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  “Eli, it is time for me to have my evening entertainment. Thank you, by the way. If any spirit remains after I’m finished I will send her to your room. If not, I will ring as usual and you can dispose of her. Please remember to remove the gown first. Drop it off with the housekeeper for repairs in the morning. I’m sure it still has some wear left in it. If Netty’s drifter shows up, wake me, regardless of the time.”

  Robert stood, bidding good night to Eli. He moved to his safe where he deposited the receipts from Eli’s last collection. Passing the prominent display of his coin collection, he paused. With a devilish grin, he removed two of the coins, slipping them into the pocket of his opulent dressing gown. He gave a satisfied shake of his head, mounting the stairs to his bedroom, relishing the anticipation of the evening’s pleasures.

  ###

  The long journey to Norristown wore Wil down, yet his vengeance still simmered ominously. Maggie plodded with fatigue, holding up like a champ. He knew he could not be that far behind the bastard that tore apart his life. Poor Netty, she did not deserve any of this. He tried not to cry as he thought what the loss of their baby might do to them. Pushing those thoughts from his head, he tried to concentrate on a plan. He felt sure he could find Sunnydale without much trouble. After all, how many hulking mansions did one city have?

  Before long, he managed to locate the Doyle estate. Predictably, it was located on the best street in the city. He tied Maggie to a tree down the block. If anything went wrong he didn’t want her involved. He knew someone would find and care for her until the time came to reclaim her. For added insurance, he wrote down his name and address, tucking it inside his saddlebag.

  Creeping onto the property, he watched the front door without seeing any activity. The luminous moon beamed prominently, exposing the manicured lawn along with Wil’s inadequate hiding place. He silently reconnoitered the estate, sneaking around the side of the house to watch the back door. Still no activity. He shook the weariness from his tired swollen eyes as he wondered what it was like for Netty to live in this huge mansion. How was he going to quickly find Eli on this property? And what would he actually do to him when he found him? Could he shoot him? He realized no jury would find him very sympathetic if he shot a man in cold blood, even if the man raped his woman and caused the death of his unborn baby. He felt the rush of blood in his ears as he imagined his callused hands around Eli’s neck. Maybe it would be better if he shot them both, Robert and Eli. He stared at the back door wondering how many people were inside the house. He needed to simmer down and plan this carefully. Through the trees at the back of the property he observed flickers of light. It must be the carriage house where Robert conducted his bootleg business. How many people did he employ? Would they come running if they heard a gunshot? Wil’s mind swirled with options and terror. He would be worthless to Netty in jail, leaving her even more vulnerable and damaged. He shifted his body, feeling cramped and uncomfortable. Desperation to get back to Netty further frayed his reserves. Before long, Wil’s eyes drooped, allowing deadly sleep to claim him, mercifully allowing his demons a respite.

  Startled awake by the sound of a far off gun shot, his heart thudded rapidly causing him to break into an acrid sweat. Widening his eyes, he saw the barrel of his own rifle sighting down at him. What the …? Strong arms grabbed him, lifting him off his feet. He felt a solid punch to his solar plexus, squashing his breath back down his trachea. Another fist mainlined right to his face. They dropped him to the ground, stomping him thoroughly. A boot landed in his face, smashing his nose, another kicked in his kidneys. They suddenly stopped as a large man in a dressing gown approached. He held one hand in his pocket. Ordering the men to pick Wil up, he put one arm around his shoulders, prompting him to stumble to the front of the house.

  Blood dripped from Wil’s nose briefly then stopped. He straightened up, the pain from his beating gone. Slapping him on the back, the man gave Wil a long glacial glare.

  “Well, well, you sure took that beating well.” He searched Wil’s body looking for signs of injury from the brutal beating inflicted on him. The man’s eyes narrowed.

  “Go home, boy. Before I have my boys give you another dose of our hospitality.”

  Wil slowly walked down the drive, now minus his rifle, disconsolate, and wondering why his pain was gone. His confusion distracted him so much, he failed to sense the weight of two gold coins, now nestled comfortably in the back pocket of his workpants. He trudged down the road to collect Maggie, defeat and humiliation weighing him down like a child who just lost his underwear to a schoolyard bully. He should never have come. He should have stayed with Netty. She needed him more than he needed to vent his anger. He felt awash in impotence and faced a very long ride home. Poor Maggie, she was in for a long haul again, too. At least she had a chance for a rest. Maybe he could locate some oats and water for her before they took off. Rounding the bend where he left her tied, he spotted her lying on the ground, her face splattered in blood. What the …? Running up to her, his shocked eyes tried to deny the truth of the fresh bullet hole in her temple, brain splatter creeping from under her velvet majestic head. No. Not Maggie, please—not my beautiful girl. He slump his head down on hers. She still felt warm, but he knew—she was gone. Oh, God, why? What have I done to displease you so? Overcome with shock, he kissed her still damp tender muzzle, lay down in the dirt and broke down, thoroughly defeated.

  Chapter 7

  Netty frequently lost track of time but thought it had been at least two weeks since Wil left the cabin, forcing her to wonder if she might lose her sanity if he stayed away one more day.

  “You are sure he said four days, Baby?”

  “Yes, Sister; four rotations of the sun happened many rotations ago. I do not think Brother is coming back.”

  “Why do you say that, Baby? Wil would never desert us. We are a family. He loves us. He knows we are waiting for him.”

  “I know, Sister. I need Brother to bring Maggie back. It is time to turn out the Jerseys. Maybe I need to go find him.” The aura’s faded from her mind as Baby’s long fingers closed spasmodically, a sure sign of agitation. She pulled Baby up to her lap for comfort, her endless tears dripping down to soak into his fur as she reflected on their lonely wait.

  She woke up the day after she lost the baby, feeling like a hunk of dead meat that did not know enough to stay down. Baby clung, thankfully, to her side every moment. She forced herself up to check on the Jerseys and found Wil’s note. Reading, she realized Wil went to find Eli. A better solution might be to call the sheriff, if they only owned a telephone. She needed Wil desperately. She just wanted his arms around her, telling her things would be good again. She walked around the cabin in a time warp, not bathing, dressing or combing her now ratty hair. What was the point without Wil?

  She had been forced to bury their child by herself. She found it wrapped up in the barn where Wil set the poor thing. At least Baby accompanied her while she said goodbye. They did it together. Throwing dirt on her and Wil’s baby as it lay in the primitive grave felt like throwing dirt on their past life together. She held Baby tightly as she cried over the grave, rocking him slowly in her arms. They walked back to the cabin and slept long hours. She knew the Jerseys were being tended to by Wil’s helpers. Luckily, she found she suffered no lasting damage from the assault. She refused to use the word rape. Denial was her current means of exerting control in a world that left her feeling like flotsam at the mercy of a hurricane. So she just slept while she waited for Wil to come home.

  Almost three weeks passed by the time she seriously considered searching for him. She was in the kitchen when she heard a knock at the door. Shooing Baby into the bedroom, she answered the door. It was farmer Neal from down the road.

  “Howdy, Netty,” he said removing his hat. He danced from side to side as if he had to urinate. “Well now, ah … oh, shoot. You sure have been good to my Ruthann, so I thought I should be the one to tell you. We were in town last week and we heard tel
l that Wil was in jail. They said he got arrested for stealing. Got him dead to rights down the road from where it happened. They say he shot his horse and tried to blame it on someone else. Sorry to give you the news, Netty.” Looking down he noticed she was no longer pregnant. “Well, well, Netty, looks like the baby came. Congratulations. Be seeing you now.” And with a tip of his hat, he disappeared off the stoop.

  Netty stood motionless, her brain stunned, then overcome with panic. She heated some water on the fireplace and washed up in her bedroom. Her hair was a mess. She pulled it back quickly. Running to the barn, she got their other horse and hooked up the wagon. She instructed Baby to lock the door and not come out for anything. Quickly, she rode toward town. Maggie shot by Wil? Never. Absolutely not. Maybe farmer Neal got the story wrong. She knew for sure Wil did not steal a darn thing. Choking back a sob, she urged the horse to hurry. She arrived in town just after lunch, making a beeline for the sheriff’s office.

  Entering one of the only brick buildings in town, she felt her anxieties return, wondering what she needed to say. Should she report Wil as missing? Should she report farmer Neal’s story? Should she report the rape? She decided she must first find Wil. Walking up to the desk in front of a large reception room, she asked for the sheriff. Explaining he was in a meeting, the receptionist suggested she could wait if she liked. Netty decided she would wait. She took a seat furthest from the front door. It offered some measure of privacy, sheltered behind a wall that projected partially into the room. The small wall displayed all kinds of official bulletins. Netty hoped perhaps they might be revealing.

  Time passed slowly as Netty read the bulletins. Townspeople bustled in and out on various errands. Many found time just to shoot the breeze and pass the time with the sheriff’s receptionist. As Netty scanned the sheriff’s bulletins, she noticed Mr. Simpson, the creepy butcher, enter with a deputy. Just then, the sheriff came into the room and joined them. For some reason, Netty thought to shrink tight against the wall where she could not be seen. She was just close enough to see Mr. Simpson clap the sheriff on the arm. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she looked out the window. She snapped her attention back to the room when she heard Mr. Simpson say in a coarse whisper, “Hear you found an easy way to part that upstart drifter, Wil Capaccino from Netty Doyle’s property. Does the boss have any plans to get rid of him for good or is he just gunna go for the land now that she’s easy pickings?”

  “We need to take things slow. I think Doyle is going to let him rot in jail until he comes up with a plan to grab the property. These things are getting harder and harder to cover. His men (that includes you, too, Simpson) tend to get a little too bloodthirsty for me. Go easy on her, won’t you? I don’t want an unexplainable body to dispose of. I’d like to avoid raising a lot of uncomfortable questions.” The sheriff shook hands with Mr. Simpson and escorted him to the door. Turning, he spotted Netty sitting against the wall. His face froze. Shaking off his surprise, he approached her.

  “Well, Mrs. Doyle, is there some way I can help you today?”

  Netty had heard enough to realize what she was up against. Robert must have quite a few in this town on his payroll. The best thing to do was to act as if she heard nothing. But she still needed information. She swallowed quickly to steady her voice.

  “I understand Wil is in jail. Can you tell me what he is accused of and where he might be?”

  “Well, Mrs. Doyle, he is accused of stealing some valuable gold coins from your husband in Norristown. He was thrown in jail after court by Mr. Doyle himself. He is the chief Magistrate now, you know.”

  “So, he is in jail in Norristown? When will he be getting out?”

  “Don’t know that he will be getting out. Seems he shot one of Mr. Doyle’s horses. Tried to claim the horse as his own, but then couldn’t explain why he shot the horse. He had some dandy story that Doyle’s men shot the horse and framed him. Mr. Doyle had lots of witnesses. You know what happens to a horse thief. Sorry I can’t help you, Mrs. Doyle, but they will probably hang him in time. Good day.” Tipping his hat to Netty he returned to his office, leaving her standing frozen to the spot, her face a bloodless mask.

  ###

  The sheriff watched Netty rush out the door and run down the street. Calling his deputy, he quickly wrote a letter and sealed it. The telephone party line needed to be avoided with a matter as sensitive as this.

  “Deliver this to the boss. He better know she may be up to something; might need to step up his plans. She could start some trouble for us if we’re not careful.”

  ###

  Netty ran blindly down the street. She felt totally alone. Who could she trust in this town? She now realized she and Wil kept to themselves far too much. She had no friends to turn to, only Baby and Wil. That’s all she ever needed. Even her customers were not to be trusted. There was no way of knowing what name sat on Robert’s payroll, plotting against her to steal her land. But she still must save Wil.

  Wringing her hands, she frantically scanned the sparsely crowded street, recognizing no one. She needed someone connected to the court system. She must avoid anyone with clout or success. They might be on Robert’s payroll. She just needed a lead on how to proceed. Rounding a corner, she spotted a pathway that led to the poorly frequented part of town. Rotted garbage lay along a few boarded up store fronts, a door with screechy hinges banged loudly. As she considered the wisdom of her presence there, an unseen child screamed at an imagined insult, the sound echoing down the street. This was the black section of town. Most towns did not even let them own property, but this town fostered a huge respect for a man’s hard work. Many hard working blacks found a home here. Netty stumbled down the pathway coming to the only building that showed any sign of life. She heard southern hill music coming from inside the dark building. Stepping up to the open door she entered. She peered through the dimness, smelling heavily sweating musky male bodies and something she suspected was spirits.

  As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she noticed every black face turned her way. She hesitated as the room stopped all motion, a sudden silence drawing further eyes her way. Silence ticked loudly.

  “You aut not ta be here, Msus.” She heard a deep voice emanate from the gloom.

  “Gentlemen … ah, if you could just give me a moment of your time? I am sorely in need of advice.” Her faltering words were met with unfriendly stares.

  “Please, I mean no one any harm. I am looking for your legal adviser; if you could just direct me.” Her pleading voice petered out. Netty could not hold back tears as she realized this was a dead end. Turning, she made her way back to the door when she heard a voice say, “Reverend Penny, Misus. You best be leav’in now, b’for there be trouble. Pretty lady like you don belong here.” Nodding her thanks, Netty backed out of the little building, tripping over her feet on the way out. Retracing her steps, she made it back to the main thoroughfare.

  Finding her way to her wagon, she drove to the square where the churches clustered. She was looking for the Baptist Church, the only church that would accept the small number of black families from the area. Reverend Penny was rumored to not see black or white, only God’s children. She should have thought of him to begin with. Netty approached the church, admiring the beauty of its stunning stained glass windows; very expensive stained glass. The congregation must be larger than she realized. Entering the church, she looked down to the altar where Reverend Penny and a little black child stood together.

  A tearful girl of about six years old held a small dog in her arms that looked crushed, probably by the wheel of a wagon or the tire of one of the new automobiles in town. Its rear leg lay at an unnatural angle, a grisly bone exposed. It hung limply in the child’s arms as her tears fell on its face, causing the dog to whine pitifully. She overheard the child ask Reverend Penny if God could please heal her doggie.

  Netty’s tail, lying comfortably hidden under her skirt, suddenly unwound, rising into the air. She tried franticly to rein the unbridled appendage in,
appalled by her inconceivable lack of control. The church quickly filled with the smell of sulfur. Her tail soared as the membrane shot out its healing pressure, directed at the puppy. As the dog wiggled out of the child’s arms, Netty quickly sat down in a pew, hoping to be overlooked. The child ran up the aisle, calling to her dog as it emerged from the church, ready to resume its battle with wagon wheels. Reverend Penny, flummoxed by the pup’s startling transformation, collapsed on the floor. Hurrying to the altar, her tail now firmly tucked under her skirt, she rushed to the reverend, helping him to his feet. He appeared dazed, confusion obscuring his pious carriage. Introducing herself without pause, Netty requested a private word with the reverend.

  “My dear, did you see a young child with a dog run outside?”

  “Yes, Reverend, I did.”

  “The dog, he was running on all four legs?”

  “Yes, Reverend, he was.” Reverend Penny slowly turned to the golden cross on the altar and on bent knee, genuflected. Netty mulled over what had just happened. She knew the more she was in public the more likely there would be another incident. Sooner or later, it would lead to her exposure. She did not think she could handle any more stress, desperately holding herself together as it was. Collecting herself, she forced her mind to focus.

  “Reverend, if we could sit down somewhere private?”

  Distractedly, the reverend rose and led Netty into his personal sanctuary. Pulling out a chair for Netty, he sat behind his desk.

  “Forgive me, my dear, I am a bit distracted. Is there something I can do for you?” Netty hesitantly spoke of her problem, omitting her rape and the loss of their baby. She just did not think she was strong enough to speak about it and she wanted all of the reverend’s attention directed to the problem with Wil.