“Whatever happened to Drew, Champ, and Isaac?”
“No idea. They left here a few days after you and Griffin lit out. Rumor says Lane paid them to leave so nobody could ask them about what really happened that day.”
Grace had no idea who the men being referred to
were, or the part they’d played in Jackson’s life here.
He must’ve sensed her curiosity. “Drew, Champ, and Isaac were my deputy sheriffs. They were with me the day Lane Trent’s daddy was shot and killed.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
So he did, beginning with his father Royce’s death at the hands of Lane and the Sons of Shiloh, and ending with the gunfight that resulted in Roy Trent’s death.
“So you and your brother fled north to keep from being railroaded.”
“Yes.”
Iva added sagely, “Lane won’t be happy knowing you’re back. Why not just let things be?”
“Because he killed Royce, Iva. You of all people should be standing with me on this.” Iva had been the love of his father’s life for almost twenty years.
“And you of all people should know Royce wouldn’t want you risking your life going up against Lane and his hate.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
”
“That’s all well and good, but what about the warrant? Even if I could try and live with his murder, what’s to keep Lane from hunting me down and getting me hanged?”
“A lion can’t eat what’s on the other side of the jungle.”
“You’re saying I should just head back north and stay out of his way?”
“Yes. Things are bad down here, Jack. Real bad. In some places Black men are hanging from trees like fruit. Don’t make yourself be one of them, you have too much to live for.”
Jackson could see the concern in Grace’s eyes. “What would a Prescott do?” he asked her quietly.
“Stand and fight,” she replied. “But that’s from having the blood of the Old Buccaneer in our veins.”
Iva had a confused look on her face. “The old who?”
“Buccaneer,” Jackson replied, his eyes still on his wife. “Her family’s founding father was a pirate.”
“Like Lafitte?”
Grace found Iva’s knowledge of the Frenchman surprising. “You know about Jean Lafitte?”
“Yep. My grandmother was a free woman and lived on Galveston Island when Lafitte owned the slave markets and everything else down there. She lost her husband because of that pirate and cursed him everyday for the rest of her life.”
“What happened to her husband?”
“Lafitte sold him along with every other free Black living on the island back then.”
“Really, why?”
“Well, back in eighteen hundred and nineteen, a hurricane came to Galveston—or as Lafayette called it, Campeachy—and wiped out everything. Sank all the ships, many folks drowned, and even parts of his big old red house with the cannons mounted on it came tumbling down. All the food stores were gone and he and his people were facing famine. He decided that the first thing he needed to do was have less mouths to feed, so he seized a schooner that had come from New Orleans and told his men to round up everybody that had African blood and put them aboard. Didn’t matter if you were slave or free like my grandparents. Loaded them all up and took them to New Orleans and sold them. My grandmother managed to steal away and make her way back to Texas, but she never saw my grandfather again. Went to her grave still grieving.”
“What a sad story,” Grace said. She’d heard that Lafitte’s settlement had included Mexicans, Indians, women of all races, free Blacks, and runaway slaves. She also knew that as a slave trafficker he’d sold mem
bers of the race for one dollar a pound, but she’d never met anyone who’d been personally touched by his greed.
“You two planning on staying the night, Jack?” Iva asked, after finishing her story. It was now very late. Davida had come in during the telling and was seated in the shadows of the other room.
“Hoped to.”
“Well, all I can offer you is the barn. That old milk cow of mine won’t mind sharing the place if you two don’t.”
They didn’t, and so Iva walked them out to the barn. Grace found the ramshackle space infinitely cleaner than the accommodations they’d been forced to endure on the train, and besides, after being on the trail with the brides, she could sleep just about anywhere.
Leaving them the lantern that had lit their way to the barn, Iva said her goodnights and left to return to the cabin. This was the first time they’d been alone together in over a week and as a result there was a decided awkwardness between them.
In an effort to fill the looming silence, Grace said, “I like Iva. Is she related to you in some way?”
“No,” he replied, unfurling his bedroll and laying it down on the barn’s dirt floor. “She was my father’s ladyfriend. His death nearly killed her.”
Grace thought it must be awful to lose the man you loved to violence. In her mind one could better accept death if it stemmed from disease or natural causes, although she knew from her father’s grief that even that could alter one’s life forever, but to lose a loved one to hate? It would probably eat away at her just as it must be doing to Jackson.
“You take the bedroll. I’ll bed down over here.”
He indicated a spot a few feet away from the bedroll. After sleeping with him on the train, she’d grown ac-
customed to his presence. She swallowed her disappointment that he obviously preferred another arrangement tonight. She settled in and he doused the light. In the darkness she sensed him covering himself with a blanket and settling in too.
For a moment the silence returned, and then he said, “Grace, I wish you’d stayed with your aunts.”
“I know, but I couldn’t let you come alone. Sorry.”
Silence again.
She had a question. Although she had no idea if he’d answer, she asked anyway. “Do you know how you’re going to accomplish what you need to do here?”
“Thought I’d try and find the men who were my deputies at the time first, then go from there.”
“Will they be able to prove that you didn’t kill Trent’s father?”
“They’ll be able to tell a judge that Trent’s daddy’s men opened fire first. I was after Lane, not his daddy.”
“And Lane was a member of this Sons of Shiloh gang?”
“Yes, they would dress up in sheets and pretend to be the dead spirits of the soldiers killed at the Battle of Shiloh. No one was afraid of the sheets, but they were of the men beneath. Sometimes they’d pretend to be ghosts who hadn’t had a drink since their death. Had one old Black man spend a whole night drawing them buckets of water from his well. He did it because he was terrified they’d turn to something else, like killing his sons or burning his house down. They’d ride through the countryside at night shooting up cabins and using axes to break down doors.”
“And you tried to arrest them?”
“I did, several times, even took them in, but the county had the only secure jail and they never had room, or so they always claimed.” His tone was bitter. “So I
had to let them go. I warned my daddy not to get involved, I’d written a letter to the governor, hoping he’d intervene in some way; after all, the township citizens both Black and White had elected me sheriff, but I never received a reply, and my daddy went to see Lane and his friends over my objections. Less than an hour later he was dead. I should’ve made him stay at home.”
Grace’s heart went out to him. Judging by the bleakness in his voice, the death continued to be a painful memory. He also sounded as if he blamed himself.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. Your father was a preacher, Jackson. He was going to rely on faith and the Word regardless of the danger.”
“I know, but if only he’d listened…” His voice trailed off.
Silence resettled again, and a few moments later, he said, “Well, goodnight, and Grace, even though I’m still angry, I am glad you’re here. See you in the morning.”
A stunned Grace lay there in the darkness, then a smile spread across her face. “I’m glad I’m here too. Goodnight, Jackson.”
“Remind me to paddle you after the baby’s born, though.”
She grinned in the dark. “I will.”
The next morning, Grace and Jackson rode over to visit another friend. The man’s name was Riley Borden. He was a blacksmith and owned a livery. Two old friends greeted each other warmly.
“When’d you get back?” Riley asked, as they broke the embrace.
“Yesterday. This is my wife, Grace.”
The thin little man with the light brown skin and the muscular arms turned to her and gave her a gap-toothed smile. “Pleased to meet you, Grace. What’s a fine woman like you doing with this old rattler?”
Grace smiled.
“Come on inside so we can get out of this sun,” he urged. “It’s not even ten yet and it’s blazing already.”
Grace agreed. Texas in July was much hotter than Illinois. Her blouse sticking to her skin was enough to prove it.
He ushered them into his large parlor and they took a seat. Grace noted the coolness of the interior and portraits on the wall. One held the likeness of Riley, a woman, and a child. “Is that your family?” she asked.
“Yep, that’s my wife, Ann, and my boy, Riley the second. They’re down in Austin visiting her mother. Miss them terribly.”
The conversation then turned to the reason for their visit.
“We need a wagon and a team,” Jackson told his old friend.
“I’ve a few you can look at, but first, have you seen Iva?”
“Spent the night at her place last night.”
Riley nodded. “So are you back for good?”
“Depends on how things go.”
Riley stared into Jackson’s eyes. “You’re not here to take up with Lane Trent again, are you? It’s been a long time, Jack. Best to leave it alone. You got a wife now.”
“I know, Riley, but I can’t have it hanging over my head for the rest of my life.”
Riley looked to Grace. “If you love him, you’ll take him back north, Grace.”
The seriousness in his eyes made the hairs stand on the back of her neck.
“I mean it. All he’s going to find down here is death. Lane Trent is Satan. Not even his wife can stand him.”
Jackson interrupted him. “He’s married?”
“Yep. Married a young thing from Abilene about a
year after you left. Gossip had it that when he first asked for her hand she refused, so he bought up the note on her daddy’s land and threatened to call it in unless she agreed, so she did. The folks who work for him say she hates his every step.”
Grace was disliking this Lane Trent more and more. “Do they have any children?”
“No, she can’t seem to carry to full term. She’s lost at least three, according to the rumors and he’s fit to be tied. He thinks she’s taking something that’s causing it.”
“Is she?” Grace asked.
“Nobody knows but her.”
Grace couldn’t imagine hating a man so much that you’d abort your own children. If Trent’s wife were indeed ingesting something so foul, her hate must run deep.
Riley then asked, “How’s Griff, Jack? Have you heard from him?”
“Not in a while. He’s still robbing trains, far as I know.”
Riley smiled and shook his head. “That brother of yours always was a handful.”
“Yes he was. I just hope he doesn’t wind up in prison.”
“Knowing him, that’s probably the only thing that’ll stop him.”
Jackson nodded. “That, or the shotgun of some woman’s irate husband or daddy.”
Riley grinned. “Come on, let’s go see if we can find you a wagon and a team.”
Riley took them out to the livery and she and Jackson looked over the conveyances he had for rent. They decided on a buckboard that looked to be in fair shape and a two-horse team.
Jackson asked, “Have you heard anything about
Champ, Isaac, or Drew? Iva said Lane paid them to leave so they wouldn’t reveal the truth.”
“I heard that too, but no one’s seen them since, far as I know.”
“Their folks still around?”
“Drew’s daddy died about eight months ago, but Isaac’s mother and Champ’s sister are still living in the same place.”
“I need to talk to them.”
Riley shook his head sadly. “Go back north, Jack. Folks around here are not going to like you stirring up the past.”
“I don’t care what they like or don’t. I owe it to Royce and I’m tired of looking over my shoulder.”
Riley turned to Grace. “Try and talk some sense into him, Grace.”
“Jackson has to follow his heart.”
“He’s gonna follow it right to a lynch rope, mark my words.”
With their business concluded, the men spent a few more moments talking about acquaintances still living nearby, then she and Jackson left with a wave and a promise to come to dinner when Riley’s wife and son returned from Austin later in the week.
“So, where to now?” Grace asked, as she drove the wagon while he kept pace on his mount.
“I want to see if I can get some information on my deputies. Let’s go and see Champ’s sister.”
The journey took them a few miles north to a small farm. There was a mixed race crew working in the cotton field. The White woman Jackson pointed out as the sister looked up at their approach, stared at them, then bent back over her hoe. She didn’t appear to be happy.
He left the horse with Grace and walked out to where the crew worked. Before he could speak, Champ’s sister
Maybelle said, “Get out of here, Jack. I don’t want no trouble from Lane.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want to know if you know where Champ is.” “No.”
“Maybelle, please, this is real important.”
She straightened and snapped angrily. “Important? Having my brother by my side is important, but he disappeared right after you did and nobody’s seen him since. Go on back to where you’ve been and leave my family in peace.”
She went back to her hoe.
A tight-lipped Jackson turned and walked to his mount.
“Let’s go,” Jackson said angrily, as he swung up into the saddle.
Grace slapped down the reins and followed him back to the road.
J
ackson stopped them a few miles away and slid from the saddle. He’d expected resistance, but not from folks like Maybelle Champion. Jackson, Maybelle, and her brother Champ had grown up together; they’d hunted frogs together, swum together, and tipped over privies together. He and Champ had been such good friends, there’d been no question about him being named deputy when Jackson was elected sheriff. Jackson trusted Champ with his life, but now Maybelle treated him like a Reb.