The Widow's War (38 page)

 

 

 

 

 

U
pstairs, Messlina is washing Teddy’s face and hands. She speaks to him pleasantly and doesn’t pull his hair when she runs the comb through it. Teddy likes her a lot better than the other lady, who frightens him.

“Where?” he asks.

“Are you asking me where you goin’, baby?”

Teddy nods.

“Well, I reckon you goin’ to see your daddy.”

For the first time in days, Teddy smiles.

Ten minutes later, when Messlina brings him out of the house, all the pies have been eaten, and the guests are drinking sweet coffee laced with chicory.

“Put the boy on the table,” Clark orders.

Messlina lifts Teddy up and sets him down on the main table. He stands there, bewildered. Where is his daddy? The lady told him he was going to see his daddy.

Ignoring him, Clark points at the barn. “Dan,” he says, “go get Saylor and take the rope with you.”

All during dinner, the raider named Dan has had a rope slung over the back of his chair. Now he stands up, grabs it, and displays the noose. “We’re gonna hang us a Jayhawker!” he yells.

Clark’s men begin cheering and pounding the handles of their knifes on the table. After a few seconds, everyone except Miss Emily joins in. Miss Emily knows she should retreat inside and not watch what’s coming next. This is no place for a lady, but she has never seen a hanging, and when the raiders bring the condemned man out of the stable she cannot tear herself away from the sight of him being led across the yard like a dog on a leash.

She watches as Clark’s men force William to step up on the chair, watches as they throw the rope over the tree limb and secure it. She hasn’t expected the doctor to be so handsome nor to look so much like a gentleman. It seems a waste to hang a man with his looks.

As William turns toward the tables, Teddy stretches out his arms and gives a squeal of delight. “Daddy!” he cries.

Scooping up the boy, Clark lifts him over his head and settles him on his shoulders. As he strolls toward the hanging tree, he is rewarded with the sight of William’s face. Is it the fear of dying or the sight of Teddy riding on the shoulders of his worst enemy that makes him look so distressed? Hard to tell. Any man balanced unsteadily on a chair with a noose around his neck is likely to look anxious, even a brave one. Is William brave? Clark intends to find out.

“My boys tell me you almost got your hands loose,” he says. “I’m impressed. You’re more dangerous than I thought. So, how shall we hang you? Slow or fast? I’ve been thinking it over: When I kick that chair out from under you, your feet are going to be about eighteen inches above the ground. It would take a lot longer fall to break your neck, so you’ll strangle. You won’t die for a few minutes, but you’ll lose consciousness within seconds. I imagine being a doctor, you can figure the exact time it will take better than I can, but the point is, that’s much too fast.

“So I’m going to do what you were trying to do before my boys interrupted you: I’m going to cut your hands loose. That way, when I kick the chair out from under you, you can decide how fast you want to die. Do nothing, and you’ll leave this world of toil and woe behind you in no time. But if you reach up and grab the rope with both hands, you can prolong your life. The question is: How long can you hold on?

“My boys have already started laying bets. Most think you won’t last ten minutes, but some have more faith in you. Some think you’ll hang on for as long as twenty.

“Just to make things even more interesting, I’m going to let the boy here hang you. Of course, he won’t know what he’s doing, but when he’s older, I’ll make sure his new parents tell him how he executed the wicked man who murdered his father.”

Drawing closer to William, Clark lowers his voice. “I really wish you had been willing to tell me what causes my headaches. I didn’t enjoy the dinner party nearly as much as I might have, and it’s not often I get served hot apple pie. I’m very displeased. I don’t care to hear any last words from you, so if you pull that gag out of your mouth when I free your hands, I’ll just shoot you and be done with it.”

Clark steps back and motions for one of his men to grab the back of the chair so it won’t fall over prematurely. Drawing his knife, he saws through the ropes that bind William’s wrists. “Let go of the chair,” he orders. The raider lets go of the chair and it wobbles: right, left, center; left, right, left; center, stop. Satisfied, Clark nods, turns away from William and walks back to the tables. When he reaches Miss Emily, he takes Teddy off his shoulders and puts him down on the ground. “Teddy, run to your daddy and give him a big hug.”

With a cry of delight, Teddy runs toward William and throws his arms around William’s legs. As the chair topples over, William grabs the rope with both hands, Teddy screams, Miss Emily’s dinner guests cheer, and Henry Clark takes out his pocket watch.

“One, two, three, four, five!” he cries. “How many seconds will the abolitionist hang on ladies and gentlemen? Place your bets now before it’s too late.”

 

 

 

 

 

W
illiam kicks at air and the world turns around him like a steam-powered carousel, trees blending into grass, grass into the white of the big house, white of the big house into the brown smear of the river. He feels his fingers slipping on the rope and growing numb, feels the hemp biting into his neck.

Black spots swirl before his eyes, alternating with the blue dome of the sky and the burning disk of the sun. Round and round he goes, hanging on. The noose suddenly tightens and his breath jams in his throat like a clump of dry sticks.

Faces: white, black, Clark’s, the raiders’. The face of a tall woman dressed all in white. Four men in dark suits, their beards black smears. The rope swings him around again. Now he faces the stable, sees details so fine he could never have imagined it possible: the grain of the wood in the boards pulsing like a heartbeat; shadows of ivy fluttering like wings; a chicken pecking in the dust; great sweeps of knife-edged, silver clouds frozen over the roof as if time itself has come to a stop.

Again the rope turns, and Carrie’s face suddenly appears in front of him, floating and turning with him. She opens her mouth, and moves her lips.
I love you
, she says. Her voice rings in his ears like a thousand silver bells. Oxygen deprivation. Asphyxia. Hallucination. Part of his mind knows this. Part denies it. Part keeps him hanging onto the rope. He can no longer feel his hands and a sharp pain has begun to crawl across his chest.

William, dearest William
, Carrie says. Her blonde hair springs away from her face, and the amber flecks in her eyes flash and spin like pinwheels. She is beautiful beyond description, and he has never loved her more than he loves her at this moment.

I’m dying
, he thinks. Words that make no sense fill his mind. He sees something silver falling from the sky, jagged like scraps of torn paper. Carrie’s face blossoms in front of him like a great, white gardenia, and he smells the scent of the flowers in her father’s garden, sees the sea shining out in the bay beyond Rio, feels the touch of her hand on his forehead light as a kiss.

These words, which she cannot possibly have spoken, shock him back to reality. He clutches the rope more tightly and with great effort, lifts himself up, loosening the noose a little. He inhales and feels air fill his lungs. Somehow he manages to spit out the gag. Again he turns. Now he faces Clark. Clark has a grip on Teddy’s collar. Teddy is crying and struggling to get away.

“Let go of my boy, you son of a bitch!” William gasps.

“Four and a half minutes,” Clark says.

Suddenly another sound fills the air. It’s a dull pounding like hail on a wood-shingled roof. Behind Clark, William can see the dinner guests springing to their feet. Again he hears Carrie yell, “William, hang on!” Only this time he could swear it’s really her.

T
he raiders’ own horses come stampeding toward them, driven by riders who bear down on the dinner party from all directions. Ebenezer leads one group, stripped to the waist and bearing the scars of his burns like medals. Next to him rides Spartacus; next to Spartacus, Carrie; behind Carrie, Sam and Peet. Coming toward the tables, closing the trap, Ni leads Jordan and Marcellus, Andrew and Charles, little Cush with the fierce eyes, Bilander, who can split a rail with a single blow, Caesar whose master once whipped him half to death, Abel who was sold away from his mother at the age of five.

The men come yelling the battle cries that John Brown and his sons taught them, come yelling the war cries of Africa, come screaming Bible verses or singing hymns or cursing, or just yelling, giving voice to their wives and children and friends and ancestors who have been enslaved for over two hundred years.

As they charge out of the willows that border the river, gallop out of the fields, and ride up the main road driving the stampeding horses before them, Miss Emily leaps to her feet.

“Soldiers!” she shrieks. And then she turns to Mr. Thompson and says in a voice full of amazement. “Why, they’re black!” Paralyzed by the impossibility of this, the men stare at the approaching riders. One of Clark’s Raiders starts to draw his gun, then hesitates.

“What the hell are you waiting for!” Clark yells. “Shoot the bastards, damn it, and turn those horses around!”

Shocked into action, the men draw their pistols and kick over the tables to form a barricade, forgetting that the tables are merely planks set on sawhorses. The barricades dissolve into a heap of lumber, broken china, shattered crystal, and soiled linen. As the stampeding horses plunge into the wreckage, Miss Emily turns in circles screaming for help. Around her, men are being knocked down and trampled. Some of the raiders try to hold their ground. Others break and run, only to find themselves ridden down and taken prisoner.

Clark takes refuge behind the hanging tree as the panicked horses thunder by. Drawing his pistol, he shoots at the nearest soldier and scores a hit. As the man falls to the ground, Clark runs out and tries to grab the reins of his horse, but they slip through his fingers.

Dan has made it to the stable and mounted Jed’s brown mare. Now he comes bursting out the door, heading straight for Clark as if he’s going to trample him.

“Coward!” Clark screams. “Deserter!” Lifting his pistol, he aims it at Dan and shoots. In the instant between the moment the gun fires and the moment Dan falls, Clark recognizes him. Seizing the reins, he steps over Dan’s body and starts to swing himself into the saddle. Then he realizes he has forgotten something.

“Teddy,” he commands, “come here!” But the boy isn’t where he left him. He’s over on the far side of the yard, running toward the river like a spooked rabbit.

C
arrie gallops up to the hanging tree and cuts William down. How long has he been dangling? Three minutes? Four? Dismounting, she kneels beside him, loosens the noose, and shakes him. “Breathe!” she yells. “Breathe!”

William struggles to obey, but his throat has gone into a spasm, or maybe it’s his lungs that don’t work. When he was hanging, he saw colors. Now all he sees is blackness creeping in from all sides like spilled ink. He fights to shove it away, but it keeps spreading, stuffing him into a black bag with no bottom.

Putting her lips to his, Carrie breathes into his mouth until the knot in his throat opens and her breath enters his lungs. He coughs and gulps in a mouthful of air. Breathing hurts so much he’s tempted to stop. “Clark . . .” he gasps. “Teddy . . .”

He points, and Carrie looks up just in time to see Henry Clark swoop down on Teddy, grab him by the shirttails, and jerk him off his feet.

L
et go!” Teddy screams.

“Shut up!” Clark yells. Throwing Teddy behind the fork of his saddle, he wheels around and kicks his horse into a fast gallop only to discover he’s headed straight at Carrie, who’s riding toward him with a pistol leveled at his chest. For a second, he feels a fear so intense his heart nearly explodes, but then he realizes she can’t fire, because if she does she may hit her son.

Wheeling around, he gallops back toward the river. He can hear her coming after him, but he’s got a good head start, and the trail that runs along the riverbank passes through a stand of willows before it comes out near the landing. If she loses her senses and takes a shot at him, the chances of her hitting him from a moving horse are small. Once they get into the willows where no one can see them, he’ll turn around, stop, and surprise her by offering to let her buy back her son.

All Deacon’s money
, he’ll say.
All Bennett’s. All yours, if you still have any left.
While she’s trying to decide if he’s serious, he’ll blow her off her horse. Simple as that. His enemies always underestimate him, but he can outthink them.