Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (33 page)

“Sir,” he said properly as he stepped up to the gate. “I will inform the governor of your presence, but I do not think he will invite you in. Since your last visit, he has become very difficult.”

“I understand,
Captain
Rafferty, but it’s all right. I do not wish to announce my visit. Read these papers.” Mobley handed several documents to the now puzzled officer.

“Uh, sir, I am a lieutenant, sir, not a captain.”

“You
were
a lieutenant. Now you are
Captain
Richard Rafferty. Please examine those papers. They include special orders for your eyes only. You will understand.”

Rafferty’s eyes widened, his brow lifted. “Yes, sir.”

He glanced down at the official looking papers in his hand, flipped quickly through the pages, then started over to read carefully. When finished, he looked up, a smile on his face. He came to attention. “I am at your service,
General
Meadows.”

“Now,” Mobley said as he handed Rafferty another sealed envelope, “—you must read this letter. It is directed to you personally from the President of the United States. When you have read it, you will burn it and say no more about its contents, now or ever.”

Rafferty took the letter and began to read, his back stiffening as he did so. When finished, he said simply, “Do you have any suggestions, sir?”

“Bayonet point will do just fine.”

“Yes,
sir
.”

Rafferty turned to face Sergeant Whicher Bligh, who had come running to the front gate to see what was going on. “Sergeant Bligh. Get two men with bayonets on their rifles and have them bring Governor Davis down to the parlor, under arrest. Do
not
be nice to him.”

“Sir?” Sergeant Bligh responded, obviously not believing what he had just heard.

“You heard me, Sergeant. Arrest Governor Davis and bring him down to the parlor at bayonet point. See to it he has at least one
nick
in his posterior. Several would be better.”

Whicher Bligh stiffened to attention at these incredible orders, glanced at the official papers in Rafferty’s hand, and realized an extraordinary thing was about to happen. “Yes, sir.”

Bligh regained his composure, pulled his jacket down straight under his belt. He turned to the two nearest soldiers on guard duty. “Richards, Books, fix bayonets and come with me,
now.
”

Captain Rafferty watched his three soldiers enter the mansion. He struck a match and held it to the President’s letter. The letter burned until it was no more. Rafferty looked up at Mobley, now temporary Brigadier General Meadows. He turned his head toward the mansion. “Shall we go in, sir?”

“After you, Captain.”

A few moments later, Jack, Edson, Mobley and Captain Rafferty were seated in the parlor. Loud yelling and screaming could be heard from the top of the spiral staircase. Shortly thereafter Edmund Jackson Davis came tumbling down the stairs, half dressed and trying to dodge as Whicher Bligh applied the tip of his bayonet to the man’s already bleeding posterior.

“You miserable black bastards,” he screamed. “You’ll hang for this. I’ll see you all rot in hell.”

None of the men spoke as Whicher prodded the governor once again and forced him into the parlor. He was thrust into a small chair and held with three bayonets at his chest.

Davis was fuming and sputtering so, Mobley thought he might have a stroke. The oaths and threats stopped abruptly, however, when Davis recognized Mobley. Davis looked around carefully.

Mobley rose from his chair. “Edmund Jackson Davis. I am now Brigadier General Mobley Meadows, in temporary command of all military forces in Texas, including all irregular militia, which have been subjugated to my command during the period of the present crisis. You now command
doodly squat
.”

Pausing for effect, Mobley reached into his jacket. He removed another official document, which he handed to Captain Rafferty.

Rafferty accepted the document and read aloud:

“Brigadier General (Brevet) Mobley F. Meadows, rank established by prior order and emergency authority of the President of the United States, is directed and ordered to assume command of all United States military forces and irregular militia in the State of Texas as of this date.

Upon assumption of such command, General Meadows will immediately and permanently remove Edmund Jackson Davis from the office of governor he now illegally claims. Said office shall be turned over to the duly elected Governor, Richard Coke. All irregular forces under the command of Davis shall be disbanded or absorbed into the regular forces of the United States, at their choice and in the discretion of General Meadows.

In furtherance of his duties, General Meadows is authorized to use whatever force necessary to put down resistance to these orders. This order shall not be published in the general press unless and until General Meadows deems it necessary to keep the peace. Signed: Ulysses S. Grant, President of the United States.”

Mobley turned to Davis, who sat mortified in his chair.
“Mister
Davis, you will proceed upstairs where you will dress yourself properly. You will then take your wife in hand and leave this building, never to return. Your personal belongings will be delivered to you within twenty-four hours, wherever you wish. I suggest you check into a local hotel until all moving is complete. Tomorrow morning at exactly twelve o’clock noon you will announce to the world you are conceding the election and the office of governor to Mr. Richard Coke. You may say what you wish about this situation, but I suggest you announce altruistic motives for the good of the peace and the State of Texas. Otherwise, I will release the true facts and your humiliation will be complete. Any attempt on your part to mobilize police units or other irregular forces to resist these orders, will result in you being
shot
. Do you have any questions, sir?”

Davis stared at Mobley. His rule was over, that much was clear. But the agile mind that had brought him this far was still racing. He considered the best face to put on the debacle. The President had offered him an honorable way to avoid public humiliation, but assured that privately, his humiliation would be complete.

Davis knew rumors would fly wildly, the truth ultimately lost in the rush of history. The black soldiers would tell their fellows, the word would be out, but no one would believe such a tale in the end. Within a year, he would be able to claim responsibility for keeping the peace, possibly even run for other office.

“I have no questions,” he said arrogantly. “But be aware, this humiliation will one day be avenged. Make no mistake about it.”

Mobley stretched himself to full height and stared down at Davis. “I don’t figure to make any more mistakes when it comes to scum like you,
citizen
Davis. So you’d better be aware, I intend to keep these orders next to my heart, ready for release any time I detect the slightest effort on your part to cause harm to me, any one of my family or staff, or for that matter, anyone else in this state.”

Davis looked up at the three soldiers standing before him, bayonets pushing against his chest. He slowly rose from the chair, against their pointed pressure. The soldiers had to impale him, or let him stand. They chose the latter course. As he stood, he brushed the bayonets away as he would a fly, and then smiled as he savored the small victory. Turning, he walked quickly back to the stairway, up to the second floor. A trail of blood followed behind, staining the carpet.

Mobley turned to Rafferty. “Give him one hour, Captain, and then eject him from this building. See to it his belongings are delivered wherever he directs. If he doesn’t tell you where by six o’clock tonight, dump them all out in the street.”

Mobley turned and walked out of the parlor. He stopped and addressed the three soldiers who had assumed guard positions at the foot of the stairway. “Master Sergeant Bligh, you are now
Sergeant Major
Bligh. You other two men are now sergeants. Thank you all for being in my army. Well done.”

CHAPTER 50

A small crowd led by Governor Richard Coke was on hand at the railroad depot as Mobley, Jack and Edson prepared to board the train to Waco. The engine huffed, hissed and
bonged
in the background. Several horses in the stock car whinnied and pawed the floorboards as two young boys tormented them with loud hoots.

Richard Coke, never one to miss a good sendoff, was effusive in his thanks for Mobley’s assistance, hugging and kissing him embarrassingly on both cheeks. “I know you don’t like it, Judge Meadows, but from now on I shall always refer to you as
General
Meadows. You have saved Texas from civil war. I know it will never be public knowledge, but I will certainly not forget. Calling you General will be my way of remembering.”

Mobley nodded. The man was right. He did not like being called
General
. President Grant had given him the temporary rank so there could be no question of his authority, but it still did not sit well. He had never earned the right, never fought in any grand battle, had never had the responsibility for the lives of thousands of men under arms.

“All right, Governor, but if anyone else around here ever does that, they’ll be in for a good
whuppin’.”
He looked menacingly at Jack and Edson who raised their hands in mock surrender. Turning back to Coke, Mobley leaned forward and whispered. “Have you taken care of that other little matter we spoke of?”

Governor Coke smiled, the two sides of his beard standing almost straight out from the effort. “I am a man of my word, General.” He turned and nodded toward Yancy Potts, who stood inconspicuously several steps behind the Governor. “Thanks to Mr. Potts, who knows how to get things done with a minimum of fuss, everything is in order.”

Mobley nodded. “Thank you, Governor.”

Jack and Edson stepped onto the passenger car stoop and through the doorway. Mobley shook Coke’s hand one last time, and then turned. Mobley was looking forward to a good nap on the way to Waco. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours a day during the past three weeks. The tension had been too great. He placed his foot on the first step, then on the second.

A woman
screamed
. Mobley turned, caught a flash of light from the corner of his eye. A stab of fear raced through his chest.

Edson yelled, “
LOOK OUT.”

Ferdie Lance charged through the small crowd, raging and foaming at the mouth. A sword in his fist swooshed through the air in a bloody circle. Mobley sucked in his stomach to avoid a sweeping slash that would have disemboweled him. Ferdie Lance continued slashing at him and everyone else on the dock, a madman gone rabid. Yancy Potts, frozen in place by the sudden turn, failed to duck. His head, bald pate shining in the sun, toppled from his neck and clunked along the boardwalk at Richard Coke’s feet.

Mobley stared, horrified at the apparition before him and the bloody trail being drawn on the boardwalk by Yancy’s traveling head. The body stood, weaving, huge gouts of blood rising above its shoulders, cascading through the air and splattering everyone within range.

Mobley grabbed for his pistol. He caught his hand on the metal guardrail, jammed his knuckles as he attempted to draw the weapon and lost his grip. The pistol fell through the rail with a clatter, landed hard on the hammer and discharged. The bullet blew past Mobley’s nose and impacted the car roof, showering dust and debris into the thick cloud of black powder smoke.

The cloud obscured Mobley’s vision, but was promptly dissipated as Ferdie’s blade swirled through it, leaving curls of turbulence in its wake. Mobley fell back against the forward wall of the coach, barely dodging another singing slash.

Ferdie came at him once more, swinging the sword almost vertically now with both hands. Richard Coke and the spectators scattered. Mobley fell back as the curved blade struck the wrought iron steps of the platform, right between his legs. Another two inches and he would have lost his manhood.

Jack and Edson struggled to help, but were blocked as Mobley back-pedaled up the stairway, his knees pumping up and down in a blur. Neither could get a clear shot at the madman.

Ferdie took another sweeping slash. Again, metal struck metal. Before he could bring the sword back again, Mobley kicked out with a long leg. Ferdie took the boot full in the chest. He fell back to the ground; sword locked in his fist, and instantly rolled back to his feet. Edson yelled. Mobley turned, reaching to catch the pistol Edson had tossed. He missed.

BOOM BOOM BOOM
. Three bullets smacked into Ferdie’s back in rapid succession. He staggered forward for an instant, and then recoiled backward several feet, abruptly stood straight up, as if getting ready to salute, turned and stared. A long string of red bubbly foam hung from his mouth. He mumbled something, and then crumpled to the ground.

Mobley collapsed onto his butt, his legs dangling down the stairs. Mister Jim Bob Burnett stood over Ferdie Lance, still pointing his smoking pistol at the dead man’s head. He looked up, and then dropped his head. “Sorry, Judge Meadows, I hope this feller weren’t no friend of yorn. But he was puttin’ a mighty fright on the governor, and I just cain’t abide such behavior in a man.”

Mobley’s hands shook, his legs vibrated. He tried to pull himself up, but realized he would have to wait a few more minutes before his limbs could cooperate. He stared at the body of Ferdie Lance, then at the head of Yancy Potts. Ferdie’s last word had been, “
Mother
” as he fell for the last time.

Mobley could not imagine Ferdie Lance having had a mother. He’d been the most vicious, violent man Mobley had ever seen. What must his mother have been like?

* * *

Mobley stretched his stride to cover the short distance from the Waco depot to the
Old Corner Drug Store.
He’d pondered his words carefully on the trip from Austin, and then slept, legs sprawled across two full seats. But the nap had not been a restful one, for he’d dreamed of Lydia. He saw her in his mind, soft white complexion, sweet scented auburn hair, waist little more than the size of his hatband, eyes a deep emerald green. His heart pounded as he rehearsed his speech in rhythm with the clacking of the rails. Now, he would see her in a few moments. He would ask her to forgive him, to marry him. He would sweep her into his arms, carry her to her room, make passionate love to her.

Listening to Edson all these weeks had taught Mobley a great deal. He would never treat Lydia poorly again; never again treat her like a child in need of protection. He would treat her like the equal he’d always wanted his wife to be.

Edson had made his excuses. He needed to stay in Austin for a few weeks until he was sure Dixie Lee Potts was settled after Yancy’s funeral. Jack was at loose ends, knowing what Mobley had in mind and knowing he would only be in the way. He tried to keep up with Mobley as they left the depot, but lagged behind as they approached the drugstore.

Little Gertrude Sweetgrass was skipping rope on the sidewalk in front of the store, a stick of peppermint candy in her mouth. Mobley called out. “Hey, little girl. Where’d you get the candy?”

Gertrude looked up, dropped her rope and ran at him with arms open wide. “Uncle Mobley, you’re here, you’re here. It’s so good to see you again, Uncle Mobley. Momma’s in the store. She’s been waiting for you all day.” Mobley swept her up in his arms and gave her a big hug.

“
Uncle
Mobley?” Jack said as he walked up.

“Quiet,
Uncle
Jack. I’m going to need you to watch Gertrude for a little while.” He handed the child to Jack. “Try to be nice.”

“What? You can’t be serious? I didn’t come here to be a nursemaid.” But Mobley was already into the pharmacy and out of sight behind the far back drug counter. Jack took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Gertrude started pulling on his mustache and begged him to make her a soda.

“A
soda
? What’s a soda?”

“Oh, Uncle Jack. Everyone knows what a soda is. Come on in, I’ll show you.”

* * *

Mobley lost his nerve as he approached the stairway to Lydia’s quarters above the pharmacy. He felt his hands begin to shake, his throat tighten. He tried to remember the words he had practiced, the words he knew he must say if he were to win Lydia back from her anger, but those words had been difficult to find, impossible to say even in his mind without a flood of emotion and feeling with which he was not comfortable. He’d had a very difficult time creating them on paper, but they expressed his thoughts perfectly. If only he could say them without complete and utter collapse. Now, they were simply gone from his brain, befuddled in the panic that was slowly rising to an intolerable level, to that level where even he, the great hero of Austin, would soon be reduced to a pile of unidentifiable prairie goop.

At that very moment, Lydia Sweetgrass appeared at the top of the stairway. She stared, her eyes flashing green, brown, and blue, a frown suddenly on her face. She stepped slowly down the stairs, carefully, taking them deliberately, one at a time, holding onto the rail with white knuckles.

Mobley quickly removed his hat, dropped his head and stared at the floor. He fingered the hat brim like a priest knuckling a string of beads.

Lydia stopped three steps from the bottom, where her eyes would have been level with Mobley’s, if he’d had the nerve to look at her.

Mobley shifted from foot to foot, his mouth so dry now he knew he might not be able to open it even if he’d wanted to.

Lydia placed her hands on her hips.
“Well? What is it you want, Mobley Meadows? Have you come all this way just to stare at your feet?

Mobley was struck by the harshness of her voice, the voice he had come to love, the incredibly soft alto that had at once conveyed such strength as well as sexual power; that had so entranced him, the voice that had whispered such wonderful things in his ear while he was on death’s doorstep. She had now, with one sentence, reduced his determination and purpose to zero, all gone in one fell swoop. She was still angry.

“
Oh, my God
,” he thought. “
There is no hope
.” This beautiful, wonderful woman was lost to him. He turned, head still hanging on his chest, and began to walk away.

“
MOBLEY MEADOWS YOU JUST STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Mobley stopped, afraid to turn around.

“You came here to say something to me. Now, say it, or don’t ever come back.”

Mobley stood for a moment that seemed like an eternity. He turned, glanced up at Lydia, tried to talk. His voice would not come. He quickly lowered his head again. He worked his mouth around, tried to get out a word, but just could not. Finally, he reached into his shirt pocket, fumbled with a small scrap of paper, and handed it tentatively to Lydia.

Lydia took the paper from his hand, carefully unfolded it, and began to read. Her face turned red. Her jaw began to flex. Her eyes now seemed puffy.

“
Oh my God, now I’ve done it. She hates me.”

Lydia stood still for at least one full minute before looking back up at Mobley. “Do you mean this?” Her voice was now soft, warm.

Mobley nodded, and allowed his head to come up to look at her.

Lydia clenched her jaw. “Then you must say it aloud. Say it to me as the man I know you are. The man who I might choose to marry if I knew he truly meant these words.”

Mobley stared at her, now realizing she had been testing him, wanting to make sure he would never again treat her as an inferior, as someone he must protect to the point of oppression. The filtered glow coming through the pharmacy skylight suddenly seemed brighter, his panic racing away, his world no longer lost. If only he could make his mouth work.

Mobley swallowed several times in order to make saliva, to force his voice to work. He reached out to Lydia, to take the note from her hands. She pulled it back, as if teasing him.

“No. You wrote them. Now you say them.”

Mobley held Lydia’s gaze, then let out a whoosh of air. He nodded his head. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Lydia, my wonderful Lydia. I know I cannot undo the terrible things I have done, nor can I ever apologize enough for them. But you must know my intentions have been of the highest order, for you are so perfect and beautiful, I cannot comprehend your interest in me. But I have loved you dearly, and my promise to you is that I will always love you, more dearly than it is possible to say.”

* * *

Gertrude skipped into the pharmacy, scrambled up on a short dining counter and grabbed two tall glasses from the mirrored shelf behind the counter. She then put them under a faucet-like device with several long ceramic levers and pulled one of them to put a dark looking syrup into the glasses. Then, she shifted the glasses to another of the levers and pulled it back. A foamy white liquid shot out of it and almost overflowed the glass before she let it go. “This is how you make a
Doctor Pepper
,” she said with a big smile on her face. “Now, try it. You’ll like it.”

Jack shifted his pistol belt, leaned his rifle against the counter, and sat cautiously on one of the round stools. He took the drink from Gertrude’s tiny hand, and then looked around before tasting the strange looking concoction. Mobley and Lydia were embracing at the foot of the stairs to the living quarters above. Mobley suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. Jack looked again at the drink. He put his nose to the bubbling liquid. It tingled and smelled quite pleasant, like sweet honey and cinnamon bark. He took a tentative sip.
“Ooooh
. Hey, this is really quite good.”