Hell With the Lid Blown Off (9 page)

But two hundred dollars. That gave Jubal pause. He could get clean to China with two hundred dollars. Or fix up the farm and buy another quarter-section of land. Folks might look at him with a little respect if he had two hundred dollars.

Wallace and Randal stood together in the eerie light, silent and still as deer watching a panther, while Jubal Beldon thought. What he thought was,
There's no reason I can't see them two swing and have two hundred dollars to boot
.

“Let's see this money,” he said at last.

“It's up in my room. I'll have to fetch it.”

“Go on then, and make it fast. Not you!” Jubal pointed at Randal as the two turned to head up the steps. “You stay right here till he gets back with the money. If both of you go, I'm heading for the sheriff.”

Wallace barged up the steps alone and fumbled across the enclosed porch, through the back door, and into the kitchen. The sky was pale and white as the sun sank toward the horizon, but inside, the house was already eerily dark. Marva was in the kitchen, and Wallace tried to look as normal as possible as he waved at her in passing. He felt his way through the hall, and up the stairs, unwilling to turn on a light lest he alert his grandmother. He closed his bedroom door behind him and pulled the chain on the electric lamp by his bedside. His hands were trembling so much that he could hardly open the drawer that held his leather wallet.

He removed two hundred dollars, folded it, and stuck it into his sporran before turning off the light and slipping down the stairs and out the back door.

Randal and Jubal were standing just as he had left them, eyeing one another suspiciously. Randal's posture was stiff, his fists clinched at his side. Jubal's stance was an insolent slouch. Wallace expected it was a good thing he had hurried because he knew Randal well enough to know that he was almost at the end of his tether.

Both men turned their heads to look at him as he opened the screen and stepped out. He reached into the sporran, and saw Jubal start.
He probably thinks I'm going for a gun
, Wallace thought, and fervently wished he was.

He extended his hand and two hundred dollars unfolded like a fan. Jubal's eyes widened at the sight. He snatched the money, licked his thumb, and began counting. Wallace was unnaturally aware of every detail—the look of concentration on Jubal Beldon's oddly proportioned face and the combination of fear and burning hatred on Randal's.

“It's all there,” Wallace said.

Jubal looked up but didn't reply. He stuffed the wad of bills into the back pocket of his trousers and turned to walk toward the horse he had tethered at the side of the carriage house.

“This means you'll leave us alone, right?” Wallace called after him.

Jubal looked back at him over his shoulder. “Might.” And that was all he said before he mounted and rode away.

Wallace didn't move. He didn't speak or look at his friend, or even think for a very long time. The sun was low on the horizon now and the wind was picking up. He could see that there were clouds building to the southwest. Not a good sign, he thought, especially at this time of day. Probably a storm coming.

“Do you think he'll keep his mouth shut?”

Randal's question roused Wallace out of his reverie. “What I'm wondering,” he said, “is why I just stood here like a fool and let him go? If I'd have knocked him in the head nobody would mind much. I expect my folks would rather I was a murderer than a sodomite, anyway.”

Randal was not quite so sanguine. “Are you insane, Wallace? What in God's name are we going to do? He's right. If it gets in people's heads that we're sodomites we'll be lynched, or at least run out of town on a rail! We could go to prison! Oh, Sweet Jesus, what if my father hears of this? He'll never speak to me again.”

“Calm down, Randy, and let's think. I reckon we've bought ourselves some time, at least. Even if he has no idea of keeping his end of the bargain, even if he was going straight from here to the sheriff, it'd take him a quarter hour to get into town and another ten minutes or so to get to the jailhouse. If he's aiming to round up a mob, it'll take him even longer. No matter which, I intend for us to be long gone. We'll have to borrow Grandmother's rig. We can leave it at my father's house in Muskogee.”

He turned, but Randal grabbed his arm. “Wallace, why run like a pair of scared geese? There's two of us and one of him. We might be able to catch up with him and put the fear of God in him.”

“You don't know him, Randy. If we beat him up that'll just make him twice as set on ruining us.”

Randal didn't respond. The two young men gazed at one another in silence for a long moment. Finally Randal said, “Do you know where he lives?”

“I know where the farm is, yes.” Suddenly Wallace made a decision. His jaw set with determination. “You go hitch up Teacup and I'll throw our things in the cases. I'll leave Gran a note. Now, get on. We may not have much time.”

Randal headed for the carriage house as Wallace hurried up the steps. Squares and rectangles of evening light painted the wooden floor and illuminated the side tables, potted plants, and wicker chairs that Beckie had arranged on the big, screened porch in order to create a cool and pleasant place to sit and drink iced tea on a summer day.

Sitting in one of those wicker chairs was Beckie herself, her hands folded in her lap. She was already clad in her quilted dressing gown and crocheted slippers. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a thick, silver-gold braid. The sky blue eyes were staring at Wallace out of a face as still as marble.

Wallace nearly fell over his own feet when he saw her. “Gran!” To his embarrassment, his voice squeaked. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Get out,” she said.

A cold sweat broke out on Wallace's forehead. “You heard.” It wasn't a question.

“Get out and never come back.”

“Gran, you can't believe…”

“Take your things and your … friend, and never come back here. Don't write to me or telephone me.”

Wallace caught his breath. “You don't mean that.”

“I do.”

Wallace felt his face flush. He was hot, feverish with fear and shame. “Aren't you going to ask me if it's true? And even if it were, don't you love me any more than that?”

Tears started to Beckie's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Oh, my boy. Don't you understand? If folks think a thing, it is so. It doesn't matter if it's true or not. Your reputation is ruined. Because of that man, you have no life here anymore, and neither do I. We both must go far away and start anew. Now, grab what you can and go. Go. Take the buggy. There's a train to Muskogee at eight-thirty, but you need to get out of here without delay. Go to your father's like you planned and leave the buggy with him. I'll pack a bag and tell Marva not to come in for a few days. I'll take the train in to Muskogee tonight after y'all are well away. You and Randal can be out of the state by dawn.”

Wallace couldn't speak. What was there to say? The earth had suddenly fallen out from under him and there was nothing he could do about it. He turned and went into the house.

Beckie turned her head to stare out into the yard. She was sure her son Junior would take care of selling the place. Still, she loved this house, and was sorry that she would have to leave Boynton forever.

Trenton Calder

It was getting late in the day. It was still hot, but clouds had rolled in on the wind and the sky was overcast. Me and Gee Dub had both left our mounts at the hitching post out front of the Masonic Hall, only about a block from Alice Kelley's house.

“So where are we going?” I asked.

Gee Dub looked over at me. “Walter told Alice he was headed out to the Rusty Horseshoe for an hour or two. Mama said that was just after noon. She's pretty het up about it.”

“I'd hate to be in Walter's shoes,” I said, and Gee Dub shrugged.

“Mama never did hold a high opinion of the way he does Alice, but I never heard Alice complain about it.”

I have to admit I was a mite shocked, but amused, too. Mr. Dills, who owns the Rusty Horseshoe a ways out west of town, calls his place a dance hall, but the rumor was that there was a back room where you could play a game of cards and bend your elbow at the same time, even on a Sunday, which made it doubly illegal. The county sheriff raided the place on occasion, but otherwise let things be unless there was bloodshed. I told Gee Dub that I had ridden by there, but since the roadhouse was out of Scott's bailiwick, I'd never yet darkened the door or even met Mr. Dills.

There was a grin in Gee Dub's voice when he answered me. “I can't say I frequent the place, but I don't expect I'm entirely unknown there, either. Don't tell my folks, but me and my cousins Jimmy Tucker and Joe Cecil have let our curiosity get the better of us on more than one occasion.”

We retrieved our mounts and headed out on the farm road that led toward the town of Morris, if two wagon ruts could be called a road. It was near to half-past five of a Sunday afternoon, and the trail was deserted. It took us maybe half an hour to reach the place. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary house sitting all by itself by the side of the road. The front door and all the windows were open and I could hear music and laughing inside. Several horses were hitched at the side of the building and one auto parked in front.

The place was dim, hot, and loud. Several disreputable-looking couples slouched around the dance floor in the center of the room. A piano player was pounding out a ragtime tune, and a country fiddler was scratching along. The cigarette smoke was thick. A game of cards was going on at one of the tables around the edge of the dance floor, and I seen a spirited game of dominoes at another, which tickled me no end.

“I'll be danged,” I said to Gee Dub. “There's Mr. Turner who owns the livery over there playing dominoes, and Ed Chandler who works for your uncle James at the cotton gin. Don't see Walter, though.” I took off my old Stetson and beat it against my leg. “I see some coffee mugs and a couple of glasses of lemonade. Do you suppose we've stumbled into a Sunday school class?”

Gee Dub laughed. “I reckon Mr. Dills may provide special refreshment for those who swear an undying oath of secrecy.” He gestured with his chin toward a closed door to the right of the bar. “Yonder is the place.” He shot me a sly look along his shoulder. “So I hear.”

“I never suspected you of firsthand knowledge, partner.”

“I'm guessing that my lost brother-in-law is in there, so I'll see if I can gain entrance. You being a lawman, you can wait out here for me. Enjoy a hand of dominoes.”

“I believe I'm man enough to handle the sight of whatever is behind that door, so if it's all the same to you, I'll go with you.”

“Come on ahead, then.”

We made our way to the bar and elbowed a space for ourselves. I lifted a boot to the foot rail and draped myself over the bar. “Barkeep, how's a fellow go about obtaining a beer?”

The bartender gave me a long, narrow, once-over. “We don't deal in alcohol here, mister. If a sarsaparilla or a ginger ale don't fit the bill, I suggest you take yourself off to a gin joint.”

“Evening, Mr. Dills,” Gee Dub said. “I'd like for you to meet my friend Trent from Boynton.” His voice sounded like it had bubbles in it since he was trying not to laugh.

The expression on Dills' face changed like magic when he recognized who was talking. “Well, howdy, Gee Dub. I didn't get a good look at you in the dark. I ain't seen you in a while.” He turned back toward me and extended his hand. “Always glad to see a friend of the Tuckers'.”

Gee Dub got down to business. “Me and Trent are here to find my sister's husband Walter Kelley. Seems he's about to be a daddy.”

Dills' eyebrows shot skyward. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Gee Dub confirmed. “I don't see him here, Mr. Dills. Is there someplace else around here I might look for him?”

Dills picked up a glass and commenced wiping it out with a bar rag. “Why don't y'all have a seat in the back room? Knock twice and tell Dan I give you the high sign. Say it just like that.”

Walter Kelley

Dan let them into an airless room so full of smoke that they could hardly see. Gee Dub's eyes were watering and he wiped away tears with the back of his hand. He had never had any particular inclination toward dissolute living, though when he was at school in Stillwater he enjoyed a night out with his friends as much as the next young man. But this speakeasy was a new experience for him and he was finding it extremely interesting.

They stood by the door for a moment trying to adjust to the atmosphere. There were only eight or ten people scattered about the three tables in the cramped room. A poker game was in progress at the center table. One of the other two tables was peopled with men enjoying both spirits and the company of loose women.

Trent felt his friend stiffen and looked over at him. “What is it?”

Gee Dub's face was still as marble. He nodded toward the second table. When he spoke, Trent could barely hear him. “Yonder is my sister's husband.”

Before Trent could react, Gee Dub strode across the room and planted himself in front of the seat of a good-looking man. The fellow had a shot glass in one hand and the other around a tastelessly clad woman who had made herself comfortable on his knee. He looked up at Gee Dub and his black eyes widened in consternation. The woman found herself unceremoniously dumped when Walter Kelley sprang to his feet.

“Gee Dub! What in the world are you doing here? Does your dad know what you're up to?”

“I could ask the same question in regard to your wife. 'Course she's busy at the moment bringing your child into the world.” GeeDub seemed relaxed and businesslike, but he took a step forward that put him uncomfortably close to Walter. Trent sighed and geared himself up for trouble. He hated to imagine what Mrs. Tucker would say if her boy came home with a black eye and a split lip. Of course if it was Walter who ended up with a split lip, that might be a different story.