Finding Eliza (16 page)

Avery was speechless. He had learned about the KKK in school, but no one he knew had connections to an organization like the Klan. His world was simple and organized. It didn’t have connections to a hate organization much less to crimes inflicted upon others. In a matter of minutes, Avery’s world had become a place that was unfamiliar to him. It was a world that held connections to Grand Dragons and burning crosses just two generations away. He knew that his grandfather held the secrets of an elderly man, but he didn’t expect to hear him disclose something like this. He looked into his grandfather’s eyes and asked, “Then what happened?” unsure he wanted to know the actual answer.

Thomas pushed his plate away to the edge of the table. He waved the waitress over and had her remove the dishes before continuing his story.

“I learned what the word lynching meant,” Thomas said just before breaking down in tears.

Avery was speechless. He covered his grandfather’s intertwined hands with his own and said a silent prayer. He wasn’t sure if he was praying more for his grandfather or himself.

“That night was the worst night of my life. I watched as your great-grandfather destroyed two lives.” Thomas bowed his head and continued. “I was a coward hiding behind a tree that night. My father told me to stay put and not come out, but he made sure that I would be watching what he made my older brother and the others do to those poor kids. I saw more than I should have. He wanted to teach me a lesson, and he did. I learned to hate my father that night.”

Thomas’ eyes stared off in the distance. As he continued his story, his grandson realized that he wasn’t just sharing a memory, he was reliving it.

“Tell me what happened, Gramps.”

“Avery, I can still hear his voice…”

***

“Please, stop. You don’t have to do this, sir. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let the girl go,” he begged.

A young girl's screams mixed with the shouts of an angry man in white as he gave orders to those around him. The hooves of the horses threw dust into the air around them as the two teenagers struggled. Bound by coarse rope at their hands and feet, they struggled to free themselves from their restraints. Cries and shrieks filled the air. Blood ran into the ground staining it red in a way that looked as if the entire earth was crying out in pain along with those in captivity.

A heavy boot landed on the ribs of the boy as he begged.

“Shut up, nigger. I said you needed to learn your place, boy. That’s what got you into this mess. Not knowing your place.” The screaming man yanked hard at the rope that connected his victim’s hands, tying it to the back of the horse. “I’m teaching you now, nigger. Oh, I’m teaching you now.”

The girl struggled to kick and scream. Three men in white repeated the process they used on the boy, connecting her by the same type of rope to a different horse. The hands of a teenage boy pulled at her dress a little too hard while he let his hands linger a little too long along her hip and thigh. She screamed and tried to roll to the side, kicking her legs while the tender threads of her dress began to pop and rip. Tears streamed down her face which was now dirty with red clay. Her gentle green eyes looked up at him as she pleaded for him to stop.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried. Her sobs fell as gentle as feathers yet landed like heavy boulders on her companion’s heart. Looking up at his father, he seemed to be asking the same question.

His father saw hesitation in his older son’s eyes. He threw down the rope that he was tying to the horse and walked over to the girl.

“You shut up, too, whore.” He grabbed his teenage son by the straps of his overalls and shoved him toward her feet. “We don’t talk to whores. Now get her tied, son. This is for her own good. It’s for
our
own good. The girl needs taught a lesson.”

Spitting a long, dark stream of tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth, his dirty smile grew. He knelt down next to the girl and began playing with the hem of her dress. He yanked and tugged at the fabric just to see her scream.

“Please sir, I’m beggin’ ya,” the bound boy pleaded. “I see what I did was wrong, sir. I did it. She wasn’t willing, sir, I promise. I took advantage, sir,” he screamed. “It was all my fault. Just take me, sir. She was a victim, sir. Please, Lord, spare her!”

The young man’s soul seemed to scream out as he begged for the life of his companion. Instead of bringing her relief, his pleas only enraged the man in charge like gasoline on a fire.

“You want me to spare her? A whore? Y’all hear that? This nigger wants me to take care of a whore.” Again he spit a long string of black liquid into the ground. Trails of blood and tobacco mixed into a vile concoction. “Come to think of it, my boy can do that. Son, come here. This girl needs took care of.” He ran his fingers up her leg lifting her dress as he moved his hand higher and higher.

“But, Daddy, I don’t want to…”

“Just do it,” he screamed at the shaking boy as he shoved him to the ground on top of her.

The boy fell backwards into the dirt and struggled to raise himself. Panicking, he looked over at his younger brother as he hid behind a tree. He tried to rise up as the back of his father’s hand landed square on his cheek.

“You will do as I tell you, boy. Don’t you sass me,” he yelled.

The man pulled out a heavy pocket knife and popped it open. The girl screamed as she heard the blade lock into place. In one fluid motion, he used the knife to disconnect the rope that tied her feet together. Immediately she started kicking both feet, aiming for any body part she could contact as she thrashed her body back and forth. Her screams grew louder and louder until her voice blended into one scream with the horses.

“Take him down to the tree,” the man screamed. “Wait, no. He needs to watch. He loves her so much he wouldn’t want to miss this.” Motioning to another man, the leader had him dragged toward the girl while boots and bloody fists rained down upon him. The beating left him groggy, just alert enough to see the pain that the group was inflicting on the girl.

The girl’s screams grew stronger and stronger until it appeared that she couldn’t stand it any longer. Reaching her limit, she passed out. The mob swept over her, each taking a turn in violating the unconscious girl. One by one, the men began to move away from her, leaving her limp and unresponsive in the grass. As the dust began to settle, the only cries they heard were those from the boy lying in ropes next to her.

“Eliza!” he sobbed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lord. I’m so sorry,” he prayed just as another boot landed with a crack into the side of his ribs.

The man in white lifted him by the collar, bringing him upright so that he was able to see the damage they inflicted on the one he loved as she lay in the dirt next to him.

“See that, boy?” he said, shaking him with each word. “We didn’t do that. You did. You’re the one that hurt her, and you’ll be the one that ruins her, too.” He threw the boy back down into the dirt before slapping the hind quarters of both horses. The animals reared and then lunged forward, dragging the two teenagers up the hill.

Walking over to his son, the leader of the mob growled his directive. “He got to watch her suffer. Now it’s her turn. Wake her up so she can see him swinging in the tree like the monkey that he is.”

The blood-thirsty group of men mounted horses and followed the trail that led to the town’s cemetery near the creek. The dust swirled around the bleeding and broken bodies for a quarter mile up the path and into the cemetery. The hate-filled war cry of the group created a roar like a monster heading for a hunt. Their victims bounced off of rocks and into trees that lined the path. The fabric on their bodies tore under the force of being dragged across the rocky dirt. Swelling had set into their faces so that they became unrecognizable. Rivers of blood poured down their arms as the rope began cutting into the delicate skin around their wrists.

As they arrived in the cemetery, the leader shouted orders to the men that he controlled, separating them into two. He ordered one group to deal with the boy while the other to dealt with the girl.

“Get her awake,” he screamed with a flick of his hand toward the broken body of the young woman.

A man grabbed her by the arms and dragged her limp body to the creek that ran parallel where they stopped. With a handful of hair, he dunked her head down into the water again and again. She coughed as she revived. The cold, rushing water hit her skin, stealing what remaining breath she had. Once she was awake, he dragged her back to the scene sitting her against a tombstone just one row over from the tree.

“Here you go, whore. You got a front row seat for the show. We want you to be able to see everything, since you like looking at this nigger so much,” one of them growled. He kicked her feet together and tied them at the ankles so that she couldn’t run.

As she sobbed and begged for mercy, they hurried to drag the unconscious boy closer to the branch of the tree.

“Get him up there!” screamed the man in white. One group of men checked and tightened the ropes on command, binding his hands and feet tighter. Another group began to throw ropes around the boy’s neck, creating a noose.

“Greer! You want us to wake this one up, too,” another man asked.

“No, it’s not worth our time,” he replied. “Just get him up there. I’m done with this. We need to get done and clear out.”

With quick movements and angry grunts, the team pulled the rope over the largest branch on the lynching tree. With great effort, the men began pulling and yanking the rope, till they had it secured to the saddle of the horse. The leader kicked the horse’s sides. As the animal lurched forward, the rope slid over the tree like an evil pulley hoisting up the boy. Within seconds, his companion heard his neck snap as his body’s weight pulled toward the ground.

The mob of men cheered as if it were a holiday while the young girl screamed out in pain. Her guttural sobs were the only thing that broke through the celebration. The men turned their attention to the girl, broken and slumped against the headstone. No one had noticed where they had placed her until that moment. Her limp form leaned against the tallest and most decorative marker in the cemetery.

Eliza was leaning against the headstone of a gentle man: the church’s founding pastor. An angel carved of marble lay prone across a rectangular stone, weeping. Her wings lay limp at her sides draping over the edges as if to cradle the crying child on the ground below. The heavenly figure stood taller than those around her, forming a barrier between the girl and her attackers. Sculpted in the pose of mourning, her arms lay crossed under her head, obstructing portions of her face. Her body curved downward toward the broken form of the child she held close. The angel wept stone tears for the damaged girl below her.

The men grew quiet. Their celebratory cheering ceased.

All that they heard were the soft cries of a broken girl asking, “Why?”

***

The two men sat in silence. Avery propped his elbows on the table and lowered his chin against his clasped hands. His stomach churned after hearing the horrific details. He couldn’t imagine living through them.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Avery said, trying to console his elderly grandfather. Thomas was an elderly man, but all Avery saw in front of him was a broken and hurting little boy.

“Don’t you see, son,” he said. “I wasn’t the one holding the whip, but I was just as responsible. I never did leave that tree. I could have done something to stop him or to get help, but I didn’t. My fear of my father was too great. Their blood is on my hands.”

Thomas’ eyes became glassy and his tone slowed to a more moderated, cold demeanor.

“Avery, my older brother was called by my father to punish the poor girl. He wasn’t the only one, but he was the first. It ruined him. He may have died in World War II, but his heart and soul changed that day. My father didn’t only destroy two teenagers that night. He destroyed three.”

Thomas wiped his eyes with his napkin as he looked around to see if anyone else had heard his story. He reached across the table and grabbed his grandson’s arms.

“When your mother heard this story, she decided that you weren’t going to be raised in this county. She was afraid that people would learn the truth and that one day you would know what my father had done. I may not have a connection to the Klan anymore, but it is still around in the shadows. She never did trust me after she learned the truth.”

His grandfather fell forward on the table whispering pleas to God for forgiveness. He begged for a second chance to make it right - one that he would never have as time wouldn’t bend to his pleas no matter how hard he prayed.

“I’ve spent my life trying to make up for my sins by working at the church and giving back to Eliza’s family in any way that I could. They’ve never known that it was me who told my father, but now with Lizzie looking into it who knows what will happen?” Thomas’ voice trailed off. “What am I going to do if she finds out? I’ve loved that little lady since she was a tiny thing. She’d never forgive me. I just can’t stand to see her look at me like your mama does.”

Avery turned his head to look out the diner window. The glass was hazy from the steam coming out of the kitchen, but through the fog he could see a figure exiting the library. Lizzie Clydell walked across the parking lot to her vehicle.