anybody deserves a respite, it’s you, what with your military service and then this influenza ordeal.”

“I should have said so sooner, Mr. Barksdale.” Will’s face reddened as he walked and talked. “Ralph told me you were instrumental in securing my discharge. I thank you for that.”

“No need.” Mr. Barksdale waved his hand as if swatting mosquitos. “With your injury, you would have come home eventually. I just lit a little fire under Senator Holder to speed up the process. Good thing, too, if the papers are right. Camp Benning took a beating during the epidemic. If you had caught the flu there, you might not have survived.” He puffed again on his cigar. “Besides, I hear you looked after my Netta and Bea Dot. It’s I who should thank you.”

They approached the Barksdale home, and Mr. Barksdale stopped at the front walk. He dropped his cigar to the sidewalk and ground it with his heel. Pointing to the house, he said, “If I know my wife, she is still holding Bea Dot captive with women’s talk.”

“They have much catching up to do,” Will said. He would love to be a fly on the wall when Bea Dot told her aunt about the bob cat attack.

“I have some business to attend to,” Mr. Barksdale continued. “You might be able to help me with it. How about you and I give the women more time to themselves?”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“We’ll take my car.” Mr. Barksdale pointed to the carriage house behind his home. Inside sat a black automobile, its head lamps peering through the open double doors like round eyes. “Chevrolet Series H,” Mr. Barksdale boasted. “They call it the Royal Mail.  It’s the only one in Savannah.” He sauntered toward the carriage house, and Will followed. “All my friends drive Model T’s, so I went with something different. What do you drive?”

“Well, sir…” Will struggled for an answer. Although friends constantly urged him to purchase an automobile, Mr. Barksdale was the first to assume he’d already done so. In fact, the only person who hadn’t pushed him to drive a car was Bea Dot. “I still use my horse and wagon. It suits me fine.”

“You have a mail route, in addition to your trading post, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you manage to fit in all that work with a horse and wagon?”

“So far, sir. Of course, Bea Dot has been a big help.”

Mr. Barksdale cocked his head and studied Will for a moment. Will didn’t know what felt more confining, his necktie or Mr. Barksdale’s gaze.

“Will, have you ever fallen off a horse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yet you still ride one, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” He got Mr. Barksdale’s implication, but the man didn’t understand the difference between his analogy and what had happened at Belleau Wood. He inhaled deeply to squelch his resentment.

“Don’t let that war define you, son.” Mr. Barksdale stepped closer to will and put a hand on his shoulder. Its warmth seeped through the wool of Will’s suit jacket. “I can’t begin to understand the hell you endured over there, but you’ve got a rich life ahead of you. Don’t carry those burdens along the way.”

Easier said than done
, Will thought, but he responded with a polite “yes, sir.” Resentment gave way to ambivalence. Will had always hated the way people told him what to do and how to feel. However, Mr. Barksdale’s advice was different. In one breath he’d acknowledged the horrors of war, yet in the next he’d made it sound so simple to overcome.