The Loom (31 page)

“Too late.”

“We’re talking serious now, Jackson.” Rex was anxious. And angry.

“So am I. I need one of you to shoot this sucker clear out my mouth. Get me out of this pain.”

“Now, that I can do.” Henry chuckled, pushing his index finger with raised thumb against Jackson’s jaw. He pulled the trigger hard against his cheek.

“What, are you crazy!”

“It’s a tooth! Come on, Jack. How bad can it be?”

That was exactly what he had thought the first day, the first few days, but now, weeks later, he was in more pain than he had experienced when he was grazed by a bullet hunting as a teen. His arm had hurt for some time back then, but this, this small toothache had moved up his face, gave him headaches every day, and had traveled down and become a pain in the neck, a pain in the—“You ain’t the only one hurting, you know? Boy, I’d just go over there and slaughter him if I knew which one he was, if they didn’t all look alike. I’m thinking he’s your boy. Your place’s the closest to where we found him.”

“We’ll get him. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I want both of them.”

“Them? There was more than one?”

“A girl,” Henry offered. “Small thing. I couldn’t see nothing but her white hand, but I think he called her Linda.”

“Lydia,” Rex corrected. “He called her Lydia.”

“He was with a White woman?”

“It looked that way. All I know is I want this settled by evening. You in, right, Jackson?”

“Yeah,” was all he could muster. He pushed away from the cabinet and kicked the screen door open to a gray sky. His unbuttoned jacket flapped in the wind around him. Clouds hovered and a cool breeze whipped through, flowing into his gaping mouth, sweeping into his cavity. He whimpered, grateful his boys were inside.

He’d hoped Michael Kelly was wrong about the tooth. Hoped it would’ve gotten better not worse. One thing for sure, he wasn’t going to let the doctor know how right he’d been, especially after Caroline asked him to distance himself from the man.

Besides, the deal was done. He had his men. No need to contact him further.

But he had to do something.

He extended his right index finger over the infection he could now smell. He howled, swore against the heavens. The pressure.

The pain. He blinked back hot tears. He’d never needed a drink more in his life.

He felt foolish. Something so small, so delicate, made him want to weep like a baby. But of course. It was planted in him,

rooted deep within.

Jackson dug inside the pocket of his work trousers and flipped open his switchblade. The splintered red handle trembled in his hand. He closed his eyes, inhaled, then sliced wildly through the rotting flesh, piercing and carving until he swallowed a sea of blood. He yanked on the tooth. Tears poured down his cheeks. It didn’t budge. His heart thundered. He had to go deeper. Deeper still. His knees shook at the thought.

How could he? He choked on the salty liquid gurgling in the back of his throat. Coughing, he knelt and tore into what was left of his back gums until the dead tooth lay hopeless and shattered in the palm of his hand.

Jackson stared at it and then, howling relief, hurled his agony across the patchy dirt road with incredible speed, dust rising at its landing. Now, the pain would deaden.

He spat, wiped his chin against the arm of his jacket, and walked away.

He was gone.

The moment she knew she needed him, loved him, wanted him more than anything, he was gone.

Lydia strolled through the path they had walked the night before. She tried to set her feet in the same place his had been, tried to touch the leaves from the branches that grazed his skin. She tried to relive everything.

She hadn’t slept last night, terrified that he was captured or dead or hung, thrown in a river somewhere. Rex and Henry and Jackson, her father’s murderers all over again.

So now she walked. If she got close to where he had been, she hoped she could draw near to where he was going.

She stepped out of the stable into a light mist and wrapped herself up in her shawl. It was too light for this time of year, but she didn’t dare wear the hooded cloak again. She needed to rid herself of it, take no chances.

Jackson’s land was truly magnificent. Hill upon rolling hill, the sound of horses trotting in the distance. The first time she saw it, she had been amazed, but now, she was struck with a different emotion. An emptiness.

She lingered. Though the rain had stopped, her hair was damp and strands slipped loose from the chignon, wrapping around her neck in the thrashing wind. She would certainly catch her death if she didn’t hurry inside.

And yet she lingered near the slave cabins, drawn to a place she had once known, compelled to stay a few moments longer.

When she saw the Loom Room, she peered into the window. A window in a room for a slave. Still it intrigued her. Two brown women worked around a long wooden table. One man sat with his back against the wall, bowing over something in his lap. A bowl of— “Caroline?”

She froze. Please, no… “Jackson.”

She forced a smile, waved at Rex and Henry a few feet away, dismounting from their horses. Her heart raced.

“What are you doing here? Can’t imagine you’d be making wedding plans out here.”

“No, actually.”

He looked behind her.

“Were you at the slave quarters?”

She shook her head. She had no idea how long he had been behind her, watching her.

“Caroline…” Jackson glanced back at his friends. “What are you doing out here?” he whispered. “Don’t lie to me, please. I mean it, don’t lie.”

“I have something private to discuss with you.”

“About what?”

She had to tell him she had decided to leave. This had been a mistake. She was sorry she had hurt him. Sorry she had hurt them all. “About the wedding.”

Jackson stared at her.

“I wanted to talk to you about the wedding, Jackson.”

“All right?” He paused. “What is it?” He scanned her face, searching for answers, searching for a lie to indict her.

“Can we talk about it inside?” She held her eyes steady. Minutes mimicked hours as Jackson slowly gazed at her, and she tried to hide from predators a few feet away.

When he looked back in her eyes, his were bright. She breathed relief but still wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“Sure.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Caroline, where are your gloves? You’re so cold.” He rubbed his hands over hers, blew warm air into them. “I’ve got to get you out of this wind.” He brushed a wet lock from her forehead, coiling another behind her ear. As John had done. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. She had no idea how she would tell him, but she knew she needed to soon. She shuddered from the cold, from the truth. If he knew her lie…

“You seem sad.” Jackson searched her face. She looked away. “Can’t figure out what would be sad about a wedding.

Caroline?”

She nodded, afraid her voice would betray her.

“You all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You all go on.” His face darkened when he looked at the men. “Do what needs to be done.” They nodded as they returned to their horses and galloped away.

“What needs to be done?”

“A lynching.”

No…

“You ready?”

“I need a moment.” Just a moment to steady herself. She leaned against the log cabin behind her, her fingers sprawled across the glass.

She blinked.

Suddenly a shadow whirled by, moving so fast, Lydia had to catch her breath. It only took seconds to know it was the hunted one. Run, John, run!

Lydia’s world stopped, spun, and then suddenly went black.

Lydia wrapped herself in a cocoon of covers in the warmth of her quarters. Despite them, she shivered. Her head was still wet from the rain, but the chill she felt rose from the inside. Cold in her bones. She snuggled tighter into herself and squeezed her eyes shut.

When the door creaked open, she peered out from under the quilts.

“You all right?” Jackson stared at her. “You really scared me out there. You sure we don’t need someone to take a look at you?”“No.” She sprang up. “I told you what he did. Jackson. Dr. Kelly—”

“Not Dr. Kelly, Caroline. Someone else, anyone besides him could have a look.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” She smiled. “Really, Jackson. I promise.” She peeled back the layers.

“You wanted to talk to me about the wedding?”

“Is it all right if we do it later? I’m not up to it.”

“Of course, of course. It’s not important. Is it?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

“I am.” She closed her eyes and squirmed back under the covers. The image of John running, of their hour of terror, of her father on the porch, all of them returned when she closed her eyes.

“I’ll let you rest.”

When the door closed, she cried. Gather yourself, Lydia. She took a deep breath, willed strength, and rolled off the bed.

She opened the rosewood armoire. Behind a row of boxes stacked five high, two deep, in the base of the hand-carved furniture, lay her treasure. She touched the red circles, handled the purple diamonds, and rubbed the place where the piece had been torn. She thought of it with her love now.

“Miss Caroline?”

“Annie.” She startled and jumped to her feet, shoving the blanket inside the cabinet. “Umm…come in.” She yanked the narrow door shut and turned to the girl. “Did you need something?”

“No. I was checking on you. I thought you was supposed to be lying down.”

“I am. I was. How can I sleep with the wedding on my mind?”

Still pretending, still lying, but she had to say something, do something, until she knew where to go, how to find John, how to follow peace. “There’s still so much to do. Listen, I know I had a rough start the other day, but thank you for your help.” She returned to her bed and patted the spot beside her. “Sit, sit.”

“I can’t sit, ma’am. Not on your bed. Not with you.”

“Why not?”

“I–I’m… Miss Caroline?” Annie cocked her head to the side and studied her. “You all right?”